Their waiter had just cleared the first course, when the Danforth's son, Ned, turned to his father, and said, "Dad, when we dock in Nassau the Robinsons are going snorkeling and Jimmy asked if I could go with them. Can I go?"
Charlie Danforth hesitated for a moment, glanced at his wife, then looked at his son, and said, "We don't know the Robinsons, so no, not this time."
Ned turned to his mother. "Mom, talk to Dad. Get him to let me go."
"You heard your father, Ned. The answer is no."
Ned, seeming to drop the subject, continued eating.
Andrea sat silently watching the boy, but she could almost feel Jerry's response to the interchange between the boy and his parents. Bafflement. Just as she felt. With Scott, there would have been an exhausting argument, and if he didn't get his way he'd play one parent against the other. Invariably, one would cave, and Scott would put that victory in his arsenal of parental manipulations to use during the next confrontation.
Ned never brought up the subject of snorkeling again, but as soon as they were finished desert, he asked to be excused. After he'd gone, Andrea said to the Danforths, "Your son is so well-behaved. You must be very proud of him."
Lillian laughed. "He's a work in progress, and yes, he's pretty much the focus of our lives. As you must have noticed, we're on the old side to have a fourteen-year-old boy. After we'd tried every fertility drug on the market, and followed all the usual methods, the doctor told us to stop spending our time trying to get pregnant and find a place to just relax and enjoy each other. Two weeks later we flew to a resort in Nassau, spent six days beachcombing, snorkeling, and being with each other and remembering what it was like when we just let things happen, and it worked. Nine months later, Ned was born."
"But he doesn't seem in the least bit spoiled," Andrea said, wondering if there was another side to the boy, a side he hid when in public. "He accepted your refusal to let him go snorkeling with his friend without question."
Lillian laughed. "He knows better than to try. Charlie and I vowed when I finally got pregnant that no matter how much we might disagree on how to handle our child when issues came up, we'd always present a united front to him."
"But what if you'd disagreed with Charlie when Ned asked to go snorkeling?" Andrea asked.
Lillian laughed. "Charlie already knew I agreed with him. We have this signal system with nudging and blinking. One nudge or blink means 'I agree completely,' two means 'absolutely not,' and three means 'let's talk about it and let him know later.' We've been using it since Ned was old enough to understand that what Mommy and Daddy says goes." She looked at her husband and smiled. "Believe me, Charlie and I have disagreed many times behind the scenes, and Charlie's had to give in to me as much as I've had to give in to him, but when Ned gets his answer from us, or is given his punishment for bad behavior, Charlie and I always appear to be in agreement."
Charlie tipped his wine glass toward his father, who was smiling at him, and said, with affection, "That guy across the table from you showed me the way. He and my mother were a formidable pair when they said, no. Thanks, Dad."
The old man beamed. "Your mother would have been proud to hear you say that."
***
Alone in the honeymoon suite that night, Jerry lay stretched on the bed, his mind divided between what might be going on in Alessandro Cavallaro's stateroom, and the exchange at the table with the Danforths earlier. At the moment, he was mulling over the Danforths and their handling of their son. Mistakes he and Andrea made with Scott were becoming clear for the first time in years. Eighteen years too late. Scott had been difficult from the start—colicky and fretful as an infant, prone to tantrums as a toddler, manipulative and controlling as a teenager—but the one thing his parents were consistent about throughout the whole challenge of raising him was that they never agreed on what to do with him. What's more, they never presented a united front. Scott would play one against the other until he got his way.
A rapping on the door had him quick to open it, thinking it might be Andrea, who would also have been mulling over the Danforth's exchange at the table and wanted to talk about it, but to his annoyance, he found Val standing in the doorway.
"Hi there, sugar pie," she said, while slipping past him. "I've come prepared this time." She flashed a little foil packet then dropped it on the bedstand.
"Look, about last night—"
"What happened last night is nothing to be embarrassed about, sugar dumpling. Many men your age have failures, but I guarantee we can fix it. That's what sugar babies are for, to be your companion, your helpmate, and your lover." She slipped her arms around his neck and said, "I'm going to fire up your engine and have your piston back in working order before the night's done."
Jerry pulled her arms from around his neck. "You don't need to fix anything."
"What I saw last night definitely needs fixing, honey bun." In one practiced sweep, Val swept off her tee-shirt and tossed it on the bed leaving her standing in front of him in a red lace half-bra that came across as more of a serving platter than a support garment, and what she was offering made him mad. He swept the T-shirt off the bed and held it out. "Put it on."
When Val did nothing, he said, "How old are you?"
She smiled. "If that's what's worrying you, I'm of age. Twenty-three to be exact." She stretched out on the bed like a languorous lioness.
"That's the age of my eldest daughter."
Val gave him a wry smile. "Does she like older men too?"
"You're through here." Jerry grabbed her arm and pulled her upright, then shoved the shirt in her hand. "Put it on and go find another sugar daddy because I'm not interested." He opened the door for her to leave.
She was in the process of tugging the shirt over her head when Andrea appeared in the doorway. By the time Val's head popped through the head hole, she was already heading down the passageway and had not seen Andrea, who'd slipped into Jerry's stateroom unnoticed by her.
Andrea eyed the rumpled bed and said with irony, "I didn't mean to interrupt anything, but you and I have a date tomorrow. It's our anniversary, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten," Jerry grumbled, "but I don't remember any plans."
"That's because there weren't any until the steward handed me this fax a few minutes ago. It's from the girls." She offered the paper to Jerry.
While he read the message informing them that when the ship docked in Nassau, a horse and buggy would be waiting at the docks to take them to a special place, then to a restaurant where they'd have a romantic dinner, Andrea lifted the condom from the table and said, with irony, "At least you're being responsible, sugar pie. You'd have a hard time explaining to our daughters how you managed to get some bimbo pregnant while on a cruise they'd given us as an anniversary gift, not to mention the awkwardness of presenting them with a half-sibling younger than our grandkids."
Jerry snatched the foil packet. "I'm not even going to respond to that," he said. "What happens in here is none of your business." He yanked open the drawer to the bedstand, tossed the packet inside and shoved the drawer closed.
"Actually I don't care what goes on in here," Andrea said. "If it were up to me I'd suggest either you and your sugar baby go to the romantic restaurant, or Alessandro and I go, but since it will be our twenty-fifth anniversary and the girls expect us to spend it with each other, out of respect for them and all the trouble they've gone to, I say we call a truce for a few hours and bear it out. As soon as it's over we can go our separate ways. I, for one, have plans afterwards, as I'm sure you do too."
Jerry stared at the fax. For twenty-five years he'd been faithful to Andrea. Never once had he strayed before this cruise, and that one time had been a miserably failed attempt at trying to prove he was still the man Andrea once desired. "I suppose we'll have to go through with this dinner thing then," he said begrudgingly.
"Unfortunately, you're right. We're supposed to dress-to-please. The girls were explicit about that." Andrea
smiled. "I know exactly what I'm going to wear. It'll drive Alessandro to distraction."
Jerry knew Andrea planned to wear the one dress that used to drive him to distraction, and he wondered how he'd handle it, knowing she'd be going straight from dinner with him to her Italian stud. It was going to be one helluva long evening.
CHAPTER 6
What caught Andrea's attention, as the ship cruised along Cable Beach at the west end of New Providence Island on its way to Prince George Wharf where they'd be docking, was the luxury resorts and glitzy casinos lining the beach. Nassau was the hub of activity in the Bahamas, with its shops, restaurants and dance clubs, but none of that interested her now.
There was a time when she and Jerry would have strolled through the streets of Nassau, hand-in-hand, while browsing the straw market and the bazaar, or they might have rented mopeds to tour the island, but all she wanted now was to get through the afternoon and evening with Jerry and return to the ship, where Alessandro would be waiting.
The ship pulled into Nassau in early afternoon, and after being cleared by customs, passengers were free to tour Nassau and New Providence Island. But a couple of hours before they left the ship, Andrea decided to come clean with Alessandro about Jerry and the divorce, and tell him about their anniversary dinner. Alessandro had been clearly disappointed that she wouldn't be joining him for dinner in his stateroom because he'd ordered a meal that included lobster thermidor, but he was also sweet and understanding, and settled for after-dinner drinks and watching a movie on the TV in his stateroom, and maybe one goodnight kiss when she'd leave, he'd informed her in his lovely Italian accent. Nothing more. Which emboldened her to keep to her word when she'd had second thoughts that maybe he was what Jerry suggested.
She rummaged through the bag with her purchases from the novelty shop on C deck and pulled out the octopus briefs. She still didn't know what possessed her to buy them. She wouldn't be giving them to Jerry, and Alessandro was far too reserved to cavort around like Jerry would, but maybe lovemaking wasn't intended to be fun. Maybe it was supposed to be the joining of two bodies, while also the joining of two souls. Although she'd felt that with Jerry, it had still been fun, and funny, and exciting, until their heightened senses turned to passion.
She sighed, pulled open a dresser drawer, and tucked the briefs under her clothes. She didn't want Val to see them and maybe decide to get a pair like them for Jerry. The thought of him prancing around for another woman was troubling. Everything was still too new.
An hour later, she slipped into her green and tan sundress and put on a pair of tan stiletto heels she'd purchased from one of the specialty shops aboard, along with a matching handbag. As she stood in front of the mirror on the wardrobe, she tried to imagine Alessandro's face when he'd see her in a dress designed to attract a man's notice. But what emerged in her mind's eye was Jerry's expression the first time he'd seen her in the dress. She'd been standing in front of a mirror, much as she was now, and Jerry came up behind, curved his hands around her, then kissed the side of her neck and whispered in her ear, "Baby, you're really turning me on." The dress came off in half the time it took to put it on and Jerry took over from there.
But it wasn't Jerry she intended to turn on tonight, she reminded herself, and somehow she'd have to remember that. Taking one last look in the mirror, she pronounced herself 'desirable in the eyes of Alessandro and headed for the grand salon.
Jerry was already there. When he saw her coming he clasped her by the elbow to lead her out on deck, and said in a curt, dry tone, "What are you trying to do?"
"If you mean by wearing this dress, the girls said to wear something to please. This dress used to please you enormously."
"It did once. Now it makes you look like a middle-aged hooker."
"At least I don't wax my chest! Of course I don't know what you might have waxed below your waist but if I get curious I can always ask Val."
"That coming from a woman who had liposuction on her thighs is ironic."
Andrea looked at Jerry with a start. She'd had the liposuction done over a month before in an effort to feel good about herself, but things had been so bad between the two of them that the occasion to show off her legs had not come up. Other than the episode in the shower, she hadn't shown Jerry anything in months. Fun-filled sex was history. She looked at Jerry in disgust. "How did you know about the liposuction? Have you been following me and spying on where I go?"
Jerry glared at her. "I pay the bills on line, remember? What's coming next? A $10,000 face lift, maybe a pair of $15,000 silicone implants."
Andrea laughed with irony. "I leave the implants to Val, and I'm actually satisfied with the rest of me. I am surprised you noticed my legs though."
Jerry let out a huff. "How could I not, with your shorts sucked halfway up your butt?"
"I was sitting on the exercycle. You could not possibly have seen my butt."
"The moment you saw your Italian stud on deck you sprinted off the machine. I definitely saw your butt. But you knew that when you wore skin-tight shorts to show off your liposuctioned thighs to your Italian lover."
Andrea gave Jerry a rueful smile. "If I'm not mistaken, sugar pie, I'd swear you're jealous."
Jerry gave a short snort. "If I were jealous, sweetheart, it wouldn't be over an Italian gigolo who'll drop you like a hot potato as soon as he's through taking you for all you're worth, and if he doesn't get enough out of the divorce settlement you'll be getting from me, he can dip into the Ellison fortune. It's a much deeper pocket."
Andrea snatched her elbow from Jerry's grip. "You can't stand it that Alessandro's a decent man who's attracted to me. I told him about us today and he was very understanding."
Jerry let out a little grunt of derision. "I'll just bet he was."
"Look, we agreed to call a truce for today. Can't you at least try to be courteous?" Andrea said. "I did give you the best years of my life. You can't deny that."
For a few moments Jerry said nothing, then he sucked in a long slow breath and said while exhaling, "You're right. For the girls I'd do just about anything."
As they rode in the horse-drawn buggy that was waiting for them at the dock, compliments of the girls, Jerry said, "Where are we going?"
"The fax said to some kind of zoological garden, though I don’t know why the girls planned that for us. Going to a zoo isn't exactly a romantic hideaway."
"Maybe they're psychic. Figured we'd feel at home in a zoo."
"I thought we agreed to cut the snide remarks."
Jerry let out a little grunt of disgust. "Our biggest mistake was going on the cruise in the first place. We should have come clean with the girls and let them get their money back. If we had, we wouldn't be on the cruise from hell."
A few minutes later they arrived at Ardastra Gardens Zoo, where the buggy driver informed them he'd be returning in two hours. Following a sign-guided path, and making no attempt to converse, they strolled between lush tropical plants and took in the wide variety of exotic animals. Andrea couldn't help but wonder what this was all about. The girls arranged everything geared for romance, yet here they were at the zoo, looking at parrots, peacocks, black swans, and a variety of exotic animals that included lemurs, kinkajous, and capuchin monkeys.
It wasn't until she noticed a poster with a line-up of pink flamingos that she realized why they were there. "Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed. "It's the marching flamingos. I read about them in Frommer's. They're trained to march on command." She also realized their daughters, with their father's sense of humor, set this up for Jerry, knowing his antics would make the show that much more fun. And a little later, when a flock of parading flamingos came marching out on command, and in drill formation with long-legged precision, Jerry looked at her and grinned, and the usual steeliness in his eyes softened into little points of pure pleasure.
It was a smile Andrea hadn't seen in months, the smile that came just before Jerry did something outrageous. If it had been their twentieth anniversary,
they would've returned to their stateroom after the flamingo show, where Jerry would have done something wacky like coming out of the bathroom stark naked but for a pink feather boa looped around his neck, and marching with long-leg precision, head thrusting back-and-forth flamingo-style, butt wiggling with a flamingo swagger, or what he'd perceive as a flamingo swagger. And after his performance, when she would've been sitting on the bed in stitches, he'd strip off her clothes, and with the feather boa in his hand, do it's magic on her.
Jerry reached out, as if to take her hand, then curled his palm into a fist and propped it on his knee. "It's quite a performance," he said,. "I'll send the girls a postcard." Not we'll send the girls a postcard, Andrea noticed, because there was no we, although there were moments when she forgot. "She gave a little wistful sigh.
The show over, they returned in silence to the buggy, but from the moment it pulled up to Pasquale's Italiane Ristorante, the evening went downhill. Dinner was a tense, drawn-out affair, made more so by the fact that the girls had arranged for them to dine at a cozy Italian restaurant with candlelit tables and roving violinists playing romantic music.
Everywhere, an Italian theme dominated: show cases with Murano glass, furniture that might have come out of a Tuscan farmhouse, dark-haired waiters who spoke with Italian accents, as if Alessandro Cavallaro were everywhere to remind her, and Jerry, where she'd be going after they returned to the ship. By the time the lemon-grass-poached lobster salad, and treuette pasta with seafood, and grouper with tomato-caper sauce arrived, Andrea's stomach was so queasy, and her throat so dry, she couldn't get it down.
Jerry picked up on that, and commented, "You've barely touched your dinner."
"I'm not hungry," she said, while dabbing at the groper with the caper sauce. She wrote it off to nerves and the eyes that kept focusing on her cleavage. Yet, all she saw in Jerry's eyes was disgust. There had been a time when he'd get that twinkle in his eye, and the little crooked smile on his lips, and he'd make a comment that would have her feeling like the most desirable woman on earth, and she had been to Jerry back then. She knew without question that his eyes had been only for her. He'd never been a man to stray.
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