by Ava Dunne
“Not compared to everyone who works here,” I countered. “Do they only hire attractive people to work here?”
“Yes, actually,” said Tobias. “People pay a lot of money to come on these cruises. They want beauty in everything from the wait staff to the housekeeping staff.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“The staff plays a role on the ship as much as the entertainers do,” said Tobias. “Guests pay for a fantasy. We provide said fantasy, within certain parameters of legality and code. One has to have a certain look to work in any capacity with the public on a cruise ship. One also has to have the actual job skills and the coping skills to deal with cruise life. Looks alone won’t cut it.”
“Remember Silvio?” Roz snickered.
“Ooh, sweetie, yes!” Tobias rolled his eyes. “Silvio was as beautiful as they come. We’re talking Roman-myth-Greek-god-gorgeous. If he’d only kept his mouth shut, he’d have been perfect. But he shattered the illusion every time he spoke.”
“He had a voice good enough to do voice-overs,” said Roz. “But it was what he said that sunk him. That and the fact that he broke all the rules.”
“With passengers?”
“Guests, tried a few things with the officers, was a nasty piece of work to everyone because he thought he was so good-looking, he’d always get a free pass.” Tobias rolled his eyes again.
“Cosimo Allegheny himself came to fire him,” said Roz. “Not publicly, because our fearless cruise line owner has more class than that. But he handled the firing personally, then put the guy on his private helicopter to the nearest land mass and then on a private plane to get him home and out of our lives for good.”
“Of course, Silvio was dumb as a post and thought it was a perk that he was on a private helicopter and then a private plane,” snickered Tobias. “But, to answer your question, if there’s even a chance you’re going to be seen by a guest, looks count in this game.”
“You more than measure up,” Roz added.
Tobias placed two fingers under my chin and tilted my head up slightly. “Head up, look confident. That way, even if you do a misstep, no one will notice.”
“Trust your partner,” Roz continued. “If you feel unsure, look into Matt’s eyes. He’ll catch you.”
“I could always take down the neckline a bit.” Tobias hooked two fingers into the top of my bodice and yanked down. “Show a little more of that delicious cleavage and they’ll all be so busy watching your tits they won’t notice your feet.”
I groaned.
…
Back in my own clothes, I hurried to A deck, where the entertainment staff had cabins. Officers were up a deck, on Quartz. With windows. I found Wendy’s cabin number a few doors down from Roz’s, and knocked. There was no answer, so I knocked again.
“Open,” a groggy voice called.
I pushed open the door. The cabin was still small, with two beds and no windows, but nearly double the size of the cabin I shared with Angie. Wendy lay on the bed, her eyes ringed with smeared mascara, her ankle raised on small throw pillows.
“You!” Wendy spat out. “What do you want?”
“Amy’s making me fill in for you tonight,” I said. “I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Right. Like they’d let you dance with Matt,” Wendy sneered. Her face crumpled. “Now you want my job? Don’t you have one of your own?”
“I begged Amy to find someone else. Veronika would be great.”
“I tried to pay you. I never missed a payment with Geri.”
“I don’t want your money, Wendy. I swear. I just want your help. We can help each other.”
“Help!” Wendy gave an acid laugh. “That’s what Geri promised. Then she turned on me.”
“What happened?”
“I’m in so much pain. Hand me that pill bottle.”
“How many have you taken?”
“Geri took money. You’ll keep me in pain until I give you want you want?”
“No, I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Why the hell would you care?”
“Because we’re colleagues.”
“At least you’re not pretending we’re friends.”
“We haven’t had the chance to be friends.”
“We won’t be.” Wendy’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you want to know what Geri had on me?”
“Not if you don’t want to tell me.” I watched her.
“Did you know that I’m married?”
“I don’t know anything about you,” I kept my voice quiet.
“I am. He’s a great guy, my husband. Dances in a Broadway show. He’s a wonderful dancer. I can do this stuff, this Supper Club dance, but he’s the real deal. Gypsy chorus dancer. Studying acting. Studying singing. Living the dream.” Wendy’s eyes filled with tears. “We figured this was a great way to sock away some money. Maybe buy an apartment, have some stability. Theatre’s such a transient business. New York’s expensive. So I auditioned, I was offered a job on this ship, and I took it.”
“Do you like it?” I tried to soothe.
“I do,” said Wendy. “But I miss my husband. A lot.”
“That’s only normal.”
“I had an affair.”
I didn’t know what to say. Anything I said would come out as either condescending or judgmental. I had no right to be either.
“I mean, I slept with Dean. Who doesn’t? He’s like an initiation to ship life.” Wendy bit her lip. “But I had an affair. For months.”
“Did you love the guy?”
“No.” Wendy shook her head. “I liked him. It wasn’t love. He made me feel less lonely.”
“Geri threatened to tell your husband?”
“Not at first.” Wendy took a deep, shuddering sigh. “I had this affair, and I thought I was so careful, but then. . .I got pregnant.”
“Oh!” A wave of pity washed over me.
“It’s not that we weren’t careful, because we were. But it happened anyway. Geri was my steadfast friend through all of this. She understood how lonely I was. She didn’t judge me when I started the affair. She stood by me when I told her I was pregnant.”
“Did she encourage you to have an affair?” I asked. I wondered if Geri saw the vulnerability and gave Wendy a push.
Wendy shook her head. “I can’t blame her for that. It was my decision. My responsibility.” She looked past me. “Geri understood that I couldn’t keep the baby. Or tell my husband. My only option was to,” she broke off, not able to say the words.
“I’m sorry,” I said. My heart broke for her.
“It wasn’t an easy decision. It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make.”
“It’s never easy,” I consoled. “Nobody wants to have an abortion.”
“Geri made all the arrangements. She went with me. She took care of me when I nearly had a nervous breakdown after.” Wendy swallowed. “Then she started asking for money. Or she’d tell my husband.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” I repeated.
“Now you’re here,” said Wendy. “It all starts again.”
“No,” I shook my head.
“Geri told you all this anyway, didn’t she? That’s why you were ready to step in when she died?”
“When she was murdered.”
“I wish I’d had the courage to do it,” said Wendy. “Kill her. But I’ve never had any courage. If I was brave, I wouldn’t have had an affair. If I was brave, once I messed up so badly, I’d have been honest with my husband. How can I ever have a future with him?”
“If you love each other, you’ll find a way to figure it out,” I said. “The blackmail is over. It died with Geri.”
“I wish I could believe you,” said Wendy.
“Did you push Geri down the stairs?”
“Only in my dreams.” Wendy sank further under the covers. “I really need to go to sleep now.”
“I’ll check on you later.”
“Don’t come back.” Wend
y closed her eyes. I tip-toed out of the room and closed the door. I headed for the Supper Club to find Matt.
Moving along the decks, I saw a familiar figure ahead of me. “Sebastian!” I called.
He turned, frowning, but smoothed out his features into a half-smile when he saw me. “Sophie.”
“You heard?”
“That you’re making your dancing debut tonight? Oh, yeah, we’ve all heard.” He looked at me, full of concern. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Not at all, but I’ll give it my best shot. Will you be there?”
He hesitated. “I’ll try.”
I looked at the floor, disappointed. “Oh.”
“I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. But I will try. I’m sorry, I don’t want to put you off, but I can’t find Gary.”
“Isn’t he passed out somewhere, sleeping off all that alcohol?”
“We left him in his cabin,” said Sebastian. “When we brought him back to the ship. I went back to the pier when I heard one of the launches sank, and it was yours, and well,” he shrugged. “There was all that aftermath to worry about. Staff Captain Christakos and the Chief wanted the launch recovered and brought on board so they could examine it. Gary was too drunk to work, so Ernie and I asked his colleagues to cover him during departure. I went to check on him as soon as I could, and he’s not there. His roommate hasn’t seen him; his boss hasn’t seen him.”
“Have you checked the nearest bar?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“He’s not in CB.” Sebastian ran a hand through his hair.
“Maybe he snuck into one of the passenger bars.”
“He’s not supposed to be there.”
“If he’s drunk enough, he might not care.”
“You’re right. I’m going to check them all.” Sebastian stared at me, leaned down, and kissed me. I leaned into him with a sigh, letting my lips part, wanting more of him, but he stepped back too soon.
“What was that for?” I squeaked.
He smiled at her. “My way of wishing you luck. I’ll see you later.” He turned and walked away.
“Yeah,” I gave a half-laugh. “Later.” I dashed off to find Matt.
…
“That’s good, that’s really good.” Matt released me and took a step back. “You’ve got the Charleston down. The swing dance section is great. We have to work the transition into the Fox Trot again, but it’s good.”
“It is?” I asked.
“Yeah. You pick up the steps fast, you move smoothly. You do Vinyasa yoga, don’t you? The one that flows from pose to pose? I can tell, from the way you move. You’re a natural.”
“Thanks. And thanks for being so patient with me.”
“You never had dance training?”
“Ballet class when I was little. I took a couple of tap classes in high school, but it never went anywhere.” I bit my lip. “I have a confession. When I was eleven, I had a crush on Chip Willoughby, the richest boy in school. Not because he was rich, but because he was so sure of himself. So confident. I convinced my mom to enroll me in the ballroom dancing class at the country club where Chip’s family and their friends’ families all took class. They did it in preparation for the cotillions, when we were all seventeen. In which I never participated. I never got to dance with Chip, though. I only danced with Jimmy Addams, whose family was filthy rich, but he was considered a freak. Chip gained weight, lost his hair and his money in the 2007 financial crisis and had a nervous breakdown. Jimmy’s an astrophysicist working out of the California Institute of Technology. The Universe works in mysterious ways. I haven’t done any of this kind of dancing since I was eleven, but I had the basics.”
Matt convulsed with laughter. “That foundation’s serving you now. Chip and Jimmy would be jealous tonight.”
“Are we the only couple dancing in the club?” I asked. “I’m not sure how this works.”
“Most of the time, we have three couples,” said Matt. “A Vintage couple, a Latin couple, and a Traditional couple. Wendy and I are the Vintage Couple. We do the Charleston, the Foxtrot, the Quickstep, the Jive, some swing dancing. Dances associated with the big band era. The Latin Couple quit a few weeks ago. Something weird was going on with them, they said they were being threatened. Rumor is, they wanted out of the contract to audition for a reality show. When Arabella and Ray signed on after Dance-aholics, the Mainstage show featured more ballroom and Latin-style in that production to showcase them. Management decided to wait before bringing in another couple do Latin style in the Supper Club.”
“That sounds complicated.”
Matt laughed. “I’m just getting started. Our Traditional Couple — they did Waltz, Tango, Cha Cha, Quadrille, early Renaissance dances, Tarantella, and folk dances when needed — she got pregnant and he tripped over a deck chair at the crew pool and broke his foot. They’re married, so no big scandal there. They haven’t been replaced yet. Management’s having auditions in Miami this week.” He shook his head. “On the upside, that means Wendy and I each have a private room until they slot someone in with us. But until the replacements get here, all the Supper Club dancing falls on us. We mostly do swing dancing, with the band, throw in some Charleston and a Fox Trot. If we get away with tonight, maybe we could add in some Tango tomorrow?”
The thought of doing a Tango was persuasive, but I didn’t want to go beyond my reach. “Let’s see how I make it through tonight, okay?”
“Fine,” Matt promised.
“We don’t have to dance with the passengers, I mean, guests, do we?”
“No. The hosts do that. We’re there to dance with each other and inspire people to get out on the floor.” He held out his hands. “Ready to run it one more time?”
…
People ran in and out of the tiny dressing room to offer congratulations and best wishes so often that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get dressed. “I don’t know who most of these people are,” I whispered to Matt at one point.
“They know you,” Matt returned. “And they’ll know you even better by the end of the evening.”
“At least I don’t have time to get nervous.” Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up became my internal mantra.
Matt finally shooed everyone out. Roz shot over from the theatre (“I’ve got a five minute break during this number, I can at least throw the dress on you”), and I let Roz fuss before dashing back to her stage. Tobias brought the hair and makeup person, whose name I promptly forgot, and felt guilty for forgetting. The hairdresser tamed my red-blonde curls into a Marcel Wave, using so much product and hairspray I thought I would choke to death. But, along with help from the make-up, they hid the bruise I’d gotten when I went overboard.
“Should we do this out on the deck?” I coughed.
“The vents will pull out the fumes,” the woman assured.
I stared in the mirror. Bronze, flapper-style dress, bronze character shoes, Marcelled hair, dark red lipstick, more eyeliner than I ever wore in life, and dark charcoal shadow. False eyelashes. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn false eyelashes before, not even on Halloween.”
“They suit you.”
“They’re heavy. It feels like I’m sleepy.” I stared at my reflection. “I look like a different person,” I said. “Thank you.” If I looked like a different person, maybe I could dance like a different person. Like a good dancer.
“You’re going to be fabulous,” said the hairdresser.
Matt, dressed in a snappy suit with front-creased trousers, a bowtie, and a fedora, came in and gave a low whistle. “You look like the cat’s pajamas, my partner.”
I grinned. “Thanks.” Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up.
He offered his arm. “Ready?”
“No,” I laughed. “But let’s do this anyway.”
…
The walls of the Supper Club were draped in a cream faux silk. The tablecloths were a similar fabric, with a rosier tint. Gold and sil
ver low candleholders gave a sense of romance, which was, in fact, provided by carefully gelled lights. The band was up on one side of the room, on a raised platform, playing. The clink of glasses and silverware and the hum of conversation, often broken by laughter floated into the air, muted by the fabric on the walls.
I dared to glance out from under my false eyelashes. “Everyone’s dressed up,” I whispered.
“Dress code here,” Matt responded.
“I feel like a princess.” The urge to throw up passed.
“You’re going to dance like an angel, Angel,” he grinned.
The music changed as Matt led me to the center of the dance floor, and the lights shifted, giving us a special pool of radiance. I looked into Matt’s eyes, listened for the music, and let my body take over.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“THAT WAS FUN!” I EXCLAIMED, as Matt swept me into a hug. We danced the entire routine, and danced the first few dances to encourage the Supper Club patrons to join us on the floor. The waves of approval washed over me, as warm as the tropical seas in which we’d swum earlier in the day. Not as deadly, either. It was a heady, exuberant experience, and I understood why people loved it. Who wouldn’t love to be awash in admiration and applause every night?
As Matt and I danced, I looked up to see familiar faces hovering at the back of the room: Roz, London, Harmonia, Andrew, Ewan, Viktor, the Chief. I caught sight of Sebastian for a brief moment, but after Matt spun me around, the space in which he’d been standing was empty. Duncan stood with his back to one of the silk walls, exaggerating his applause. I couldn’t decide if I was happy he’d come to see me, or if I’d rather he hadn’t.
Stella and Bartholomew floated past us on the floor, getting as many envious looks as we had during our routine. Bartholomew’s earlier food poisoning offered no detriment to his dance skills.
“You were amazing,” said Matt. “Truly. Not a lot of people could have picked up the routine in just a couple of hours and pulled it off.”
“I nearly tripped over my own feet in that one spot,” I confessed.
“You recovered, and you were smiling, so no one noticed.”
“So I guess it’s true? A big smile, show some cleavage, and they don’t notice mistakes?” The sensation was close to being drunk.