Caribbean Crossroads

by Connie E Sokol

  Megan turned back to the gentleman. Something seemed familiar. “Do I know—wait a minute, do you use the treadmills?”

  He broke into a toothy smile that had to be the best dentures money could buy. “That’s me. Thirty minutes every day. Arthritis and two hip replacements can’t stop me. Used to ballroom dance too”—he swiveled his hips—“but you just can’t find a good partner these days. All the women are too tired.” He raised his eyebrows in a flirtatious gesture.

  Megan laughed and chatted for a few more minutes until he moved down the informal lineup. Watching him leave she caught Bryant’s eye again. He was talking but looked at her, then looked at her, and turned back to his conversation. Megan shivered from the top of her spine to her toes. That look would be the death of her—focused, packed with some kind of energy. But what did it mean? She saw past his shoulder to Brittany’s face who then turned back to the line.

  As the loud woman moved on, Bryant made as if to walk over to Megan. She panicked for no convincing reason and slipped to the lemonade table on the pretense of getting a drink. Thankfully, Bryant was intercepted by another adoring fan.

  Pouring herself a drink of raspberry something, Megan half-listened to the conversations around her, thinking through her confusing reactions to Bryant. One moment a shiver, the next pure panic.

  Why couldn’t she figure out these emotions? And why did she feel so comfortable around him, so ready to let down when only her white knuckle vigilance kept her from doing so? He was so easy to be with. But that was friendly Bryant, wasn’t it? He was a Premier Performer, this is how they behaved, why they were successful. It was acting, or playing games—they were on a cruise ship, after all.

  But being around him didn’t feel like an act. It just felt . . . good, like a best friend. Like Sam. At least, when she wasn’t being hostile. But that was her only protection. And yet, it wasn’t working. It only seemed to provoke more annoying attention.

  Megan sighed and sipped her drink. An acquaintance. Yes, that was the best way to respond to him. Chad was an acquaintance, and thoroughly pleasant while hardly saying two words. That would work, Megan nodded to herself. Okay, no more hostility. Her best defense was Courteous Acquaintance. Bryant was merely a distant, casual co-worker. Who just happened to be an easygoing, enjoyable person to talk to, when she wasn’t being rude and annoying. And a caramel blond, six-pack ab-sporting, butter-melting male.

  Stop it. You are not interested in anyone or anything right now, except peace, rest, and getting your life back after this tour.

  Resolved, Megan glanced over the cast in line, resting finally on Brittany. Brittany Shay Weller, star Premier Performer, and seemingly nice person. Possibly. How serious had it really been between her and Bryant? Jillian said that Brittany had been making wedding plans. That was pretty serious. A fingerling of nausea crept through her stomach. She knew wedding plans could be a universe away from actually getting married. But what had he felt? And still felt? Sometimes he and Brittany seemed so professional, without any feeling at all. At others, the way Brittany looked at him, gazed at him, made Megan wonder.

  Of course, it could just be Brittany’s competitiveness to be on the Intrepid. Or it could be Megan’s imagination.

  At that moment, Brittany crossed over to Bryant, both of them shaking hands with a familiar passenger standing with Marvy, all laughing at some shared information. Megan stared for a moment at the happy comfortable trio, all bedecked and sparkling.

  Sudden and heavy, a sinking truth hit the bottom of her stomach. Megan breathed in to soften it. Who was she kidding? She could play dress up but the reality was, she didn’t fit in. Beautiful people like them shone in this cruise world—she didn’t. She belonged with a tennis racket, or a book. Or real and familiar friends.

  With the scene like a snapshot in her mind, Megan put down the drink as a hard place in her throat started to form. Abruptly, she turned to leave and bumped into a corpulent woman draped in expensive jewelry standing by the door. She gave Megan a peculiar smile.

  “I’m so sorry,” Megan said.

  “No harm done, I’d have done the same, trying to be coy with a catch like him.” She glanced at Bryant.

  “A catch—no, I’m—I was just thirsty, that’s all,” said Megan but she stopped, feeling the woman’s candid expression. These nosy, elderly women.

  “Bryant is a catch, and good as gold,” she said, folding reading glasses.

  “Oh, do you know him?” said Megan, not knowing what else to say.

  “Oh yes, we go back a few years. But you’re new. You’re the girl who fell in the show last night.”

  Megan gaped. “How did you know that?” She really did not like this woman.

  “Oh, don’t take it personally, we notice everything. Especially the fact that Bryant’s been watching you for about thirty minutes, wherever you are in the room. Did you know that?”

  “No—I mean, how did you—” Of all the tactless . . .

  “—he’s got loads of girls after him, I’m sure. Most particularly one, I would imagine.”

  “That’s absolutely fine with me. Birds of a feather,” said Megan, feeling heated. She was done with Nosy Woman. “Superficial lavish environments draw a certain type, don’t you think? If you’ll excuse me—” She wanted to leave, right now, before the threatening tears came to the front.

  The woman only chuckled and adjusted her diamond encrusted necklace, making no room for Megan to pass. “Take my unasked-for advice, don’t waste a minute. He’s got a good eye.”

  The woman shrewdly surveyed the room then stared hard at Megan. “When he finally figures it out, poor lamb, he does know what he wants. And is willing to wait for it.” With a smile and a touch on Megan’s arm, she added, “But don’t make him wait too long.” She moved across the room, being stopped midway by Tag for an enthusiastic hand-pump.

  Just as Megan considered what to do—find out the woman’s name or leave immediately—she saw Bryant, his head naturally above the rest, staring unapologetically at her with that half-smile.

  I’m a Courteous Acquaintance, Megan wanted to shout. Men. So confusing, and not worth the energy to figure them out. Exasperated, she turned toward the door, this time intercepted by a bubbling Chalise.

  “What did she say? I can’t believe you talked with her. Did you find out what they’ve decided?”

  Megan stepped back. “What are you talking about? Who—that lady?”

  “That lady?” Chalise was between incredulity and confusion. “That was the Mrs. Dolores Van De Morelle, didn’t you know?”

  Megan shot a glance through the room and saw Mrs. Van De Morelle approach Bryant and say something, to which he laughed and bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek. She turned to the cast members on either side and received a polite hug from them.

  Megan groaned. The woman with the money, power, and now obvious adoration for Bryant. And Megan had practically dissed her, him, and the cruise ship.

  Would she ever get it right?

  ***

  Heading back to her room, Megan met Rosa in the hallway, folding and stacking towels on her cleaning cart, looking more tired than usual.

  “Como esta, Rosa?”

  “Bery good, Megan McCormick. Your Spanish get bery good.”

  Megan smiled at the obvious exaggeration. “You tired? Como se dice ‘tired’?”

  “Cansado. And yees,” Rosa stopped and leaned on the overloaded cart. “Yees, I tired.”

  Megan smiled sympathetically, then had an idea. “Rosa, if you had your dream, what would you do instead?”

  Rosa’s eyes moved slightly in thought. “I go to America and start cleaning, how you say, business? And I ’ave many peoples to hire, and we teach each other bery well, do good work, for bery good price. I clean long time back for big houses, but…” a darkness passed over her face. “Dey were, how you say, big drug people.”

  “You mean, like a drug cartel?” Megan wondered again just what this girl had seen pre
-cruise life.

  “Yees, but bery nice to me. But I no stay. Bery young. So I tell them I go work on a ship, and they say okay. I sign papers. Now, I make not so much money. But I know lots things in cleanings, good ideas. I make myself cleaners, no? Lemon juice, bake soda, vinegar, dees all bery good. No hurt de tile.” She shrugged.

  Megan felt a mix of surprise and irony. Rosa obviously had imagined her life, and was not able to live it. Megan could hardly envision her life anymore, but had every chance of achieving it.

  Looking at Rosa, Megan smiled, feeling a deep respect and appreciation for her. “Rosa, you are a good lady. Como se dice ‘good lady’?”

  She smiled. “Megan McCormick.”

  Megan laughed, gave her a quick side hug, and headed back to her room feeling a warmth about the sweet girl. Rosa only needed a boost, something to help her catapult from here to America, and her dream. Megan thought about it as she dressed in her pajamas, lying awake for a half hour before she had something of a plan.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sweaty from her early morning run, Megan entered the girl’s cabin surprised to see Jillian still there. She had run longer on purpose, sure her roommates would be at breakfast by now. The last thing she wanted was more ridiculous speculation on her and Bryant, especially when there was nothing there, right?

  Besides, she had wanted time to think of more important things. After a few days of ruminating and talking with Rosa, she had just about finalized a plan, for Rosa anyway. The other issue—How to Behave as a Courteous Acquaintance—was still a bit hazy. She’d simply kept her distance from That Person, both of them silently respecting an ignore-each-other truce. Although a few times she had seen him look at her with that intense math problem stare, right before she clearly turned away. And, it was true she’d noticed the outline of his chest muscles beneath the flimsy renaissance white shirt for the pirates’ number. But then, what girl wouldn’t? No, she was safe in her self-promise. No men, no worries.

  Jillian was tying her sneakers. “Ah, she returns.”

  Megan made a face as she grabbed a hand towel. “Gotta question for you—who would I talk to about helping an employee on the cruise line get another job?”

  Jillian stopped mid-tying. “Why, are you quitting?”

  “No, no—not me. There’s a Latino girl that works here and I think she could make something better of herself, with the right help.”

  Jillian continued tying. “Meddling, are we? The real decision-maker is Mrs. Van De Morelle. She’s the king, queen, and House of Commons.”

  “But how do I get to her? She’s like this invisible icon.”

  Jillian laughed, then laughed again, hurrying to put on earrings. “This is actually a beautiful thing.” She turned to Megan with a triumphant smile. “She and Bryant are pretty close from what I hear. Very mother and adopted son-ish, at least out at sea.”

  Megan frowned. “Just exactly why are you looking at me like that, and saying ‘Bryant’ in that tone?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Megs. I’m your dear old pal and college roommate, remember? I’m the one who bailed you out of the Eric Granger date disaster without you having to say a word. One look at your face, I knew exactly what was going on. It’s the same with B-boy. You’re into him.”

  “What—into—are you out of your mind?”

  “Skip it, I know you like him. And he obviously digs you, despite the horrible wardrobe. So what’s the hold up?” She aggressively brushed her long blonde hair.

  Megan was about to deny it again, but stopped at Jillian’s insistent expression and walked to her bunk instead. She sat down hard. Right here is what made Jillian so annoying—she cut to the chase and made you own up to yourself, like it or not.

  Megan took a deep breath and stared at Jillian.

  “All right, I can’t like him,” she said. “It’s just not right to like someone on a cruise ship. In a show. That’s a blond, 6’ 2” dancer, who’s also a former basketball star. It’s so utterly cliché, it’s disgusting. This is a fairy-tale setting, the most unreal setting you can get, except for maybe being stranded on a tropical island, and I don’t rule that out at this point.”

  “So”—Jillian sat down across from her on the opposite bunk, brush in hand—“you won’t allow yourself to like him because it’s too fairy-tale good?”

  “No, because it’s just too fairy-tale, period. You know how these performer types can be, excepting Derek of course. I mean, he works weird hours and it’s not even a real job. And when he gets back to the mainland the family business is waiting for him but he doesn’t want it, but can’t commit to something else. At twenty-seven! Talk about an unsafe bet. The only thing that’s remotely appealing about him is the way he looks like he’s figuring out the tip on a receipt all the time. And the way he helps—okay, I’ll give you that, always carrying things for Marvy and helping the girls with the costume tubs. Bringing Clint some orange juice for his hypoglycemia. And yes, he’s like an Adonis but in a next-door-guy way, but like that matters to me. Sure he’s easy to talk to when there’s not this—this tension between us, which, okay, I admit is mostly because of me. But there’s still something that’s not quite right about him, which I can’t figure out. And I get that he’s fun to be with, when he’s not got that annoying smirk on his face, which actually reminds me of Sam. But other than that, I ask you, rationally, what’s there to really fall for here?”

  Jillian stared at Megan for a moment then shook her head. “Wow. You’ve got it bad.” With a consoling look she patted Megan’s knee. “The good news is that I’m here and you will not get away with hiding from Abs Man, nor ruining your chance for something good. Big Sister Jillian’s got your back.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Remember your promise,” said Megan, starting to worry. She’d just opened up with her unspoken feelings and now they would be used against her?

  Jillian walked to the door, dropping her brush on the vanity counter.

  “Campaign promises, my Megs. Oh, and I have a message for you from a certain someone.” She stood with a sly smile.

  Megan was about to reply when she realized what Jillian had said. She dabbed her forehead with the towel feigning boredom, though her insides felt a small swirl.

  “Someone asked specifically to have breakfast with you.”

  “I’m not hungry.” This was suddenly true.

  She paused dramatically. “It was Brittany Shay Weller—don’t forget the Shay—and she personally requested you meet her at the Satrboard Dining Room. At nine thirty.” She added a Princess Wave.

  “You are evil,” said Megan, as Jillian closed the door behind her.

  What in the world would Brittany want to talk to her about?

  ***

  Thirty minutes later Megan entered the almost empty Starboard Dining Room. She felt slightly nauseous, praying in conversation she wouldn’t betray any supposed interest in Bryant, while at the same time not seeming unnaturally uninterested. Maybe Brittany wanted to tell her mitts off, he was still hers. Or maybe that she stunk doing salsa. Or tips on how to do a Princess Wave.

  Brittany caught Megan’s eye and motioned her over.

  “You got my message, terrific. I hope this is okay for you?” She smiled openly, completely disarming. In an odd flash, Megan remembered visiting a tiger exhibit in the zoo as a child. That part had been the most intriguing to her. Beautiful, tropical surroundings. Soft, thick fur.

  Big teeth.

  Sitting down, Megan dismissed the image knowing the unfair judgment came only because Brittany was a former flame of Bryant’s. And, that she was gorgeous. And nice.

  Grrr.

  A waiter approached. Everyone usually did the buffet but Brittany preferred a waiter.

  “Eduardo, do you have freshly squeezed orange juice?” The enamel sentinels stood at charming attention.

  “Si.” Eduardo smoothed his hair.

  “How long ago was it squeezed?”

  “Half an hour.”

&nbs
p; “Can you have them squeeze some fresh?”

  “Si, Senorita Brittany.”

  “And bring the two American specials,” she inquired at Megan. “I ordered ahead and had them kept warm, is that all right?” Megan nodded. Brittany turned back to Eduardo, smiling again, who bowed and with a lingering deferential look, made for the kitchen.

  Megan played with her water glass.

  Brittany shifted in her seat. “Listen, I haven’t had a chance before now to really talk. It’s been a bit crazy with the board and their constant networking needs, with all they’re trying to change up. Seeing as my mother has an ad-hoc seat, I get roped into a lot of things.”

  Megan couldn’t figure out for the life of her where this was going. Brittany ran a finger through her sweeping white-blonde bangs.

  “What I wanted to say was—well, to apologize for opening night.” Brittany stared straight at Megan without flinching. “It was my fault, all mine. I already spoke to Clint about it.”

  Megan opened her mouth slightly. “Really? I—”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind. Some things, wonderful things, are happening and I did not have my head in the game. It wasn’t like me. Well, not usually on opening night.” She shrugged. Disarmingly sweet and genuine. Bummer.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” said Megan, cautiously. “I was fairly sure it was me. Likely still was, in some form, anyway.”

  “Well, I wanted to clear the air. About a few things.” She paused, tipping her head to one side slightly, as if thinking how to approach her next thought. “I understand—I’m aware of some conversation, and, well, let’s just say, in case people are wondering, Bryant and I are”—she paused for the right words—“not an item. Not in any sense, not for a long time now.”

  Conversation? Ah, the girl chat at the Meet & Greet.

  Megan hoped her face didn’t bely panic, and immediately wondered how much Brittany knew. Thankfully, Eduardo arrived with the fresh juice and breakfast plates, then excused himself with a low bow. Megan busied herself with the food. Not an item. Not for a long time.