Pleasure Cruise

by Yolanda Wallace

  “You’re the boss. This week, anyway. Next time, it’ll be someone else’s turn.”

  “If this week doesn’t go well, there might not be a next time.”

  Breanna’s smile didn’t falter. “With the two of us in charge, what could possibly go wrong?”

  Amy hoped neither of them would get the chance to find out. For their sake as well as the company’s.

  The crowd, already buzzing with excitement, whooped when the stage manager dimmed the lights. Amy expected the cheers to subside when she walked onstage, but they only grew in intensity.

  She held her hand against her ear, egging the crowd on. She knew the cheers weren’t for her but what she represented: the true beginning of a trip some of the women smiling back at her had waited weeks, months, or a lifetime to take. She applauded along with them as the SOS Tours theme song blasted from the speakers.

  “Welcome, Sisters of Sappho,” she said when the song ended and the members of the crowd settled back into their seats. “My name is Amy Donovan and I’ll be your cruise director this week. I talked with some of you today and I hope to spend time with the rest of you in the days and nights to come.”

  She held a hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare of the spotlight shining on her as she peered into the crowd. She saw several familiar faces from previous trips and spotted a few new ones she had met during that afternoon’s check-in process, but she didn’t see the face she was hoping to see the most: Spencer’s. Had Spencer decided to skip the show in order to avoid having another awkward run-in with her or had she found entertainment elsewhere? She made a mental note to check with Breanna later to see if Spencer dropped in on the Indies networking event in the Reverie bar on the lido deck. Or maybe she’d cut out the middleman and attend the event herself. The more, the merrier. Wasn’t that how the old saying went?

  “I won’t stay out here too long. I know you’re looking forward to watching Reagan Carter perform just as much as I am.” The young singer was known for her soulful voice as well as the complex melodies that showcased her powerful pipes. Today, however, she would be performing a stripped-down acoustic set for a highly-anticipated change of pace.

  “Right now, I’m enjoying watching you,” someone called out.

  Amy laughed as a series of wolf whistles made their way around the room. “Let’s see if you still feel that way after I go over the housekeeping items on my list.”

  Returning travelers groaned because they knew what was about to come next: the usual announcements about respecting each other’s personal boundaries as well as the daily reminder of the importance of smokers confining themselves to designated areas so the fumes from their cigarettes, cigars, or pipes wouldn’t disturb those who didn’t partake. No matter how many times she made the plea, someone always chose to ignore it, necessitating yet another admonishment the following night. Amy hated that part of her job, but she was willing to put up with it in order to continue experiencing the give-and-take with the audience.

  “Thank you for choosing to travel with SOS Tours. Returnees, welcome back. Newbies, welcome to the family. This is going to be a great week, so let’s get it started. Sisters of Sappho, please welcome Reagan Carter!”

  She ceded the stage to the night’s headliner and watched from the wings as Reagan began to perform. Reagan was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her casual outfit mirroring her no-frills setup. She sat on a stool in the center of the stage, an acoustic guitarist on one side and a bongo player on the other. She closed her eyes and began to sing. The crowd hung on every soaring note—and begged for more when the forty-minute set came to an end. Reagan obliged with one encore, a spirited rendition of the Tracy Chapman cover that had first launched her into the public eye.

  Amy applauded with everyone else as Reagan took her final bows. Forcing herself to become a professional again instead of a fan, she escorted Reagan and her entourage off the ship so the captain could weigh anchor.

  “That crowd had some serious energy,” Reagan said as she and her girlfriend prepared to disembark. “I’ll have to do one of these trips again sometime as a passenger instead of a performer.”

  “We look forward to having you back.”

  Amy watched them go, then joined the dozens of women lining the railing as they prepared for the ship to head out to sea. The ship’s horn let out two long, loud blasts, forcing everyone to cover their ears. Amy felt her adrenaline race as the large craft slowly began to move. The trip was officially underway.

  Her ears were still ringing from the cheers of the concertgoers in the theater as well as the roar of the crowd on deck so she almost missed the distinctive crackle as her walkie-talkie came to life.

  “Houston,” Breanna said, “we have a problem.”

  * * *

  Spencer claimed an empty stool in front of the bar and took a look around the room. The walls of the Reverie were painted various shades of electric blue, the traditional bar seats had been replaced by comfy chaise lounges or even comfier daybeds, and the light fixtures overhead looked like clouds forming in a dusky sky. Paintings and illustrations that seemed more like Salvador Dali fever dreams were interspersed throughout. The place could have doubled as the backdrop for a Cirque du Soleil performance instead of a spot to grab a quick drink or spark up a conversation. Spencer half-expected to see a sad-faced clown or a scantily clad acrobat appear at any moment.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  The question drew Spencer out of her trance. She was disappointed to see the bartender who had posed it, a perky brunette with an accent that screamed New England, was dressed in a polo shirt and shorts instead of one of the more elaborate outfits she had been imagining. She reached for one of the drink menus scattered across the bar top and examined the list of specials. The names were almost as colorful as the drinks themselves. Tangerine Dream. Neon Nightmare Negroni. Pomegranate Delusion. Fairytale Fantasy.

  Spencer wanted to order something festive to celebrate the start of the first vacation she’d had in years, but she didn’t want to wander around with what looked like a glass of windshield wiper fluid in her hands. She opted to go with something traditional instead of something trendy.

  “I’ll have a dry martini.”

  “Shaken, not stirred, right?”

  The question didn’t come from the bartender but from someone to Spencer’s left. Spencer turned to see a woman with close-cropped platinum hair, dancing gray eyes, and a mischievous smile standing next to her. The laugh lines around the woman’s eyes and mouth said she was a good fifteen to twenty years older than Spencer, but her gym-toned body and stylized haircut made her exact age as hard to determine as her motives. Was she simply making conversation, or was she on the make?

  “Is there any other way?” Spencer asked.

  The woman’s smile broadened. “There’s always another way to do things, but there’s only one right one.” She indicated the seat next to Spencer. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Spencer took a peek over her shoulder. The bar was only half-full, so the woman had her choice of seats. But she was wearing an Indie necklace, too, so she was probably feeling just as alone as Spencer was. “Feel free.”

  The woman took a seat and ordered a martini of her own. “Extra dirty. Kind of like me,” she added with a wink. She held out her hand to Spencer and introduced herself. “I’m Hannah Rogers. And you are?”

  “Spencer Collins.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m a real estate agent.” Hannah’s handshake was so firm Spencer had been expecting to hear her say she crushed bricks for a living. “What do you do?”

  “I’m in IT.”

  “So if I’m having issues with my computer, you’re the person I should call to tell me to reboot and try again?”

  Spencer couldn’t count how many times she had heard that line. Sometimes, though, a simple restart was all that was needed to fix a problem that seemed unsolvable. Perhaps this trip would be the reboot she needed to get her sys
tems working again. “More like I’m the person who prevents you from having the issue in the first place.”

  “So you’re a computer technician?”

  “Not quite, but you’re getting warmer. My teammates and I write the scripts for the antivirus software that prevents end users from having unwanted intrusions.”

  “Is that a nice way of saying it’s your job to protect me from myself?”

  “No one can prevent people from succumbing to the urge to click on suspect links or attachments in malicious email—that’s why hackers keep sending it out in droves—but I try to limit the damage.”

  “Cheers to that.” Hannah took a sip of her drink and looked Spencer up and down. The examination was naked in its appraisal, leaving Spencer feeling exposed even though she was fully clothed. It had been a long time since she’d been subjected to a look like that. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable, but it excited her a little, too. Hannah’s attention made her feel desirable, something she had started to wonder if she would ever feel again. “With that accent, I’m guessing you’re from someplace south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”

  “Guilty as charged. I’m from a small town in southwest Georgia, but the company I work for is headquartered in Seattle.”

  “Really?” Hannah arched a well-manicured eyebrow. “That’s where I’m from. My office is in Seattle, but I live in Kirkland, which is about twenty minutes away from the city center. How often are you in the area?”

  “I work remotely so I only have to put in face time a few times a year. When I’m there, I don’t see much more than the designated meeting space and my hotel room.”

  “I used to think nothing could be better than working from home—it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than renting office space—but I’ve gotten used to the routine of getting up, getting dressed, and heading to work.”

  “So have I, but my commute is a lot shorter than yours.”

  “Touché.” Hannah raised her glass in a toast. “You should give me a call the next time you’re out my way. If you haven’t paid a visit to some of our local attractions, you’re missing out. There’s more to Seattle than overpriced souvenirs in the Space Needle and smelly guys tossing raw fish in Pike Place Market. I’d love to show you the things publishers don’t print in the guidebooks. You haven’t lived until you’ve visited the Gum Wall in Post Alley in the heart of summer or snacked on steamed oysters next to a roaring fire on a crisp fall night.”

  “That does sound pretty good. I’ve been living off junk food for so long I can’t remember what a real meal tastes like.”

  “It’s about time you changed that.”

  It was about time she changed a lot of things.

  “Are you here for the mixer, or are you meeting someone?” she asked.

  “Both, actually.” Hannah slid an olive off her swizzle stick with her teeth. “I’m traveling with a friend, but she prefers to be fashionably late for everything. I keep telling her she’ll probably be late to her own funeral.”

  “Why rush when you’re the guest of honor? It’s not like they can start without you.”

  “That’s what Bonnie says. I wish she were here. You two would probably get on swimmingly. She’s always had a weakness for Southern belles. She gets positively weak in the knees every time Gone with the Wind airs on TV.”

  Spencer laughed. “I don’t think anyone would ever mistake me for Scarlett O’Hara.”

  “No, I can’t picture you ever wearing a set of curtains as a ball gown, but I bet you’d look smashing in one of Rhett Butler’s suits.”

  Spencer felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. “Are you and Bonnie together?”

  “As in are we a couple? God, no. Neither of us is cut out for traditional relationships. In my mind, two’s company, but three’s a good start.” Hannah trailed a finger across the back of Spencer’s hand. “In case you’re wondering, real estate isn’t my only area of expertise.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I hope you do.” Hannah pulled a business card from the pocket of her Capri pants and wrote something on the back. “In my business, it pays not to beat around the bush so I’m not going to do that now. If you’re in the market for a new place to stay,” she said, tapping the front of the card, “here’s my contact information.” She spun the card around. “If you’re looking for a bit of adventure this week and don’t feel like going ashore, you can find me here.”

  Spencer recognized the cabin number scrawled on the back of the card as one of the high-end suites she had passed as she tried to find her way to her own stateroom. Hannah wasn’t lacking for either money or assertiveness. That much was obvious. “Thanks for the card. If I ever decide to relocate to Seattle, I know who to call.”

  The sound of relieved laughter drew Spencer’s attention across the room. She turned to find Amy and a woman with long black hair and tawny skin that hinted at Hawaiian or Polynesian roots standing in the doorway.

  Hannah followed Spencer’s line of sight. “Don’t even think about it. I can’t blame you on either score, but believe me when I say they’re both lost causes.”

  “Why? Are they an item?”

  “I don’t know if they’re sleeping with each other, but what I do know is they’re not allowed to sleep with clients. Company policy. It’s not in the brochure, but someone needs to add it to the fine print to keep people from getting their hopes up.”

  “People like me, you mean?”

  “People like any lesbian with a pulse. I think we both fit that description, don’t you?”

  Hannah gave Spencer a pat on the back. Spencer liked hanging out with her. She hoped their chance meeting wouldn’t prove to be a one-time thing. Even though Hannah wasn’t what she was looking for romantically, Spencer could tell she was exactly what she needed in a friend. Someone who wasn’t afraid to laugh at herself and who knew how to have a good time. Maybe she would take her up on her offer. For dinner, that was. At the moment, sleeping with one woman was a stretch. If she tried to sleep with two at the same time, she might pull a muscle. Not to mention the kind of effect it would have on her heart.

  “You two look happy about something,” Hannah said after Amy and the woman with her joined them at the bar.

  The woman’s name tag read, “Breanna.” Spencer realized she must be the woman Amy had mentioned earlier. The person who was in charge of keeping the Indies entertained this week.

  Breanna jerked a thumb in Amy’s direction. “False alarms tend to have that effect when you’re as high-strung as this one is.”

  “What happened?” Spencer asked.

  Amy and Breanna exchanged a look. “You might as well tell them,” Breanna said with a shrug. “It’s a relatively small ship. The rest of the passengers are bound to hear about it sooner or later anyway.”

  As she apparently debated whether to take Breanna’s advice, Amy opened one of the two bottles of mineral water she and Breanna had ordered and took a sip. “The security team received several reports of gunfire,” she eventually said, “but the culprit turned out to be a guest who has never been on a cruise before and brought her collection of video games with her to help her stay calm. She started playing one after we weighed anchor, but she had the sound turned up too loud on her console and spooked some of the people in the rooms near hers. They thought someone was trying to take over the ship.”

  Spencer nodded. “She must have been playing Grand Theft Auto, Battlefield, or Mortal Combat. Their violence quotient is pretty high and the game content is so realistic, people often mistake it for the real thing. What kind of system was she using? Xbox? Nintendo? Android? PS4?” She had thought about bringing one of her portable systems along, but she hadn’t wanted to seem like an even bigger nerd than she already was. If she had followed her instincts, she could have found one of those kindred spirits she was looking for. Talk about a missed opportunity.

  “Are you a gamer?” Amy asked.

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “Because
this is the most excited I’ve seen you get since you’ve been on board.” Amy grinned. “Concerts by Grammy-winning artists don’t do much for you, but video games do, huh?”

  “Since I work on computers all day, you’d think I’d want to stay far away from them at night, but gaming helps me relax. When I pick up the controls and put on my headset, the hours fly by.” Sometimes, the voices of the people she was playing against constituted the only human contact she had all day. She’d once thought that would be enough. Now she wasn’t so sure. Being here stirred a sense of community. A sense of belonging. She wanted more of both. And she wanted more of Amy Donovan. “Do you field calls like that often?”

  “Like that particular one, no, but I am constantly on the go. It’s part of the job.”

  “Better you than me,” Breanna said. “I’d rather help a roomful of strangers break the ice than run around putting out fires.”

  “To each her own,” Hannah said. “Do you need some help getting set up?”

  “Sure,” Breanna said. “I thought we could play a few games of bingo, SOS Tours-style, to help the participants get to know each other better. You can help me round up players and pass out the game cards.”

  “I know bingo isn’t as action-packed as the games you’re used to,” Amy said, “but would you like to play, Spencer?”

  “Maybe. How does it work?”

  “It’s not too far removed from traditional bingo.” Amy handed her one of the game cards. Words instead of numbers were printed in each of the twenty-five squares. “The object of the game is to find someone who is or has done each of the items listed. The first person to write a name in all twenty-five squares wins.”

  Spencer read some of the entries. “Plays on a softball team. Has at least one cat. Loves to cook. Has a caffeine addiction. I can write my own name in most of these boxes.”

  “That’s the catch. You’re not allowed to use your own name, and you can’t write down anyone else’s name more than once. Here. I’ll help you get started.” Amy pointed to the square in the center of the game card. “Hates chocolate. That would be me.”