Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  He showered, dressed in white slacks and a white T-shirt, slipped on white sneakers and went down to the ship’s galley, where he got two large containers of coffee and some doughnuts. Then he bought a red rose from the florist and returned to his room. He stashed the coffee in a thermal bag and phoned Jeannetta.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Mason. We’ve got a date in half an hour, remember?”

  “You’re making this up. What time is it?”

  “Five-sixteen.”

  “In the afternoon?”

  He laughed. One of these days he was going to roll her over on her back and love her until she was fully awake.

  “You promised to see the sunrise with me, so get up, unless you want everybody on this ship to hear me banging on your door.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t have any proof of that, so you’d better play it safe and get up. Want me to get a passkey and join you?”

  “Alright. Alright. I’m getting up. You’re a hard man, Fenwick.”

  He wondered at her wistful manner when she opened the door, until she asked him, “Would the captain really have given you the key to my room?”

  “Not in a million years, but I figured you were too sleepy to question it. Come on, let’s get a good spot on deck.” He let his gaze roam quickly over her and breathed deeply when he didn’t detect outward signs of illness. She had her normal color, clear eyes, and steady gait.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. A couple of aspirin took care of my headache.”

  He relaxed. Maybe he’d been concerned without cause. “In that case, I could have kissed you good morning.” He shoved two chairs close together, and they sat facing the sea. He removed the lids from the containers of coffee and gave her one, and she closed her eyes, sniffed the familiar aroma, and smiled her delight. He didn’t remember deriving so much joy from giving a woman a simple pleasure. He reached into the thermal bag, took out the rose and handed it to her. She’d never know how he prayed that she wouldn’t drop it.

  “Lean over here,” she commanded. “This level of sweetness deserves a hug.”

  He accepted her quick caress, and held his tongue when he wanted to tell her that he’d like to have more, that he needed a steady diet of her. Instead, he said, “I was hoping for something more substantial.” But he didn’t look at her, because he knew she’d see in his eyes what his lips had wanted to say. He passed her one of the doughnuts.

  “Here. Try this.” For two cents, he’d take her in his arms and...

  “Oh, Mason, look!” He let his gaze follow her line of vision. Red, gray, pink, and purple images greeted him from above, like multi-hued mountains resting amid the clouds. Red-and-blue shadows hovered over the sea, painting the shallow waves, and the sun began its slow, upward climb.

  “It’s breathtaking,” she exclaimed. He stopped looking at the awesome display and turned to watch her, stunned by the longing that he’d heard in her voice. Something wasn’t right. Half an hour later, with the spectacle over and nature busy clouding up the sky, he walked her back to her room.

  “I wouldn’t have missed that sight for anything, but if you hadn’t dragged me out, I’d never have seen it. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “The pleasure was mine. Coming down for breakfast?”

  She shook her head. “I’d better work on my book.”

  He nodded.

  “Lunch, then. I have to check on Lydia, and keep the rest of the gang happy. If you need me, here’s my beeper number.” He wrote it on the back of his business card, brushed her cheek with his lips and left her at her door, certain that she’d get her recorder the minute she walked in that room.

  Seven-thirty. That made it about eight o’clock in the evening back home. He dialed Skip’s number.

  “I’m glad to see you’re home,” he said, when he heard the boy’s voice. The possibility of losing the child to the streets was never far from his thoughts, because the boy’s surroundings offered every conceivable opportunity for criminal behavior.

  “Hi, Mason. ’Course I’m here. I do like you said. Besides, Uncle Steve’s already ringing me when I get in from school. Man, he don’t give me breathing room.”

  Mason didn’t bother to hide his amusement.

  “Uncle Steve?”

  “Yeah. He said he’s old enough to be my father, and he wants some respect. It was that, or call him mister.” Mason laughed.

  “What’s wrong with calling him mister?”

  “No, man. It’s real second-grade stuff. I’m almost thirteen. You know that.”

  “Hmmm.” He fingered the keys in his right pants pocket. He’d have to put some bricks under Skip while he could still make a difference. “How’s Mabel?”

  “Doing pretty good. She’s sitting up watching television, and she can get to the bathroom. I don’t know what I’d do, Mason, if she couldn’t bathe herself. Uncle Steve brought me a big pan of his lasagna, a gang of baked sweet potatoes, half of a ham and a pot of collards for the next three or four days. I didn’t tell you he put a freezer chest in here, did I? He’s real cool. Wait a minute, and I’ll let you speak to Aunt Mabel.”

  “How are you, Mabel?” He’d barely heard her weak hello.

  “I’m better, and I feel pretty good. I don’t know how to thank you and...” He cut her off.

  “Don’t thank us, Mabel. Skip adopted us, and we look after our family. Simple as that. If you have any problems before I get back, tell Skip to call Steve. How’s the boy doing?”

  “Wonderful. I couldn’t ask for more of him, and I have you to thank for that, too.”

  “Put him on. How many classes are you taking this summer, Skip?”

  “Three. Geography, something called Chaucer, and English. You know anything about a guy named Booker T. Washington? I have to read his biography.”

  “Of course I know about him.” He thought for a minute. “Skip, why are you in summer school? Your grades are outstanding.”

  “I didn’t want to hang out, so I figured if I was in school, the guys around here wouldn’t expect me to.”

  “Good thinking. When I get back, we’ll see some Broadway shows, maybe even go up to Stratford to the Shakespeare Theater.”

  “Wow! Broadway? Cool! But Shakespeare, man. I think I’d rather take cod liver oil.”

  Mason laughed. “Cod liver oil’s good for you. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “Say, don’t hang up. You didn’t tell me where you are right now.”

  “I’m on a boat in the South China Sea headed for Thailand. That’s in Southeast Asia. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Gee whiz. I think I’ll be a travel manager.”

  * * *

  Jeannetta skipped breakfast and, on an impulse, ordered lunch in her room. The handsome Thai waiter, who seemed little more than a boy, served her lemon-grass soup, shrimp salad, and assorted tropical fruits, bowed, and asked, “Madam, why you not on deck? All Americans want suntan. Everybody out but you. I bring ship doctor if you sick.”

  She smiled her thanks and showed him the door. No use explaining if his eyes didn’t tell him that she didn’t need a suntan. She answered the phone. At least she wouldn’t have to explain to any of her tour-mates why she hadn’t oiled her body and stretched out practically nude to get a suntan. Most of them wouldn’t be as dark as she if they sunbathed for a month.

  “You okay?” She wondered if he could hear his voice. Low, husky, and sexy. Her temperature climbed up several degrees every time she heard it.

  “I’m fine. Please go back to your sunbath.”

  “My what? Sunbath? You sure you’re alright? I’m a moon person. I got enough sun one day recently in Istanbul to last a lifetime, while I waited for a missing female. What gave you that idea?”
/>
  She told him.

  “Ignorance has its advantages,” he said, when he could stop laughing. Her insides turned somersaults at the sound of his melodious merriment. Thank God, he didn’t know how he got to her.

  “Sure does,” she managed to say. “Isn’t it great that people in these countries look at you and don’t think only of race?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’ve been toying with the notion of bringing a young friend along next year. He’ll be thirteen, a good age at which to learn this. Join me for happy hour?”

  “Thanks, but I...I’d rather not. May run into you later.”

  “I don’t like what I’m hearing. You began this tour spirited, eager to do and see everything, but, during the last couple of days, you’ve begun to fold up. I’m telling you again, that if you need me, I’m here for you. Meet me down in the green lounge or, if you don’t feel up to dressing, throw on something and I’ll go there. You’re not alone. If you want to go home, my associate can fly to Bangkok and complete the tour, and I’ll personally take you back to Pilgrim. Jeannetta, let me help you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. If I thought you meant it... If I dared believe you...”

  “Why shouldn’t you believe me? And why can’t you trust me?”

  “Because I know you don’t know what you’re promising.”

  “Why do you insist in being mysterious? I’ve thought since we met that you were misrepresenting yourself.” His voice had lost its gentleness. He spoke more rapidly, and his tone carried a harsh edge. She didn’t feel the empathy he’d sent to her through the wires. She wanted him to hang up.

  “Mason, I’ve been writing almost nonstop since you left me this morning, and I’m tired. For your information, I ordered lunch here in my stateroom. I have your beeper number and your room number. I’ll be in touch.”

  But he persisted. “Why are you taking this tour? If you refuse to tell me, I may ask you to leave it.”

  “I’ve been as honest with you as you’ve been with me, so get off your high horse. Seconds earlier, you assured me that you’re here for me, that I should trust you. Now, you’re threatening to dump me in a strange country that doesn’t even use the Roman alphabet, where I won’t be able to read a word.”

  “My God, Jeannetta, you know I wouldn’t. I only wanted to build a fire under you. I...I care about you, and I don’t know who you are.”

  She suspected that he heard her deep sigh, for he added, “Alright, I’ll stop pressuring you. I’ll be in my room around six, if you’d like to have a drink then. Get some rest.” He hung up, and she stretched out on the bed.

  * * *

  He didn’t know who she was, but she knew who he was, and therein lay their problem. His threat had clarified for her both his dilemma and the measure of his frustration. She could see that he didn’t tolerate well any disturbance of his scheme of things, of the way in which he’d ordered his life. She’d wanted to blurt it all out, but she wouldn’t. She didn’t doubt his strength; only a man capable of toughening himself to the dark potential of the unknown could walk away from success, wealth, and glamour as he had. But if she leaned on him, that brand-new castle he’d built could collapse all around him. If you loved a man, would you wreck his life? She didn’t phone him.

  * * *

  A grand ball had been scheduled for their last evening onboard ship. Jeannetta dressed in a peach-colored chiffon evening dress, swept her hair up and secured it with an ivory comb, slipped into black satin slippers, picked up her black beaded bag, and paused before the mirror. A lot of décolletage, she thought, but since she wore no makeup, the effect ought to be prim enough. She grinned. Nothing prim about half of a size thirty-six C in full view. She found Lucy and Geoffrey leaning against the rail of the ship’s leeward moonlit deck.

  “Mr. Fenwick’s in the lounge,” the radiant woman informed Jeannetta.

  “I expect they’ll find each other when they get ready,” Geoffrey said. “Trouble is they can’t seem to focus on what counts.”

  Jeannetta laid her head to one side and looked at Geoffrey Ames. The casual observer would see a simple man and, in a sense, that’s what he was. But he had depth and character and, at times, he could be intriguing. Like now.

  “What do you mean, Geoffrey?” Jeannetta asked him. He rubbed his chin and looked skyward.

  “It ain’t something you can teach people. You and Mason got everything you need to be happy together, except what’ll keep you that way. Even if I tell you, you won’t understand. You’ll have to experience it. If it comes, it comes; if it don’t, it don’t.”

  Jeannetta glanced toward the entrance to the lounge. Mason stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on her. Light smoldered in his greenish-brown eyes, betraying his desire, and the hungered look of a starving man replaced his poker face. Even the tilt of his shoulders emphasized his vulnerability to her. Her left hand sprung toward him involuntarily, and she had to force herself to stand there and not run to him. He must have realized from her reaction that he had exposed more than he’d wanted, because he hooded his eyes, straightened up, and strolled toward them almost nonchalantly.

  When he reached them, he smiled and nodded to her companions and stood silent, staring down at her. Uncertain or displeased: she couldn’t figure out which. She hadn’t called him as he’d asked, and she’d avoided the Green Lounge where he’d suggested they meet. She didn’t want to encourage him more, because if he touched her they’d be lovers, and she had no idea what course she would eventually take. Ask him to repair her life and wreck his own? Risk his finding her deceitful and leaving her with a broken heart? Maybe... Could she have him for a little while? She lowered her gaze.

  “You’re a knockout.”

  She jerked her head up.

  “You are. So lovely. Beautiful. And it’s all you.” His gaze roamed over her, as though cataloguing her virtues, until she shivered in awareness. “I waited for you.”

  “I know. But we’re getting too involved.”

  “You say that from time to time, Jeannetta, and then you forget about it. I thought the same, but now, I’m not so sure. Have dinner with me.”

  She turned. “Geoffrey, do you and... Where’d they go?”

  “At least I had your attention. They walked off as soon as I greeted them.” He looked out toward the sea. “Geoffrey’s so certain that he and Lucy are right for each other. Wish I knew his formula for that.”

  She smiled. “Don’t waste your time asking him. He’ll tell you either you have it or you don’t.” The flashing lights announced the dinner hour, and he took her hand.

  “Nothing’s going to happen unless we both want it, Jeannetta, so let’s relax and enjoy each other. You look wonderful, but how do you feel? Headache?”

  “It didn’t come back.”

  * * *

  They sat at the captain’s table along with Geoffrey, Lucy, and several people whom they didn’t know. Mason passed the lobster Marnier through his teeth, tasted the real turtle bisque, the duck l’orange, saddle of veal, buttered parsley potatoes, steamed mélange of baby vegetables, and barely took his glance from her. He couldn’t have remembered the selection of French cheeses, or the mixed-greens salad that followed, if he’d stood to lose a million. And he couldn’t pretend an interest in the crème Courvoisier that the chef personally brought to the table. He finally had to admit to himself that the vision in peach who daintily tasted everything put before her was the woman he needed in his life. He had tired of worrying about the mystery that he sensed around her; he loved her, and he’d deal with whatever he faced because of it.

  Soft. Elegant. Unassuming. How could she grow more beautiful right before his eyes? He hooded them and let himself enjoy watching her. Still so many unanswered questions, he thought, strumming his fingers on his knee. The dinner ended, and the orchestra members took t
heir seats on the bandstand. He could barely contain himself when he heard the exchange between Lucy and Geoffrey.

  “This was truly wonderful,” the woman said to Geoffrey, who had donned his Sunday best for the occasion.

  “Well, you could say that, and I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Geoffrey replied. “’Course, now, if I’m gonna take in this much cholesterol, I’d as soon have it in Southern fried chicken, candied yams, and some good old coconut cake.”

  A deep, throaty chuckle floated up from Mason’s throat. He winked at his new friend, got up, and held out his hand to Jeannetta.

  “Dance with me?” A saxophone wailed a love song from the 1930s, and he whispered the words, synchronizing them with the tune: “If I didn’t care...more than words can say...” She missed a step, and he pulled her closer.

  “Loosen up,” he taunted, “and let it hang out the way you did in Paris with the Gypsies. There’s no use pretending anything anymore. It’s you and me, baby. Forget about the past, all your reasons for not getting involved, our doubts—they don’t matter. It’s where we go from here that counts.”

  “Mason, let’s...let’s sit down. You...don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I hope I’ve heard that line for the last time.”

  The orchestra leader announced a request, and a seductive saxophone swung into “Body and Soul.”

  “That’s how I need you,” he whispered, “just like that song says.” He didn’t intend to give her breathing space until she let him know what she felt for him—words or actions, he didn’t care which—but he had to know something. A guitar whipped into a duet with the sax, and he wrapped her to him and brought her head to the curve of his shoulder.

  “You’ll regret this. We both will,” she told him with such certainty that, for a second, he sensed defeat. Only briefly, however, because her supple body snaked around him, molded itself to him. Her knee moved with his knee, her hips swung when his did, and her pelvis tilted forward when his dipped to receive her. They danced as one person, and his blood ran hot and fast.