Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “Thank you,” Sherrie grumbled.

  “Richard is amazingl,” the elderly woman with him answered, beaming and smiling.

  “You should find somebody that cares, not this asshole.”

  “What’d you say, bro?”

  The young man stepped forward, chest puffed out like an ape. “Corey,” Sherrie shouted, “shut the fuck up and deal with it.”

  “Nah, nah, he don’t get to talk to me like that.”

  The old man shook his head and turned away, holding his wife’s hand. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  He didn’t do anything, of course. There were guards everywhere, just waiting for some overgrown child like him, ready to defend his honor. He stood, silent and angry, before walking off. “Corey, wait!”

  Sherrie came running after him, and Lori could see that her lips were the size of a duck bill, and her tits were flapping up and down, two perfect globes, the size of cantaloupes—the obvious products of plastic surgery.

  “Excuse me, miss?” somebody called from behind. It was one of the crew members. “Miss?”

  Lori checked back. It sounded like the man, who was wearing a full tuxedo was talking to her. He was holding a menu and a bottle of champagne, and he was looking directly at her. He had a knowing look, a bald head and a black mustache with strands of white, cutting through the middle. “Ms. Parker, am I correct?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “My name is George, and I’ll be your server. Right this way.”

  He walked past her, and she sprinted to catch up with him. “I didn’t reserve a table.”’

  “We already have one waiting,” he said, striding past rows of couples, packed into tiny chairs and the smallest tables possible. They were chowing on what she knew to be industrially produced fodder.

  It wasn’t just the junk food that was a problem. Things that people thought were safe—like fruit, oatmeal and rice—were the most dangerous things to eat. Microbes grew like weeds in the warm moisture, living their lives out, creating mounds of filth and corpses that filled every little crevice.

  George dodged the crowd effortlessly, avoiding men and women barreling through, making their way back and forth between their tables and the buffet lines beyond. When Lori saw that he was leading her towards the glass wall dividing the lobby from the patio, she began to panic. She couldn’t eat out there; she could barely breathe when she was on her balcony.

  To her relief, George made a left and led her through a door between two booths. The focal point of the room beyond was a faux Greek statue of a woman standing in the middle of a pool, water flowing around her feet. Her hair was rippling in an invisible wind, and she had her arm crossed over her bare chest to keep from exposing it.

  The couples here were different. They still had the same strange style that the passengers had taken on, but their polo shirts, slacks and button ups were designer, paired with gold earrings, expensive hairstyles and watches—shoes so white they must’ve been kept in a vacuum until they were meant to be worn.

  Lori felt like a beggar walking into a ball filled with noblemen. People noticed, as they tend to do when they had a view from the top. Her shirt was frayed at the sleeves, her hair tied back—devoid of any product or coloring.

  They walked across the room, and she took her place at the far corner, where she could look out at the sea without triggering her anxiety. It was surreal, the contrasting shades of blue; one so dark it might as well have been black; the other, a baby’s blanket, speckled with strips of white fluff.

  “Here you are,” George set a menu down on the table and went to pour her a glass of champagne.

  “Oh, no,” she said, “that’s OK.”

  “Of course. Would you like me to leave it with you?” he said. “It’s complimentary.”

  “Just a water will be fine.”

  “Absolutely, and our staff is more than willing to prepare a custom-dish—anything you’d like—on-the-house.” He checked around, before dipping closer. “But I would suggest that you avoid the chicken—at least until we make port.”

  “You’re a dear,” she beamed, knowing full well the chance he was taking in telling her that.

  He smiled and stood back up, straightening his collar as he did. “Our almondine is fantastic—your choice of fish.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a young woman to her right, eating a plate of real scrambled eggs. No barrel goo—thank God. “I think I’ll just have a plate of eggs and a little hot sauce.”

  “We’ll have it for you shortly.”

  “Thank you.” He left her to enjoy the sight of the waves, rippling for miles ahead. It brought a new dimension to the seascape that she thought she knew, and it reminded her that there was so much more that she couldn’t see below the water; jungles of fish and seaweed, demented and beautiful monsters, flying through their world, just as oblivious of her realm as she was of theirs.

  “Where were you, Troy?” the young woman, a straight-backed blond with long hair, was confronting the golden god that just sat down across from her.

  He took a drink of his water and lifted his menu to read it.

  “I asked you a question?”

  “I was gone for two minutes.”

  “You just walked off,” she said, loud enough that the room could hear. “I thought you wanted to have breakfast.”

  “I had a business call,” he said.

  “You couldn’t just say, ‘excuse me,’ like a decent human being? You just leave.”

  There was a sigh and a rustling of paper from the old man sitting behind him, eating silently with his wife. “Ashley, you do this every single time I leave your sight.”

  “So, what? Are you going to call me crazy again?”

  “You’re paranoid, you’re smothering me.”

  Ashley’s shoulders shook with a tremor, and her head fell. “I just want this to work,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe, I’m tired of hearing that. Maybe I want you to do things right the first time.”

  “I’ll do better,” she sobbed, “I promise.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” he said, placing a hand on her own. “So that we both can do better.”

  “Yeah,” she gave him a half-hearted smile and went back to her food, which looked amazing. Lori was hungry when the server came to bring her her plate. She was shoveling it in when Ashley finished up and pushed her plate away. “We’re going to miss acting,” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry,” Troy said.

  “Well now I have to wait until you finish. We probably won’t be able to go to class at all.”

  “Why don’t you go on without me?” he asked. “I have to deal with this anyway.”

  “I hate that you put me through this,” she said. “We’re supposed to be spending time together, and you... I’m not even sure I believe you.”

  “Ashley, do you remember what Dr. Fergus said?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice filled with a profound weight.

  “What did she say?”

  “Trust is the cornerstone of every healthy relationship,” she replied like a child reciting a lesson they’d been forced to memorize.

  “Exactly, and I want you to remember that,” Troy said, “because it’s the only way things are going to work.”

  “Alright,” she nodded, stood up and bent down to give him a kiss. “I’ll try.”

  “Hey,” he grabbed her hand before she left. “I love you.”

  “You too.”

  Lori didn’t know what to think. The poor guy was probably harassed every second about who he was talking to and what he was doing. Nothing would satisfy a person like that It had nothing to do with what was really going on and everything to do with how secure the woman felt in herself—at least that was how it seemed.

  George was making his circuit through the room, stopping at each table to offer assistance. He was talking to the man when Lori was about to finish. Before she stood up to leave, h
e came over carrying a single glass, filled with pink, bubbly liquid. “From the gentleman across the way.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nodded, barely able to conceal his smile. “He’d like to invite you to finish your meal with him.”

  “Oh, really?” she smiled over the waiter’s shoulder.

  “You’re really going to...” George caught himself. “How would you like to respond?”

  After he left, Lori gathered her things, and watched him cross the room, still holding the champagne. He pretended to trip over a chair, and the platter spilled over, splattering his white shorts with bright pink liquid.

  5

  Reaching the rec room required passing through one of the open passages that lined the outer hull of the ship. Once again, Lori was standing outside with nothing but the railing keeping her from a watery grave. She ran along the wooden flooring as fast as she could, breath racing, until she finally reached the door and swung it open, only to find four rows of staring faces, and the teacher, a frazzled twig of a woman with a poof of blond hair sticking out of a scrunchy on top of her head. “Take your place,” she pointed to a spot a few feet away from where she was standing in the center of the front row.

  “Sorry, I...” Lori cut herself off when the teacher pressed play on the boombox behind her and went back to her stretching position.

  “Up,” the teacher commanded, “feet together, weight distributed evenly good. Namaste,” she clsped her two hands together, like she was praying.

  “Namaste,” the class repeated back to her.

  “Now raise your hands up into the air and reach for the stars.”

  “Eh-heh heh-heh,” a high-pitched sobbing sound cut through the music.

  “Great, now let your arms lay limp at your side.”

  “Eh-heh-heh-eh,” she was wailing uncontrollably.

  “Now lean forward, reach down as far you can.”

  “Eh-eh-eh heh.”

  “Great. Now I want you all to lay down on your bellies.” Lori crouched down, reached forward and fell to her stomach with a plop. “And just raise your butt up into the air, sliding back as you do, until you’re on all fours.”

  Lori checked back, using one hand to brace herself, before lifting herself up. The man with the dyed hair, who called out the punk in the buffet line, was less than a foot away. He gave her a wink, and she fell flat.

  There was a laugh to her right. She was caught by the sudden urge to start punching when she saw the black curl and the shit-faced grin. “What are you laughing at?” she whispered.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” he asked.

  “Told me what?”

  “That you were alone. I was right.”

  “I am no—

  “And moving on,” the teacher interrupted, clearly miffed by their talking. “Lift your hips up, slide your arms back—shoulders square.”

  “Downward dog,” he lifted his eyebrows playfully.

  “Screw you.”

  “That’s what he’s thinking,” he motioned back to the old man and Lori did her best to stifle a laugh.

  “Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the person you’re here with?”

  “I’m alone too,” he said.

  “Bullshit, you think I was born yesterday?”

  “Ahem,” Lori turned to face the yoga instructor, who was crouched down, her face a few feet away from Lori’s. “Can we continue?”

  “A-a-aha-ha!” The crying girl shot up off the ground and ran off, red curls flaring out behind her.

  Lori and the man met eyes and both belted out laughing, ignoring the miffed instructor, who shot up off the ground and turned off her radio. “Class is over!”

  The man raised himself up into a standing position and offered Lori a hand. “Harris.”

  She ignored it and lifted herself up on her own. “We’re on a couple’s cruise.”

  “Is my fly down?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did I pull it out?” he let his eyes fall down his body, and let them climb back up to her own.

  “You might as well have.” Lori bent over to grab her mat and turned back to see a leather face, topped with a maroon rug, taking in the shame of her hips. “Fuck off,” she snapped, and he kept on walking with a wink.

  “You clearly need the buddy system,” Harris said.

  “I’m not...” she stopped and shook her head, eying a pair of men standing in the corner, whispering. They glanced over and laughed. “It’s a bad idea, and you have ulterior motives.”

  “Fine with me. I’m going to enjoy the show.”

  With a burst of anger, Lori marched out. She wanted to punch him, but that didn’t make much sense. He was perceptive and sardonic; a refreshing outlook when compared to the tide of hormones bombarding her every time she walked into a room, and he made her laugh. Maybe the buddy system would be a good idea, if that buddy wasn’t trying to stick his dick in her, and she was convinced that was the case.

  6

  The morning sky had transformed itself from a crystal blue, perfect in its simplicity, to a dramatic black and white, looming over the water. Sprinkles of mist were collecting on Lori’s cheeks and eyelashes, mixing with the cold, Atlantic breeze.

  She told herself that she was going to take the weather deck the entire way. She wound up leaning against the wall, arms crossed, swimming with adrenaline, but she wasn’t ready to go inside. She liked that feeling; it kept her in check; it reminded her that there were things to be afraid of in life, and forced her into a safe, cautious state, one that she worked hard to maintain.

  She lost that because of Tim, and she needed to gain it back. When she did walk back inside, she did her best to hold onto it. There were men everywhere, sprinting past shops and venues, being dragged by their wives—she couldn’t forget the threat they posed and the pain that they’d brought her.

  When she took the lift up to the next level, she was also lying on the tile in her apartment, crying over a monster—dabbing her cheeks with powder, hoping to please a man, while he ate dinner with his wife and children.

  It helped to remember those horrific nights, the self delusion and the fallout, especially when the crowd grew thicker, blocking the path to the buffet. She saw every man that passed by as a monster, capable of destroying her life and leaving her with nothing—no dignity, no self-esteem—nothing.

  Bodies were swarming around her, mixed with a cloud of cheap perfume, bug and hairspray. She was squeezed in between two couples, both bickering in hushed voices when she heard George clearing his throat. “Ms. Parker?”

  She turned to see him motioning for her to follow him past the horde, into the private dining area, where the same table she’d been brought to before was waiting with another bottle set off to the side. “Champagne?” he asked when she sat down.

  “No, thank you.”

  “What would you like to drink?”

  “Just a water, thank you.”

  “Of course,” he disappeared into the kitchen to get her drinks.

  “I told you. I can’t take this crap anymore.” Lori recognized Troy’s voice from breakfast. He came rushing in from the buffet, wearing a tight polo shirt and short shorts, both black, an obvious product of the incident that morning.

  Ashley was sprinting to catch up with him. “You had lipstick on your fly.”

  “It was champagne!” He threw his hands up and stopped in the middle of the room. “I keep telling you that, but you won’t listen.”

  “Just like you told me that wasn’t perfume the night we boarded.”

  “Oh, here we go.”

  “Like I don’t know midnight rose when I smell it.”

  “This is getting ridiculous,” he walked over to their booth, grabbed his menu and sat down.

  “The more you lie, the harder it’s going to be for us to move past this.”

  “Jesus....”

  “Don’t you even care about us?” Ashley sat down across from him.

  “I was just about to
ask you the same thing.”

  “How dare you? You’re the cheat.”

  “Have you decided what you want to order?”

  Lori turned to see George, patiently waiting a few feet away, his hands folded in front. “Sorry,” she laughed.

  “I just want to develop trust.”

  “Here you are.” He set her water down, along with a covered platter. He lifted the lid with bravado and stepped back. “Cherry chocolate cheesecake, special from the house.”

  “Thank you,” Lori beamed. “That’s my favorite.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I’m so-o-orry,” Ashley squealed. “I just...”

  “No, I’ve had it.” Troy stood up.

  “Is there anything you’d like to order?” George cut in.

  “Um,” Lori glanced down at the menu, “just a cranberry almond salad. But...” she checked across the room, where Troy was laying into the sobbing Ashley, who had her head resting on the table.

  She finished her order and relaxed, arms outstretched across the back of the booth. “Excuse me.”

  “What?” Troy snapped and turned away from his phone to see George, waiting with his hands clasped.

  “The lady from this morning would just like to let you know that she’s declining your invitation.”

  “WHAT!?”

  Ashley shot up to her feet, and ran between them, forcing George to get out of the way of her flailing fists. “You fuck! You fucking monster!” her foot shot out.

  “ARGH, JESUS!”

  Troy fell forward, red in the face, clutching his crotch. His head hit the ground and two pairs of eyes rested on her. She gave them both a wave and reached over to hold up the bottle. Ashley whipped around and stomped over to snatch it away. “Thank you.”

  “Just learn your lesson.”

  “Oh, I have,” she called on her way out, adding a kick to Troy’s ribs. Lori took a few bites of her cheesecake, while she watched him wriggle around, but she wasn’t into it. It was the same with her salad. She kept thinking about that girl finding somebody else here. Lori knew well enough to know that it didn’t matter what she said; chances were, that was exactly what she was going to do.