Seeking Solace

by Ari McKay

  “Good morning,” he said. “I was about to head up and get started on the setup. It’s supposed to be sunny and hot today, so I think we’ll need a couple of extra cases of bottled water.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jill said. “But I’ll take care of the water. You need to haul your butt to the office to see Queen Kate.”

  “What?” Devin had a moment of panic, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Katherine Woodhouse, known to the hospitality staff as Queen Kate—at least behind her back—was the hospitality manager for the entire ship. All the department heads reported to her, so it was unusual for her to want to talk to someone as low on the totem pole as Devin. In her early forties, Kate had been with Triton for years, and it was rumored that when her husband told her she had to choose between her job and him, she’d picked Triton.

  “Maybe there’s a kitchen job opening up,” Jill said, chuckling at his expression. She knew Devin was hoping to get a position as a sous chef, but she didn’t resent it. “Don’t look so worried, Dev. If you’d screwed up, she would have had Greg chew you out.”

  “True.” Greg Stephens was the bar manager, in charge of all the bartenders and lounges on the ship. Devin drew in a deep breath. “I’ll see what she wants, then meet you at the Lido as soon as I can.”

  Jill gave him a thumbs-up, and Devin stood, picked up his tray and mug, and carried them over to the conveyor belt that would take them to the dishwashers in the kitchen. He didn’t want to get his hopes up about a kitchen job, but he stopped in the restroom to wash his hands and check his appearance before making his way to Kate’s office.

  Since Kate was responsible for everyone who worked on the ship except for the captain and the members of the merchant marine who were responsible for the ship itself, she had an office and an assistant, an attractive young man named Brett who helped out with all the paperwork generated by every department. Even with Triton making a big push toward electronic data, there were certain records that had to be kept in hardcopy. Brett smiled as Devin stepped into the tiny reception area where he had his desk.

  “Hi, Dev. Thanks for coming so quickly,” Brett said as he rose to his feet. He went to the door to the inner office and knocked once before opening it. “Go on in.”

  Devin smiled with what he hoped was more confidence than he felt and stepped past Brett into Kate’s office. He’d been there two weeks ago, when he’d been given his six-month evaluation, which had gone well. The room was large by ship standards, which meant it was about twelve feet square. It held a conference table as well as Kate’s desk, along with all the equipment for videoconferencing not only within the ship, but even back to corporate headquarters.

  Kate glanced up and smiled, and Devin felt himself relax at her open expression. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair going gray at the temples, which she didn’t color. Dressed in a dark blue pantsuit with a lighter blue blouse that brought out the color of her eyes, she was the perfect picture of the efficient, confident executive she actually was.

  “Good morning, Devin. Thanks for coming,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Have a seat, won’t you?”

  He rounded the conference table and sat down in the plush leather chair, but he didn’t relax. “Jill said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes.” Kate sat back in her chair. “There’s a new man from corporate on the cruise. I don’t know if you’ve heard how the company trains its execs, but anyone from the head office who wants to go into management has to be familiar with how the ships function. Not just in an abstract way either. They’re sent on one of the longer cruises, and they’re expected to look into how each department runs and see the operation firsthand.”

  “I’d heard something about that,” Devin replied slowly. “It makes sense. I suppose it would be hard to manage something if you don’t have a clue about how things really work.”

  “Exactly.” Kate nodded. “It doesn’t happen often, since members of the management team tend to stay until they retire, but this won’t be the first new person the Pearl has hosted. One of the things we like to do is assign someone to be a liaison between the new person and the staff. It’s easier for everyone if there isn’t an extraneous person—especially someone who will likely end up in a position of authority—wandering around the ship, poking into things, possibly upsetting the routine.”

  “I see.” Devin suppressed a slight twinge of disappointment there wasn’t a sous chef position opening up after all. He reminded himself there would be one eventually; he just had to be patient. “I take it you want me to be the liaison?”

  “Bingo,” Kate said. “I know it’s asking a lot, but it’s a position of trust, I assure you. You are representing the entire staff to corporate. I picked you because you’re the type of employee Triton values. You work hard. You’re enthusiastic, open, and friendly, and you’ve made an effort to get to know people outside of your own department. I think you’d be the perfect person to show Paul Bailey how the Pearl works and what makes her so special.”

  Devin sat up straighter, his momentary depression forgotten. He was flattered that Kate was willing to invest such confidence in him, and he was sure that indicated good things for his future. “Thank you. I’d be happy to help.”

  Kate’s pleased expression indicated her satisfaction. “Excellent. I was hoping you’d be willing.” She punched a button on her phone. “Brett, is Mr. Bailey here?”

  “Yes, he is,” Brett said over the small speaker. “Shall I send him in?”

  “Yes, please.” Kate released the button and rose to her feet. Devin followed suit and turned to look at the door.

  The door opened, and Paul Bailey stepped into the room—and Paul Bailey was the tall, lanky, slow-talking man from the lounge. Paul looked momentarily startled when he saw Devin, but then he stepped forward and held out his hand.

  “My liaison, I assume?”

  “Yes, sir,” Devin replied, taking Paul’s hand. He blinked as he felt a tingle of contact shock as their palms met. Paul didn’t look more than a year or two older than Devin himself, but if he was in management, Devin felt it wise to offer a certain amount of deference. “I hope that’s all right with you?”

  “Please, call me Paul,” Paul said, and Devin couldn’t help but notice he was even more attractive up close. “And yes, I’m fine with the arrangement if you are.”

  “I’m fine with it, Paul.” Devin glanced back at Kate. “Is there anything specific I’m supposed to show him? Other than which overhead beams not to whack his head on, of course.”

  Kate chuckled. “I’ll leave that up to the two of you.”

  “All right.” Devin looked back to Paul. “I need to get up to the Lido and start setting up the bar for the day. How about we start with my department? Since we interact with almost every passenger several times a day, we tend to hear about everything happening on the ship.”

  “That sounds like a good place to start,” Paul said, nodding.

  “Excellent,” Kate said. “Then you two go on. You both know where to find me if you need anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Devin gestured to the door. “If you’re ready?”

  Paul said goodbye to Kate. “Should I go with you or wait a few minutes to go to the bar?” he asked once they were out of the office.

  “I suppose whatever you’re comfortable with,” Devin replied easily. “Are you trying to keep a low profile, or is this all business?” He looked at Paul’s outfit, which consisted of khaki pants, loafers, and a button-down short-sleeved blue shirt. He looked good—not that Devin could say so—but he was dressed more formally than most tourists.

  “I’m here to learn, not for a vacation,” Paul said, glancing down at himself. “But I don’t necessarily want to stand out.”

  “I suppose it depends on how and what you want to observe,” Devin replied, furrowing his brow as he thought. “I think if you dress ‘corporate,’ for lack for a better term, people are going to see y
ou as someone who might be judging them. If you dress more like a tourist, which is the kind of person we’re used to interacting with, the staff will probably be more relaxed and natural around you, which will give you a better and truer picture of how everything works.” He grinned. “Think of it as being like when the principal shows up to class, and everyone is suddenly on their best behavior rather than doing what they usually do.”

  “That makes sense,” Paul said, inclining his head slightly. “Unfortunately, I didn’t pack much that could be considered touristy since I wasn’t looking at this trip as a vacation. I think I brought one pair of jeans. Would that be better than these pants?”

  “Khakis are fine, if you have the right shirt.” Devin tilted his head to one side. “We’re about the same size. If you wouldn’t be weirded out by it, I could lend you a few shirts. You could buy new up in the shops, but I’ve got plenty of things.”

  “Maybe just one or two to tide me over until I can go shopping,” Paul said. “It sounds like most of what I brought won’t work except for evenings.”

  “Sure. Fortunately, we have to go right past my quarters, so we can do it now.” A picture rose up in his mind of Paul dressed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of silk boxers, and Devin drew in a breath, reminding himself Paul was probably straight and they had a professional relationship. Which was too bad, because Paul was definitely Devin’s type. It wasn’t easy to find a man close to his own height, and Devin always felt self-conscious with shorter men.

  It only took a few minutes to reach his quarters, and Devin took out his keycard to unlock the door. “My roommate has the morning shift at the Atrium bar, so the coast should be clear,” he said. After flipping on the light, he led Paul into the small room, which seemed even smaller with the two of them in it. No larger than Kate’s office, it held two beds, two dressers, a wall-mounted television, and a single table between the beds with two alarm clocks and a ship’s phone on it.

  Turning to his dresser, Devin opened a drawer and selected a Hawaiian-print shirt in blues and greens, and a white T-shirt decorated with the flags of the various nations in the Caribbean. “These should do,” he said, favoring Paul with a mischievous look. “I could loan you my Buffalo Lick Bisons T-shirt, but I’d have to make you sign an oath in blood to give it back, or else I take your firstborn child.”

  “Swiping my credit card sounds easier than signing a blood oath,” Paul said as he accepted the two shirts, his eyebrows climbing as he studied the bold Hawaiian print. “I’ll stick with these for now and buy something appropriate later. Thanks.”

  “No problem. And yes, credit cards are definitely easier,” Devin agreed. “I take blood oaths seriously.”

  “Good to know. Okay, I’ll go back to my cabin and change, and then I’ll join you at the bar. The Lido deck, you said?”

  “Yes. It’s the big bar by the main pool—you can’t miss it. Look for the statue of Triton.”

  Paul nodded, then headed for the door. “Thanks again,” he said before exiting the cabin.

  “Anytime.” Devin watched Paul go, then drew in a deep breath. He would have to keep his wayward tongue in check, since Paul seemed all business. He didn’t want Paul to think he didn’t take his job seriously. Devin was used to joking with people he liked, and he did like Paul. Even though—or perhaps because—Paul seemed to be innately reserved, Devin felt an odd compulsion to make him smile.

  He waited a moment, then headed out, telling himself he had a job to do. Paul Bailey was now part of that job, and more than that, Paul was probably going to be in a position to make things difficult for Devin if he didn’t think Devin was doing well enough. If Devin wanted a shot at the position he really wanted, he needed to make sure Paul was satisfied.

  Chapter Three

  WHEN Paul arrived on the Lido deck after changing shirts, he found quite a few people already stretched out in the lounge chairs by the saltwater pool even though it was still early. Paul repressed a grimace when he saw the bronze statue of Triton rising out of the center of the pool. He knew about the statue, but this was the first time he’d seen it in person. The artist who’d created the statue had seen a photo of Paul in Andrew Mercer’s office and asked to use it as inspiration. Thus Triton resembled Paul as he’d looked as an undergraduate. Long hair, lean build from playing intramural sports. Two working legs.

  He looked away quickly and went to the bar, scanning for Devin.

  There was a crowd around the bar, despite the hour, though he noticed most of the people seemed to have chosen fruit juices or soda. Devin, however, was visible by virtue of his height, and he was smiling as he passed out drinks. After several minutes, there was finally a lull, and Devin’s smile widened as he noticed Paul. Raising his hand, he beckoned Paul over.

  There wasn’t an empty stool, so Paul stood in a space at the end of the bar and watched Devin work. At the moment he was slicing limes into quarters, wielding the sharp knife with a deft hand.

  “I like the shirt on you,” Devin said. “You look like a proper tourist now.”

  Paul glanced down at the bold print of the Hawaiian shirt and shrugged. “Tourist chic isn’t really my style, but at least now I know how to blend in.”

  A patron asked for a glass of orange juice, and Devin put down the knife with no sign of irritation at the interruption. After serving the drink, he came back to Paul’s end of the bar and resumed his task.

  “You definitely don’t stand out now,” he said. “So let me tell you about bartending on the Pearl. Technically, the bar isn’t open yet, and I’m not serving hard liquor until the official opening time. But Triton’s policy is that if a customer wants anything within reason, they get it. It can make things a little challenging at times, but that’s fine. Keeping the customers happy is what this job is all about.”

  “So if I wanted a mimosa, I could have one?” Paul asked, taking mental notes on what Devin said to write in his report later since he couldn’t be conspicuous and whip out a notebook.

  “Yes,” Devin replied. “Would you like one?”

  Paul hesitated, then shook his head, reminding himself that he wasn’t on vacation. “I shouldn’t.”

  Devin chuckled as he put down the knife again and wiped his hands on a towel before reaching for a glass. Within thirty seconds he’d poured orange juice, added champagne from a bottle chilling in a bucket of ice, garnished the glass with a perfect slice of orange, and passed the drink to Paul. “A mimosa is a part of breakfast when you’re on a cruise ship,” he said easily, before resuming his assault on the pile of limes. “If you want the whole cruise experience, you need to sample the wares.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Paul retrieved his guest card from his wallet and slid it across the bar. Then he sampled the mimosa, which was tart with a slight alcoholic bite from the champagne. “This is really good.”

  “Thanks. The orange juice is squeezed here on the ship every day. We pick up fresh citrus in every port.” There was a note of pride in Devin’s voice, which spoke well of his commitment to his customers. Paul already knew about the policy of making certain fresh foods were always taken aboard, which in the Caribbean wasn’t a problem for things like citrus. This particular cruise, which would circle most of the Caribbean basin in the course of two weeks, included stops in luxury destinations like Grand Cayman, but also would touch smaller islands like Bonaire, Antigua, and St. Kitts, giving the guests a wide variety of experiences.

  Devin sliced the last lime, then wiped his hands again before swiping Paul’s card and returning it. “The guests who sail on Triton ships pay a bit more than some of the bigger cruise lines, but they do it happily because the quality and service are so good. People who are paying thousands of dollars for a couple of weeks expect to be spoiled, and we do our best to make sure they get what they’ve paid for.”

  “Do you think the staff feels compensated well enough for the level of service they’re expected to provide?” Paul asked.

  “I believe so. I k
now I do,” Devin replied. He put the limes in one of the small refrigerators below the bar, then wiped down the bar area and picked up empty glasses. “Considering we don’t have to pay for rent, meals, or laundry, it’s a great deal. For someone who wants to travel, it’s just about perfect.”

  “That makes sense.” Paul took another sip of the mimosa as he watched the other passengers for a minute. “Is there a lot of turnover? Or do people tend to stick around?”

  Devin chuckled. “People stick. I’m a wannabe chef, remember? Or do I need to cook you a meal to prove I wasn’t kidding?”

  “No, I believe you,” Paul said. A stool opened up, and he snagged it before anyone else could. “I was just curious if the constant travel and close quarters meant people burned out on the job quickly,” he said once he was settled on the stool with his mimosa in front of him.

  Devin was busy with customers for a few minutes, but he came back to Paul as soon as he could. “I don’t think people burn out very fast,” he said, leaning against the bar. “People sign up for six- or eight-month tours, and they take however long a break they need in between hitches. I’m sure there are people who don’t come back for another, but I haven’t seen hardly anyone leave since I’ve been on the Pearl except for a friend who got married and went ashore to help her husband run a hotel. I know there isn’t much that would get me to leave.”

  “Really?” Paul raised one eyebrow, curious. “What would make you leave?”

  “If I find the right man, and he isn’t interested in being on a ship,” Devin replied, his expression serious for once. “I think that’s the main one. Other than that, I would love to own my own restaurant one day, so eventually I’ll become a landlubber again.”