by K. C. Falls
"So, you like working on El Lobo?" I asked him.
"You kidding me? I came off an Italian cruise line. They work you like a slave, you eat shit and the quarters aren't fit for dogs. Yeah, I like it here a lot."
"What's the boss like?" I had Richard's perspective and now I wanted one from someone who was just a worker bee, not a childhood wharf buddy.
"I've never had a problem with him. All I do is put the plates in front of him. You're the one who'll take any heat he's got to give. The chef and the captain are really the only ones who deal with him directly."
"But Captain Richard seems to get along well with him."
"The Captain is about as laid-back a guy as you'll ever meet. No matter what Wolf throws at him, it just slides right off." He took another swig from his cup. "Can't say as much for the last three chefs."
"Three? In how long?"
"Well, I've been working on the boat a little less than a year."
"I see. So, how can I avoid the 'heat' as you put it?"
"Be perfect."
"Thanks. You've now succeeded in making me a nervous wreck already."
"Don't take me too seriously. You'll be fine. Just do your best."
I soon had the simple meal prepared and plated as artfully as a couple of poached eggs allow. The two yellow eyes staring up at me looked plain and lonely. At least the fruit was bright and pretty. I sighed and handed the plate to Angelo who delivered it to the dining room. He came back with instructions for me to "go out and see the Boss". I gave him a questioning look and got a shoulder shrug in response.
"Not helpful, Angelo," I told him as I took a deep breath and went out to face Morgan Wolf.
He and Richard sat at one end of the long dining table; Morgan at the head and Richard to his right. I took a position between them and felt like I was standing at the judging table on some competitive cooking show. I've always hated those shows because I can imagine how hard it must be to have something you put your heart and soul into picked apart like they do.
There was an instance at Topanga where my executive chef had taken a single tiny taste of my creation and told me, "That tastes like ass." It was typical behavior. He took great delight in deflating any hint of pride any of us dared to show in our work.
I’d been tempted to ask him if he was a connoisseur of ass flavors. Thankfully, I kept my yap shut because if I had said anything at all it would have invited a war of words that I could never have won. I can hold my own with most, but the supreme leader of Topanga's kitchen was a wizard at the obscene insult. He created new and imaginative ways to use the foulest words in the most scathing ways. It was a talent he cultivated and proudly exercised—often.
I glanced at the plate and hoped that I wasn’t in for it. He was halfway through one of the eggs and it looked close to perfect to me. The yolk was runny and the white was fully cooked.
"Perfect poached eggs, Chef. I can't stand it when the white part looks like snot."
So far, so good. I thanked him and waited for the cleaver to fall. I shot a look at Richard whose face was unreadable.
"Would it be too much trouble for you to serve my meals to me? I realize it's normally the steward's job, but you're so much better looking than Angelo." There was a hint of mischief playing on his face that I didn't want to find charming.
I thought Richard stiffened slightly but it could have been my imagination.
Maybe the memo on sexual harassment hadn't reached the yachting set. It really didn't matter. It never reached the confines of the restaurant kitchen, either. I was way past taking offense at that kind of remark. I could still vividly recall a poll, conducted among the kitchen staff by Chef Asshole, about the state of my pubic hair—shaved, trimmed or wild?
Besides, part of me got a little—no a pretty big—thrill that Morgan Wolf thought found me easy on his eyes. He was certainly not hurting mine. What possible harm could it do? Besides, there wasn't a graceful way to refuse.
"It would be a pleasure," I purred back at him with a smile I hoped was seductive but subtle. "But right now, if you'll excuse me? I have a lot to do today if we're going to leave by early afternoon."
Morgan nodded. "By all means . . ."
I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I left the dining room. I was glad he couldn't see the crimson that burned up from my chest to my forehead.
Chapter 6—Morgan
"What the hell was that about?" I asked myself out loud.
"I was going to ask you the same damn thing." Richard abruptly stood and took his coffee cup over to the starboard window. "I thought this trip was about getting away from all that."
"Actually, this trip is about going to London to throw myself on Dad's mercy. Again."
"I know that. It's just that last night you were talking about the sea and getting away from chicks like your cousin."
"In case you haven't noticed, Richard, our new chef is about as much like my cousin and her ilk as it's possible to get and still have two X chromosomes."
Richard stared out of the window and I couldn't see his face. But his tone was unmistakable. "She's just a kid, Morgan."
A 'kid' you've taken a shine to old buddy, I thought. "I didn't ask her to bump uglies, Captain. I just requested she serve my meals. I think I'm entitled to that."
"Sure you are, Morgan. You're the Boss." Richard put his coffee cup on the table with just a wee bit more force than necessary.
"Don't you have a checklist to go over somewhere?" I was annoyed that Richard had already cast himself in some protective role for a young woman who didn't seem to need it. The way she reacted the night before was hardly the behavior of a shy little virgin. She could have backed right out of that kitchen. She could have screamed and hidden her face in her hands. Instead she took a good long look at me. And she decidedly did not avert her eyes from any part of my anatomy.
And so-fucking-what if I'd rather have a good-looking female put my plate in front of me? I had every right to prefer a Renoir nude over some abstract masterpiece and I had every right to choose Lara over Angelo to serve my meals.
I looked up at the clock. Christ, the morning was crawling by. I went back to my stateroom and changed into a pair of trunks. I figured I could kill an hour or so in the pool and stay cool. Hoping the water would soothe my nerves; I went up to the foredeck and jumped in.
I slipped all the way under and let the air bubble up out of my mouth to the surface. Having worked on my breath holding ability made it easy for me to just sit on the bottom of the shallow pool and allow the watery sounds to fill my head. Usually this worked miracles on any tension I was carrying around. I've never been a big believer in astrology, but I had to admit I lived up to my water sign. My Valentine's Day birthday made me an Aquarius and I've always been happiest around water.
For some reason the water therapy wasn't working. I couldn't get that little chef out of my head. It couldn't all be about her resemblance to some long-ago and nearly forgotten nurse who was kind to me. And even though I found her almost painfully pretty, South Florida was a Mecca for stunning women. South Beach had babes on every corner. The French term je ne sais quoi popped into my head. She had something and it was most definitely in the category of 'I don't know what'.
Territorial behavior has never been one of my problems with women. As a confessed 'player' I never got far enough into a chick to care who else wanted her. And, unless I hooked-up with a major babe like a Vicky's secret girl, most of the women I dated couldn't be pried from me with a crow bar. The dollar signs were just too strong a sex symbol. I knew it, they knew it and it was all good. I tended to lean toward shallow but honest affairs. They've always worked for me.
Now, in the span of twenty-four hours I had twice snapped at my best buddy because he had expressed an interest in a female. That wasn't like me. Not at all. I wondered if the next step was going to be pissing in all the corners like a tomcat.
I came up for air and went back down again. I watched the sun bend in the wa
ter and wished I was hearing the hum of the big diesels instead of the short slap of the waves someone's wake pushing up against the hull. When I breeched the surface the next time I saw someone parking a cart full of produce at the end of El Lobo's gangplank. Lara and Angelo soon appeared to receive the order. Lara had a clipboard and checked off the items as the two men muscled the bags of fruits and vegetables onto the deck below. I watched her look in every bag and box. A lock of her soft brown hair had escaped the tight knot at the back of her neck and she kept tucking it behind her ear as she leaned over to look at each item. When the breeze dislodged it I saw the strands capture the morning sun and glint with gold. I thought a fist full of that hair would look good in my hand as her head bobbed above my crotch.
She was checking the order carefully, that's for sure. At one point, she found something she didn't like. I could see it on her face. She called the delivery guy back and showed him the box of whatever it was that had her wrinkling her nose. It was impossible not to smile at how stern she looked. The delivery guy was a big burly black man three times her size but she had him hanging his head with a wag of her tiny finger. It was obvious from her posture and her concentration that she was taking the task of provisioning the boat very seriously. That appealed to me. Hell, she appealed to me.
The box left on the cart it came in on. I swore to myself. It meant that the produce guy was going to have to go and get a replacement and that would mean that much more waiting. I realized it didn't really matter since Phoebe & Co. were not likely to show up before noon anyway. I submerged again and sighed into the water.
I hadn't asked who my cousin was bringing with her. Not that it would have mattered. Phebes and her friends were all cut from the same bolt of expensive silk. I'd met dozens of them over the years and they all sort of blended into a leggy blond blur. It's not that I hated blond hair. I had just gotten so bored with the predictable sameness of them all. I hadn’t heard an original thought articulated from a woman’s mouth in a long, long time.
I popped my head up and saw Lara hesitating at the end of the gang plank. She was concentrating intently as she grabbed the side rail and made her way across with peculiar graceless steps. I recalled her looking clumsy when she first came on the boat, too. Odd.
The water was starting to shrivel my skin so I dried off and climbed up to the bridge to nose around and waste a little time. The wheelhouse was empty. I sat down in the big captain's chair and drifted into a fantasy of looking out over the bow with nothing but several thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean in front of me. I didn't relish what waited for me on the other side of the pond, but I was sure looking forward to the journey.
I hadn’t warned my father that I’d be paying him a visit, but he’d know soon enough. I knew he had plenty of spies all over the place. Phoebe was undoubtedly one of them.
I loved El Lobo's exquisite nerve center. Every time I sat in front of the half dozen screens I felt like I was commanding a star ship. I ran my hands over the massive ship's wheel and lost myself in the day dream.
"Boss?" The deckhand interrupted my reverie. "Your guests have arrived."
I looked at the clock. The girls were an hour early. Damn. "Tell them I'll be right down and tell the Captain I'd like to see him." I realized Richard wouldn't have much time to help me entertain my 'company' once we got underway, but he could help me babysit until we shoved off.
I could hear them squealing like twelve-year-olds as I descended toward the main level. Oh God, let this be over soon, I prayed. Phoebe and two clones were lounging on the sofas; their unnaturally even tans a sharp contrast to the ivory leather seats. Phoebe jumped up when she saw me and bounced over to give me a hug and the kiss-kiss thing I've always found utterly pretentious.
"Cuz! I want you to meet Shelby and Emery. Harley canceled at the last minute"
Not for the first time I wondered if Phoebe required all of her many girlfriends to have gender-neutral names ending in 'y'. It was the reason I had stopped trying to remember them.
"Ladies." I nodded my head at the two girls on the sofa. They were both stunning. They could have easily been models. I found myself foolishly hoping that one of them would open her mouth and say something remotely intelligent.
"Oooooh, Phebes, you weren't kidding about your gorgeous cousin! C'mon over here and sit between me and Shell. We luvvv to share!" She patted the cushion with a perfectly manicured hand and Shelby flashed me a snow white smile. God I hated black fingernail polish.
"Actually, I was just about to go see about lunch for us. Phoebe said you ladies would like something light? Like a salad?"
"As long as there's something delicious for dessert . . ." Shelby made her meaning crystal clear by giving the full length of my body a long salacious look. It looked like the girls were going to cut right to the chase.
Given the state of agitation my mind was in it didn’t surprise me when I did an about face on my plans for the afternoon.
I changed my mind and decided there were worse ways to spend an afternoon than playing with a couple of willing dolls. I shot her a half grin and a look that I've been told is a killer. There would be plenty of reflective time on the crossing ahead. If I was being offered a gift, why not take it? I could kill some time pleasantly enough and spare myself a lot of inane conversation by getting down to business quickly. Fishing was an option but I doubted these ladies had that kind of hook up in mind.
Richard joined us and I sent him into the kitchen to rustle up some wine and get Lara cracking on the salads. Given what I knew I'd be doing for most of the afternoon, I wasn't anxious to face her. She struck me as the kind of woman who wouldn't approve of the kind of sport fucking I was quite sure was on my afternoon agenda. It made me want to avoid those warm knowing eyes.
We killed the first bottle of Orvieto before the salads arrived. Lara and Angelo both set the plates in front of the four of us. My little chef was as soft and natural as my lunch companions were harsh and artificial. I tried not to notice and failed. When she leaned over to place my plate, there was a rush of warmth as her body's aura intersected with mine.
The dishes were beautifully composed and absolutely delicious. My three guests gushed about how good the food was. I filed away their praises for a later conversation with Lara because I figured everyone like to hear positive reviews. I knew all the right things to say to a South Beach beauty, but I already had a vision of being tongue tied trying to chat up someone whose world was so different from what I knew. Lara's range of interest obviously ran deeper than what happened that week on "the Bachelor".
Richard maneuvered the boat out of the slip and into the open ocean. I watched Pier 77 grow smaller to the west. El Lobo was finally on her way.
"That wine and the Dramamine are taking their toll on me, dear cousin. I'm going to have to crash for a while. It doesn't help that I'm also hung-over from a tad too many apple-tinis last night." Phoebe pushed back from the table with a dramatic stretch and a yawn.
"Phoebe, the ocean is like glass today. Why the Dramamine?" I asked her.
"I get queasy in a swimming pool. I'm not taking any chances." She blew a kiss to the girls and me and went to find a bed.
Angelo began to clear the table and I asked him to bring another bottle of Orvieto up top to the swimming pool. "Find the plastic wine glasses, too." I looked at the twin lovelies at my sides. "We wouldn't want anyone's pretty feet cut up, now would we?"
They both giggled as if I was the wittiest man they'd ever met. I offered a crooked arm to each girl and guided them toward the stairs. "If you need to change into your suits . . ."
Two sets of mischievous eyes twinkled at me. "Isn't your pool clothing optional, sugah?" Shelby asked me in a mock Southern drawl. Apparently, the girls weren't going to waste any time on preliminaries. That was fine by me. I welcomed the distraction from my distraction.
I propelled them up the stairs with a little smack on both of their tight Valentine asses. "Sweethearts, the entire boat is clothing op
tional for you two."
Chapter 7—Lara
I had to admit that Morgan managed to snag a trio of fabulous babes for the ride to the Bahamas. Richard had popped into the kitchen earlier in the morning and given me a head's up on the lunch plans so I was able to put together a masterful salad for the guests. The captain had told me that guests were rare on El Lobo so I wanted to make it special.
Culinary school had taught me that with something as simple as a salad, presentation was everything. I was grateful for the knowledge. The women looked like they had probably had every permutation of greens under the sun. There sure wasn’t an ounce of fat sitting at that table. All four of the diners were perfect physical specimens.
Angelo and I finished cleaning up and I was off the hook for dinner. Morgan and his guests, captain and most of the other hands would be having dinner ashore on Paradise Island. There was plenty of time for me to throw a quick pasta dish together for myself and the skeleton crew that would stay on board.
After I changed out of my chef's togs, I propped myself up against my headboard and opened my reader to the book in progress. I wasn't able to concentrate on it, though. Above my head, I could hear the laughter and conversation only partially muffled by the porthole's glass. I tried to ignore it but it was impossible. There was way too much fun going on up there by the pool. My nerves stood at annoyed attention and my stomach gave an angry lurch at the thought of Morgan splashing around with the hotties up on deck.
Of course I knew I was being irrational. I had no claim on the man whatsoever. All the same, I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to him. If I was destined for another bad choice at least it could be a guy who made my core clutch at the sight of him. I wanted to pull that perfect mouth down to mine and run my tongue over those lupine teeth. Fantasy doesn't adhere to rules. My runaway mind was bucking me naked against those slim hips, taking that fine thick cock inside me and riding him like a wild thing.