Going Nowhere (A Romantic Comedy Novella) (5 page)

“Ouch. That hurts right here,” he said, patting the left side of his chest. “So who are you going to spend your time with?”

“April.”

“Can I watch?”

I ripped my bottle of sunscreen out of his hands and threw it into my bag. “This is all I need.”

“And I thought Sam was temperamental. I bet it would be easier to get him into bed than you.”

“Is that because you have more experience seducing men?” I leaned back, evaluating Max carefully. “Are you two sharing a room?”

“No, I have no experience seducing men. They just throw themselves at me, as much as I protest. And yes, I’m sharing a room with Sam. No way am I paying for a single occupancy.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Come to dinner, Kate.”

I raised both eyebrows and quickly thought about it. I couldn’t very well ask if he’d bring Sam. That would imply that I cared, which might imply that I had a reason to care. No, I would go and take my chances. I stood up. “Fine, Max, I’ll come.”

He rose to his feet, still grinning. “And I was merely hoping for dinner.”

I suddenly felt I had to back away, my heart beating faster. Max made a lot of jokes, but how many were true indications of his feelings and how many were conversation fillers? I temporarily avoided meeting his eyes by rummaging through my tote bag. “Where do you want to meet?”

“How about the buffet on deck eleven?”

“That’s fine.”

“Eight o’clock okay?”

“Sure.” I switched my weight from one foot to the other, bit my bottom lip, then went back to rifling through my bag. I pulled out my ship card and used it to gesture toward the stairs. “This has been fun, but I really have to get going.”

“I understand. You need to start entertaining yourself. Maybe you’ll think of me?” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his swimming trunks.

“If you were in my fantasies, I would spend this cruise making them a reality.” I turned and walked quickly toward the stairs, not once looking back.

Max, having to have the last word, called after me. “There’s still time, my dear.”

April was gone when I got back to the cabin.

I’d barely gotten my clothes back on when there was a knock on the door. I peeked through the peephole to see the room steward. I opened up.

“Miss, you must go to the Level Five restaurant for the muster drill. Bring your safety jacket. It is in the closet behind the door.”

“What? Really?”

“It is mandatory.”

“I... well... fine. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said winningly.

I shut the door and looked in the closet. There was a safe attached to the back wall and, as he said, a safety vest. There was only one. April must have already taken hers. I pulled out the bright orange vest. How come I’d never heard of this before? I had been planning on getting completely plastered, not attending a safety drill. Not that I could argue with the importance of it.

I put on the life vest and hurried out the door. Before I could reach the elevator, the steward appeared again.

He was gestured grandly toward the nearby stairs. “In the event of an emergency, all passengers must proceed to the nearest stairs.”

So it really was a whole drill. I obediently went down the stairs. I started to notice the people around me at this point and I didn’t see anyone else wearing a life vest. Everyone else was carrying theirs. I suddenly felt very conspicuous and slightly embarrassed. It was too late at that point, so I figured I might as well work it.

I was directed to the lounge, instead of the restaurant, based on my room number. I was happy to see that April was already there. Like everyone else, she was only holding her vest.

“That’s a good look on you,” she said.

“It’s pretty slimming, right?” I sat next to her on a bar stool that she had kindly saved for me.

“So what happened? I want details.”

I told her everything that happened, leaving out no excruciating details. “There I was, half-naked, vulnerable, drunk, and Max was pawing me with his thick, cloven hooves.”

“Isn’t that sexual harassment?”

“Well, he isn’t my superior at work. Besides, I think one of the tenets of harassment law is not enjoying every minute of it.”

She nodded. “Good point. I guess you didn’t see Sam.”

“Nope. Do you know what happened to him?”

Unable to stop herself from laughing, she told me about it. “I saw him on my way here. He was passed out in the Internet café. I don’t think he’s going to make it here for muster.”

I started to feel like cruising was similar to visiting a frat house. “So I’m thinking I won’t get any schmoozing done today.”

“Doesn’t look like it. Want to get facials at the spa?”

I sat up straighter‌—‌even in my bright orange inflatable vest. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

We did our best to pay close attention to the emergency procedures, then ran to the spa the minute they were finished. The run was hard on my feet, so I had to get a pedicure, too. I was already starting to realize that there was more to the cruise than sucking up, and I liked it.

A
T EIGHT O
’
CLOCK
on the dot, I clicked across the deck in a pair of strappy sandals that showed off my newly painted toes and looked for Max.

I caught a glimpse of him and cringed. He was wearing some kind of Hawaiian shirt, the unspoken dress code of the cruise line. Cheesy tourists united in their love for tacky resort wear. As soon as Max came closer, I got a better impression of his outfit. The shirt was subtle, in a retro-ish way. And he’d paired it with simple, knee-length khaki carpenter shorts. Max didn’t look like a cheesy tourist at all.

No matter what, I was glad I’d decided on wearing an outfit from my selection of uncomfortable clothes: tightly fitted peach capris and a corset-like camisole that pinched my waist. It was a little too revealing all by itself, so I had added a thin cardigan on top. “Hi,” I said. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks. It’s not too cheesy?”

I looked him up and down. “I think you pull it off.”

Max scoped out the buffet line. “Are you ready to eat all you can eat?”

“Of course. I skipped lunch for this.”

We got in line, pulling a quick move on a couple of slow old ladies who were obviously on their fifth plate. I made a big show of looking around. “So where’s Sam? Dining at the captain’s table?”

“No, that’s tomorrow night.”

“Really? I was kidding.” I took another step forward in the long line, full of senior citizens, older gay couples, and groups of twenty-somethings determined to make cruising the new Ibiza. This was what the Connoisseur Cruises off-season looked like. “What about you, Max? Do you get to dine with the big shots, too?”

“Nope. I’m afraid I’m a lot lower on the totem pole than that.” He handed me a plate from the end of the buffet and I looked at the array of seafood set out in pans of ice. I used a pair of tongs to put a few shrimp on my plate, and then passed the utensils to Max.

Max picked through the pans that were within reaching distance. “So what are your plans for this cruise, other than getting molested by strange men?”

“Getting molested by strange men is my only goal.”

Plate already half-full, he put down the tongs. “Then I guess what I really want to know is: do you consider me strange?”

“I can honestly say that you are the strangest man I know.”

“I like those odds.”

I took another few steps down the buffet line and put some leafy greens on my plate. “I came on this cruise because I needed the break, and because I should probably use up my vacation days before I lose my job.”

Max narrowly missed getting trampled by two seniors in leisure suits. “I want to remind you that I never said you’d definitely be laid off.”

“Wow, so my demise isn’t one hundred percent assured? It’s like a weight’s been lifted from my shoulders.”

“Just keep it in mind,” he said, balancing a second plate on his forearm. “I don’t want you to get wrapped up in a future that might never come to pass.”

After finally making it through the buffet line, Max and I sat down at a table in a dark corner. Before looking at him, I fidgeted with my place setting, inspected the fork, spoon, and knife as though I expected to find more than the usual water spots. I unfolded my napkin and laid it carefully across my lap. Then I adjusted the position of my chair until I was a perfect distance from the tabletop and could comfortably cross my legs.

I stared down at my food, still not making eye contact with him.

“Is something wrong?” Max finally asked.

I looked up, a confused expression on my face, as though I didn’t know what in world he could be talking about. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Oh, you just looked... never mind.” His fork was poised above his salad like he was expecting me to add something.

I stared up at him blankly.

Max looked around at the other people on the deck, slowly swiveling his neck from left to right. Then he returned his steady gaze to me. “What career did you imagine yourself in when you were a child? Did you always plan to be an attorney?”

“No.” An ocean breeze picked up, blowing cool air against my skin. “I’d rather not say what I thought
I was going to be
.
It’s too embarrassing.”

Max was shaking his head and leaning forward with barely veiled interest. “I’m sure it isn’t. I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“So what? All little boys want to be astronauts. That’s not embarrassing at all.”

“There’s no career you could name that I would find laughable. Honestly.”

I wondered if he was right. Was I taking myself a tad too seriously? I leaned forward a little. “I wanted to be an actress.”

“You see? That’s not stupid at all.”

“It’s totally unrealistic. I wanted to be a movie star, the girl that everyone admires. You know the type... all the women want to be her, and all the men want to love her. I had elaborate fantasies...” I stared into space, imagining a red carpet and popping flashbulbs. “God, this is so dumb.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

“It wasn’t a fantasy. I really thought I could be good,” I continued. The more I shared, the more liberated I felt. I sat up straighter in the hard, iron chair. “Everyone always told me I was pretty and charismatic. I honestly thought I could make it.”

“Maybe you could.”

“I guess part of my fantasy was being discovered. I never thought about struggling through audition after audition, working as a waitress until I got my big break. I imagined I’d be sitting at a sidewalk café one day, sipping cappuccino, and Martin Scorsese would be at the table next to me. Suddenly, he’d look over and say, ‘You’d be perfect for the lead in my next movie!’”

Max smiled. “It could happen.”

“It never did. So here I am.” I shrugged. “Obviously, I never really expected anything like that to happen. I don’t even know the first thing about acting. If I’d been serious, I could have taken classes or participated in the school play.”

“It’s not like you’re too old to go into acting right now. You could move to California, start going on auditions...”

I waved my hand dismissively. “It was all make-believe. I don’t know if I’d even like the job.”

“Why do you think you fantasized about a job you were unlikely to attain?” He paused, then said, “I have a theory.”

“Of course you do.” I sucked petulantly on the straw in my iced tea.

“If you’d fantasized about something you could achieve, then you’d have been forced to make an effort at getting it. Conversely, if you dreamed about being an actress, you could do nothing all your life and tell yourself that what you
really
wanted was out of your grasp.”

I stuck my fork in a piece of shrimp, dragged it through the cocktail sauce, and then started to lift it toward my mouth. Halfway there, I put the speared shrimp back on my plate and pushed the plate away. “Did you know that fresh, raw shrimp in their shells look like big, swimming cockroaches?”

Max pushed his plate away also. “What do you think of my theory?”

I looked towards the buffet. Maybe I could have something light, like a salad. Though even a salad might be too much to handle when my stomach was tied up in knots. Suddenly, I wanted a drink. A nice, big tropical drink in a tall glass with a paper umbrella. Unfortunately, I’d already played my irresponsibility card earlier that afternoon, and there was only one in my deck.

“You’re showing classic avoidance symptoms.”

I flicked one of the shrimp at his chest. “What do
you
know about psychology?”

“Nothing. Anything I say is likely to be total and complete bullshit,” he said, dabbing at a spot of cocktail sauce on his shirt and laughing.

“No, you’re probably right,” I said, starting to laugh, as well.

“You know what will make everything better?” He pushed his chair back. “Dessert.”

Simultaneously, we turned our heads toward the huge table brimming with cakes, pastries, and sweet fruits. “Do you like chocolate?” I asked.

“I like chocolate so much I’ve occasionally been accused of being a woman,” he said.

I offered him my arm. “Anyone one who loves chocolate can’t be all bad.”