Kept for His Appetites (2 page)

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Saturday morning light, the early morning downtown was shrugging off a Friday night, long shadows dragged along the pavement and a biggish black car with darkened windows pulled up beside me at the curb. The back door opened and it waited. Should I get in? Bad enough getting into cars with strange men, but I couldn’t even see the driver. A voice from the front inside said, “You coming or what, lady? You’re the cook, right?” Yes or no? All my instinct said no. I got in. The door closed and we drove, through the almost empty streets, farther downtown until we reached a sign that said, ‘Battery Park Marina.’ Marina. We drove in, and along a dock, up to the back of a massive white boat. It had the word, ‘Splash’ in flowery lettering on the back. When he’d told me that he needed someone to cook for him, for the weekend, he had neglected to mention that it was to be on a boat. The car door opened, and when I didn’t get out straight away, the voice from the front said,

“This is your stop, lady.”

So I climbed onto the lower deck and aboard. The black car was already driving away.

“I’m just making breakfast. Come on down.” I heard that voice, rich and cultured, like it could just command anything. Anything. And expect to get it. I followed the sound, down some steps to a kitchen area, a galley more than twice the size of the kitchen in my apartment. It looked just like a kitchen, except that there was a clip or a latch to fasten just about everything in sight. The sun blasted in through a long, skinny window and silhouetted him there in a white short-sleeved shirt, showing a golden tan on thick, muscled arms, with a dark down across the forearms. His crisp, creased white pants were just loose enough to hint at a sturdy form beneath. I checked. A couple of times, actually. For science, you know? He was putting out a pile of scrambled eggs and thick slices of buttered toast. He gestured to a table with two plates and settings. I was more confused than ever and I said,

“I thought the idea was for me to cook,”

He smiled with that cute, impish grin thing that made me want to dump a bucket of ice-water on his head. He said,

“You’ll have plenty to do, don’t worry. Here, eat.”

The eggs were just right, fluffy enough and still just a little creamy. I crunched a piece of toast and caught him watching me. I stopped. His mouth was just open and his tongue drew slowly across his lips, between perfect white teeth. I watched his tongue. He said,

“Enjoy. Don’t worry.” He was talking about eggs. Right? His smile relaxed a moment, and he almost looked like a normal person. In as much as normal people make their eggs for breakfast on yachts. He said,

“Most of the day, perhaps most of the weekend, there will probably just be two of us,” I looked up from my toast and my eyes must have widened. Tell me that I misheard that. What did he say? Then he said,

“I mean that I’m expecting one guest for most of today, possibly the whole weekend. There will be one, maybe two more people aboard this morning. After that, I can’t say yet, but I doubt there will be more than three of us, four at the most, at any time. I’d like you just to prepare snacks, and bring them out about every ninety minutes, OK?” Now he was watching me. It was unsettling. I felt like a specimen or a creature in a zoo. “Find whatever takes your fancy in the galley here, and bring out sandwiches, dips, salads, fruit, nuts, whatever. But more or less every hour and a half. You got that? Come and find us. Me or us. Wherever we are – the foredeck,”

I looked at him and said,

“That’s at the front, right?”

That grin. He nodded, and said,

“Or we could be in the lounge behind the foredeck, or on the skydeck,”

He looked at me. I pointed upwards and raised an eyebrow like a question. He smiled and nodded,

“We could be on the rear deck,”

“That’s the way I just came aboard,”

That grin widened,

“That’s right. Or there’s a bar area, right above here. There are relaxation areas below decks for crew,”

and he gestured toward a small door at the back of the galley,

“but, to be honest, I doubt you’ll have much time to relax. Sorry.”

He could have looked a great deal more sorry.

“But there is a cabin for you below, and a set of whites,”

Chef’s whites? I guessed that was what he meant. He said,

“I think they’ll fit,”

He took this as an excuse, or a license to give my body a long, appraising examination that swept along my thighs, over my hips – I couldn’t stop watching his shining brown eyes – he looked over my waist, when he settled on my breasts, he blinked and looked up. My eyes were still on his, so they met. I felt a bang like an electric shock. He just looked like a little boy with his arm in the cookie jar. Like, OK, you caught me, but what did you expect. And anyway, cookies, right? He just went on grinning and said,

“Yes. I think they’ll fit.”

He blinked and pressed on with the business of the day.

“The one other thing is, whether there are two of us or it’s just myself, I’d like you to prepare dinner. Quite late, about 9.30. Again, take a look at what’s available here. If you want anything more. Anything.” I looked into the deep brown pools of his unreadable eyes, “Food, I’m talking about. There are steaks and there should be some marlin or swordfish, but anything else you need, you’ll have to let André know in the next hour.”

“Who’s André?”

“André is the captain. He drove you here. I guess you didn’t chat.”

“If he had any small talk, he didn’t share it.”

“André isn’t a morning person. Shame for a skipper and a driver. He pilots for me, too, but rarely before lunch.”

I wanted to make sure I was keeping up here. My mind had been to the races during our chat.

“OK, so snacks every hour and a half, dinner for one or two at 9.30.”

“Think you’ll cope?” there was that little smirk again.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent. Obviously, feed yourself with whatever you like.”

I considered that for a moment. An idea or two presented themselves, but I ignored them. For now, at least.

“And André?”

“Feed André if you want to, but André is perfectly well able to feed himself, so I wouldn’t bother. Unless it gives you pleasure.”

And he was gone. But not without the rolling ballet of his departing buttocks under the drape of his soft white pants burning onto my memory.

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I checked the refrigerator and the larder. There was enough food for a small navy. I squeezed through the little doors and down the steps ‘below decks.’ A cabin door stood open, with chef’s clothes in cellophane on a hanger. There was a mirror in the cabin, and in it I saw a male figure in shadow behind me. I thought it was my employer from the bulk and the outline, but I heard a low sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. It didn’t’ sound like the voice that I knew. But then, I didn’t know much.

I looked again and I was alone. In the small cabin I changed into the whites. The chef’s tunic had buttons up both sides and it fit across my figure with more flattery than I’d have believed it could. It had the same flowery lettering I’d seen on the back of the boat, saying, ‘Splash,’ right across my left breast. I wasn’t too sure how to feel about that. I wondered for a moment whether I could wear the tunic inside out. Or not wear it. ‘Get a grip, girl,’ I told myself. I’m putting on unfamiliar clothes, in a gently rocking boat. Anything could be apt to make me nervous. Little things like being watched by large men I couldn’t identify, just for example. At the thought, I whipped around. No, nobody there. I pushed the cabin door to check that it was closed. The blue and white checked pants were a pretty good fit and, when I checked over my shoulder in the mirror, they seemed to drape nicely enough over my generous curves to give me a small glow of satisfaction. Pants aren’t my best look, though. They don’t make enough of my legs. From the narrow slatted window, waving light reflected from the sky and off the water. I was determined to feel like this was all going to go well, and to be very glad that I was here.

Back in the galley, I started making with the finger-food and nibbles.

For the first service, I found our host with his first guest under an awning on the foredeck. The kind of stick-thin, pampered, leggy, hard-faced blonde I’d expect to see with a guy like him. She wore shiny hot pants, a sleeveless navy top and had a navy kerchief knotted tightly around her long neck. Silver straps on her high wedged sandals set off her long stretches of golden tan. Almost good-looking enough for a model. They were sat together on a couch, quite close, with laptops, iPhones and large, printed pages on a table in front of them. They seemed to be talking about ‘reports’ and a ‘stockholder’s vote.’ I didn’t pay much attention. On a table at the side I laid out plates of little, bite-sized pancakes, little squares of buttered toast, fruit, preserves, jugs of juices and a flask of fresh coffee. The woman’s voice had a soft, valley-girlish whine. It rose in pitch as she seemed to be talking about unusual loads and heavy packets. My cheeks burned. In the diner, I would have given her a few snappy returns, but here I felt constrained, thinking that some kind of ‘silver service’ manners would be expected. My cheeks prickled and my chest heated, and I resisted making any response. I heard her voice rise again and then stop. In the corner of my eye, I saw that his hand was on top of her wrist. I made sure to lay out a neat and inviting buffet, but I didn’t spend any longer than I had to. I glanced at him, just to see if what I’d done was OK. He cocked an eyebrow then went straight back to his conversation with the maybe-model, or whatever she was, so I had to take that cock of a brow as my performance appraisal for now.

As the day went on, a couple of middle-aged men appeared, very expensively casual and elegantly mannered. When I brought trays to the sky-deck, and later to the bar, both of them took watched with appreciative interest. One, a great bear of a man, looked like an ultra-sleek sports coach, I can safely say that he was a tit man. His chin sagged whenever I arrived, and he had that ‘aw, please. I’ve been good’ look that tit men sometimes have around me. Oh, that and he stared at my tits all the time. I’d say the other was an ass and leg man. His head tilted as he tried to sneak peeks. And he didn’t look like he’d been good at all. Neither of them said anything directly to me, but had they been customers in the diner, they would have earned themselves a crack or two, and a sample of my views in return, but not here in yacht-world. Here I was feeling very much seen, and I was absolutely determined that I would not be heard.

He had been right when he said that I would have almost no time to relax. I did snatch one short break below decks, I sat in the round common area with a glass of my own cold, freshly-made lemonade.

I congratulated myself on the day’s work so far. All of the snacks, dips and nibbles that I put out were tasty and well presented, and almost none of it remained on the plates. The guests always brightened up to see my ninety-minute arrivals, all but one that is. The woman. I heard somebody call her ‘Kaysha,’ or something like that. She and I weren’t set to be best friends anytime soon. As for my silver-haired employer, thoughts of him still made my throat catch and I’d start to feel hot in my pants.

From somewhere along a corridor I heard the sounds of a scuffle. Along the corridor was a large mirror and it showed an open cabin door. In a cabin about twice the size of mine, the lanky model Kaysha or-not was feverishly wrapping herself around a man. I could only see the back of the man, and that was in shadow. It looked like the figure I had seen behind me when I came down to change. Which I had thought was my employer. The woman’s top swiftly came off. No bra. Two perfectly proportioned breasts bounded out and against the man’s chest. Fakes, I thought with a little satisfaction. They looked pretty fine bouncing under that kerchief, though. Not a tan line to be seen anywhere. I was standing, to close the rec-room door. Or maybe to get a better look. Her hands were on his back and her teeth grazed the top of his shoulder. She dragged her mouth up and down his neck, and her hands slipped down below his belt, squeezed his ass, and then slipped round, in front of him. She nibbled his ear, and his back began to arch and his neck stretched. Her head started down and her eyes rolled upwards. They met mine. A shock ran through my body and the door in the mirror slammed hard enough that I felt the floor shake.