Bad Cruz

by L.J. Shen

  Her lips were plump and naturally pouty, her eyes somewhere between hazel and green, and her nose was so button-y, it begged to be pinched.

  “Excuse me, sir, do I know you?” she asked coldly.

  She looked at me like I’d had a personality transplant, not sure where my easygoing attitude was coming from. The man glimpsed between us, turning slightly in his barstool to take me in.

  “Very funny, Mrs. Weiner.” I slid between the two of them, giving him my back as I propped an elbow onto the counter. I didn’t mind being rude. No one on this cruise knew me but Tennessee, and her words were worth nothing in Fairhope. “Been lookin’ for you all over.”

  “Are you…Mr. Weiner?” I heard the man ask behind me.

  “The one and only,” I confirmed.

  “So this is your husband?” This question was directed at her.

  “Also yes,” I said, at the same time she corrected, “Cousin.”

  I took a step back so they could see each other’s faces. For the first time since I’d gotten on this damn ship, I was having something that resembled, at least from afar, fun.

  Tennessee’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. The old man paled, but upon a second peek of her shapely calves, squared his shoulders, and decided to give it another go.

  “You’re married to your cousin?” he asked her, slowly as though deciding whether or not that was a dealbreaker.

  Tennessee swung her gaze my way, pinning me with a look that promised me a slow, painful death involving fructification, starvation, and asphyxiation.

  “We’re in the process of getting a divorce.” She played with her plastic earring coyly, doing her whole vixen act.

  I flung my arm over her shoulder and swiveled to him.

  “We were in the process of getting a divorce. We’ve decided to give it one last shot. Hence why we’re here, on this cruise. This is our make-or-break second honeymoon.”

  “Where was your first honeymoon?” The man looked between us with a frown, obviously getting suspicious.

  “Paris,” Tennessee said, at the same time I answered, “Fiji.”

  He took a leisurely sip of his beer, waiting for us to get our stories straight.

  But while I couldn’t give two shits about what he thought about me—finally, I was in an unchartered territory, where I could loosen up and be less than perfect—it was obvious from the way my companion was pretzeling her limbs and changing shades of red, that she was having a hard time trying to explain my existence.

  “We went to Paris first, for a weekend, but then he wanted to go to Fiji. And we always do what he wants. That’s why we’re getting a divorce. Because it’s always Mr. Weiner’s way or the highway. He is the town’s beloved golden boy, you see.”

  The man nodded knowingly, burying his hand into a bowl of wasabi peas and throwing a handful into his mouth.

  “Been there, done that. Twice divorced now, with three kids between the ex-wives. Life got me real good after that second divorce. Reminded me that the sun don’t shine from my ass.”

  “Yes!” Tennessee clapped her hands together, delighted to have an ally. “I don’t wish bad on a lot of people, but I hope my soon-to-be-ex-husband learns that he is, in fact, mortal.”

  “I don’t think you’re telling him the whole story, sweetheart.” I unfurled my arm from her shoulder to grab her mysterious white cocktail, taking a sip. It tasted of coconut, charred marshmallow, and gin. “Tell him why we really found ourselves in a marital pickle in Fiji.”

  She opened her mouth to stop me, but I was too far gone, driven by vengeance and anger and something else I couldn’t exactly put a name on, but made my blood run hotter.

  “What’s your name again?” I asked Mr. Rich Tourist.

  “Brendan.”

  “So, Brendan, here I am, newly wed in Fiji, deliriously happy and deeply in love…with my cousin.”

  This time I did drop a casual kiss on the crown of Tennessee’s head. I felt her stiffening beside me. Even her hair was hot with shame.

  She pretended to wrap an arm around my waist, actually digging her claws into my abs, going for blood.

  I ignored the pain, continuing, “I wanted to surprise her by getting her a black pearl necklace. No better place finding ’em than Fiji, amiright?”

  “Pearls aren’t my favorite.” Tennessee made a show of examining her atrociously long fingernails. “They’re basically an oyster’s blisters. Did you guys know that? Oysters produce them to ease their pain when debris gets stuck in their bodies.”

  “Please excuse her.” I smiled winningly, rubbing at her shoulder. “My bride here was raised by wolves. She doesn’t do well with polite conversation. Anyway, my wife had told me she was going to wait for me in the hotel. Didn’t think much of it at the time.”

  “You should’ve,” Tennessee said adamantly. “I’d tried to escape our marriage five or six times at this point.”

  I ignored her, chuckling as I shook my head, as if this was nothing more than our usual banter.

  “Anyway, so here I am, purchasing her a grand black pearl necklace, to go with her grand black heart. I come upstairs to our room, and lo and behold…she is not alone.”

  Tennessee rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her generous cleavage when she was sure she’d drawn enough blood under my shirt.

  “It was the maintenance guy. My loving husband made a mess and clogged the toilet after going ham on the seafood the evening before.”

  I continued, feeling reckless, and unhinged, and completely un-like myself for the first time in years.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know what he told you, but what I caught him doing had nothing to do with unclogging the toilet and everything to do with bottlenecking you.”

  Good ol’ Brendan choked on his beer, coughing and spitting some of the foam and pea wasabi. A bartender arrived, handing us three tall glasses of water. Brendan downed his in less than two seconds.

  “You cheated on him?” He jerked his thumb my way, his face thundering as he took Tennessee in.

  She shrugged noncommittally. “He cheated first. With my sister.”

  “Maybe so, but you were the one who brought a third participant into our marriage.”

  She twisted her head and threw me a violent stare. “You were the one who wanted a threesome!” She jabbed her finger in my chest.

  “I’m talking about the gonorrhea.”

  “Okay then.” Brendan stood up, patting his pockets to ensure his wallet, phone, and dignity were all in one place. “I’m going to head to my room now. Y’all obviously have some things to resolve, and frankly, it’s getting a little late and I had a big dinner. It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs.…Weiner.”

  The last name was uttered with a wince.

  I waved him off with a smile. “Sure thing. Maybe we’ll catch a game of golf sometime.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know about that. I’m not much of a golfer.”

  He was already on the other side of the bar. World’s tiniest violin for this creeper.

  I wrapped my arm around Tennessee and squeezed, my smile broadening.

  “Say goodbye to him, cuz.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

  “Oh, sweetheart, not if I kill you first.”

  For the record, I wasn’t chatting up Brendan at the bar.

  I wasn’t even supposed to be at the bar to begin with.

  I’d been headed toward the boardwalk, lost in thought and barely getting over another stream of tears and hiccups when I noticed from across the deck there was only one bartender manning the huge bar.

  He was flustered, not a lot older than twenty-three, with two huge patches of sweat adorning his armpits.

  Helping others had always given me a sense of direction and soothed my soul. Seeing someone who may be more stressed than me in that moment meant I could make something better for someone, if not myself. Plus, it wasn’t like I had anything else to do while Cruz Costello was no doubt busy telling the entire
world how much of an idiot I was.

  Also—I was still wearing my Jerry & Sons uniform and looked like a waitress.

  If that wasn’t fate, I didn’t know what was.

  The bartender—Stevie—almost kissed me he was so grateful for the help. Apparently, both the barmaids who’d been supposed to work with him on this shift had fallen ill, and he was waiting for their replacements to get dressed.

  I’d only helped him for twenty minutes before two veteran bartenders came to save the day. I was almost disappointed when they showed up, since I was making pretty neat tips and taking my mind off of the Elation/Ecstasy ordeal.

  I even made a mental note to try to find work in cruises sometime before Bear went to college so I could, well, afford to send him to one. Hell, same job but not in a town that hated me? Where was the downside?

  To show his appreciation, Stevie began sending all sorts of fancy cocktails my way—the type you had to pay for and didn’t come free with the all-you-can-drink package.

  And soon, I had to hand some of them over to people around me to avoid alcohol poisoning. One of them, a Brendan McGinn from Louisiana, had decided to strike up a conversation with me.

  Everything was going well, and I actually began to calm down a little until Cruz stormed in and made both of us look like slimy perverts.

  The worst part was that I’d been blindsided by his behavior.

  He’d never acted like this before. Not now. Not in high school. Heck, not even when we were both booger-ridden toddlers at the local nursery.

  I knew Cruz would never embarrass himself (and me) like this within Fairhope city limits. But now, away from our town—from our state—apparently, all bets were off.

  I was officially his humiliation amusement park, designed solely for his entertainment.

  He was golden, royal, and never wrong. But for the next ten days, he planned to be whatever tickled his fancy.

  Namely—my tormentor.

  Now, Cruz and I were heading to the room together, since I didn’t know where it was, and trying very hard not to kill one another.

  “Was that really necessary?” I hissed, plodding my way to the elevator.

  Bad idea.

  My feet still hadn’t recovered from my earlier floor-is-lava experience. I didn’t envy the poor maintenance person who had to scrape half of my dead skin from the deck tonight.

  “Not at all, but it was really fun.”

  “I wish the people of Fairhope could’ve seen you in action. Talking about adultery and incest.”

  “Don’t forget the gonorrhea,” Cruz uttered casually.

  “Seriously, how come people don’t see past your bull-peep?” I asked, just as the elevator slid open.

  We both stepped in, along with the three people behind us whom we hadn’t noticed until right that moment, but they sure noticed us and stared at us with open curiosity.

  Cruz didn’t seem to mind at all that he was the center of the wrong type of attention, the flint in his eyes telling me he’d never felt so comfortable.

  “Well, for one thing, people are not all that insightful. Easy to blow smoke up their asses. For another, I save this part of my personality ’specially for you, Mrs. Weiner.”

  “I should record you,” I muttered.

  “I should sue you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I belched. “For what exactly?”

  “Punching my throat, screwing up my one and only vacation this year. You name it.”

  “You punched his throat?” A teenage girl with purple hair and a septum ring beside us turned to me, raising her fist for a bump. “Dude. Neat.”

  I leaned toward her, angling my hand next to my mouth, as if telling a secret.

  “He went down like a Jenga tower. It was beautiful.”

  Everyone laughed.

  The elevator slid open, and Cruz stepped outside. I followed him down a narrow hallway with navy carpet and gold imprints on it. The doors were made of heavy deep-mahogany wood, and the lingering scent of citrus and cleaning products wafted through the air.

  Cruz slid the electronic card through the slot on the door and pushed it open. I noticed that, despite his intense dislike of me, he held the door open for me to get in first.

  Forever the gentleman.

  “Shotgun on the shower.” I traipsed in, throwing myself onto the one queen-size bed the room had to offer and inhaling the scent of the sheets, still fresh from a wash.

  Cruz tossed the electronic card onto a nearby desk and leaned against the sliver of wall the cabin had to offer. It was about half the size of an average Holiday Inn hotel room, but impeccably furnished and extremely clean.

  Still, I had no idea how I was going to survive ten days inside this place with Cruz Costello.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “You seem to need it more than me.”

  “Are you saying I smell?”

  “I’m saying I relish every minute spent away from you.”

  “You should write love songs,” I beamed at him. “That’s real romantic.”

  “You do know relish is more than a condiment, right?” He delivered a low blow, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  Determined to salvage whatever it was that was left of this trip, I opted out of arguing with him, unzipping my suitcase and taking out my toiletries and some fresh clothes.

  As soon as I walked into the tiny bathroom, I turned on both faucets and the shower to the max for privacy and went about my business. I reserved the right to let out a few dainty farts without being judged for it while I was in the comfort of my bathroom.

  I took my time, showering, shampooing, brushing my teeth, applying all sorts of complimentary creams and slipping into fresh clothes I’d had the sense to carry up in my purse, knowing our luggage might not get delivered until after dinner. (Okay, Cruz had reminded me to snag the dress before we handed off our luggage with a snarky comment about dining room dress code.)

  I even gave my hair a blow dry. I was tempted to pin it up and spray it to death like always, but then remembered I was not in Fairhope anymore. I could let myself be someone else, maybe the real me and not people’s expectations of me.

  “All right, Perfect McPerfson, the shower is all yours.” I got out of the bathroom with a spring to my step.

  Cruz was gone.

  I found Cruz in the dining room thirty minutes later.

  Walked in with my Anna Nicole Smith red lipstick and tight black mini dress that didn’t leave much room for imagination.

  Our assigned table somehow boasted an ocean view (I did not believe luck had anything to do with it). Cruz shared his dinner with one of the cruise directors, whose sole job was to look sparkly and pretty while convincing guests they were having enough fun to book another cruise.

  She was sitting in my assigned seat, giggling and tucking her hair behind her ears the entire time.

  Disgusting.

  Didn’t she know we were fake-married?

  I squinted, trying to figure out if it looked like a date or not. She was the kind of attractive woman men like Cruz went for—brunette, petite, slender, confident, and dressed in a lazy yet expensive manner.

  Ultimately, though, it was hard to figure out if a man had the intention of bedding a woman when all you could see was him asking her to pass the butter.

  I also spotted Brendan McGinn. He was sitting by himself at a two-seater table, eating a burger they only offered on the kid’s menu. Brendan noticed both of us, too, and gave me a what-the-heck look when he saw Cruz with Cruise Director Lady Woman.

  Marching over to Brendan, I took the empty seat, signaled his waiter, told him I’d have what Brendan was having, and struck up a conversation.

  “Quite a husband you’ve got there.” Brendan snorted.

  “He’s a doctor, you know,” I bragged.

  I was pretty sure this would be my only chance to ever flaunt having a doctor as my husband.

  Or any husband for that matter.

  “Also your cousin.”

  I w
aved my hand dismissively, unsure why I was entertaining Cruz’s madness.

  “Cruz’s adopted. His mother was in the circus, and she did a lot of weird stuff with her body while pregnant. He came out with all sorts of problems. Haven’t you noticed his head is shaped a little like an eggplant?”

  “Well, now that you’ve pointed that out…” Brendan trailed off, narrowing his eyes at Cruz.

  My, that felt liberating.

  I nodded.

  “What else is wrong with him?” Brendan asked.

  “I really shouldn’t say.”

  “Go on. I can keep a secret.”

  I was certain he couldn’t keep his cell phone on him at all times, let alone a secret, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

  “He has…uhm, actually, there were a few articles about him back in the day.” I cleared my throat and dropped my voice ,“He has two penises.”

  “He WHAT?”

  I repeated the lie, something fluttering behind my chest. It was so much fun to get back at Cruz.

  “Now I understand everything,” Brendan said. “It’s a sex thing.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked darkly.

  “You two are passionate. I can tell, even when you fight, that you have a great sex life.”

  I sincerely hoped Brendan didn’t serve this country in the FBI or CIA, because his instincts were way off if he thought this was a kink.

  “Yeah, too bad he is about to nail the pretty brunette cruise director from the lido deck before the night’s over,” I muttered bitterly.

  Brendan nodded, probably deciding that he was going to take us for what we were and not ask too many questions.

  We had a pleasant meal and an even more pleasant drink. When I peeked over my shoulder to see if Cruz was done with the woman, I saw he was only getting started.

  A few more people, her colleagues, judging by their uniforms, had joined them, and now they were all having drinks.

  Having drinks and glancing at me every now and then, like he was spreading lies about me, too.

  A sudden zap ran through me, like an earthquake.

  Cruz was here, having the time of his life without his family, free to be whomever he wanted to be, while I was away from Bear for the first time in my life and was probably not going to see him for the next ten days.