Hearts Ahoy

by Stephanie Taylor

  “Of course not.” Blaine rolled his eyes. “I’m just telling you to save the reading for right before you fall asleep at night in your pink curlers or whatever you wear at home. This trip is for flirting and talking over cocktails and being seen, not for hiding behind some giant romance novel. Okay?”

  Julia’s haunches went down. “Okay. That’s fair. I could be putting myself out there a little more. I can own that.”

  “Exactly. Which is why you’re going to get your cute behind in that door and have a drink with Gil, alright?”

  Blaine gave her a little shove toward the double doors to the ballroom and Julia threw him an innocent look over her shoulder. “Is my behind really cute?” she teased.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say it rings my chimes, necessarily, but you’d have to be blind not to call it cute. Now get on, will you?” Blaine shooed her away with both hands and left with one final exaggerated eye roll in Julia’s direction.

  Inside the ballroom, a DJ was playing “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves, and as Julia glanced around, she realized that everyone was basically her age.

  “Are you Julia?” A man stopped in front of her, a hopeful smile on his face. He wore a purple lei around his neck, and beneath it, a cream-colored linen shirt and khaki pants. His hair was sandy blonde and drastically thinning, and he was several inches taller than Julia.

  “I am,” she said, giving him what she hoped was an eager face. “And you must be Gil?”

  “The one and only,” he said, voice booming. Involuntarily, Julia took a step back.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, glancing around at the men and women dancing with enthusiasm. Their moves and their age all made them look like ancient relics from an 80s prom. It was like a reunion of all the cast members from the final scene of Pretty in Pink. “What’s the theme of this gathering? Blaine didn’t give me much info.”

  Gil looked around. “It’s an 80s throwback party,” he said, lifting a hand and pointing in the direction of the bar. “And if we’re going to survive it, we should probably be as buzzed as we were the first time we ever slow-danced to Duran Duran.”

  Julia giggled. “I think I was a little buzzed that time,” she admitted.

  “I think we all were.”

  Gil led her to the bar in the corner and they ordered screwdrivers that came with fresh wedges of orange speared on little red plastic swords.

  “To Hawaii and new friends,” Gil said, raising his glass in a toast. Julia lifted hers and clinked the edge against his cocktail.

  “To Hawaii and new friends,” she said, sipping her screwdriver and making a face. “Wow. Strong.” She puckered her face.

  “Aaahh,” Gil said, “just like I like it.”

  They stood on the side of the room for a few minutes, letting the alcohol numb their nerves sufficiently.

  “So,” they said at the same time and then laughed.

  “You go first,” Julia offered.

  “Okay.” Gil sniffed and leaned one shoulder against the wall behind him as a small group of rather drunk women walked past, snorting and talking loudly. “Dang, just like a homecoming dance, isn’t it?” he marveled. “Anyway. Let’s get to know each other. I’m Gilbert Young. I own a chain of nurseries in Kansas City. Divorced. Four grown kids. I love to golf and I can’t stand 80s music.”

  Julia was looking at her drink and leaning her ear closer as Gil spoke, nodding as she took in his short bio. “That’s pretty succinct,” she said over the music. “Very to the point.”

  “Your turn,” he said, leaning in close with one ear as Julia had done. “Tell me everything. Succinctly,” he added with a wink.

  “I’m Julia Delmonico. I’m a high school teacher. Widowed for three years, one daughter who is in college. I love to read and I love 80s music.”

  “Ouch,” Gil said. “Our first major disagreement.”

  Julia took another sip of her screwdriver and tried to tug the cleavage of her wrapdress closed a little more. After all, Gil’s vantage point was a bit higher than most people’s, and it made her slightly uncomfortable to realize that he could peer directly into her dress if he wanted to.

  “I think we can chalk it up to a minor disagreement,” Julia offered, hoping it sounded witty. “And I could forgive you entirely if you’d dance to this song with me.” As they were talking, “Hungry Like the Wolf” had come on.

  “Oh, jeez,” Gil said, taking her drink and setting it on a table next to his own. “As predicted, we’ve got Duran Duran on the speakers. Okay, Julia Del—what was it?”

  “Delmonico,” she reminded him, taking the hand he offered her.

  “Julia Delmonico,” Gil repeated. “It does roll off the tongue nicely.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said, for lack of any other appropriate response.

  To say that Gil was unskilled on the dance floor would have been a kindness. Julia took a step back from him as she had when he’d first greeted her loudly, only this time she cast her gaze around self-consciously, wondering if other people were as gobsmacked by Gil’s moves as she was.

  “Oh, hey! Let this guy have some room!” shouted a man in button-up shirt with sweaty underarms. He was paunchy and middle-aged, and clearly saw something of himself in Gil.

  As the music ramped up, so did Gil, puncturing the air with one pointed finger and spinning around, though his body was not made for lithe dance moves. Julia moved around, eyes wide as she watched him do a little jump that took him several inches off the floor. She questioned the wisdom of that move on knees that had to be creakier than they were when “Hungry Like the Wolf” had first debuted, but who was she to stop a man in mid-flail?

  Just as things were getting hilarious, Julia felt a hand on her elbow.

  “Can I cut in?” It was Martin. She stopped moving and couldn’t find her tongue for what felt like minutes. “I said, can I cut in?” he asked again. Julia nodded.

  “Hi,” she said, starting to move again, but this time with her back turned to Gil. He hardly seemed to notice, as the group of drunk women who’d passed them earlier had moved into his orbit and were hooting and hollering encouragement his way.

  Martin appraised Gil with bemusement as they danced together, close enough to hear one another. “I have so many questions,” he said with a frown that looked like it could melt into laughter at any moment.

  “Ha ha. I’m sure you do.”

  “Did you come here willingly with that guy?” Martin was making no move to hide the fact that he was entirely amused by Julia’s so-called date.

  “By force,” she said. “My cupid.”

  “Hmm.” Martin nodded. “I don’t really care that you showed up with that guy, as long as you’re leaving with me.”

  Julia felt that unfamiliar flush of—what was it? Pleasure? Desire? A warmth, regardless—as she let Martin’s words sink in. “Really?”

  “Uh, YEAH,” he said incredulously. “I’m not leaving you here with that buffoon.”

  Julia stopped dancing. “He doesn’t even like 80s music,” she said, looking deflated.

  “Oh, honey,” Martin teased, “then your cupid needs to go back to the drawing board.” His lips twitched as he watched her face. “Come on.” He slipped her hand into his. “I have no idea what you were drinking over there by the wall while this guy tried to sell you life insurance or offered to do discount orthodonture on your nieces and nephews, but I’ll get you a new one. I promise there’s a better gig out there than this one.”

  Julia tugged at his hand and moved in Gil’s direction. “Should I…” she opened her mouth to shout Gil’s name and let him know she was going, but Martin tightened his grip and gave her hand a little tug in return.

  “Come on,” he said, “Buddy Boy will be just fine.”

  And Gil did look fine; two of the drunken, over-aged homecoming queens had their backs to him and were shimmying up against his body like two cats scratching against a pole.

  Like two kids sneaking out of the
house after curfew, Julia and Martin ducked out of the ballroom, leaving the sound of Madonna and a roomful of drunken GenXers behind.

  “I have a plan,” Martin said, ducking into an elevator and pulling Julia along gently behind him. “But you need a sweatshirt or something.” He glanced at her dress. “Not that I necessarily want you to cover up, but I don’t want you to be cold.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Martin checked his watch. “We’re going to meet back at the pool in ten minutes. Will that give you time to put on something warm enough to sit outside?”

  Julia shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Like jeans?”

  “Whatever will keep you warm,” he said. “See you there, okay?”

  Julia took the stairs and wound through the ship and back to her stateroom, where she dropped the thin wrap dress on her bed and slipped on jeans and a cardigan over a t-shirt. For good measure, she put on socks and Converse and let her hair out of the bun she’d been wearing all evening. In ten minutes, she was back at the pool, which was nearly empty now that it was almost nine o’clock.

  “Hey.” Martin walked into her field of vision carrying a big, gray blanket. “Found this extra blanket in my closet. Shall we?”

  Julia noticed that he’d also changed into jeans and topped it with a sweatshirt, and she looked up at him from her seat on the edge of a deck chair. “A blanket? What are we doing, exactly?”

  “Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Delmonico. I’m not putting the moves on you like that.” Martin pulled her up from the sitting position. “There’s a nightly ‘movie under the stars’ and I thought you might like to see it.”

  They found seats on a wide open space of the deck that faced an enormous movie screen and Martin moved their chairs closer together, settling Julia in and spreading the blanket over her, but leaving enough to cover himself when he finally sat down.

  “I’m getting us drinks and snacks—any requests?”

  “Anything works for me,” Julia said, watching him wind through the chairs as he made his way to a bar. She looked around at the faces of other people bundled up and cozy under sweatshirts and blankets; this was fun. A sense of comfort washed over Julia that she hadn’t felt since Will was alive, and while she wasn’t ready to ascribe it to Martin, necessarily, she was able to process it and realize that this was truly Step One in moving ahead.

  Julia breathed in the night air deeply and tilted her head back so that she could see the stars overhead. Next to her was a much older couple; a blanket covered their laps and their hands were intertwined as they leaned in close to talk. Seeing that made her wistful. She’d always assumed—taken for granted, really—that she’d have that with Will. That they’d have old age and grandchildren and gray hair together well into the future.

  “I went with Diet Coke and a plate of nachos—will that work?” Martin appeared next to her holding an unopened can of soda under his arm and one in his hand, as well as a plate piled high with smothered tortilla chips in the other hand.

  “Perfect.” Julia sat up straighter and took the can of soda from him. “I’ve had more to drink in the past few days than I have in the past few years.”

  “Same.” Martin slid onto his lounge chair and got settled, pulling the blanket over his lower legs. “Mind if we share?”

  “Not at all.” Julia reached over and fluffed the blanket so that it covered even more of him. When she looked up, he was smiling at her and she realized that the move had been more familiar and loving than she’d perhaps intended.

  “Thanks.” Martin gave her a long look. “And I picked this movie just for you, because in my humble experience, it’s one of the all-time most beloved chick flicks in the universe.”

  Julia hadn’t even thought to ask what they were watching. “What is it?”

  Martin gave an exaggerated eye roll that he clearly only meant as a joke. “Dirty Dancing.”

  “I love Dirty Dancing!” Julia said, pulling a nacho from the pile of cheesy chips on the plate that Martin had placed in her lap. “I haven’t seen this in years. I remember the first time I watched it with Christina,” she said, biting into her chip. “She loves it too.”

  Martin watched her intently. “Tell me about your daughter.”

  Julia crunched the chip happily, thinking of Christina. “Mmm,” she said, wiping away crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand.

  “Oh, I forgot to give you this,” Martin said, sitting forward and reaching into his back pocket for a folded up paper napkin. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” Julia wiped her fingers on the napkin. “Anyway, Christina is twenty and she’s just…well, she’s my everything. After we lost Will, she was my rock. She still is.”

  Martin nodded encouragingly, cracking open the top to his own can of soda.

  “When I won this trip, I was afraid she’d have some issue with me coming, but she’s been extremely supportive. I mean, you know how it is with kids,” Julia went on, “I felt like she might have some expectation that I’d spend the rest of my life alone, mourning her father.”

  Martin leaned his head back and looked up at the dark sky. Without any city lights to obscure the stars, the night looked like a thick navy blanket embroidered with glittering stars. “Maybe you will spend the rest of your life mourning him,” he said.

  Julia couldn’t hide her surprise. “I might,” she said. “I mean, in some ways I definitely will. And I’d been going along, thinking I didn’t need anything in my life besides work and my cat—“

  Martin pulled his eyes away from the sky and looked at her gravely. “You’ve mentioned cats a few times, and now I’m worried—are you exclusively a cat person?”

  “I’m actually more of a dog person, but this stray cat sort of re-homed itself on my front porch a couple of years ago, and eventually he just came in and made himself at home. We get along okay.”

  “Alright,” Martin said, feigning relief. “I was worried I was dealing with some kind of devoted cat lady here.”

  “Not at all. We had a golden retriever for years, but had to put her to sleep when Christina was sixteen. And I just haven’t had the heart to get another dog yet.”

  “I dragged you off course here,” Martin said apologetically. “Tell me more about Christina.”

  Julia took a swig of Diet Coke. “Right.” She wasn’t sure how much to tell Martin, given how little they knew one another, but something about the situation begged for her to reveal herself—all of herself—and offer a snapshot of her real life to him. “Christina is tall and funny and smart. She’s serious and athletic and big-hearted.” Julia paused, weighing how much she wanted to say. “Anyway, when I won this trip, she came home from college and spent the weekend with me, and that’s when she told me that she’s…well, actually, she likes girls.”

  Martin watched her, unblinking.

  “She’s gay,” Julia added, hoping that the phrase would start to come to her more easily the more frequently she said it.

  “Thank god she has a loving mother like you to talk about it with,” he said, looking completely unfazed. Martin turned his face back to the sky. “When my sister—Ally, the one I told you about—“ he looked back at Julia, “told me she loved women, I only wished our mother was around to hug her and reassure her. I mean, I did my best, but…it’s not the same.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Mmhmm. She’s been with Jennifer now for, oh, let’s see—maybe six or seven years? But I do wish our parents could have been around to talk to. Especially my mom.” He reached over and took Julia’s hand reassuringly.

  “Are your parents gone?” Julia ventured, hoping that her own disclosure would make him feel more inclined to share personal details.

  Martin nodded. “Our mom passed away about twenty years ago, and our dad got sent back to Mexico when I was still a boy.”

  Julia’s eyebrows shot up. “Sent back? You mean…”

  “Yes,” Martin said, nodding. “Sent back.”

  “So
you haven’t seen him?” Julia frowned. She was trying to piece together the lump of information Martin had just handed her.

  He shrugged. “I was able to go to Mexico at one point and I tracked him down. We talked. But that’s been years.” His clipped sentences clued Julia in to his feelings about the subject.

  “But you were born here?”

  The projector came to life and the credits started to roll. People all around the deck settled in and faced the screen. Martin lowered his voice. “Yes, I was.”

  “Ohhhh,” Julia said, her mouth holding the O shape.

  “It’s a long story,” Martin said, reaching for her hand again and giving it a squeeze. “But let’s watch the movie—maybe I can tell you another time?”

  Julia smiled at him distractedly. She really wanted to hear the story—to know him and where he came from. Everyone had a story, Julia knew that, and this man had a story that she really needed to hear. But the movie was starting, its familiar opening scene unfolding before them.

  “Yes, definitely. Tell me another time,” Julia whispered squeezing his hand back. The stars winked overhead and Julia watched Baby come into her own and get put in a corner and then come into her own again on the screen, but in her head all she could think about was Martin. His life, his story, his mysteries.

  For the first time since Will passed she found herself wanting more than just her job and her simple routine and her daughter. She wanted the adventure of learning about another human being. She wanted answers.

  9

  “Last day at sea before we hit land and scatter like coconuts,” Martin said from behind Julia’s shoulder in the buffet line the next morning.

  “Oh, I didn’t even see you there.” Julia turned, plate in hand, and smiled up at him. “Good morning. Thanks again for the movie last night.”

  “Hey, I couldn’t just leave you at that bad 80s prom with a date who was totally unsuited to you. I felt morally obligated to help you end your evening with a plate of nachos and a chick flick.”