Ropes

by Jack Davenport

  “How is everyone feeling tonight, cruisers?” he shouted to a round of tepid cheers. “Apparently, we have a lot of first timers on board with us this year. Let’s try that again? How we feelin’ Books and Booze cruisers?”

  This time the room erupted, and the shiny man smiled wide. “That’s more like it. My name is Father Finn Edward Peck and I’ll be your emcee on the high seas. We’re gonna kick things off tonight with a little something we like to call ‘the confessional.’”

  The DJ took his cue and dance music pumped throughout the lounge’s sound system.

  “Who’s going to be first to step into my confessional?” Father Finn asked, motioning to an empty chair sitting on the stage, as a spotlight began scanning the room. “Who’s got sins to confess? Come on now, don’t be shy.”

  I don’t know what came over me, maybe the rum was kicking in, but in a moment of pure spontaneity, I grabbed Ropes’s wrist, and thrust his hand high in the air.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he protested as I attempted, unsuccessfully to keep him from lowering his hand. Our playful struggle caught the attention of Father Finn.

  “We have our first confessor!” he shouted gleefully.

  “What? No, no, no,” Ropes said waving his hands, as Father Finn motioned him to join him on stage.

  “Come on, it’ll only hurt a little, I promise.”

  The room erupted into applause and Ropes sheepishly rose to his feet.

  “You are going to pay for this,” he said through a smile, and made his way to the stage.

  “Come on up, sinner, it’s time to confess. What’s your name, cruiser?” Father Finn asked, shoving the microphone in Ropes’s face.

  “Ro… Clay, Clay Morningwood,” he replied, quickly correcting himself.

  “Are you a reader or an author?”

  “I’m an author, and this is my first cruise.”

  “We’ve got ourselves a virgin,” he shouted to more applause. “Take a seat, Clay Morningwood and prepare to cleanse your soul.”

  Ropes did as he was asked, and Father Finn continued, “The object of this game is to be as honest as possible. Every time we think you’re not being completely truthful, we’re all going to take a drink,” he said, motioning to the room. “Got it?”

  Ropes nodded and swallowed hard.

  “Okay, time to confess your sins. First question, how old were you when you lost your virginity?” The room let out a series of whoops and hollers.

  “Wow, jumping right in,” Ropes said, clearing his throat. “I guess I got started a little early. I was fourteen years old.”

  “What do we think cruisers? Was that a true confession?”

  The crowd cheered in approval and Father Finn continued, “Moving on, then. When is the last time you woke up in a stranger’s bed after a night of partying?”

  “Never,” he responded immediately.

  “What say all of you?”

  “Bullshit!” a woman’s voice called out from the back of the room.

  “You heard the lady, drink up,” Father Finn said, and glasses lifted all around.

  “What?” Ropes protested with a smile. “That was the truth.”

  “Sorry, Clay, the congregation simply does not believe you. Oh, I forgot to mention one thing, every time they don’t believe you, they take a sip, but you have to do two shots,” he said, as Ali walked onto the stage with a tray lined with shot glasses.

  Ropes laughed and, like a good sport, downed two shots.

  “Okay, let’s move on to question number three. Have you ever committed a crime?”

  Ropes shifted in his seat. “Um… nothing serious,” he said, and immediately the entire room collectively took a drink.

  “I think it’s pretty clear what you need to do,” Finn said, and Ropes emptied two more shot glasses.

  “Okay, Clay. Here’s your final question. Have you ever been in love?”

  A hush fell across the room and Ropes paused for a moment before turning his gaze to me. He leaned into the microphone and delivered a decisive, “Yes.”

  Every glass in the lounge remained in place as did Ropes’s stare.

  “Your sins have been absolved,” Father Finn shouted. Music began pumping while lights strobed and flashed. Two shirtless male book cover models, wearing angels’ wings, presented Clay with a cardboard treasure chest, covered in gold glitter. The chest was filled with sex toys of various shapes, sizes and applications. “Time for you to go to heaven,” he said, handing Clay his eternal reward, tilting the microphone toward his mouth.

  “Umm… Amen?” Clay said softly.

  “Amen indeed!” Finn exclaimed to a large round of applause from the crowd. This cruise was shaping up to be very interesting.

  Ropes

  I SCANNED THE dining room for a friendly face and it didn’t take long before I found one.

  “Clay, over here!” Olivia smiled and waved me over to her table. I arrived to find her sitting with a large group of what appeared to be readers.

  “It’s wonderful to see you tonight, Mrs. Stark, you look lovely.”

  “Thank you so much, you clean up pretty nicely yourself sir,” Olivia said.

  “Where’s Ali?” I asked, curious to see the dynamic duo apart.

  “We try to make it a point to spread the authors out as much as possible during the dinners. It gives the readers a chance to get to know as many writers as possible. Tonight, I get to sit with these amazing people,” she said with a natural warmth.

  “Hi, I’m Clay,” I said, cheerily to the table, who all responded back in kind, except one woman, who simply sat there with a scowl on her face. I took a stab at catching the name on her laminate, but it had flipped around. However, I did spot that she was wearing an author’s lanyard around her neck.

  I’ve been in enough online writer’s groups to know that most are introverts, who, on any given day, would likely prefer to be by themselves or with a trusted friend. Mixing and mingling with strangers, nice as they may be, is not always easy for people who sit alone in silence, writing for hours on end. I have endless amounts of grace for my fellow writers when it comes to this, and figured she was simply a little more reserved.

  “Hey there.” I turned my full attention to the author. “I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Clay Morningwood,” I said, extending a hand, which she eyeballed as if I were offering her a used tissue.

  “Yeah, I saw you last night,” she said, in a dismissive tone that made me feel about three inches tall.

  Not wanting to leave that awkwardness floating over the table, I tried once again to break the ice. “Yeah, that was pretty crazy. Finn seems like a fun guy to hang with, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Maybe I was imagining things, but this woman did not appear to be a fan of yours truly.

  “I’m sorry, your tag is flipped around, what’s your name?” I asked, and her vibe changed from merely dismissive to straight up ice queen.

  “I’m Val Weston,” she replied, but may as well have screamed, “Don’t you know who I am?” but I didn’t have a fucking clue, and judging by the attitude she was giving off, didn’t have much of a desire to find out.

  “Clay writes MC books as well,” Olivia said to Val.

  “I’ve never heard of you,” she said through pursed lips.

  Olivia wore an expression like that of a hostage victim trying not to tip the bad guys off while signaling the police.

  “I’ve read your books and I love them,” the woman seated next to Val’s head snapped.

  “Really, you do?” I asked, genuinely shocked.

  The woman nodded, to which Val stated that she’d ‘still never heard of me.’”

  “I’m pretty new at all of this. I’ve only released three books so far.”

  Olivia tried, once again to ease the tension, “Val’s new book just made the bestseller’s list today, right Val?”

  “Yesterday,” she said without making eye contact with Olivia.

  “Congr
atulations,” I said, smiling, and with that, Val Weston turned and began talking quietly with the woman next to her as if I wasn’t even standing there.

  “Where’s your gorgeous lady? She’s not seasick, is she?” Olivia asked, thankfully pulling me away from award-winning twat-pocket, Val Weston.

  I grinned. “No, she’s great. Just running a little behind due to her boot. She didn’t want to miss out on a good spot, so she sent me ahead.”

  “Poor thing, what happened?”

  “Let’s just say Devlin and her bedroom dresser should no longer be dance partners,” I replied.

  Val leaned over and whispered something in her neighbor’s ear, before she returned to giving me the stink eye. I had no idea what I’d done to offend this woman, and perhaps I was just being paranoid, but she seemed to take issue with my very presence.

  “Speak of the angel,” Olivia said, and I turned to see Devlin enter the dining room. Olivia stood and waved Devlin toward us, and I excused myself to meet her.

  “You look amazing,” I said as I helped her down the steps into the lower level of the dining room.

  “I wish I didn’t have to wear this stupid boot.”

  “Imagine you’re Cinderella and it’s your glass slipper.”

  “The only princess that was ever worth more than two shits was Princess Leia, and that was only because she fought to the rank of General.”

  I stopped her mid-stride and pulled her in for a kiss. I didn’t give a shit that we were in the middle of the dining room and all eyes were upon us. As a matter of fact, I was more than fine with everyone on the boat knowing full-well that I was completely into this woman.

  “I didn’t know Star Wars talk got you all hot and bothered.” Devlin smiled.

  “You get me all hot and bothered.”

  “Good answer,” she replied.

  “I’m curious, though. You showed zero love to the pinball nerds back at the bar and yet seem to know a lot about Star Wars, Monty Python, and comic books. What’s up with that? Are you a closeted nerd?”

  “I’m not a nerd, I’m just pop culture aware,” Devlin protested.

  “Whatever, Poindexter.”

  I guided us back to Olivia’s table where Val Weston’s blank expression had now graduated into a full on scowl.

  “Hi sweetie, how are you? You look beautiful,” Olivia said, rising to hug Devlin.

  “Thank you so much,” she replied. “You and Ali have been so sweet, I don’t know how to thank you both. Is she around?”

  “She’s probably somewhere making a list or checking items off a list,” she said with a chuckle. “All you have to do is relax, have fun, and do your best to max out your drink package limit every day.”

  Devlin saluted. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

  Not only was she sexy as hell, but she was cute as a button.

  Olivia turned her attention to me. “You, sir, on the other hand, need to be ready by the crack of ten A.M. for the signing.”

  “I’m nervous, but excited.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do great. We put your table right next to mine and Ali’s, so if you need anything just let me know.”

  Honestly, I was completely shocked they’d assigned such a good spot for me. Clearly Val Weston was too, because she let out a low but audible huff, and her scowl bloomed into an expression of shit-eating disgust.

  Olivia ignored Val’s pouting and introduced Devlin to the table.

  “Everyone, this is Clay’s better half, Devlin, she’s an artist.”

  “What kind of art?” Val’s nice neighbor asked, which again seemed to agitate Val.

  “I’m a tattoo artist,” Devlin replied, and Val rolled her eyes in response.

  Devlin must have seen her because her tone sharpened as she directed her attention directly to Val.

  “Hi, I’m Devlin.”

  “Valerie,” she replied with minimal effort.

  “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first reader cruise?”

  “Val is an author,” I said as pleasantly as possible.

  “It’s Valerie,” she corrected.

  Lately, it’s become painfully clear to me that that type of correction is the new currency of the passive aggressive. When a person has a shitty attitude and nothing constructive to add to the conversation at hand, they reduce themselves to policing the words of others.

  “I’m sorry,” I chuckled. “I just assumed since you introduced yourself to me as Val, four minutes ago, that you preferred to be called Val.” I looked down at the table to see a stack of books sitting next to her that read VAL WESTON.

  “You know what they say about when you assume,” she replied.

  Devlin squeezed my hand so hard I thought I’d be the next one to need a cast.

  “Okay, it’s Valerie then. I’ll make a note of that for next time.”

  “Next time we what?” Val replied. “I’ve never seen you at any signings, and I have no idea who you are.”

  “Like I said before, there’s no reason you would have, I’m just trying to break into the scene.”

  The woman sitting opposite Val said, “I’ve read all three of your books. I think they’re great,” and got a dirty look from Val in return.

  “I’ve been a Clay Morningwood fan since day one,” Olivia said, once again trying to keep the conversation from completely flaming out.

  “Morningwood? Seriously? That is by far stupidest pen name I’ve ever heard,” Val whined.

  I laughed uncomfortably and shrugged. What the fuck else was I supposed to do, shove this bitch’s face into her Waldorf salad?

  “I thought it would be fun. Something that would get people’s attention. I treat the craft of writing seriously, but I never want to take myself too seriously. I think people will understand.”

  Val raised an eyebrow. “There ya go makin’ assumptions again, and you know what they say—”

  Devlin let go of my hand, braced herself on a chairback, and leaned over the table. “I know exactly what they say about making assumptions,” she said, her face a stone. “But do you know how long a dumb bitch can survive in open waters after being thrown off a cruise ship?”

  * * *

  Devlin

  When I was in the fifth grade I was suspended from school for three days for calling my teacher a dick after he gave me a B- on my pterodactyl diorama. I once set fire to a boyfriend’s prized collection of vintage Air Jordan’s after he gave one of my rings to a girl he was cheating on me with. My mouth and temper have gotten the best of me many times within my lifetime, but I must admit, this was a bold move, even for me.

  Val’s jaw hung open. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, and if I have to repeat myself, it’ll be outside on deck… where we’ll be closer to the rail.”

  “Okay, babe, let’s find a table,” Ropes said, his hand on the small of my back.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, or who you think you are, but if you ever speak to my boyfriend like that again, I will end you,” I snapped as Ropes guided me away from the table. I don’t know what had come over me, but my need to defend him came on suddenly and violently.

  “Okay, where is our waiter? Let’s get some drinks up in here,” Olivia said, waving one hand in the air, and placing the other on Val’s, who still wore a look of shock on her twisted face.

  “C’mon, baby, it’s alright,” Ropes said with a chuckle as he led me away from my potential murder victim.

  I felt a little lightheaded as Ropes moved me as fast I could hobble, through the crowded dining room. I was still jacked up on adrenaline and had to fight the urge to turn around and put my air cast up her tight ass.

  “Who the hell was that?” I ground out.

  “Val Weston, or Valerie I guess. I’m confused,” Ropes replied.

  “How ’bout we just call her Valerial Disease to keep things clear?”

  Ropes burst out laughing, drawing the attention of every diner, including Darien and Mack, who then waved us over to th
eir private table.

  “Hey there, you two,” Darien said cheerily. “Are you spoken for tonight, or can you join us?”

  “We’d be honored, of course,” Ropes said.

  “Honored nothin’,” Mack said. “I need someone to hang with that prefers beer to this cool-aid shit they keep trying to pour me.”

  “I’m a single malt guy myself,” Ropes said.

  Mack raised an eyebrow. “Then, by all means, please take a seat.”

  * * *

  Ropes

  For the rest of the evening the conversation between the four of us flowed easily from bikes, to philosophy. We talked about everything from Club life, to the life of an artist. There was little not to find in common with Darien and Mack. And I dared to let myself begin to dream of a future like this with Devlin.

  Darien was full of great advice and insight about the business. She was very generous with information and I felt like I could trust her implicitly, a feeling I rarely had.

  “Can I ask you a question about your opinions on another author?” I asked.

  “My artistic or personal opinion?”

  “Personal.”

  “Yes, but know that I will be honest, and if our opinions differ and your feelings get hurt, it’s not my responsibility.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  “Who are you asking about?”

  “Val Weston.”

  Darien said nothing but made a gagging motion.

  “So, I’m not crazy?” I asked.

  “No, she’s horrible.”

  I frowned. “She’s hitting lists so she’s doing something right. Right?”

  “She’s doing something alright.”

  “I haven’t read anything by her. Is her writing good?” I asked.

  “After the first two books, who knows? No one does.”

  “What do you mean?” Devlin asked.

  “Everything she’s released after her first two books have been written by ghost writers.”

  “That’s a thing?” I asked.

  “From what I’ve heard, she has employed several different writers over the years. Sometimes she’ll give them a very basic outline, and sometimes nothing at all. I suspect her new series have all been written by the same person as they’ve been the best books under her brand yet.”