***
During the night, below decks, the engine pulsed steadily while the ship's bow repeatedly plunged into wave after wave of churning brine. A superior level of safety and contentment filled our cabin, temporarily displacing the anxiety felt over the possibilities the coming day held. Angel and I silently reciprocated the highest emotion for one another which, though undefined and corporeally expressed, took root and grew in a field revered the world over. When sleep released its grip and the sun in full glory prompted us to wake, we were at peace with our setting, entirely content with our actions and deeds.
"Good morning." I caressed the nape of Angel's neck as she lay against my chest while I frantically searched my mind for a romantic articulation to offer.
"Morning, Baron," Angel murmured, still half asleep.
"I want to thank you," I whispered while holding her close, "and express to you my enjoyment of your vibrant vaginal oscillation this evening past."
"Just when I thought the science in lovemaking had disappeared," she snickered before drawing herself up and placing a finger to my lips. "And as far as tangerines go, you're not so bad yourself."
"Please, such panegyric remarks make me blush. I'm about as red as I can be."
"Actually, you're purple now."
"What!" In my immodest state, I scrambled from the bed and raced to the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, a chemical transition had taken place during the hours of pleasure and darkness, one shifting my appearance from membership in a fruit basket to enrollment in the vegetable genus, specifically the radish family. "And a garden variety one at that! Rats!"
"It's not that bad, Baron," Angel pleaded, rising from the bed and squeezing into the tiny confined area next to me. "I think you're more like a fine amethyst stone, polished and strong. Not a soiled, unwashed root plant."
"Thank you, my dear." I was aghast with my aubergine shading and worked to supplant my disgust with a longing for a renewed bout of affection with Angel. "Allow me a moment to expound upon how your support is ever appreciated and --"
A loud knock on the door interrupted what I aimed would become yet another session of intimate isometrics, this one taking place directly where we stood. "I'll get it," Angel whispered, flashing an expression of concern as she switched off the mirror light and slid the pocket door closed. "You stay in here."
I watched through the narrow crevice as she hurriedly tossed the bed comforter over my tuxedo and pulled the underlying blanket around herself. Again the rapid pounding commenced from the opposite side of the door. "Who is it?" Angel called out in an unconcerned tone.
"Security, Miss Angel. Please open up."
"I'm busy right now," Angel replied, her voice gathering a sharpness. "What's this about?"
"We need to search your quarters. Captain's orders."
"I'm afraid that isn't possible right now."
"Please stand away from the door. We're coming in."
"I protest this invasion!" Angel stepped back at the click of the lock. "I'm calling my father this moment!"
"There's no need for that," came the voice of Wayland Bridgework as the door swung wide, rebounding off the interior wall. "I'm right here." An unmistakable electrified tension filled the room, its intensity matched by the pounding of my heart. "My darling daughter. So surprised by our visit."
"Obviously," Angel responded indignantly. "If you'd given me a half a minute more, I'd been able to pull on a robe!"
"Search the room, stewards." Bridgework's command was followed by the sound of multiple footsteps scuffling about.
"And just what is it you're looking for?"
"A potential stowaway, darling dear. The magician," Bridgework said, snapping his fingers twice, "Skiff Barrister --"
"Skeet Burnisher," Angel corrected him.
"Whoever. It seems he disappeared again last night. This time in plain sight of his escorts."
"He does seem extremely talented." A shadow filled the slit of light as Angel's voice came from directly outside the bathroom door, her movement backwards followed by the clatter of clothes hangers. "Hey! Those are mine! Be careful of those dresses!"
"Check the overhead storage, boys."
"Daddy, how could you? This is my cabin, my private quarters!"
"And what he if had broken in here and taken you hostage," Bridgework countered. "I'm only concerned for your safety."
"Well, maybe Burnisher's out on deck entertaining the guests. Exactly where you should be right now."
"Just the bathroom left, sir."
"No, no," Angel said, her fingers slipping through the opening. "This is my private place."
"Stand aside, Angel!"
"I can't. I'm not clothed!"
At her words, I silently forced myself into the minuscule corner between the tiled wall and commode, ramming my head against an overhanging towel rod as I curled one leg under and around the porcelain tank.
Time to grow very, very small, my lad. Very small.
And thus I did. Angel shoved the door open and stepped backwards toward my hiding spot, pressing her warm and supple bottom firmly against my radishesque face.
"Go ahead and look then," she said angrily, her voice shaking. "It's only a bathroom!" She adjusted the blanket so I was completely encased in it and, with the exception of the unseen gorilla pawing his way through the shower stall and vanity cabinet, no other sound could be heard while Angel and I held our collective breath.
"All clear, sir," the gorilla grunted upon exiting the narrow wash space.
"There. Not so painful after all, for any of us."
"Did you expect otherwise?" Angel advanced to the open door, her fury genuine and -- she would admit later -- borne out of dreadful fear of her father and his plans.
"I'm not sure what to expect from you these days, Angel. Let's start with the mystery of why you choose to room alone and not with your husband."
"That's none of your business."
"Isn't it all of my business?" Bridgework could be heard moving to the cabin's entrance. "I expect to see you on deck soon, sunbathing and visiting with the guests, Enjoying the day where I can keep an eye on you. You'd be wise to fulfill my wishes." The slamming of the door created a much welcomed vacuum of silence.
"Here, let me help you," Angel whispered, reappearing and extending her hand. I uncoiled my legs from the tight maze of plumbing and rose unsteadily to hug her. She brushed away my affection, angrily locking the door instead. "This isn't rolling the way we want."
"Leave such worrisome predictions to soothsayers." I spun her gently in the blanket and landed her softly on the bed, where a lustful good fortune overtook and entwined us together once again. "Consign passion to us."
Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys] Page 19
