Jonathan had often caught Dan cleaning the toilets before the cleaners came. It was typical for them—not wanting to make other people uncomfortable, or to feel like lesser beings, both in terms of their profession or their humanity. They had seen enough of that during their many public engagements on fundraisers and other events. They’d seen how many of their so-called society friends treated the wait staff like garbage and yelled at the bell men and valets, whereas more often than not Dan would tip the valet and then go get the car himself.
The simple life they led in their cabin in the forest translated into how they lived when in town or elsewhere. Maybe it was their humble beginnings, both men having started out from literally nothing. Jonathan shook his head at the memory of meeting Mary and Dan’s family in Maine, and how his late husband’s fate had been much like his own.
Another ring from the doorbell pulled him from his reveries. “Come in!” This can’t be the spa manager. It’s barely been five minutes since Carlos left. For the second time this morning, nothing happened. Jonathan got up, not a little upset that he had to walk all the way from the living room to the cabin door, just to let another staff member into his cabin. He quickly got over it when he saw the master of the vessel standing on the other side of the door. “Captain? What an honor.”
“Mr. Jackson? My name is Olsen, Sverre Olsen. I just wanted to drop by to welcome you aboard ship and see if everything is as expected.”
“It is excellent, thank you, Captain. I was just sitting down for a cup of coffee. Please, come on in.” The captain bowed his head and walked past Jonathan into the cabin. “Can I get you something? We have a very well-stocked bar here.”
The captain laughed. “Not while I’m on duty, I’m afraid. We have very strict rules about alcohol aboard. At least for members of the crew. But I’ll join you for a coffee. Let me call Carlos—”
“Nonsense,” Jonathan interrupted him. “The day I can’t make my own guests a cup of coffee is the day they’ll seal the lid to my coffin.”
“If you insist…” The captain sat down at the table while Jonathan operated the coffee maker.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is fine, thank you.”
Jonathan brought the cup to the table and set it down in front of his guest. “I was just thinking about servitude and how we treat people in service.”
Captain Olsen’s eyebrows rose in query. “I hope everything is as it should be.”
“Oh yes, absolutely,” Jonathan waved away the captain’s concern. “It was the amazing service we’ve received on board that got me thinking. No complaints. But, you see, my late husband and I lived a very simple life, this suite notwithstanding, and I always feel a bit uncomfortable when people treat me as if I’m some celebrity, or VIP. I’m not sure I’m making myself clear…”
The captain nodded. “Oh, I think I see what you mean. We’ve only been out of port for a couple of days, and we like to take our time getting to know our guests. You’re going to be with us for a long time. All the way to Singapore, I recall?” Jonathan nodded. “I’ll have a chat with my staff, and they’ll instruct their people to treat you just the way you would like to be treated. If you want Carlos to call you by your first name, he’ll do that.”
This time it was Jonathan’s eyebrows that rose.
“But of course,” Captain Olsen continued, “you are our most important asset. You’re our guest. At the end of the day, it is you, our guests, who pay our salaries, and for this ship. Without our guests, there would be no cruise line. But I’m sure you understand it’s much easier to adjust our services to our guests’ wishes once we’ve gotten to know them. Believe me, Mr. Jackson, very few guests would feel welcomed by the traditional welcome from my Norwegian home, where we address each other by first name only.” The captain chuckled. “It’s a lot easier to relax formalities if a guest asks us to than it is to make everything more formal. That gets awkward very quickly…”
Jonathan nodded. “I see your point, Captain. Thank you for clarifying it. And you’re right. Even I would feel odd if people addressed me by my first name, particularly if I’d never met them. I’m Jonathan, by the way. Mr. Jackson was my late husband.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Jonathan. My name is Sverre. No need to ‘captain’ me either. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read about you in the file the Miami office prepare for us on our VIP guests. Your humanitarian work speaks for itself. You’re a great man, and we feel honored to have you on board.”
“Sverre, please, you’re making me blush….” Jonathan did indeed begin to sport a crimson color on his cheeks. “I was merely fortunate to have inherited a large sum of money by my mother, and lucky to have great financial advisors. Dan and I made more money from investments than the original sum Mom bequeathed to me. I never felt the money was meant for me, but thank you. I’ve lived a very good life. I’ve had an amazing and loving partner, we have two beautiful children, six amazing grandchildren, and a great-granddaughter. I’m very privileged, money or not…” Jonathan whispered the next sentence. “I’ll tell you a little secret, though. It’s nice not having to turn every dollar, and to be able to do this.” He blushed some more.
“Jonathan, it is our job to make sure you get the most from your trip. Now please understand that this is—despite its seventeen decks—a small community, and Carlos informed me that you were feeling a bit under the weather. What I’m about to suggest is standard procedure on board, particularly with passengers in risk groups, like our older guests. Are you feeling better, or shall I call the doctor?”
“Thank you for the offer, Captain…Sverre. I feel a lot better, but I’ll ask for the good doc if I need, I promise.”
“Please do. Harriet is an amazing physician, and she’d be happy to see you any time, day or night. Just call Carlos or dial nine-one-one if urgent.” The captain looked at his watch. “Oops, I have to run, operations meeting in ten. But listen, Jonathan, I’m glad we had this quick chat. I’ll see you Sunday at the captain’s table with your grandsons. And if there’s anything I can do, you know where to find me.” With that, he downed his coffee in one big gulp and took his leave, leaving Jonathan to a cold cup of coffee and a half-eaten croissant.
Just as he got up to fix himself another cup, the doorbell rang again, and he spent the next forty-five minutes chatting to Val, the spa manager, about the various treatments, finally settling on a new laser-based facial technique that, according to Val, would shave years off of his face. “I could certainly use that!” Jonathan chuckled.
Once Val left, he sent a short vid-message to the boys, informing them about dinner and that he’d send them the name of the place later. After his facial, Jonathan felt a lot better and thoroughly relaxed. He decided to disembark and go for a walk, to see at least a little bit of San Juan before dinner and before darkness descended upon this beautiful old city.
* * * * *
Chapter 11 - Marc
Jonathan felt much better after his two-hour walk around San Juan. His conversation with the captain, the facial, in fact the way all the staff treated him had left him energized. Visiting San Juan by himself also provided him with an unexpected breathing hole, an opportunity to enjoy his solitude as he took the city at his own pace without worrying he’d slow the boys down.
The restaurant where Carlos had booked their table was amazing. Set at the top of the hill, in a residential building near the old fort, the restaurant was small, with only a handful of tables, and served a modern combination of Caribbean and Puerto Rican delicacies fused with Japanese influences. After dinner, and an excellent bottle of a particularly rare Chilean red wine, the three men took a slow stroll back to the ship, taking their time to appreciate the sights and sounds of the city in the relative cool of the evening. They made it with just a few minutes to spare before the “all aboard” signal sounded; the MS Diamond departed San Juan at midnight.
From Puerto Rico, they sailed east, cruising past the American and Britis
h Virgin Islands, strewn through the Caribbean like gems, one island more beautiful than the other, with its azure-colored waters, palm trees, and white sandy beaches. After a brief stopover at Sint Maarten, the ship took a southern course toward Antigua, Guadeloupe, Martinique, St. Lucia and other windward islands, before sailing on to the tropical paradises of the southern Caribbean: Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao.
During those few days aboard, interspersed with shore excursions, sea days, and nights sailing from port to port, Jonathan, Cody and Parker settled into a comfortable routine. They’d have their breakfast between eight and nine in the morning, after which they’d go ashore if they were in port. On sailing days, they’d read, swim, go to the spa, or partake in some of the onboard entertainment options, be it shows, readings or whatever else the cruise director and his staff had organized.
With some reluctance, Jonathan made a second visit to the spa, for a much-needed foot massage and pedicure. His toenails had become particularly difficult to get to, and even back in Chicago, he had to get a pedicure every now and then, just to keep things in check.
“Mr. Jackson?” The therapist looked around the few people in the waiting room.
“That would be me.” Jonathan instinctively raised his hand and smiled awkwardly, but the second Marc made eye contact with him, his face exploded in a bright smile, exposing stunning white teeth, and there was a shine in the man’s eyes that Jonathan hadn’t expected. Why does this man look so glad to see me?
“Welcome! My name is Marc. I’ll be your therapist today. Right this way, sir.” Marc gestured Jonathan down a corridor into one of the treatment rooms. He let Jonathan lead the way and set the pace, directing him from behind. “The second door to the right, that’s our destination.”
As they approached the door, Marc sneaked by and opened it, to let Jonathan in.
“Please have a seat. Have you been with us before, Mr. Jackson?” He turned around and closed the door.
“Yes, I had a facial the other day, and it was absolutely blissful. Made me feel like a new man. And since I’m having trouble reaching my feet—I usually get a pedicure at home—I thought I’d come back today. I’m sorry to impose on you. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Jonathan was ashamed of his old feet and his ugly toenails.
“Oh don’t apologize, Mr. Jackson—”
“Please, please, call me Jonathan.”
Marc flashed him a smile that made Jonathan’s stomach flutter like it hadn’t in decades. His body felt like butter in the hot Caribbean sun, melting quickly.
“Jonathan it is. What a beautiful name. Are you named after ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’? It’s one of my favorite stories.”
Oh my, if I were fifty years younger, this kid could get me in some serious trouble. “No, not that I’m aware of. But thank you.” Jonathan’s cheeks were burning hot, and he knew they must be dark red as he blushed at the compliment.
While they talked, Marc proceeded to take off Jonathan’s shoes, and his socks, and carefully placed them on a little carpet to the side.
“I’ll begin with a short cleansing ritual. I use a special lotion that will make your feet feel refreshed. Also, it’s a traditional Indian welcome ritual. I want you to feel at ease. Enjoy your time here and allow me to pamper you, d’accord?”
Jonathan was flashed another one of the man’s smiles, eliciting a stirring he hadn’t felt in a long time. Marc began to wash Jonathan’s feet, and the touch of his hands sent jolts of electricity up through Jonathan’s legs, his spine and into his brain, firing neurons he’d thought had been killed off by old age.
Afraid he might get himself in trouble, Jonathan began to think of Dan—hell, even his father and grandmother—anything to avoid what could only lead to one thing: an erection. At my age? He’d make a complete fool of himself and would feel as if he’d have to leave the ship, and he didn’t want that. He was just beginning to feel at home on the Diamond. Down boy, down! he willed himself.
He wasn’t entirely successful as Marc continued to dry his clean feet and placed them on a small stool before he sat at Jonathan’s feet—highly unusual for a therapist—to cut the toenails, trim the nail bands, and file off any excess skin. After that, he applied a beautifully scented foot lotion.
At least Marc wasn’t looking at him all the time, and certainly not toward his groin, or he would have been in trouble. What would Dan say? But every now and then, Marc looked up and smiled at Jonathan, and in that instant, in that precious moment, it felt to the old man as if time had stopped, as if there were no one else in the world but the two of them, and he felt a bond, a connection, so strong that it was eerie, and utterly inexplicable.
“Your nails are done, Jonathan. You have very nice feet, by the way. If it’s okay with you, I’ll finish the treatment with a foot massage, to increase blood circulation to your feet and calves. D’accord?”
Jonathan couldn’t respond but with a nod, as Marc had already begun to apply the lotion that filled the small treatment room with a delicate but most pleasant aroma. Every touch sent new jolts of pleasure up Jonathan’s spine, completely obliterating any mental defenses he had left. The gentle massaging had Jonathan’s cock rock hard; he’d had no idea he could still feel this way.
He was convinced Marc had noticed, but he didn’t say a word. He simply flashed him one of those smiles, and for the first time since Dan had passed away, Jonathan felt attractive, desired. He scolded himself, almost instantly, as he knew that the mere thought was outrageous, complete and utter nonsense. No twenty-five-year-old—that’s what Jonathan figured Marc to be—would ever, ever be interested in someone as old as he was. He’s just a really professional therapist, and I’m sure he’s looking forward to a handsome tip. Jonathan already knew he’d get it, too!
It was so relaxing, so blissful, that Jonathan eventually closed his eyes and let his mind drift, let the soul dangle its naked feet in the warm waters of Marc’s ministrations. He hadn’t even realized that he’d also fallen asleep, until Marc gently nudged him.
“Jonathan? I’m done. Did you enjoy the treatment?”
Jonathan opened his eyes and found Marc’s beautiful face almost on top of his, a hint of worry in the eyes, but then the dimples appeared as he laughed gently in relief that his customer had merely dozed off for an instant.
“Thank you, Marc. Yes, that was most pleasurable. And relaxing. Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize. There is no higher compliment for a therapist than a first-time customer relaxing so completely at our touch that he falls asleep. You have done me a great honor. I must thank you. Merci.”
Jonathan smiled, as the man’s Walloon heritage broke through his perfect English. It was utterly endearing. Oh my god, I’m falling for him. Dan, please. Forgive this old fool…
“Please let me help you put your socks and shoes back on, and I’ll escort you back to the reception area.”
After they reached the reception, Jonathan paid his dues at the counter and tipped Marc handsomely. It was now the young man who blushed and averted his eyes. “Merci, Jonathan. That wasn’t necessary. It was my privilege to work with you. Will I see you again?”
“I would like that. Do you offer any other services than pedicures?”
“Yes, of course. I’m a fully trained spa therapist. I offer all of our treatments—massages, facials, rubs, scrubs, mani- and pedicures. The only thing I can’t help you with is giving you a haircut. But we have excellent stylists on board.” Marc almost seemed apologetic, which made Jonathan chuckle.
“Why don’t we schedule a massage in a couple of days. Something similar to what you did to my feet today. It made me feel twenty years younger…”
“Oh, don’t tease me Jonathan. You’d be a mere boy then…”
Is he flirting with me? Hell, I was flirting first!
“Huh, I wish. I’ll have you know that I’m eighty years old. I’ll be eighty-one before this year is over. And while I’m grateful if you c
an shave twenty years off for a few hours, I’m hardly a boy…”
“It’s in the eye of the beholder…” Marc responded mysteriously. “What about three p.m. the day after tomorrow? We leave port at two, so you should have ample time to get aboard and have lunch.”
Before he could think through his response, Jonathan’s lips already moved and his vocal chords hummed an, “It’s a date!” It took him another split second to realize what he’d said and that he’d just made a fool of himself.
Marc simply flashed him another one of his smiles. “Here’s your appointment on my card. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
The next day and a half went by in a haze for Jonathan. The boys took him to Sint Maarten’s famed airport, with the little beach right at the end of the runway, because they wanted to see the big planes land and take off right over their heads. While the electrical engines of modern planes didn’t make for the same spectacular noise acoustic, the propelling forces still blew tourists into the sea, and the sight of a big jumbo seemingly flying right into you on approach still drew a big crowd every day, making the airport Sint Maarten’s biggest tourist attraction.
Jonathan barely noticed it, even though Parker had to hold him so the old man wouldn’t be blown away by one of the big European planes taking off, with all four engines blowing air back toward the beach. Cody was thoroughly enjoying the assault on his every sense, as he explained delightedly in between departures and arrivals. He could feel the vibrations he felt in his feet, the wind on his skin, the heat of the sun on his face, the visual impressions processed by his subconscious of the white beach and the blue of the ocean. While he couldn’t “see” it, he still witnessed it, and it drove tears of joy to his face.
After the last intercontinental plane had left, the boys took Jonathan back to the ship in time for lunch and his appointment with Marc. Jonathan had made sure not to tell them about his experience, other than that he’d had a good pedicure and made an appointment for a massage. He must’ve been quite convincing, because not even Cody picked up on the subtle vibrations in his voice.
Jonathan's Promise Page 8
