Playing for Keeps

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  I could have danced with Ricky forever, but time wasn’t on my side. The next day we’d be at sea, and the morning after that we’d dock at Cozumel. Saturday we’d be at sea again, and finally, on Sunday morning at eight-thirty, we’d return to Miami. The cruise would come to an end. What would happen to Ricky then? If he was sent back to Cuba or if he remained in the United States, playing for a team in a state far from Texas, would we ever see each other again?

  Don’t think about it now, I warned myself. And don’t worry about the scavenger hunt tomorrow and what it might bring. Just enjoy this moment. Taking my own good advice, I lost myself in the music and in the warmth of Ricky’s arms around me.

  Glory woke up when I returned to our stateroom around one in the morning. She turned on a light, struggled to sit up in bed, and asked, “Was he a good dancer?”

  “Fantastic,” I said. I suddenly realized she was asking about Neil, not Ricky, so I quickly added, “He told me he learned by watching MTV.”

  Glory chuckled. “Did the others have a good time?”

  “Ricky and Julieta? They must have. The band was good. The food was good. Star Struck is a great place.”

  Looking pleased with herself, Glory slid back down in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes. “Whenever you think Neil would like to go back to Star Struck with you, just give me the word, and I’ll take care of Eloise.”

  “Thanks, Glory,” I said. “Tomorrow there’s an all-day scavenger hunt, and we signed up for it.”

  She opened one eye. “You and Neil?”

  “All four of us.”

  She opened both eyes and drilled me with one of her no-nonsense looks. “Who will be your partner?”

  “Julieta,” I answered, trying not to smile at the surprised look on Glory’s face. “Girls against guys. You know how it is. Julieta and I are going to beat them.”

  “That’s not the way scavenger hunts were done when I was young,” she mumbled.

  I kissed her forehead and teased, “Covered wagons to jets. Times change. You and Eloise will be playing bridge all day. Right?”

  “Right.” Glory looked smug. “And Dora and I have a good chance of winning.” She rolled over in bed, a smile still on her face. “I like to win,” she said.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and silently took off my shoes. That’s the trouble, I thought, but where I’m concerned, it’s not a matter of winning or losing.

  Glory loved me—really, truly loved me. So did Mom.

  I let the shoes drop to the carpet and tried to think things through. Mom’s love wasn’t a cake-and-ice-cream kind of love. It was deep and tough, real and strong. But Mom bought the groceries, Glory the presents. Mom paid for braces and flu shots, Glory for parties. What little kid’s head wouldn’t be turned?

  I glanced in the nearby mirror. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I was sixteen—nearly seventeen, old enough to think for myself and to take a stand for what I believed in, just as Mom had been trying to tell me. The moment we got home, I’d let her know I was beginning to understand.

  For a moment all that was happening on the ship was overwhelming. I was eager to be home.

  11

  CARRYING MY CAMERA, I MET RICKY, NEIL, AND Julieta outside Star Struck right after breakfast. “Let’s get started,” I said.

  Julieta looked longingly at Neil and Ricky. “Are you sure you want to do it this way, Rosie?” she asked.

  “We’ll all meet at the café for lunch,” I answered. “Twelve o’clock. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Neil said.

  “Come on, Julieta,” I told her. “We’re going to start at deck six.”

  We were in the elevator before she answered, “What’s on deck six?”

  “Your stateroom,” I told her.

  She glanced at me from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, yeah. I have a bottle of red nail polish, and some of that other stuff on the list.”

  “And a blue shirt.”

  Her head snapped up. “I told you. I tossed it.”

  “Think about it,” I said as we arrived at deck six and stepped out of the elevator. I couldn’t help being suspicious.

  “I have,” she said firmly. “No blue shirt. Get it?”

  “Where’d you get rid of it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Wastebasket, probably.” Her cheeks grew red as she began to get angry. “What difference does it make?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I answered quickly, trying to calm her down. I was disappointed, wishing I’d been clever enough to make her produce the torn shirt. But I hadn’t, so I waited while she filled a carry-on with a few of the small items on the list. “Let’s try deck one,” I said.

  “Nothing’s on deck one,” Julieta protested. “Just the crew’s cabins, the gangway area, and the cargo hold.”

  “We need a photograph of a blue shirt,” I said. “Since we couldn’t get one the easy way, we’ll have to keep trying. I know that the cruise director has a blue shirt.”

  I expected Julieta to ask how we were going to find out the number of the cruise director’s cabin, but she wasn’t thinking in that direction. She was close to pouting as she locked her stateroom door behind us. “This isn’t as much fun as if we were with guys.”

  “We’ll switch partners at lunch,” I promised.

  As we walked back to the elevator, Julieta said, “Ricky’s gorgeous, but all he wants to talk about is baseball. I’ll take Neil.” She thought a moment, blinked, and complained, “But all Neil talks about is baseball too.”

  I remembered what Tommy Jansen had said to a coworker at the lifeboat drill about a party in his cabin, 2005. I also remembered what he had said when he looked at the flyer offering a reward for Ricky. To my way of thinking, Mr. Jansen was decidedly a suspect, so I led Julieta down the narrow passage and knocked on Mr. Jansen’s door.

  It took him a while to answer, but he finally opened the door a crack, running his fingers through his tousled hair and squinting, sleepy-eyed. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “No problem. We’re on a scavenger hunt,” I said brightly.

  “Go away,” he mumbled, and held his wrist up so he could see his watch. “I had another half hour to sleep before emceeing the morning quiz show, and you wrecked it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, knowing I didn’t sound one bit apologetic, “but we need a photo of a blue shirt. Do you have a blue shirt?”

  His eyes opened wide as he stared at me. “Wait a minute. A blue shirt’s not on the scavenger list,” he said.

  “A photo of a blue shirt,” I corrected. “It’s on ours.” I held up my folded, wrinkled sheet of paper.

  I could tell by the wary look in his eyes that he was suddenly wide awake and thinking fast, but he sagged against the door, yawned, and tried to look sleepy. In spite of his Broadway experience, he wasn’t a very good actor. “Look, kids,” he said, “everybody on the ship has a blue shirt. Go find another one. I can grab twenty minutes’ more sleep before my alarm goes off.”

  He banged the door shut.

  “We’ll try Mr. Bailey next,” I told Julieta.

  “Who’s he?” Julieta asked.

  “A friend of a friend,” I answered. And a suspect, I thought, but I kept the idea to myself.

  Julieta frowned. “Why are we doing this the hard way? Why don’t we just take a picture of a blue shirt in the gift shop or look for someone wearing one?”

  I didn’t answer. I just said, “Mr. Bailey is staying in the royal suite.”

  Her attitude changed immediately. “Wow! I heard that suite even has a piano in it. Do you think we could get a look around?”

  I didn’t want to see the suite. I wanted to see the condition of Mr. Bailey’s blue shirt. But I had to placate Julieta. Shrugging, I said, “Let’s go up to deck ten and find out.”

  We left the drab beige of deck one the moment we entered the colorful elevator with its piped-in music. It was as if the ship proclaimed it was party time again. Julieta chattere
d the entire way to the door of the royal suite.

  To my surprise, the door stood ajar. Silently, Julieta and I looked at each other. She took a step ahead, peeking into the living room of the suite. “It really does have a piano,” she whispered.

  Someone inside—a woman—began to hum and Julieta jumped backward, bumping into me.

  I rapped loudly on the door, calling out, “Hello! Anybody here?”

  A uniformed cabin steward carrying a dust cloth came to the door. She smiled and said, “If you girls are looking for Mr. Bailey, he’s not here.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment and held up the list. “We’re on a scavenger hunt,” I said. “We wanted to photograph his blue shirt.”

  “Better try somebody else,” she told me. “It should be easy to find someone with a blue shirt.”

  I began to turn away, but Julieta asked, “Could we take a peek at the suite? Just for a minute?”

  The steward said, “I can’t let you inside. You can see the living room from the doorway, though. Take a quick look so I can get back to work.”

  What we could glimpse was a vision in cream and coral, with a white baby grand piano, an elegant glass-and-chrome dining table, and pale, overstuffed sofas. Sprays of baby orchids entwined with clusters of star lilies decorated the coffee table and entertainment center. Morning sunlight poured through the outer glass wall, gilding the room with light.

  “Wow!” Julieta said. She glanced coaxingly at the steward. “Couldn’t we just take a tiny peek at the rest of the suite?”

  The steward shook her head. “Don’t even ask.”

  A deep voice behind us made both Julieta and me jump. “What is the question here? What do you want?”

  I turned, so rattled that I blurted out, “Mr. Bailey, we’re on a scavenger hunt. We need a photo of a blue shirt. Could we photograph yours?”

  He looked steadily into my eyes, as though he could rip out my thoughts and examine them, and I hoped I hadn’t made a terrible mistake. “Sorry. I have only one blue shirt, and I sent it with the valet service to be cleaned,” he said.

  I didn’t like the way he kept staring at me. I was positive he had snatched up all my little pieces of memory and knew what I was thinking.

  I decided that the best thing Julieta and I could do was to get away as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” I said, and began to walk back down the passageway.

  “You could have introduced me,” Julieta said as she followed, trying to catch up with me. “You could have been a whole lot friendlier. Maybe he would have let us see the rest of the suite. I heard it has a hot tub on the balcony.”

  I reached the elevator and jabbed at the button. “Where are we going now?” Julieta asked. It wasn’t a question. It was a complaint.

  “To find Ricky and Neil,” I answered, which put her into an entirely different mood. By the time we entered the mall on deck five, she was happy again.

  It was easy to find them. They were seated in the first place we looked—the bakery—munching on freshly baked cookies. Julieta slid into a chair and plopped our scavenger bag on the table in front of them. “How much were you able to collect?” she asked.

  Both Ricky and Neil had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “We, uh, met here to plan our approach,” Neil said.

  “And?” Julieta asked.

  “We didn’t leave,” Ricky admitted. “We got to talking about baseball and other things.”

  Julieta just raised one eyebrow and moved closer to Neil. “We’ll switch partners now,” she said.

  Ricky smiled at me, but Neil said, “We were going to switch after lunch. It isn’t lunchtime yet.”

  I sat down too. “Don’t you want to know what we found?” I asked.

  “What?” Neil and Ricky said together.

  “No blue shirt,” I answered.

  Julieta looked exasperated. “I told you, we can photograph a blue shirt in the gift shop! Give me the camera!”

  She snatched it off the table and set off across the mall to the row of shops, disappearing inside one of them.

  “Mr. Bailey claims his only blue shirt is at the laundry,” I said. “And Tommy Jansen wanted to go back to sleep, so he wouldn’t help us.”

  “Did you find out what Julieta did with her blue shirt?” Neil asked.

  “She just keeps saying she tossed it.”

  “Maybe Bailey tossed his, too.”

  “I know how we can find out,” Neil said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He went to the nearby wall phone and we heard him ask the ship’s operator to connect him with the laundry. Someone answered right away, and Neil said, “I’m calling about Mr. Anthony Bailey’s order. When will it be delivered to his stateroom?”

  After a pause, Neil asked, “Is a blue polo shirt with that order?”

  “Okay,” he said. “I understand. Thank you.”

  He came back to the table, sat down, and told us, “Mr. Bailey did send some stuff to be cleaned this morning.”

  “Like a blue shirt?” I held my breath, eagerly waiting for the answer.

  “They couldn’t tell me,” Neil said. “Back to zero.”

  I wouldn’t give up. I said to Ricky, “Why don’t we go down to the lower decks and see if we can find the laundry? Someone there might tell us, or we might even be able to see Mr. Bailey’s order if it’s ready.”

  Ricky shrugged. “You saw my uncle’s blue shirt. It was in good condition. That should be enough to clear him of any suspicion.”

  “It may not be enough,” I insisted. “We need to find out exactly whose pocket ended up in Major Cepeda’s hand.”

  Julieta ran back to the table. She put down the camera, waved the developed photo at us, and dropped it into the bag. “There!” she announced triumphantly. “The photo and the pencil stub we needed. I found it at the counter. We’ve got more than half the things on the list already. Let’s see what else we can find.”

  “Julieta! There you are! Having fun?” A good-looking woman with curly red hair stepped up to our table. She put an arm around Julieta’s shoulders and smiled at all of us.

  Because she and Julieta looked so much alike, it was easy to see that the woman must be Mrs. Vargas, Julieta’s mother. But it wasn’t their strong resemblance that interested me. It was what Mrs. Vargas was wearing: white slacks, white sleeveless T-shirt, and a sheer blue blouse.

  I glanced at Julieta and saw that she was watching me closely. Her cheeks were a mottled red.

  We all stood up as Julieta introduced us to her mother, who smiled, told us all to have fun, and left to join her husband.

  As soon as Mrs. Vargas was out of earshot, Julieta glared at me and muttered, “It wasn’t my blue shirt. It was Mom’s, and she wasn’t happy that I borrowed it. Okay? Are you satisfied?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s because of that scrap of blue cloth they found in Major Cepeda’s hand. It came from a blue shirt. We need to find the torn shirt.”

  Julieta’s eyes grew wide. I expected her to lose her temper again, but instead she laughed until tears came to her eyes. Finally, she was able to ask, “Did you really think I murdered Major Cepeda?”

  “You said you hated him.”

  She nodded. “I hate everything about the Cuban government, but I didn’t even meet Major Cepeda, let alone kill him.” She looked at Ricky. “Is all this about the INS sending you back to Cuba?”

  I answered for him. “We’re trying to help both Ricky and his uncle.”

  “Count me in,” Julieta said. She took Neil’s hand, but he kept his eyes on me. “At twelve o’clock we’ll meet at the diner for lunch. Right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Ricky and I will be there.”

  As Julieta and Neil left, I tried to keep my mind on what we were supposed to do—look for a light blue shirt with a torn pocket. But Ricky and I would be alone together. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t the top deck in the moonlight. Being anywhere with Ricky was all I could ask
for.

  His hand was strong and warm as it gripped mine. Contentedly I rode in the elevator with him down to deck one.

  As we stepped into the passage, Ricky came to a sudden stop and looked both ways. “There should be a stairway down the next deck. I think that’s where the laundry would be.” He led me to a nearby double door and silently pushed it open. Then he turned and smiled. “Stairs. Here they are.”

  We paused at the head of the stairs, jumping as the heavy doors clanged shut behind us. No one responded to the noise, and we didn’t see anyone, so we carefully began to descend. The low, rumbling, purring beat of the ship’s engines vibrated below, and our footsteps echoed on the metal floor.

  I looked ahead through the dim light at the cargo hold. Tall stacks of boxes and crates were bound together on pallets and fastened to supports, probably so they wouldn’t topple in heavy seas. There were company logos on some of the crates, but I had no idea what might be inside them.

  In the movie Titanic, Rose and Jack found a car in the hold. As they sat in it, they had talked and kissed. I glanced ahead, but the ship we were on carried nothing so romantic.

  There was a brightly lighted area at the far end, so we began to walk down one aisle between the crates. I could feel the throbbing of the engines in my head. It was like hearing bass notes without the melody, like being stuck at a stoplight next to a pickup truck with the drumbeat of its radio music slamming the air.

  Ricky stopped, putting an arm around my shoulders. “You put too much hope in finding that torn shirt. I don’t think Mr. Bailey would send a torn shirt to the laundry. He would just throw it out and buy a new one.”

  I sagged against Ricky, discouraged. Of course he was right.

  The next thing I knew, we had stepped into a narrow walkway between the stacks of crates. Ricky’s arms were around me, and his lips were on mine. I kissed him back as eagerly as I had before. There was no one like Ricky. There never would be. Just as Rose Calvert had been sure about Jack’s being her one true love, I was beginning to be sure about Ricky.