Pleasure Cruise

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Since it’s a women-only cruise,” her mother had said as the server placed an oversized double-chocolate brownie on the table, “maybe you can finally meet someone.”

  Spencer had been mortified by her mother’s oh-so-public mention of her nonexistent love life. She had felt like digging a hole and crawling into it. The server had caught her eye after she set three dessert spoons on the table. Spencer had expected sympathy, but the expression on the server’s face had been anything but compassionate. Not altogether surprising, given the server was a member of the group of mean girls that had made her life miserable—both in high school and beyond—but Spencer had been surprised to find herself agreeing with the server’s bleak assessment of her chances at finding true love.

  With frenemies like these, she had thought as she’d blown out the candles on her birthday brownie, who needs enemies?

  She had accepted her parents’ well-intentioned gift with a smile and promised to try to have a good time on the cruise, but her resolve hadn’t lasted long. In fact, she had spent most of today’s six-and-a-half-hour drive from Pipkinville, Georgia, to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, trying to convince herself to keep going instead of turning around. She was still doing the same thing now.

  “You’ve made it this far,” she said as she joined the long line snaking through the screening machines at the security checkpoint. “You might as well keep going.”

  Geena Davis’s character had said something similar at the end of Thelma and Louise. What had that gotten her? A slow-motion drop into the Grand Canyon, that’s what. Spencer wasn’t looking to repeat the feat. But what was she looking for exactly? A change of pace, a change of scenery, or a chance to prove she wasn’t the lost cause everyone seemed to think she was?

  “All that and then some.”

  After she finally made it through the line at security, she joined the line in front of the check-in counter for the next round of hurry up and wait. When she finally reached the front of the queue, she presented her passport, boarding pass, and ship card application to the Centennial Cruises employee manning the desk.

  She peered at the screen as the employee—the small rectangular name tag affixed to his crisp white uniform said his name was Ian—entered the information on her application into his computer.

  “There we go,” he said after he tapped the Enter key with a flourish. “If you’d like to open an expense account, I can take care of that for you now. All I need is the credit card you’d like to use to make the purchases.”

  Spencer didn’t plan to buy anything in the next week since most of the food and drinks were all-inclusive, but she handed over her credit card just in case. “Better safe than sorry.”

  Ian punched a few more buttons and double-checked the data he had entered. “You’re all set.” He returned her credit card, but handed her passport to the purser. “Don’t worry,” he said with a practiced laugh as she fought down a wave of separation anxiety. “You can ask for your passport back if you decide to leave the ship for any reason. Just give us fair warning so we’ll have enough lead time to retrieve it for you. We wouldn’t want you to miss any of the exciting excursions we have available.”

  Spencer was scheduled to take several excursions during the cruise, but she hadn’t had a hand in choosing any of them. Her mother had assigned herself those chores and hadn’t asked for any input. Spencer’s only task had been getting herself to the ship on time. In her work life, she was used to calling her own shots. This time, she was forced to follow someone else’s lead for a change. Even though the ship had yet to leave port, she could already tell she was in a much different world.

  “This is your cruise card.” Ian handed her a small plastic card listing her name, the name of the cruise line, the dates of the voyage, and the name of the ship. “Please keep it on or near you at all times. The card is multipurpose. Its primary function is as a cabin door key, but it also provides access to the ship. You’ll need to present it to a member of our security team each time you attempt to disembark or board. The information contained on it includes your dining assignment and muster station. You’ll use one every day. The other, hopefully, not at all.” He glanced at his computer monitor and scanned it until he located the information he sought. “You have an early dining assignment. Table forty-six in the main ballroom on the upper promenade deck. Second seating begins each night at six, which will give you plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely meal before the first of our two nightly shows.”

  When she had gotten home from her birthday celebration, Spencer had ventured to SOS Tours website to take a peek at the list of entertainers scheduled to make appearances during the week. If she remembered correctly, a pop star who had just won the Grammy for Best New Artist would be giving a kickoff concert before the ship set sail in a few hours. Once they were underway, a slew of comedians, musicians, athletes, and celebrity chefs would take turns performing, giving how-to demonstrations, or sitting down for fan-friendly question-and-answer sessions. Unlike her parents, who attended practically every event offered on their cruises, Spencer didn’t want to spend her vacation running from one deck to another in the hopes she wouldn’t miss out on something. That would be almost as stressful as being at work. On the other hand, she didn’t want to spend the entire week holed up in her room either. What was the point of coming on this trip if she didn’t allow herself to take part in the spectacle?

  “Since the Majestic Dream operates on a cashless system, you’ll need to present your ID card each time you choose to dine in one of the specialty restaurants or make a purchase in any of the dozens of shops we have on board.” Ian’s voice drew Spencer out of her reverie. “You’ll be given a receipt after each transaction, and you’ll have a chance to review your final bill on the last night of your voyage so we can make any corrections or adjustments before you close your account.”

  His speech sounded rehearsed—as if he had delivered the lines hundreds of times before—but his obvious enthusiasm was so infectious Spencer wondered if she should have gotten booster shots before she left home.

  She adjusted her grip on her rolling carry-on. Her palms were sweating. And not because of the warm Florida sun beaming through the terminal windows. Having grown up in the South, she was used to the heat and humidity. The weather wasn’t what had her so at odds. It was everything else.

  Since she worked from home—her desk was her dining room table and her usual work uniform consisted of a T-shirt and a pair of baggy shorts—she was used to doing most things remotely. All this external stimulation was almost too much to take. But wasn’t that the reason she was here in the first place? To prove she could connect to someone without a computer, monitor, mouse, or router involved?

  “Do you have any questions?” Ian asked when he finally finished delivering his spiel.

  “Just one. What do I do next?”

  Ian nodded as if he had been expecting the question. “You have only two more stops left before you can officially start your vacation. The ship’s photo staff is waiting to take a welcome photo you can purchase after you board. When that’s done, stop by the I-Pass kiosk for a security photo. That picture will be entered into the ship’s computer database and linked to your ID card, allowing the staff to positively identify you each time you make a purchase or attempt to exit or board the ship.”

  Spencer bypassed the optional welcome photo because she had an aversion to kitschy souvenirs. Especially those involving green screens and digitally superimposed images of frolicking sea creatures. After she posed for the mandatory security photo, she headed down the walkway that led to the Majestic Dream.

  The ship teemed with activity. Spencer stood in the middle of the maelstrom, uncertain where she was supposed to go. Her ID card listed what deck her room was on, but she had no idea how to find it.

  She looked around for someone to ask, but all the stewards seemed to be busy helping other passengers. If she had a map of the ship, she could find her own way. But she had been doing just
that for as long as she could remember. This week, she was supposed to be trying something different.

  It had been years since she’d drifted this far outside her comfort zone. Ten, to be exact. She hadn’t been on an honest-to-God vacation since high school when her senior class had taken a five-day cruise to Cozumel, Mexico. She had looked forward to the trip for months, but it had turned out to be the worst week of her life. After they boarded the ship in Miami, she had spent the first two days upchucking in her room before she finally managed to get her sea legs under her. Then everything had gone from bad to worse.

  She closed her eyes as she tried to forget the night she had earned the unfortunate nickname that had stuck with her to this day: Kamikaze Collins. The night she—

  “Do you need some help?”

  Spencer opened her eyes to find a vision standing in front of her. The label sounded corny, even in her head, but she didn’t know how else to describe a woman as drop-dead gorgeous as this one.

  The woman was tall, tan, and blond. She was like Bo Derek in 10—minus the cheesy, only-on-vacation cornrows and the slow-motion jog on the beach. With the right amount of persuasion, however, perhaps she would be willing to try her hand at both.

  Spencer didn’t normally go for blondes, but something about this one made her want to flip the script. Was it the way the woman filled out her tight red tank top and skimpy khaki shorts? Was it the perfect posture that accentuated her broad shoulders and narrow waist? Or was it the sunny smile that lit up her face, making her look even more beautiful than she did when her features were at rest? Perhaps it was all three. Whatever the reason, Spencer wanted to move closer instead of shying away.

  The woman extended her hand, her grip strong and sure. “I’m Amy Donovan. I’ll be your cruise director this week.”

  “Spencer Collins. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Amy reached up and removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes as blue as the cloudless sky above. “Is this your first trip with SOS Tours?” she asked, tucking the folded handle of her sunglasses inside the neck of her tank top.

  Spencer dragged her gaze away from the sight of Amy’s glorious cleavage. “Yes, does it show?”

  “No, you look like a seasoned veteran,” Amy said with a laugh. The sound was like music to Spencer’s ears. She wanted to hear the melody again. Preferably on a continuous loop. “But I’m pretty good with faces, and I don’t remember seeing yours before.”

  Amy rested her fingers on Spencer’s forearm in a gesture that was probably supposed to be reassuring. Instead of calming her down, the contact got Spencer’s pulse racing. When was the last time she had been touched by someone other than herself?

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Amy said, “how did you hear about us? Since we don’t run commercials, and our print budget isn’t as high as the mainstream tour companies, I’m always interested to know how potential travelers discover SOS Tours exists.”

  “My parents bought the trip for me as a birthday present. My mother’s a real coupon queen. She’s constantly scouring the internet for deals. After the incident in Cancún, she said she was able to find the ticket for a song. I think she found it on a resale website after the original owner decided not to use it.” After Amy’s face fell, Spencer felt like kicking herself. She had never been very good at making small talk, and she had apparently gotten worse at it over the years instead of better. She wished she had given a short reply instead of feeling compelled to run off at the mouth, but it was too late now. Some things never changed.

  “That wasn’t the company’s proudest moment,” Amy said as the light seemed to go out of her eyes. She shook herself as if she were setting aside a bad memory. When she spoke again, the perkiness she had exuded earlier had returned. “I’m glad you decided to take a chance on us anyway. Did you come with someone, or are you flying solo?”

  Spencer didn’t want to launch into a sob story. Not here. Not now. And especially not with someone she had just met. “It’s just me,” she said simply.

  “Then I need to introduce you to Breanna. She’s in charge of our independent travelers this week. She has some really exciting activities planned for you. Let me see if she’s available.”

  Amy raised a walkie-talkie to her lips, but Spencer stopped her before she could call for reinforcements.

  “Don’t,” she said more forcefully than she had intended. Amy arched an eyebrow in response, prompting Spencer to temper her tone. “I’m sure I’ll run into Breanna sooner or later. Right now, all I want to do is find my room, unpack my bag, and try to unwind.”

  “I hear you. I’m looking forward to relaxing with a glass of wine myself, but work comes first. Would you like me to show you to your room?”

  “Just tell me where to go. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Amy looked at the room assignment printed on Spencer’s boarding pass. “You’re on the navigation deck. That’s two floors above this one. It’s where the bridge is located. You’ll know where we’re going almost as soon as the captain does.” She returned the boarding pass but didn’t let go. “Are you sure you don’t want me to show you the way?”

  Spencer would have preferred to have Amy help test how soundproof the walls were in her cabin, but Amy’s comments about work had changed the dynamic. She had thought they were establishing a bond, however tenuous, but the truth was Amy wasn’t flirting with her. She was simply trying to please a client. Spencer had confused friendliness for interest before, but never again. She was done repeating past mistakes.

  “No, thanks. I can manage. See you around.”

  * * *

  Amy watched Spencer walk away. What had just happened? One minute, she and Spencer were chatting like they were old friends. The next, Spencer seemed like she couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Amy felt compelled to apologize, even though she didn’t know what she had done or said to set Spencer off. Their conversation had been filled with the usual banal pleasantries two strangers trotted out when they first encountered each other, but their all-too-brief chat had offered enough glimpses into Spencer’s personality to prompt Amy to want to get to know her better. She decided to seek Spencer out in the next day or two in order to smooth things over and check in on how her trip was going. But it was probably a good idea if they didn’t get too close.

  SOS Tours staffers were urged to be friendly and engaging when they interacted with customers, especially while they were onsite for a trip, but it was against company policy for them to sleep with clients during vacations. They could flirt until the cows came home, but they couldn’t hook up with anyone until the outing they were assigned to came to an end.

  Amy had never been tempted to break the rules before, but there was a first time for everything.

  As she headed to the theater to observe the final sound check for the kickoff concert that was supposed to take place an hour before the scheduled four o’clock departure, she tried to convince herself she had been doing nothing more than demonstrating good customer service by abandoning her post and offering to show Spencer to her room. Deep down, though, she knew better. That admission could get her in a world of trouble.

  Even though they had just met, Amy was entranced. The vulnerability in Spencer’s body language had drawn her attention; Spencer’s quick wit had captured her imagination. Their abrupt parting only piqued Amy’s curiosity.

  She wanted to unlock the secrets hidden in Spencer’s hooded brown eyes. Dance with her under a moonlit sky. Hear whispered secrets spill from her lush, full lips. Feel the warmth of her lightly freckled skin. Taste the sweetness of her kiss.

  But she couldn’t do any of those things until the ship returned to port a little over a week from now. By then, it could be too late. By then, Spencer could have met someone else. Someone who was free to fan a flicker of interest into a flame instead of someone who was duty-bound to lower the heat.

  “It’s for the best,” she said, trying to sell herself on the idea. “I�
��ve got a job to do.”

  And a company to save.

  * * *

  Jessica Hart was in over her head. She had known it for a while now, but today was the first time she had dared to admit it to herself.

  The security lines in the cruise ship terminal were long as usual, filled with tourists anxious to get the tedious screening process over with so they could board their vessels and begin their vacations in earnest.

  Jessica would be on board with them as soon as she cleared security, but her experience was bound to be vastly different from theirs. While the passengers soaked up the sun by the pool, headed to some exotic port for an optional excursion, downed half their body weight in high-end seafood, or bellied up to the bar to drown themselves in umbrella drinks, she’d be helping them work off their week’s worth of overindulgences as she toiled as a fitness pro in the ship’s gym.

  Skipping the lines reserved for guests, she joined the one set aside for ship employees and waited her turn. How many times had she done this? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? It didn’t matter at this point because she had decided this time would be the last.

  She set her pair of carry-on bags on the conveyor belt and slipped the security screener a fifty-dollar bill not to look too closely at what was inside them in case she was selected for one of the random security checks to which ship employees were occasionally subjected. She was well aware of every item that had been crammed into her Star Wars-themed carry-on, but she had no clue what was inside the black duffel bag she had picked up from the storage locker she had paid a visit to a few hours ago. After the first few voyages, she had stopped looking inside the packages she was ordered to smuggle on board the ship she was assigned to. When she received a text on her burner phone, she paid a visit to the storage locker and retrieved the bag and cash left behind. She deposited the cash and handed off the bag to someone else. No harm, no foul. She doubted her explanation would go over well in a court of law, but it was the best thing she had been able to come up with.