Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “She’s ninety-four and blind.”

  “You’d never know it to look at her,” Reina said. “the woman’s stuck at thirty, and her voice...” she stopped as if she were about to go into shock. She straightened herself out, eyes wide. “You mean to tell me you’re going to miss a night with that legend—she’ll be in history books, for fuck’s sake. She sang to the soldiers World War II. She has so many awards, she had to build a bunker just to store them all.”

  “There are a hundred of others like her,” Lori said.

  “Oh, and you’re never going to meet a single one,” she said, stretching her arms across the back of the couch., as if she held a secret wisdom that Lori would never understand. “And you know they will be serving pure nectar of the gods for dinner.”

  “It’s not...”

  Lori gave up. “There’s a jeweler on the ninth floor; he rents out diamonds, and I’m talking rocks. I saw a couple of women in there. I’ll bet you it was for the banquet. Lori, this is considered an honor.”

  “Yeah?” she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “I don’t think you understand. It’s literally an honor. They don’t invite just anyone to this.”

  ‘It’s just a part of the package, I don’t want to go,” she declared, “and there’s nothing you can do to make me.”

  “It’s your loss.” Reina put the card back and stared down at the table,

  “Take it.” Lori watched her light up like a newborn star. The girl was ecstatic.

  “And...?”

  “No, the dresses have to be sold. I can’t lend them out.”

  “Save one.”

  Lori stood up and stretched. “And let you wear it?”

  “Fair enough,” Reina stood with her. “You should still wear one.”

  “It’s just not my thing.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah, let me just get some rest, and I’ll call over.”

  Reina left with the invitation and the rose—a source of contention. Lori hated the roses. She wanted it gone; Reina, however insisted on her keeping it. They compromised when Lori said she was going to throw the petals in the toilet. Reina would take the flower, but only if Lori promised to take it back when the cruise ended. Lori, of course, had no intention of doing so. She was just glad she didn’t have to look at it any longer.

  12

  What was supposed to be a short nap turned into a six-hour coma. It made dinner feel like an unnecessary chore, but Lori went anyway. She asked for a steak and they gave her a strip of tenderloin—a beautiful, moist cut, and by far their most expensive; with that, came a complimentary bowl of scallop ceviche, speckled with orange dots of roe.

  She sent it away and instructed George to stop bringing them. He protested, saying that she should be allowed to enjoy the finest the ship had to offer, even if she was alone. He also pointed out that the ceviche paired well with the steak—something she told Tim less than a moth ago when he insulted her dish, which was exactly what George had delivered, down to the teaspoon.

  She flew into a rage. She told him that she didn’t want anymore gifts, and she didn’t want to see him the rest of the night. He walked back into the kitchen, and she watched the door the entire meal, while Reina blabbed on about the banquet.

  She knew not to trust George. It was like the man lived to serve her. He couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. Her instincts were proven right when a chime rang out through her suite, interrupting her late-night action flick.

  She grumbled about having to get out of bed; she only answered because she thought it might be Reina, but it wasn’t. It was a golden vase filled with so many flowers that the face of the crew member carrying it was almost completely obscured by the burst of color.

  His bellhop hat bounced when he stumbled inside and hurried over to the coffee table, before dropping the flowers down with a thud. “You can take that right back. I said no more gifts and... oh, come on.”

  The bellhop met her eyes with a knowing smile and bowed.

  “You’re not getting a tip. Hey...”

  He was sprinting out of the room, faster than she could find something to grab and throw at him. At least he was gone, she thought. She went to close the door, and found herself staring at a garment bag, made to look like a long, white lace corset.

  “Get that out ri—shit,” she stepped into the hall, where a caravan of crew members were waiting. They were carrying gift boxes of all sizes and no less than seven flower displays, all the same as the last. “I don’t want any of this shit. Get it out of here...”

  They all passed her by, gave her a bow, and the same knowing look. George must’ve told them to do it anyway, probably out of spite for dinner. Once everything was in place, ready to sell, she started to close the door, and somebody cleared their throat.

  “I don’t want it.”

  The bell hop shoved a white jewelry box through, and it fell to the ground with a heavy clatter. When she closed the door on him, he was mid-bow. “Stay gone! All of you!” she shouted and kicked the box across the room. It hit the wall and flew open, revealing a white strip of paper and a thin silver chain.

  She snatched both off the ground and was about to throw them in with the rest of the pile when the chain fell out, along with a heavy diamond, almost the size of her thumb, shaped like a crescent, resting in a silver coin.

  It was a message—one that her grandmother used to go on about. She’d say, “It doesn’t matter what happens, life goes on, just like the cycles of the moon. There are times of increase, when the face gets bigger, or decrease, when there’s no face at all, but eventually the full, ripe moon will come.”

  She thought, at first, that Tim was telling her that when one door opens, another door closes. It was him telling her that she had his blessing to move on and that she would find love eventually, just not with him. But that wasn’t the message in the note. It bothered her. “Come to the banquet. Let me see you one more time. I love you, Lori. There’s never been anyone else. I’m sorry.”

  Nobody else. He told his wife. That was the only way she could’ve found out, and if he was telling her the truth that meant that he either felt guilty or he was trying to convince her that he would commit—take care of the baby, be loyal for the child. He didn’t care about Lori. He cared about the woman he confessed to, and he didn’t want to admit it, because he still wanted his side action.

  No, she wasn’t going to allow this. He couldn’t just show up, fuck her, then fuck off. That wasn’t the way she worked. If he came to this room—if he confronted her in any way, she wouldn’t be able to trust herself. She’d probably pummel his face in and throw him overboard without even realizing what she was doing. He deserved it.

  She ripped the card up and let the pieces float to the ground, steaming with rage. He wouldn’t fucking dare. She could try to talk to the crew, tell them that she wanted to be left alone. They would know to expect trouble if they didn’t. It might be enough, but she’d have to be pushy and quick. If they didn’t take her seriously, she might make things worse, and he was probably prowling around the ship right now.

  She made a quick retreat to her room, locked her door and finished her movie. She was safe there. Tim couldn’t break down the door, and she doubted that the crew would be willing to let him in. She’d just stay in bed and order room service. She could do that.

  But when she woke up the next morning, the flowers had multiplied, and the garment bag was hanging on a freestanding clothes rack, open for her to see. They were pulling an insidious trick, but it was impossible to deny the beauty of what she saw.

  It was a simple slit dress, sleeveless and draping. The fabric was what made it extraordinary. It looked as though golden thread had been woven into a sheer silk. She wouldn’t have been surprised if that’s exactly what it was.

  In front of it, there was an empty hanger with a simple note hanging from it. It was handwritten this time, but with a flowing script and flourish—almost too perfect to have been writ
ten by a man. “I just want to see you. That’s all.”

  With a shrieking roar, she shoved the cart over and ran into her room. She covered herself with the blanket and focused on her breath—simply because she could trust herself to think about anything else.

  She was tired, and she would have fallen asleep had it not been for the sound of her phone buzzing. She pressed the ignore button, let it rest and closed her eyes again. Within seconds, whoever it was called back. She reached out from under the covers to grab it, and it vibrated itself off the nightstand.

  Mumbling curses, she ducked down and thrust her hand in the thin space between the floor and the bedframe. Her arm was cramped up by the time she pulled it out, but she got it. When she put it on silent, she’d never been more relieved. She could sleep.

  There were knocks on the door, and a tiny voice, barely capable of piercing through the haze. It went away and came back again; this time, it was louder and accompanied by a fast paced knock that shook the walls.

  Lori paid it no mind, even when she could feel it against her head. They were still in the hall outside, and they couldn’t get to her. She was safe where she was, and it wasn’t long before they gave up and let her go back to sleep.

  She opened her eyes to darkness. All light coming in through the porthole was gone, and she was sure that nobody was outside, trying to get in. She took the tablet she had sitting next to her phone and pressed the power button.

  The screen lit up, offering a view of a beach at night, the full moon, shaded by veil of mist. “Welcome,” a soothing female voice was mixed in with the rush of the tide, moving in and out across the sand.

  Lori swept the screen and it lit up, showing only a keyboard and a blank white space, where she could literally type whatever she wanted, and then they would bring it to her. No, that was not acceptable. She wanted to hunt Tim down and throw him overboard. She could find him. It wouldn’t be hard.

  She hit the back button and the screen went blank. There were two gray buttons at the bottom—one for food, a menu she couldn’t tap, and everything else. If she wanted food delivered to her room, she was going to have to order it from that fucking box. “Fuck!”

  She was gripping the tablet so hard she thought it would break beneath her fingertips. She let it drop in her lap when a voice said, “No, ma’am, you ca—

  “I don’t care. She sounds like she’s hurt. Now you open this door.”

  “Don’t you do it!” Lori shouted.

  Reina shouted back, “At leas—Oh, my God. Lori...”

  “I’m not coming out or explaining a single thing until the bellhop is gone.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “What does that mean?” Lori stood, ready to fly out of the room.

  “Just give it a minute.”

  “Are they bringing me more stuff? I said no more. No more. Goddammit, just leave me alone.”

  “Go, you heard her.”

  “But, ma’am, we have to...” the voice was that of a teenager’s, the same boy that carried in the vase, she guessed.

  “You cannot enter her room if she doesn’t want you to except in case of emergency. You are to do what she says.”

  “This isn’t her room. We’re allowed to enter the living area at any time,” he said.

  “I think you should be respecting her privacy and her feelings. This man stood her up. He’s married, and his wife is pregnant.”

  “That’s not my problem. What am I supposed to do with all this?”

  “Don’t leave it in here.”

  Feet shuffled across the floorboards, and the door shut. “Is it safe?”

  “They aren’t here, but...”

  “But what?” Lori snapped.

  “There’s barely any walking room.”

  “Let me see,” she ripped the door open. “What?”

  Reina flinched at her shrill cry. She was standing next to the dress rack, which was so close to the door Lori could barely get out. Surrounding it were boxes and flowers, bursting with an endless, overwhelming spectrum; so many they filled the room, stacked as high as they could go. When Reina said there was no walking space she meant it.

  The dresses were the centerpiece—diverse and enchanting, sitting against the backdrop of a million blossoms. They were handcrafted works of art, each perfectly tailored to her measurements. There was also a black case at Reina’s feet, open slightly, revealing a color palette fit for Leonardo Davinci himself.

  “Tim sent these?”

  “Yes, he’s here, and he’s trying to get me to come to the banquet.”

  “There are gift bags too,” Reina said, unable to conceal her excitement.

  “Are there?”

  There was a stack of boxes to the right of the door, ready to spill out into the space between them. The bag was on top. It was black paper, and the handles were twisted, thin cardboard—just like the ones at the mall, but the packaging was deceptive. Gift bags weren’t filled with candy and useless coupons. They were offerings to the elite, containing items that hadn’t even hit the shelves—the best of the best, stuff nobody could get.

  The biggest diamond in the room was probably inside that thing. “Don’t you dare,” she lunged to grab Reina who was already sticking her hand inside.

  She grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. “Hey, why did you do that? It’s ju—

  “I don’t want to know what it is.”

  “A tiny ca—

  “I don’t care! He’s here on the ship. He’s trying to lure me in.”

  “It’s a cardboard box.” Reina said, ignoring her.

  “There’s probably a hope diamond replica in that thing. I don’t want to see it.”

  Lori dropped her hand and started looking through the room, trying to make sense of her bounty. Gift bags were at the top of every pile, like black stars on a Christmas tree. Reina puled her hand out of the one she was holding before Lori realized what’d happened.

  “Crafted from pure platinum. Decide what it means. I love you, Lori. I’m sorry.” The back of her neck was tingling. “It’s just a tiny pendant.”

  “Wear it tonight to piss Tim off, and take one gown—one—for yourself...and one for tonight,” Lori conceded. She thought that would be enough to distract Reina for a minute, but she was giving Lori a look.

  “You should go and humiliate him.”

  “In front of everyone he’ll never have to see again? He won’t care. He’s here for a hookup—to stake his claim—then he’s leaving.”

  “He’s Mr. Big, isn’t he? The professional over-compensator.”

  “Yes, he is. That is exactly it—in magnanimous proportion. I fall in love with the theater.”

  “Oh, dear,” Reina shook her head, looking around, like she wanted to figure out what to ask for.

  “Two outfits, all the lingerie, but let me look over the perfume and shoes. I keep electronics and jewelry—fine, you may have one diamond.”

  She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. The value was significant, and she was well aware of that—apologizing and thanking her, laughing awkwardly—but Lori didn’t care. She sent her out with her two dresses and promised to let Reina peruse through everything in the morning after she got some rest.

  13

  It was more than just the television. The thing had been blaring for four hours, moving through everything from price guessing games to ancient interviews with couples from Dating Bonanza. It was terrible, but that was nothing. Every time Lori stepped out of her room, she had to push a toppling stack of boxes inside, and when she did, she was surrounded by reminders. Tim had invaded her space, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  She tried to bring stuff out into the hall, but it was filled. She went back in, a box fell, and a set car keys—if the thumbpad could be called a key—rolled out onto the floor.

  “A car! A fucking car!”

  Below it was a note: “Take everything and do what you want with it. I’m just fulfilling a vow I made. I will always prov
ide for you.”

  Next, she’d probably find the title for a beach mansion, with a trust fund for utilities and property taxes.

  She gave up and decided to start sorting everything. She pushed over the stack in front of her, knocking over a set of vases, and clasped her head in her hands. That wasn’t fucking fair. There was a stockpot sitting on the couch, unwrapped for her to see.

  The first night she met Tim, he asked her what her dream was. She told him that it was exactly that—a dream. It kept coming back to her, haunting her—this image of her standing in front of an industrial stove, wearing a white apron and stirring a pot.

  This whole time, he’d been trying to worm his way back in, acting like he could buy her, own her—own the way she dressed, the jewels that she wore, where they ate, what classes they took—and now, he wanted to own her dream—something she kept close, something to dwell on and work towards—the very thing she slaved over in that restaurant and all the others she’d worked at. It kept her moving, and it got her through all of the crap she had to put up with from the prick chefs and their ravenous customers.

  That dream was where she went for comfort, and now she couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave her with anything; he had to tarnish that too, and she hated him for it. She was hunched over on the ground, surrounded by boxes filled with silverware, industrial cookery, fucking placemats—which pissed her off beyond reckoning. He used the logo she drew after she graduated.

  She showed it to him before they made love the first time—that same night, of course. She wanted to call the restaurant Luna Crescent, after her grandmother’s obsession with the moon. She had a room filled with decorations and bobbles; ceramic faces, imposed on white; maidens whose features were that of the lunar landscape; a thousand wizards, dragons and fairies, mixed in with a full choir of angelic hosts.

  But it was the clock that made it sacred. It was a gothic cathedral tower lined with gargoyles and bell alcoves, all of which rang when the moon was at its fullest. She used to love jumping up into the air, so she could the various gears and faces one hand for each planet, another for zodiac signs, the moon, the sun, and two gigantic hands for the time of day. It was the only one like it, and it was rotting in storage; all of her things were, because she didn’t have a restaurant lobby to put them in. That was what Tim was trying to stain with his disgusting act of betrayal.