by Judith Gould
Monday morning, as soon as nine o’clock rolled around, she’d called his office. She held her breath as the telephone rang, and had to force herself to speak when a secretary said, “Good morning, Gentry and Gentry.”
“Hi, I’d like to speak to Mr. Gentry, please,” Crissy said.
“Mr. Gentry the second or third?” came the reply.
“Oh,” Crissy said with a nervous laugh. “Tom Gentry the third.”
“Whom may I say is calling?”
He’s there! she thought excitedly. “Crissy . . . Crissy Fitzgerald,” she said. “He’ll know who it is.”
“Just a moment, please.”
Crissy held onto the phone as if it were a lifeline. She could feel her heart racing anxiously and could hardly wait for the sound of his voice.
She heard a click, then, “Mr. Gentry’s in a meeting.”
Crissy’s heart sank. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually in a meeting or if he was avoiding her. “I . . . I . . . could I leave my number, please?” she stuttered.
“Certainly,” the secretary replied.
Crissy gave the woman all of her numbers, cell, home, and shop, and told her the name of the beauty salon after repeating her own name twice. “Thank you very much,” she finally said.
“You’re welcome,” the secretary said and hung up.
She had already dressed for work and was ready to leave, but she’d sat by the telephone waiting for him to call back until, finally, she had to rush to get to the beauty salon on time. She’d made certain her cell phone was turned on, and anxiously waited at work for a return call. When her cell rang—twice—she’d almost dropped it in her excitement to answer his call, but it had been Jenny the first time and her mother the second. She’d quickly gotten them off the line and promised to talk to them later in the evening. As five o’clock approached, Tom still hadn’t called, and she couldn’t stop herself from trying his office again, even though she thought it was bad form to seem so anxious to speak to him. The same woman had answered the phone and, after putting her on hold, had given her the same response: Mr. Gentry was in a meeting.
Disheartened, Crissy had rushed home from work and waited. And waited. To no avail. The telephone did not ring. This morning she had repeated Monday’s routine, and had received the same response yet again: Mr. Gentry was in a meeting. Mr. Gentry, it seemed, was always in a meeting. At this point she told herself that there was no doubt whatsoever but that Tom Gentry was deliberately avoiding her. He’d had her numbers all day Monday, Monday night, and Tuesday morning, but he hadn’t called or taken her calls. She finally admitted to herself what she’d known all along: If he really wanted to talk to her, he would have called.
This morning, on her way to work, Crissy had begun to weep, quietly at first, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She’d driven only a few blocks before she began wailing uncontrollably, tears blinding her to the extent that she had to pull the car over until she got a grip on herself. She’d felt like a fool before, but nothing compared to this. She’d been certain that the exciting connection she’d felt with Tom was mutual, but now there was no question that he hadn’t shared the feeling. Tom Gentry’s gentlemanly act, she decided, his tenderness and gentleness, and his apparent interest in her had all been part of an elaborate scheme to get her into bed. That and nothing more.
She worked quietly, merely going through the motions, forcing herself to respond to her customers and co-workers in as cheerful a manner as she could muster, but it was all she could do to keep in check the flood of tears that continuously threatened to burst forth. The mere thought of his touch, of his kiss, of his powerful body sent her spiraling down into an abyss of lonely despair.
As she showered off the detritus of the day, Beatrice’s words came back to her. Maybe Beatrice was right, she thought. Maybe just the thing she needed to get Tom Gentry out of her mind was to get out of Albany. At least for awhile. She could see about one of the long cruises that Beatrice had told her about. I’ve got enough money, she thought. I’ve been saving for something like this for a long time. Yes, she decided, I’ll get away from Albany and try to forget all about the rotten Mr. Tom Gentry.
By the time she was finished showering, she resolved that she would go to a travel agent this week and begin to explore the possibilities available to her. The sooner the better, she thought. She dried off and put on a bathrobe, tying it at the waist, then dried her hair. When she was finished in the bathroom, she flipped off the light and started for the bed.
There was a knock on her door, and Crissy stood frozen, staring at it for a moment. No one ever came by without calling first, and she wondered who it could be. She went toward the door and called out in a low voice, “Who is it?”
“You are at the top of my shit list,” a female voice said from the other side of the closed door, “and I mean that.”
Crissy couldn’t help but smile, then laughed as she opened the door. “Jenny,” she cried, throwing her arms around her. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Jenny hesitated before returning her hug and kissing her cheek. “I shouldn’t even be speaking to you,” she said.
“I know,” Crissy said. “I’ve behaved very badly.”
“Deplorably,” she said. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me in, or are we going to stand out here in the hallway?”
“Oh, come in,” Crissy said, backing into the apartment. “It’s so wonderful to see you, to hear your voice at the door. You don’t know.”
“You’ve heard my voice for days on your machine at home and on your cell phone voice mail,” Jenny replied huffily, “but you didn’t bother to return my calls, did you?”
“Jenny, you have every reason to be mad at me,” Crissy said, sitting down on the couch beside her, “but . . . but I’ve been in a real funk. I mean the worst, and I didn’t want to . . . Well, I just didn’t feel like talking about it.” Unbidden, tears suddenly sprang into her eyes.
Jenny put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Tell me about it,” she said in a concerned voice. “What’s happened?”
Crissy told her about Tom Gentry, and her feelings of acute shame and embarrassment after not hearing from him, how humiliated the experience had left her.
“Oh, you poor baby,” Jenny said.
Crissy shook her head as if to clear it of cobwebs. “Tom. Whew . . . He swept me off my feet.” She looked at Jenny with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think I’ve ever fallen so hard. It was worse than a teenage crush. I feel like such a fool.”
“He’s a real smooth operator.”
“I’ve never met anyone quite like him before,” Crissy said. “He was so convincing. He worked me like a . . . well, like a master puppeteer. And I was his stupid puppet.”
“My Lambchop,” Jenny said, grinning.
Crissy punched her playfully. “You make me feel so much better.”
Crissy fell silent, wanting to wipe every thought of Tom out of her mind. A cruise would do that. She’d forget all about him if she left town for a good long while.
“What are you thinking about?” Jenny asked.
“I’ve been thinking about taking a trip.”
“That’s a great idea. I need to take one myself.”
“I’ve been saving all of my tips, and I’m going to a travel agent tomorrow at lunchtime to see what I can find out.”
“That’s so great,” Jenny said.
“This customer of mine, Beatrice Bloom, has been encouraging me, just like you have. Anyway, Beatrice says I ought to take a big European trip. Maybe a long cruise.” She paused and looked at Jenny. “She says that a lot of the people are older, of course, but that there are always some interesting younger people, too. I’m not sure about it, but—”
“Listen,” Jenny said, grabbing her shoulders in her hands and looking her in the eye, “I’m going with you tomorrow to the travel agent. Okay? Because I want to make sure that you choose something that’ll really be f
un. What do you say?”
“I’d love that, Jenny,” Crissy said. “I don’t know much about what there is out there, you know?”
Jenny’s dark eyes sparkled. “Oh, I do,” she said. “I have a question for you, though. Are you going to go by yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Crissy replied. “I haven’t even thought about it. Besides, who do I know that could go?”
“You know who could go,” Jenny said, “and might be a lot of fun to have along?”
“Who?”
“The answer is staring you right in the face.”
She shook her head. “Who? You?”
“Yes, me. I’m bored, and I’m tired of having nothing but time on my hands.”
“That would be perfect,” Crissy exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so excited. I’m just so thrilled that you showed up at my doorstep tonight. I feel like . . . like a new person.”
“You’re the same wonderful person you always were, Crissy,” Jenny said solemnly. “Hopefully, you’ll start living out some of those dreams of yours real soon.” She winked. “I have a few dreams of my own.”
The next day at lunchtime, Jenny picked Crissy up. When she got in Jenny’s Jaguar convertible, she was carrying her shoulder bag, in which she’d placed her check book and an envelope of cash.
“They do have banks nowadays, Cris, or didn’t you know that?” she said.
“You know I do,” Crissy said. “But this is all tip money that I’d rather not show up as income. You know what I mean?”
“Smart girl,” Jenny allowed. “Hiding it from the government, aren’t you? Hard to do that with alimony.”
“Everybody does,” Crissy said. “Waiters, hairdressers, people like us, but I do declare some of it or else it would look odd. A hairdresser who never gets tips?”
“I don’t think they’ll come looking for a small fry like you,” Jenny said.
“You never know,” Crissy said.
They reached the travel agency and gave the young man the deposit for the trans-Atlantic cruise that Crissy and Jenny had decided on. “I’ve been studying up on this ship,” the agent said, “and did you know it’s the fastest passenger ship on the seas? Other ships can reach its speed, like the Queen Elizabeth II and the new Queen Mary II, but they can’t maintain it. They’d vibrate all to pieces. But this little wonder is like a Jet Ski. Wish I was going myself.”
Jenny gave Crissy a look, and Crissy knew what she was thinking. I would jump ship if somebody as nerdy as you are was onboard. She nudged Jenny with her elbow.
“Maybe you ought to try to book the same cruise then,” Crissy told him. She noticed that his name tag said MELVIN, and thought that the name suited him somehow.
“Naw,” the young man replied, “no way I could ever get a month off work at this point. Only been working here a year.”
“Oh, well, maybe later on,” Crissy said optimistically. “I hope you get to someday, Melvin.”
He nodded. “So do I, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.”
“Get yourself a new deck,” Crissy said in a kindly voice.
Jenny laughed.
“It should be so easy,” the young man said. He paused and looked at them. “Well, you’re all set, ladies. Make sure your passports are in order and that you’ve got the visas required for Brazil. All the pertinent information you need is in the folders I gave you. Oh, and don’t forget the yellow fever vaccinations.”
“Yellow fever vaccinations?” Crissy said.
“You’ll need those for Brazil,” he said. “Anyway, you can get them from the county health department. The telephone number and that info is also enclosed in your packet.”
“Thanks a lot, Melvin.” Crissy rose to her feet. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” he said, getting up.
“Yeah, a real pleasure,” Jenny said, her voice sardonic. She pushed herself up out of her chair. “Let’s vamoose, Cris,” she said. “This place is airless, and I’m about to suffocate.”
“Bye.” Crissy waved to Melvin as they went out the door. From behind his desk, Melvin returned her wave with a big smile.
“Oh, Jesus,” Jenny said once they were outside the store. “I don’t know how you could keep from laughing out loud at that jerk. He’s so . . . pathetic.”
“Oh, he’s all right, Jen,” she replied. “He’s just different, you know. And probably sad and lonely.”
“Yeah,” Jenny said, “and probably some kind of fucking serial killer to boot.”
“You’re crazy,” Crissy said with a helpless laugh.
Jenny grinned. “He does look like the type, you know? Weird outcast boy from next door. Probably watches the neighborhood girls with binoculars from behind his bedroom blinds. With one hand in his pants.”
“Oh, hush!” Crissy cried. “I’m sure he’s not like that at all.” She laughed despite herself, then added: “You’re so mean.”
“I’m just honest,” Jenny said. “I call a loser a loser, and that guy is a first-class loser.” She paused and giggled. “And probably a psycho, too, because people like me have made fun of him all his life.” Her laughter reverberated throughout the end of the mall where they were walking, and shoppers turned to stare.
Crissy rolled her eyes. “You’re going to get us chased out of here,” she said mirthfully.
“We’re on our way out anyway,” Jenny retorted. “Why don’t I take you to lunch? What do you say?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Crissy said. She didn’t like taking advantage of Jenny’s generosity too often, even though her friend could well afford it. Crissy liked to pull her share, and she didn’t want Jenny to come to think of her as a mooch.
“Oh, come on,” Jenny said. “I want to go to Provence for lunch. That place over in Stuyvesant Plaza. And I don’t want to go by myself.” She grabbed Crissy’s arm. “Come on,” she cajoled. “I hardly ever get to see you with your work schedule.”
“Okay,” Crissy finally agreed, “as long as we don’t talk about Tom Gentry.”
“I promise not to bring him up,” Jenny swore.
“Good,” Crissy said. “But then I really do have to get back to work and then home. I’ve got a lot to do.”
“Like what?” Jenny asked as she pushed open the door to the parking lot.
“After work things like laundry and cleaning the apartment. Glamorous things like that,” Crissy said.
“Good. I’ll spare you of all that for awhile,” Jenny said.
“Sometimes I don’t mind it,” Crissy said. “It’s almost like therapy or something. Peaceful and soothing, you know?”
“That’s because you’re not getting laid enough,” Jenny quipped.
“Jen.” Crissy turned to look at her. “You think the whole world revolves around sex.”
“It does, sweetheart,” Jenny replied. “Believe me, it does.”
After lunch Jenny pulled over in front of the beauty salon and braked the Jaguar with a lurch. “Ta-ta,” Jenny said, throwing her hand up in a wave. “Talk to you later.”
“Bye.” Crissy waved as Jenny roared off, then turned and walked into the shop. Despite not discussing it during lunch, she still couldn’t stop thinking of the night Tom had seduced her. She had thought he was so special.
I’m sick of being taken advantage of, she told herself. I’m sick of being unhappy, of allowing other people to make me feel that way. And it’s going to stop now.
But no more tears, she thought. It’s time for action.
Chapter Four
Georgios Vilos folded the International Herald Tribune and placed it to one side of the big mahogany desk. He received the paper with the English edition of Kathimerini, the Athenian newspaper, tucked inside. He was pleased to see that the Sea Nymph’s imminent departure from the port of Piraeus was duly noted and that not only was his name and the company’s cited but that the ship’s superb design, subtle luxury, and exceptional speed were mentioned. What an irony, he thought, that the crowning glory
of his empire was one of the principal causes of its near collapse.
He swiveled around in his chair and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor in Piraeus. He and Fiona, along with Rosemary, his assistant, had flown down on the Gulfstream V. Now, in the near distance he could see the Sea Nymph docked at the recently cleaned-up piers that surrounded the harbor. She was a truly beautiful ship, he thought, sleek and modern, yet built along classical lines. He loathed the huge new ships that resembled floating buses, nor did he have a taste for the ugly, egg-shaped aerodynamic designs that so many shipbuilders had a penchant for lately.
Turning back to his desk, he eyed a small pile of paperwork with a malevolent glance. He was in no mood to attend to details at the moment. He felt a sense of unease that made him irritable. The meeting with the Lampaki brothers was coming up, and he’d still not been able to get hold of his son. He’d been trying to reach Mark all day, trying his office number and his cell phone, but to no avail. When he’d tried Fiona in Zákinthos, where she was overseeing the closing up of their Greek island house for the winter, she’d professed to know nothing of Mark’s whereabouts.
“I doubt that he’s anywhere in Greece,” she’d said, “or I would have heard about it from one of my friends here. Besides, if Mark is anywhere in Greece, whether it’s Kolonaki or on one of the islands, it would be reported in the press.”
Her reference to the exclusive neighborhood in central Athens, Kolonaki, brought a snort of derision from Georgios. Mark was sure to find rich layabouts like himself there.
“Why would he be here in November anyway?” Fiona had asked. “Nobody in his right mind will be here until after Easter, when it starts warming up.”
“I thought it was a possibility,” Georgios told her. “I haven’t been able to reach him anywhere, and he’s not responding to voice mail I leave on his cell phone.”
