Dreamboat

by Judith Gould

  Dr. Von Meckling’s eyes lit up, Crissy noticed, as he drank in Jenny’s striking beauty. “There’s still some champagne, my dear,” he said.

  “Wonderful,” Jenny said dramatically. “I see my timing is superb as usual.” She sat next to the doctor, where the maître d’ had pulled out her chair and waited for her.

  “You look ravishing as always,” Mina said.

  “Oh, yes,” Rudy agreed, pouring her a glass of champagne.

  “Quite something,” Monika muttered in a noncommittal way.

  “I love your necklace and earrings,” Crissy said. “I haven’t seen them before.”

  “I don’t show you everything,” Jenny said teasingly. “I love your hair, by the way. It looks great.”

  Crissy was gratified that Jenny seemed to be her fun-loving self, that whatever had been bothering her wasn’t an issue anymore. They talked and laughed while eating, and Crissy noticed that Jenny often patted or put an arm around Dr. Von Meckling. He obviously enjoyed the attention, participating in the conversation more than usual and beaming at Jenny’s every touch.

  They were having dessert when Monika turned to Crissy and asked, “Do you think your young Mark Vilos will come to the disco tonight?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Crissy said. “I haven’t seen him or talked to him today, and I’d just as soon not see him tonight.”

  “Why not, my darling?” Monika asked.

  Crissy hadn’t planned on saying anything to Monika or anyone else about the telephone call the previous evening, but she felt compelled to do so now. “Well, after I had dinner with him, we went to the disco for awhile,” she said, “then he wanted me to come back to his stateroom for a nightcap.” Everyone at the table turned to listen to her. “I didn’t go, but later the telephone rang. Somebody was breathing on the other end of the line.”

  “Oh, my God. How frightening,” Mina said, her eyes widening in alarm.

  “I know,” Crissy said. “It was. I kept asking who it was, and whoever it was just kept breathing.”

  Monika patted her arm with a hand. “That’s horrible, my darling,” she said. “Horrible. I think you should tell the captain at once.”

  Crissy took a sip of water. “I’m suspicious that it might have been Mark,” she said.

  Monika’s hand jerked away from Crissy. “That’s absurd,” she said.

  “It’s not absurd,” Crissy said in self-defense. “He seemed really upset that I wouldn’t go back to his stateroom with him.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Jenny said.

  Everyone at the table turned to look at her.

  “Why?” Crissy asked.

  “Because Mark’s not interested in you,” Jenny said. “Not at all. And I know that for a fact.”

  Crissy looked at her in puzzlement. “But how, Jenny?” she asked. “He—”

  “Mark is after me,” Jenny said. “He couldn’t have called you because we were in the sack together.” She smiled triumphantly as Monika gasped.

  Crissy blushed with embarrassment. “You mean that you were there after I was?” she said in a soft voice.

  Jenny nodded, her smile still in place. “Yeah,” she said. Crissy noted the resemblance between Jenny’s smug expression and that habitually worn by Mark.

  She suddenly felt her stomach twist into a knot. Why am I such a fool? she wondered anew. Mark had been lying to her, and her friend had seen him but hadn’t mentioned it. Until now.

  “Well, that changes everything, doesn’t it, my darling,” Monika said, apparently relieved that Mark Vilos was in the clear and not particularly concerned that Crissy might be distressed by Jenny’s treachery. Jenny should have told her she had seen Mark, and she should have told her in private, not at the dinner table, where she knew it would embarrass Crissy.

  “Yes, it does change things,” Crissy said. She glanced around the table. “I was all wrong,” she said with a valiant effort. “I should have been certain before I made any accusations.”

  “You didn’t mean harm,” Mina said. “Anyone could have made a mistake like that. You shouldn’t feel badly about it. But the mystery is still unsolved, isn’t it? Who might have made that awful call?”

  “Not Mark Vilos,” Monika said firmly. “An absurd notion to begin with.” She looked at Jenny. “So you’re seeing him, my dear,” she said in an ingratiating voice. “I hope you’re having a wonderful time with him. Such a handsome young man, so well-bred, and such a good family.”

  Crissy watched in fascination as Monika changed allegiance before her eyes, stroking Jenny’s ego with her words, as it were. She had certainly never fought for Monika’s attention, nor had she sought it out to begin with. But seeing how easily her affections shifted from her to Jenny was sickening—and yet another reminder that she couldn’t trust anyone. She suddenly felt like crying or laughing hysterically. The situation was ridiculous, she told herself, and she wished she could rush into Luca’s arms at this moment. It wouldn’t be long, and she took comfort in that thought.

  Still, in the back of her mind was the matter of the telephone call. If Mark hadn’t made it, who had? Maybe it was a fluke, she thought, and it would never happen again. She would have to wait and see, but of one thing she was certain: The next time she would go straight to one of the officers on the ship without advice from any of her acquaintances.

  Crissy stole a glance at her wristwatch, and was surprised to see that it was nearly nine-thirty. Good. She would have just enough time to go by the cabin and refresh her makeup before going to the hospital.

  During dinner Crissy had been aware of the ship’s movement, but as she walked back to the cabin she realized that the vessel had begun to pitch to and fro in the water, making walking treacherous. When she reached the cabin, the phone was ringing. She hurriedly flicked on the light and rushed to answer it.

  She was thrilled to hear Luca’s voice, but wondered if something was wrong. “Something’s come up, hasn’t it?” she said.

  “We’ve hit a bad patch of weather, and that means I’m going to be very busy,” he replied.

  Crissy could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Seasickness?”

  “That and a lot of cuts and bruises,” he replied. “Maybe even some broken bones and concussions.”

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “Walking back from dinner was tricky, but it’s that bad?”

  “Yes,” Luca replied. “Especially with a lot of the older people. If this lasts for a few hours, people get antsy and want to get out and move around. They end up being thrown off their feet, take some bad falls.”

  “So the hospital’s going to be busier than usual,” she said.

  “That’s an understatement,” he said. “A lot of people panic, too, especially unseasoned travelers. This place is going to have people hanging from the rafters. It happens a lot in this area.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “More or less where the Mediterranean and the Atlantic meet,” he replied. “It can get really rough. Add bad weather to that, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a lot of sick and wounded passengers.” He paused, then added, “I’m so sorry, Crissy. There’s no way I’ll be able to meet you tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said. She tried to conceal her frustration and disappointment. “But it won’t be long.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I’ll call when I get a chance. Just remember that I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you, too,” she said.

  She hung up the receiver and sighed. Damn.

  Turning around, she glanced about the cabin. Jenny is such a sloppy pig, she thought, seeing underwear strewn all over her bed. She could have thrown her dirty underwear on her own bed. She went to the bed and started to pick up the underwear and toss it on Jenny’s bed, but after picking up a pair of panties, she let out a shriek and dropped them as if they had scorched her hand.

  “Oh, my God!” she wailed. “Oh, my God!” She backed away, her hand o
ver her mouth, her eyes riveted to the ghastly sight on her bed. Her stomach twisted into a knot, and for a moment she thought she would throw up. The acrid taste of bile rose in her throat, but she managed to control the urge to expel it. She felt sweat bead her brow and the back of her neck, and she began to tremble.

  The underwear—her underwear—had been slashed into tatters. Bras, panties, panty hose, and slips lay strewn across her bed in coils, as if they were poisonous snakes. Crissy felt as though she herself had been slashed, her body cut up haphazardly by a knife-wielding maniac and left in obscene, bloody pieces in some sick, twisted ritual.

  The telephone bleeted, and she jerked as if bitten. Oh, God, no! she thought, putting her hands over her ears. Not again. It can’t be. Please, God. No. Then, as before, it occurred to her that it might be Luca. She looked at the telephone, and it bleeted again. Her breath caught in her throat. How could something inanimate, a simple piece of plastic and metal and wire, have such power over her? She decided that she wouldn’t allow it to. She slowly advanced toward the telephone, one hand on the vanity/desk surface for support, and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice as calm as she could manage.

  The sound of breathing assaulted her senses, threatening to make her spin out of control.

  “Damn you!” she cried, slamming the receiver down.

  She stood, her body trembling, gazing at the floor. There were tears in her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry. That’s the last thing I’m going to do, she told herself. I’m not going to cry. I’m going to get the bastard who’s doing this.

  She grabbed her shoulder bag and went to the cabin door, prepared to get help, but thought better of it. First, she thought, she would take pictures of her bed so she would have a record of the perverse crime that had been perpetrated against her. She retrieved her camera from her shoulder bag, then took several photographs of her bed from various angles. That done, she put the camera back in her shoulder bag and went back to the door. She had to grasp the handle and hold on as the ship rolled to port. When her feet felt more secure on the floor, she opened the door and went out into the corridor, determined to find help.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She left the cabin in furious haste, heading for the Information Desk one deck below. She didn’t know who to talk to, but she would find someone out there.

  At the semicircular Information Desk, a young man looked up at her quizzically. “How may I help you?” he asked.

  “I want to talk to someone in Security,” Crissy replied. “At least that’s who I think I should talk to.”

  A plump young woman with a halo of frizzy black hair who was busy at a computer keyboard next to him—MARIA, her name tag read—looked up when she heard Crissy’s request.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the young man asked.

  “I’ve been getting obscene telephone calls,” Crissy said, “and tonight I returned to my cabin to find my underwear torn up and thrown on my bed. Is there anyone here with authority whom I can speak with?”

  The young man didn’t reply immediately, but the woman sitting near him spoke up. “I think she should talk to the captain. Wait just a minute,” Maria said, holding up a finger. She lifted her considerable heft out of the chair and disappeared into an office behind the Information Desk.

  Crissy didn’t have to wait long before the woman reappeared. “Follow me,” she said, nodding toward the office door. Going around the semicircular desk, Crissy went into the office. “Have a seat,” Maria said. “He’ll be down here in just a minute.” She went back out to the Information Desk, closing the door behind her.

  Crissy had hardly sat down before an inner office door opened, and the captain strode in, the smile he perpetually wore replaced by a look of concern that seemed sincere. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “I’ve gotten a couple of phones calls from a ‘breather,’ ” Crissy said. “Then this evening I came in, and somebody had torn up my underwear and thrown it all over the bed.”

  The captain looked appalled. “Let’s go,” he said, already heading toward the door. “I want to see this myself.”

  Crissy followed the captain out of the office. He was fast on his feet, seeming to move with the ship, which was no easy task, since the seas had become increasingly rough in the last couple of hours and the boat was pitching and rolling.

  He saw Crissy grasp a rail along the corridor wall. “The trick,” he said, “is to walk sort of sideways.” He looked at her and grinned. “Each step is a forward one, but just slightly to the side. Practice and see how you do.”

  Crissy discovered that he knew what he was talking about. Aping his walk helped her keep her balance and keep up with him. He moved swiftly, and then she remembered the beautiful way he danced. When they reached her cabin, he stood back for her to swipe her key card.

  Inside, she showed him to her bed. “This is exactly the way I found it,” she said. “Except that I picked up a pair of panties and threw them back down when I realized what had happened.”

  The captain was visibly shaken. “This is deplorable,” he said. “Very sick.” He looked at her. “What was it about telephone calls?”

  She told him about the calls and her suspicions.

  The captain sighed, looked down at the floor, then back up at her. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through something like this,” he said. “It’s disgusting. You say you suspected Mark Vilos?”

  Crissy nodded. “I did, but probably unfairly.” She explained the situation to him.

  “I see,” he said, looking thoughtful. “And these calls and this”—he gestured toward the shredded underwear on the bed—“happened just after you came in?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you were out on dates at dinner?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Then your friend obviously couldn’t have done this because you were with him,” he said, thinking aloud. He looked at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you or your friend, but in cases like this it sometimes is someone close, I believe. You’re traveling with Ms. . . . her name eludes me. . . .”

  “Jenny Blakemore,” Crissy said.

  “Yes, I’ve met her in the disco,” he replied. “I think we’ll have to get a list of the people you know on the ship. Your friends, acquaintances, anyone you’ve dated.”

  “I-I have to list . . . everyone?” she asked.

  He nodded. “We’ve got to find out who’s doing this,” the captain said. “I don’t think it’s a laughing matter.”

  “Neither do I,” Crissy replied. “It’s just that . . . Well, I’m dating someone . . . someone who is employed by the shipping lines.”

  The captain’s eyes lit up momentarily, then he waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know it happens, even if it’s not supposed to.”

  “I just don’t want to involve him any more than I have to,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m going to go stir up Mikelos Christopolous and get him on this. He’s the head of security on the ship and very good at his job. In the meantime, if you will, please sit down and make a list of all the people you know on the ship. Give that to him when he gets here.”

  “Fine,” Crissy said.

  “He’ll take it from there, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me.” He took a wallet out of his trouser pocket and extracted a card from it. “My private telephone number is here. Don’t hesitate to call me at any time, day or night. I’ll be in touch with Mikelos, so he’ll keep me abreast of things.”

  “Thank you so much,” Crissy said.

  “Do you feel a little more secure?” the captain asked.

  Crissy nodded. “Yes.” She looked toward the bed. “Should I leave this mess for him to see or can I clean it up? I took some photos.”

  “Very smart thinking,” the captain said, “but I would leave things the way they are until he comes.” He headed to
the door crisply. On his way out he said, “Remember. Call me if you need to. Christopolous is good at what he does, like I said, and I’ll be speaking with him immediately.”

  “Thanks again,” Crissy said, bolstered by the thought that help was on the way. She looked around at the violence spread over her bed and shuddered. The pervert who did this had to be stopped.

  Jenny awoke after a short doze, and he was sitting up in bed, wearing a bathrobe, staring down at her. She smiled at him and stretched, then threw off the bedcovers and slid out of bed, standing before him naked.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and went to the bathroom.

  When she came back into the bedroom, she stopped and stared at him. He had taken off the bathrobe and was spread out on the bed, his head propped up on pillows. His hand was between his thighs, and he was stroking himself. He was fully aroused, and there was a look of grim determination on his face.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She stepped toward the bed hesitantly. Oh, God, she thought. Not now. Not again. Her mouth was dry, and she had a headache, the result of a copious amount of champagne.

  “Come on,” he said, continuing to stroke himself.

  Jenny complied, going to the bed, where she sat down facing him. She smiled and licked her lips, hoping to give the appearance of a lascivious appetite, although she was in fact merely trying to lubricate them.

  He nodded and looked down at his aroused state, and Jenny got the message. Sliding closer to him, she reached over, brushing her hand across his thighs then between them as if she truly wanted him. Tentatively at first, she took him in her hand and held him gingerly before she began stroking slowly, looking up into his eyes, then back down at his engorged manhood.

  He groaned with pleasure, removing his hand and letting her do the work, but only moments passed until he grasped her head between both of his hands. Pushing her hair back away from her face with his fingers, he shoved her head down with surprising strength, intent on her taking him in her mouth.