Santa Cruise

by Fern Michaels

  Amy felt great comfort knowing that these kitties were safe from harm, even if they were never adopted. It was a no-kill shelter, one of the largest in the country. The good news was that they had an 85 percent adoption rate, which meant most would get a forever home. The rest would live out their lives at the shelter. It was hard to resist taking a dozen of them home, but Amy stopped herself and picked two: Blinky, who was blind in one eye, and Hop-Along, who had a clubfoot. Amy knew they had little chance of getting adopted, so she adopted them. Now she had to figure out who was going to take care of them when she was on the boyfriend-hunting voyage. When she brought Blinky and Hop-Along to the vet for their annual check-up, she asked Molly, one of the veterinary assistants, if she could recommend a kitty sitter. Much to her delight, Molly was available and would be able to check on them twice a day. Having that taken care of, Amy moved on to her next challenge: a new wardrobe. She laughed to herself. Rachael was right. The fashion police would get her sooner or later.

  Chapter Three

  August

  New York

  Frankie was on a mission. She was gathering information for the singles cruise. She printed out pages from cruise-ship websites and requested brochures from travel agents. She was surprised at the number of options. So many more than she had expected. There were several to the Bahamas for three nights, as well as more exotic trips to Belize City, Cozumel, and Grand Cayman for a total of seven nights. The ship for the seven-night luxury cruise could accommodate eight hundred passengers with almost four hundred crew members. She typed out a quick e-mail to the women:

  Exotic for 7 nights? Or routine Bahamas for 4?

  Within minutes, everyone responded. Nina chimed in with:

  Exotic! Why pack for only 4 nights?

  Amy sent back:

  I’m in!

  And Rachael replied:

  I’m not sure yet. Jimmy said he wanted to take me to New England but he didn’t say when.

  Amy countered her with:

  Jimmy who?

  Frankie typed:

  It’s cold in New England!

  And Nina added:

  You’ll be on to someone else by then! LOL.

  Nina wasn’t far from wrong. At this rate, Rachael would certainly be on boyfriend number seven by the holidays.

  Rachael, always hoping for Mr. Right, responded:

  He’s different. He’s warm and sincere.

  Whatever you say.

  Nina clicked away at her keyboard, knowing she had heard that story before.

  Frankie typed back:

  Can we have a Zoom call? It will make things much easier.

  Everyone agreed, and Frankie sent out the invitation for the women to dial in.

  Within seconds, all four faces appeared on each other’s computer screens. Lots of “hello”s and blown kisses went around.

  “Hey, girls!” Frankie was the first to speak. “I have to make the reservations soon. Apparently we’re not the only people looking for love.” She chuckled. “I’ll book four staterooms and get cancellation insurance. We said we each had a two-thousand-dollar budget, not including airfare.”

  Murmurs of agreement came through. Frankie continued and held up a handful of brochures. “It’s a new ship. Launched two years ago. We’ll have luxury staterooms with balconies. First stop is Key West, on to Cozumel, Belize City, then Grand Cayman.” She paused as she watched her friends’ faces light up in delight.

  “Sounds pretty fab to me,” Nina hooted.

  “I’m in,” Amy added.

  Rachael was silent for a moment. “It sure sounds like a lot more fun than shivering on the side of a ski mountain.”

  The women shouted words of delight. “Finally coming to your senses, eh?” Nina teased.

  “If things work out with Jimmy, I’ll have him take me somewhere after New Year’s.”

  Amy snickered. “If you don’t meet someone on the cruise.”

  Frankie howled. “More than one, I’m sure.”

  Rachael rolled her eyes. “OK. OK. I know. I know.” Then she put on a mischievous grin. “Jimmy who?”

  A roar of laughter came through everyone’s computer. Rachael knew she couldn’t fool her friends, even after all these years.

  “OK. We have a plan.” Frankie was pleased she could get the ball rolling. Things at work were busy, what with the Christmas season in front of her and the release of the big books for the holidays. After a quiet summer, pandemonium was upon the publishing community. Thankfully, this year it was more about cookbooks, pets, and do-it-yourself books instead of the flood of books about political shenanigans. “I’ll put the deposit on my credit card and you guys can send me a check. When I make the reservation, I’ll have the cruise line put the staterooms in each of your names, and you can pay the balance on your own.”

  “Perfect,” Amy said.

  “Sounds good,” Nina added.

  “Maravillosa.” Rachael was already brushing up on her Spanish.

  “Oh right,” Amy remarked. “You speak fluent espagñol.”

  “Sí, señorita.” Rachael laughed.

  Rachael checked her watch. She and Frankie were on Eastern time while Nina and Amy were in the Pacific time zone. “I’ve gotta run and pick up Ryan from camp. Hasta la vista, chicas!”

  “Bye, babe. See you soon,” Nina replied.

  “Ciao for now!” Frankie added.

  “See ya later,” Amy chimed in.

  As Rachael’s face disappeared from the screen, the three other women said their good-byes and planned another Zoom call in two weeks.

  Frankie gazed around her studio apartment and sighed. She didn’t know how long she wanted to be a prisoner to her rent. The studio was spacious for a New York flat. At $2,500 a month, the 480-square-foot space seemed like a bargain, especially in her Gramercy Park neighborhood. It was a prewar building with high ceilings. The entrance area had a large closet and two three-foot-high half walls that separated it from the living room. It was large enough for a desk and a bookshelf. A small but separate galley kitchen was situated on the right of the living room, and a dressing-room area was adjacent to the bathroom on the left. Beyond the living room was a platform with two wrought-iron railings that served as her bedroom area. A large lead-glass casement window filled the back wall above the bed.

  The bad thing was the view. There wasn’t one, except for the huge exhaust fan from the building behind hers. Making the most of it, Frankie kept the window shades down and put plants on the windowsill. Fake plants because nothing would be able to grow. She had carefully placed can lights in the corners and behind the sofa to give the space enough ambient light to compensate for the lack of real sunlight. It was a comfortable place, but after several years, she felt as if the walls were closing in. Finding something bigger would cost a fortune, and rentals were at a premium, even after Covid-19. The mass exodus hadn’t lasted long, and things had started to return to normal. Whatever the new normal was.

  The city seemed to have gotten out of control, with homelessness at a fifteen-year high, crime on the rise, and the streets looking rather filthy to her. Maybe it was her age, but the thrill of living in the city was waning. Many of her friends were married with kids and had moved to Long Island or Jersey. Sitting around her coffee table with her friends, drinking wine and pooling money for pizza, was a thing of the past. Everyone seemed to have moved on except her. Her career was her consolation. But her weekends were empty.

  She looked over at her cat, Bandit. “Wouldn’t you like to have a window where you can watch birds?” He stretched and yawned. “I guess you don’t know what you’re missing.” She reached down and pulled him up on her lap and scratched him under his chin. She pushed the pile of brochures to the side of the coffee table and reached for the folder of take-out menus. “So, what shall it be tonight? Chinese, Italian, Indian?” Bandit gave her another indifferent yawn. “Did you say you were in the mood for some manicotti? With a side of broccoli rabe?” Bandit stretched again, inv
iting more chin scratching. “Or do you want something a little more exotic?” Frankie smiled down at her companion. “No? Italian? OK. Italian it is then!” Bandit rolled over in agreement. Frankie hit the speed dial for her favorite local Italian café.

  “Marco? Buonasera! Frankie here.” She paused. “I’m well, thank you. How is Anita doing?” Frankie listened as Marco brought her up to date on Anita’s pregnancy. “A girl? How wonderful. Have you decided on a name yet?” Frankie was happy for the couple. They were the first people she had met when she moved into the neighborhood. They had an upscale but cozy place around the corner from the Flatiron Building. The aroma of garlic in the air reminded Frankie of her uncle’s place, Ilvento’s, in West End at the Jersey Shore. Just like her aunt and uncle, Marco and Anita lived in one of the apartments above the restaurant. Frankie recalled the history of the family and Marco’s Ristorante, the place she called her “second home.”

  Marco’s granduncle Marco, for whom he was named, had purchased the building in 1962 when the neighborhood was on the brink of either collapse or revival.

  The original intention was for the elder Marco’s two brothers to follow him to America, but only one had. Marco’s grandfather had an excellent job working as the sous chef in the kitchen of a five-star hotel, and his wife had just given birth to Marco’s father. The plan was for him to eventually join his two brothers in America. But as his family grew, he chose to stay in Italy.

  When Marco’s surviving granduncle passed in 2000, Marco’s father had to decide what to do with the family’s real estate in America. He hadn’t been to the States since he was a child and remembered that it wasn’t a particularly fancy neighborhood. But when he arrived in New York City, he was impressed with the way the neighborhood had flourished. Over several decades, it had become a center for designer shops, cosmetic boutiques, offices, and upscale restaurants that catered to the business clientele.

  Marco’s father decided this was where he was going to raise his family. He had a wife, Rosevita, and two sons—Marco, fifteen, and Giovanni, thirteen. When the family arrived from Italy, owning real estate in America was a dream.

  Marco and his brother spent their teens living above the restaurant his father had inherited, and the young men spent the time they weren’t in school helping at the restaurant. Both Marco and Giovanni went to school for restaurant management and continued the family tradition after their father retired and moved back to Italy.

  Marco met Anita when she came into the restaurant for a business lunch. They were both in their late twenties at the time. Both were fiercely determined to have a career. They fell in love and married, but both maintained their goals. Anita was a special-education teacher. She felt the city needed people like her more than ever. Marco and Anita were around Frankie’s age, in their midthirties. They were on their second child, with their first about to turn three. They had been married for several years but had postponed having children until they were comfortable that the restaurant was a financial success. And indeed it was.

  Normally, one had to make a reservation, but when it came to Frankie, they always had a table for her, so it wasn’t surprising she was a regular customer. Not only did she feel safe and at home, it brought back many wonderful memories of her childhood, especially of Sunday mornings, as her mother, grandmother, and Aunt Millie were beginning the Sunday-dinner ritual. While most kids would wake up to the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen, Frankie woke up to the smell of meatballs. She would hurry downstairs to nab a few before they were put into the gravy. She smiled to herself, thinking about gravy versus sauce. Gravy had a combination of meat such as sausage, braciola, and meatballs in the tomato sauce. Sauce was tomatoes with seasoning and herbs. Some would argue that it depended on what part of Italy you came from. Unless you were talking about brown gravy, as far as Frankie was concerned, gravy was gravy. Sauce was sauce.

  Frankie loved to cook, but most New York apartment kitchens were minuscule, including the refrigerators. She joked that it was a conspiracy between apartment owners and restaurants. If there was no room to cook, you had no choice but to go out or take in. Every once in a while, if Marco’s wasn’t busy, he would bring her in the kitchen and show her a new recipe. She would frown at her thoughts about not having someone to share it with.

  She spotted the brochure for their cruise and smiled. Maybe, just maybe, she would have someone who would appreciate a good home-cooked meal. Frankie knew that the only person responsible for her happiness was herself. And she was a happy person. But some human companionship would be fine with her. Provided it was someone she liked. She smirked at the thought.

  Marco snapped her out of her daydream. He had been prattling on about the nursery and picking out the paint, and she had drifted off thinking about families and how much she missed the days of growing up with so many people around.

  “Frankie? You still there?” Marco barked into the phone.

  “Yes, Marco. Sorry, we had a bad connection for a minute. You know how these cell phones are in the city.”

  “So how about I fix you our special tonight? Eggplant Milanese. A little fresh mozzarella and basil.”

  “Sounds divine. And a tricolore salad, too, please.”

  “Molto bene!” Marco exclaimed. “You wanna pick up or delivery?”

  “Can you deliver, please? I’ve had a long day, and I just finished working on a project.”

  “A project? Frankie? It’s past dinnertime! You work too hard.”

  “Oh no, Marco. This is a fun project. Three of my friends and I are going on a cruise for New Year’s Eve.”

  “A cruise? You no gonna stay in the city? Watch-a the ball drop?” Marco’s Italian accent was always bright and cheerful. In reality, he should have lost the accent by now. He had been in America since he was fifteen, but it seemed to work in his favor. It gave him more authenticity.

  “Nah. So far, none of us have dates, so we decided to get a tan and some duty-free perfume.” Frankie laughed lightly.

  “I don-a understand. Such a pretty girl like you. And so smart. I tell Anita all the time. I worry you’re alone.”

  “Aw, thanks, Marco, but I’m OK. Really. I may be alone, but I’m not usually lonely.” She stroked Bandit’s belly.

  “OK, Frankie. But you know if you ever get lonely, you come to me and Anita. Capisce?”

  “Capisce!” Frankie smiled at the phone.

  “I’ll send Giovanni over with your dinner in about half an hour, forty-five minutos.”

  “Molto bene! Grazie!” Frankie used what little Italian she knew. Neither she nor her cousins had been taught to speak Italian. Their parents wanted them all to be as American as possible. The only time her grandparents would speak in their native language was when they didn’t want the kids to know what they were talking about. Consequently, they learned the basic greetings and all the curse words.

  “Prego!” Marco replied “Ciao, Frankie!”

  “Ciao, Marco!” Frankie put down the phone and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of Chianti and grab plates, silverware, and napkins. She found herself singing “Che la Luna,” and burst out laughing. She looked down at Bandit. “Your mamma is pazza,” she told him, using the Italian word for “crazy.” Speaking to her gal pals about the trip and her conversation with Marco had made her feel light on her feet. She felt a sense of renewal. A new adventure awaited.

  Chapter Four

  August

  Topanga Canyon, California

  Nina wanted to get one good walk in for Winston before she called it a night. She had to be on set at five the next morning. As much as she hated to admit it, she was getting excited about the cruise. Her only concern was the possibility of work. She hadn’t gotten the part for which she had auditioned in June. It went to some other actress who had connections among more of the power players. The business was starting to get to her. She knew she was good, but it was more about whom you knew and how well you knew them. The Me Too movement was important, but it
hadn’t trickled down below the A-list of Hollywood. She had thought about moving to New York, where acting was still considered an art, but she wasn’t sure about how much work there would be for her. She could try getting on a soap opera, or doing commercials, but her agent dissuaded her. Said it would tarnish her credibility. But it seemed as if her agent wasn’t working terribly hard on her behalf. Nancy, her agent, was always looking for package deals that would include an actress, writer, director, or producer she also represented. It was no wonder you kept seeing the same faces all the time. It didn’t seem fair to Nina.

  Perhaps she should move to London? They didn’t seem to have a celebrity-centric approach to acting. Maybe that was because the royal family were the celebs in the UK, leaving no room for or interest in other people. She was going to be thirty-four in two months, no longer an ingénue in the land of film. And if she hadn’t made it to the big time by now, her chances were getting slim. Sure, there were dozens of actresses over forty, fifty, and sixty who were making films, but they had been around for years. Granted, her role in Family Blessings was keeping her bank account afloat, but who knew how long it would last? Shows get canceled, and characters get written out of scripts. The years ahead would be a crapshoot.

  Winston was making noises and pacing about. “OK, big guy. Let’s go.” She laced up her hiking boots, wrapped her curly hair in a bandana, pulled on a denim shirt, and clicked his leash into place. Winston was getting so excited, he almost knocked her over with his tail. “Easy does it, pal.”