Shut Up and Kiss Me

by Julie Cannon

  “Wow. That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, yes. I’m one of the longest tenured staff.”

  “Congratulations,” Lowe said, and I felt she meant it. “I’ve been visiting my parents for four years, and I know I would’ve remembered seeing you before,” she said, looking me over again.

  “I work all over the ship. I was probably everywhere you weren’t.” Lowe gazed at me for so long I wanted to fidget.

  “That’s a shame. I would have enjoyed spending time with you.”

  The subtle meaning under Lowe’s words was clear, and my stomach ricocheted against my ribs. I was acutely aware of a low throb in my girl parts.

  “I have to go,” I said abruptly, stumbling out of my chair. My body was saying something very different, and I was more than a little tempted to listen to it for once. Yet as much as I might want to be the recipient of a fling with Lowe Carter, I needed this job. I’d probably just lost it from my errant thoughts and lose tongue.

  “Thank you for the coffee.” I looked at her wet lips and almost changed my mind.

  Chapter Five

  Holy mamma mia! What just happened? Did I miss a part of the conversation? How did my invitation for an innocent cup of coffee turn into what? Seduction? Promise? Potential? I know I was probably suffering from jet lag and seriously needed a nap, but my attraction to Faith clobbered me out of left field.

  I replayed our conversation and what I did or might have

  said to make her bolt like I was on fire. Could it have been because I couldn’t keep my eyes off her? Did she hear my heart pounding so loud it even scared me? Did she sense my almost constant state of arousal since…Jesus, was it only this morning? Could she read my mind to know what I want to do with her, to her? Did I have a flashing sign that said I want to touch you blinking over my head?

  Whatever it was, I’d better rein it in if I wanted to see her again. Wait, did she want to see me again? My brain was just as twisted as my insides. What in the hell was going on? I’ve been with women since I was seventeen, and none of them had me as tied up as Faith had in just a few hours.

  I shifted my thoughts to consider if I’d forgotten to do anything the last few days while getting everything ready for this trip. I’m pretty good at that, especially when it comes to my job. When I step into one of my stores, I’m all business. I have three general managers for my fourteen stores in Arizona, one to manage the seven locations in San Diego, and the third for the three in Las Cruces, New Mexico. A week ago I drove to Tucson and terminated one of my managers. I fired his sorry ass for inappropriate behavior with two of his employees. For God’s sake, does he not watch the news? If he does, he’s stupid. If he doesn’t, he’s even stupider. Either way, I enjoyed every minute.

  When the complaint first came to my attention, I hired an independent firm to investigate. Even though I believed the women, the man was innocent until proven guilty. My already short patience was even shorter as I waited for the process to be completed. I was briefed by the investigator at 8:50 am, and the inappropriate manager was unemployed by noon. I spent the rest of the afternoon in a meeting with the two employees who had filed the original complaint, left the store around six, and checked into the Hilton not far from the University of Arizona campus.

  I was unwinding from the day when the waitress brought me my second Crown and Coke and chatted me up. She was floating all the signs that she’d like to “talk” more, but I already had plans for the night. Her name was Suzanne.

  Suzanne is a single mother of four-year-old twins I met two years ago when I was in town. I literally ran into her with my grocery cart and invited her for a cup of coffee to apologize. I was opening my first store and was in town for weeks keeping an eye on the construction. After several dates, Suzanne got her mother to babysit, and we burned up the sheets in my hotel. I called her every time I was in town, and we met up more times than not. That night would be one of those. I could’ve easily driven back to Phoenix and slept in my own bed, but why should I sleep alone when I could have charming company?

  The thundering sound from the stack horn brought me back from my memories of the night with Suzanne, and thoughts of potential nights with Faith took their place. I’m not a player, but I appreciate women, and if we both are looking for the same thing, then there’s no harm. I know others feel differently about sex, and that’s fine with me.

  I got up just after the second belching of the horn. We were about to depart, and the traditional three blasts signaled the ship was pulling away from the dock. I took the stairs to the top deck and found an empty place next to the railing. It wasn’t difficult. The Escape leaving port was not like your traditional cruise ship, where guests crowded along the starboard-side rails waving to those who had dropped them off or the throngs of people who just simply like to see a monster ship move slowly through the water.

  I stood there for quite some time watching the harbor and the Sydney skyline disappear into the distance. It was hard to believe that less than twenty-fours ago I was bundled up under a blanket in my living room watching the evening news. The temperature today in Sydney was supposed to be eighty degrees. I did some quick math in my head and corrected that forecast to twenty-six degrees Celsius. Better get started on thinking in metric now.

  I found my parents sitting in the main room, each holding their traditional before-dinner cocktail. My sister stood beside them, clutching a glass of white wine, her perfectly manicured red nails a sharp contrast.

  “Margarete can fix you a cocktail,” my mother said, vaguely pointing in the direction of the small, compactly packed bar not far from where they were sitting. I hadn’t seen Margarete, their cook and housekeeper, when I came in, and I wasn’t going to make her leave whatever she was doing, walk all the way across the apartment, and fix it for me. Good grief. I was perfectly capable of making my own drink.

  “I’ll get it. No need to bother her,” I said, dropping three ice cubes into a thick tumbler.

  “That’s her job,” Victoria said like I hadn’t read her job description.

  “I know.” I poured liberally and put the top back on the decanter. “But I can get my own drink.”

  Victoria tsked. “Lowe, you have to let them do their job,” she said, like I was demeaning myself by doing it.

  I didn’t like Victoria’s choice of words. “It’s fine, Victoria. I even wash my own sheets at home.”

  I loved sticking it to my pretentious, stuck-up sister. I did it to make a point, which, more often than not, sailed over her head and sometimes just to see that sour pout on her face and make her stomach churn. This time she shook her head as she tsked.

  “We expected you earlier,” my mother said. Translation—where were you? You know cocktails are at six thirty, followed by dinner at seven.

  “Just getting some sun and watching the departure.” Victoria looked at me like I was little more than a common tourist. “It was warm, and the skyline was more beautiful than what I’d seen in pictures.” I took a large swallow of my cocktail. Since I’d made it heavy on the Crown and light on the Coke, my throat burned as the warm liquid slid down and settled in my stomach.

  I paid half attention to what my sister and mother were talking about, my father adding a word or two now and then. I was thinking about Faith and our short, but oh so interesting conversation. What must her life be like living here surrounded by all this luxury and pretentiousness? It was certainly different than my parents’ as they cruised from port to port doing I have no idea what. Faith, on the other hand, had to work and put up with them.

  I hurried and cleaned up and changed into something my parents would find somewhat acceptable for dinner. I wasn’t up to dodging the disapproving looks of both my mother and Victoria tonight. One or the other I can handle, but as tired as I was, enduring the two of them would be difficult.

  During dinner, I constantly looked for Faith as either a server or a diner. Not seeing her, I let my mind wander to obscure things like
how many countries Faith had visited. How many passports had she been through? What did she do for vacation? Were her friends other members of the crew? What did she do when she got sick? Did her family get to visit? Did she have to pay the outrageous prices for a haircut in the ship salon or for a massage? Did she get an employee discount? Was she involved with someone? These and a dozen other questions sprang to mind throughout the main course.

  I’d barely kept up my end of the conversation, and Victoria kept shooting me daggers when I asked one of them to repeat the question or was caught obviously not paying attention.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked when my mother excused herself and headed in the direction of the ladies’ room before the after-dinner cordials arrived. “You’ve been nothing short of rude all evening.” She liked to chastise me.

  I bristled at not only her tone but her audacity. She was far short of perfect herself. “I’m tired, Victoria,” I said, the fib convenient. “I’ve been up for I don’t know how many hours and time zones. I’m sorry if I’m not the perfectly mannered dinner companion.” My father glanced between Victoria and me but wisely kept his mouth shut. I placed my folded napkin on the table in front of me. “Please tell Mother I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up,” I said to anyone at the table who cared.

  Chapter Six

  The gym was empty, as it always was at eight thirty in the evening. The mornings were filled with yoga and Pilates classes, and the early birds getting their miles in on the treadmill before lunch. During the afternoon, stragglers came in every now and then, but after four it was typically just staff. After all, it wasn’t as if the residents would stop by on their way home from work.

  Today was leg day. I did cardio every day but rotated working my arms and legs. This gave my muscles a chance to rest but also kept me in the gym every day without getting bored. I hit the leg press after my fifteen-minute warm-up, earbud snugly in place. I was learning French or, I should say, trying to learn French, with the help of Rosetta Stone. If we’d stayed in England I would have learned several languages, but I was making up for the lost opportunity now. We have a resident, Mr. Tillman, who is from Paris, and I practice every time I see him. The first time he ordered dinner in his native tongue, he laughed when I repeated it back to him in English. I got most of it right, but the oatmeal instead of potatoes would’ve been a surprise.

  I was well into my routine, which included saying my lesson out loud, when I heard a voice behind me. I always have one earbud out for just this reason. I don’t want to be caught unaware of my surrounding.

  “No. I’ll have tea instead.” I turned around and was surprised to see Lowe, a towel in her hand, grinning at me. She’d obviously heard me ask my fictitious guest if they’d like coffee.

  “I’ll bring your tea right out. Will there be anything else?” I asked in French.

  “No, thank you,” she replied, continuing in the same language.

  Lowe was wearing a pair of bright-red spandex shorts and a red-and-white racer-back tank top, both of which fit as tight as any one-piece swimsuit would. Her hair was tousled, and her cross-trainer shoes looked well used. I couldn’t believe this was the fourth time I’d seen her today.

  “Your accent is really good,”

  “Thanks. As is yours.”

  “Twelve years of French lessons from Madame Phillipe. She said I always butchered a beautiful language. I think she was just an old crab.”

  I laughed at Lowe’s description of her French tutor. “I’ve been learning only a few weeks, so I’m no expert.”

  “May I?” she asked, indicating the open equipment. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “No, no problem,” I said, glad she was going to stay. “Do you have a lot of opportunity to speak the language? Do you spend time in France?” The closest I’d ever been was when we docked in Paris, and Mr. Tillman of course.

  “My mother made my sister and me spend a month in Paris every summer.” She adjusted the weight settings on the lat pull-down bar. “She thought it would instill a genteel nature,” she added, screwing up her face as if simply saying the words was distasteful.

  “And did it?” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god, that didn’t come out right. What I meant was—”

  “It’s okay. I know what you meant.” Lowe waved her hand, dismissing my faux pas. “I know how to carry on a conversation when it’s boring as hell, what fork to use, and how to compliment something when I hate it. But I don’t live and breathe good manners like my mother and sister.”

  I watched her slip a pair of weight-lifting gloves on her hands. Earlier this afternoon I’d noticed she had long fingers and had allowed myself a short fantasy imagining them caressing me.

  “They take it to the extreme, I’m afraid. And when the two of them are together…Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and sister, but there’s a reason we grow up and move out. I’m sure my mother would like it if we got together more often, but I can take only so much.”

  Lowe completed several sets on the machine before moving to the next. I thought it sad that she wasn’t close to her family. I loved my mother and sister and missed them terribly, and I’d spend more time with them if I could.

  “What does your sister do?” I asked in between sets of hamstring stretches.

  “Spend her husband’s money and rule over the charities she’s involved with.”

  Ouch, I thought. That’s harsh.

  “But she does good work, I suppose,” she added. “She’s on the board for the local children’s hospital, the cancer center, and something else I don’t remember.”

  “What’s so funny?” I asked when she chuckled and shook her head.

  “I can’t figure out why someone as self-centered and narcissistic as Victoria would give her time to anything else.”

  I didn’t answer. It was obviously a rhetorical question.

  “I guess it’s her idea of what a good society woman does.” Lowe shook her head as if banishing the thought. “Enough about my dysfunctional family. What about yours?”

  “Nothing so exciting or dramatic, I’m afraid,” I said honestly.

  “There’s something to be said about normalcy. Come on. Spill.” She used her hands to indicate I should do just that. “I shared with you, so it’s your turn.”

  I filled Lowe in on the brief outline of my family tree as we finished our workout. More than once I caught her looking at me, as in “looking at me,” her interest obvious. I reacted as anyone would but knew our mutual attraction couldn’t go anywhere. I preferred not to make either of us uncomfortable, so I simply pretended I didn’t see it.

  Somewhere just past the halfway point of my routine, Lowe started speaking to me in French. She corrected a few of my words and pronunciation, and by the time we finished, I was speaking fairly well.

  “I’ve got to run,” I said reluctantly. I wanted to stay and talk with her more but knew better. Before she had a chance to respond, I said, “Enjoy the rest of your evening, and thanks for the French lesson.”

  Lowe’s genteel training must have kicked in because she let me go without trying to persuade me otherwise.

  I hurried down the hall and down the stairs to my cabin, disappointed she hadn’t tried.

  Chapter Seven

  I jumped on the treadmill as Faith walked away from me. Was I losing my touch? I’d given her every signal in my arsenal, and she didn’t bite.

  I ran a few miles to release my frustration as well as erase the image of firm, tan legs, bare arms, and sweat from my brain. Yeah, right. Like that was going to do it.

  Instead of a mild walk, I’d hurried back to the apartment, changed my clothes, and expected the gym to be empty like it was every other time I came down. I was pleasantly surprised to see Faith and even more so that she was willing to have a conversation. Most people crank up their tunes and don’t even make eye contact during their workout. Exercising isn’t a religious experience for me. It’s a way to stay active and to keep a
way the fifteen extra pounds that keep threatening to find me.

  My weight has always fluctuated up and down, much to the chagrin of my mother and the embarrassment of my sister. For years I’d starve myself, subsisting on chicken, fish, salads, and black coffee. One day I simply said enough. If I’m careful, work out regularly, and don’t eat too many doughnuts, bowls of ice cream, or French fries, I can maintain my weight. I carry a few extra pounds, but I’m healthy and comfortable, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. I could starve myself for a month before this annual vacation, but I refuse to. That’s one of the joys of being a grown woman.

  I thought about Faith as I walked down the corridor to my parents’ apartment. The fifteenth deck was by far the most opulent in terms of apartments. Excluding the interiors, the lavish decorations and amenities lessened the closer to the waterline the decks were. I wondered where Faith and the other crewmembers lived. Was it dormitory style with ten or twelve to a room? Did each one have their own apartment, or at least a separate room? Did she have a roommate? If she did, that would make sharing her bunk as impossible as sharing my king-size bed in the A suite.

  I had to stop thinking about things like bare skin and sleeping arrangements, or I’d never get any sleep tonight. Even though the apartment was well insulated, I’d left my vibrator at home, and I’d have to take care of business the old-fashioned way if it came to that.

  My father was watching the news when I came out after a quick shower and even quicker climax.

  “Have a good workout?” he asked, barely taking his eyes off the TV. Martin Chief was on the BBC anchor desk this evening. He was older than dirt and desperately needed to stop dying his hair. He was my father’s favorite.

  “Yes, thanks.” That was all I said. I’d left a note on the counter, not that they’d worry. He didn’t ask how many reps I did on what machine. I’m not sure he’d even know how to turn on the treadmill.