Going Nowhere Read online

  I stumbled onto my feet, then swayed drunkenly. The rocking of the ship wasn’t such that it would knock me over‌—‌not by a long shot‌—‌but in some ways it was worse. I picked a direction, which was kind of like trying to dig my way out of an avalanche, and started walking.

  Maybe I did have a hangover. Maybe April hadn’t cleaned out her shampoo bottle well enough. Also, sun and alcohol could do nasty things to a person‌—‌Kate’s Spring Break Party 2000 when I had sex with the bartender in the ladies’ bathroom was just one embarrassing example. I wished April would stop bringing it up.

  I took another blind step. Yow! What the hell was that? I bent over to clutch my aching leg and banged my head on something else. I guess I could safely conclude that that wasn’t the bed. I hopped on my good leg, gingerly rubbing the lump on my noggin. I held my other hand out in front of me to make sure I didn’t walk into anything else.

  “April!” I yelled again for good measure, in case she hadn’t heard me the first time. No, she must still be at the club.

  Limping, I continued to explore blindly. Then I touched something scratchy with my outstretched hand. Perfect. It was the wall. Except that I didn’t remember it being textured. I leaned against the wall and yawned, picturing my bed at home. It was safe and warm, with mismatched linens and flattened pillows. I would never take it for granted again. I considered dropping to the floor and spending the night in the fetal position wherever I landed.

  Then I discovered another problem. I had to pee. Badly. I’d left the light on in the bathroom for that very reason. I spun around until I saw what I was looking for: a dark rectangle with a thin slit of light beneath.

  I charged forward... well, as much as a person with a fractured shin and lumpy head could charge. Once I reached the door, I exhaled hotly against the raised wooden panes. I’d made it through the darkness with most of my limbs intact.

  I yanked open the door and stumbled inside. It was so bright compared to the rest of the room that for a few moments everything was a blurry, white fog. The door swung shut, bumping me in the butt and catapulting me into the en suite.

  Bathroom doors didn’t usually shut automatically, did they?

  My eyes started to adjust and I immediately squeezed them shut again. No, this was not happening. It was just a nasty, horrible dream. Soon my high school math teacher would tap me on the shoulder and ask me to calculate the square root of pi while hopping on one foot.

  I opened my eyes a slit and saw another door in front of me. No sink, no toilet, no circular shower with a cute, rounded door. Just another door, a keycard reader, and a number. Crap!

  Maybe‌—‌

  I spun and around and tried the handle to my room. Maybe it hadn’t shut correctly; maybe the back of my nightgown was caught in the frame. I rattled the handle, pulled it violently, sent all my weight careening into it. None of those clever ideas worked.

  I was locked out of my room.

  I looked down at my body, knowing exactly what I’d see. I was wearing the oldest nightgown I possessed, the one with the faded kitty cat stretched across the chest and an old hot chocolate stain on the hem. If I had to be locked out of my room, why couldn’t I be wearing a sexy Victoria’s Secret pajama set?

  Problem two: I was braless, and my dark nipples poked through the thin cotton nightshirt like twin mountain peaks. Three: I wasn’t wearing any make-up. Maybe I should commit to having my ‘face’ on at all times in the event of a fire... or stupidity.

  At least my legs were shaved‌—‌not a common enough occurrence, I can tell you. The nightshirt wasn’t as long as it should be, so the fact that I didn’t have a hair field sprouting on my legs was a comforting thing. Though‌—‌

  Oh my god. I grabbed the ends of the shirt and pulled them down as far as I could. I wasn’t wearing any panties. I couldn’t believe I’d chosen this night, of all nights, to go commando. I waddled down the hall, holding my shirt down. It made my boobs look flattened and possibly even more visible. There was no good way to go about this.

  I reached the elevator without seeing anyone. I didn’t even know what time it was, but I assumed it was still pretty late. I didn’t feel like I’d been asleep for that long. When the elevator came, I scurried in and pressed the door close button. Thank God it wasn’t a glass elevator.

  So far, so good. Except that it was cold and the floor of the elevator was freezing on my bare feet. Which made my nipples do their best impression of party hats. I decided to cover them with one arm and use the other to hold down my nightshirt.

  The elevator opened up to the guest services deck and I stepped out. I nearly jumped back in when I felt the icy marble tiles under my feet. Toes curling in to escape the numbing pain, I limped toward the desk. It was a woman attendant. Thank God.

  I nearly started crying when I realized how soon my ordeal would be over. I leaned against the long desk and said, “I locked myself out of my room. Could I get another ship card?”

  She clucked sympathetically. Her nametag read Maria. “Your room number?”

  “Seventy-five thirty-three. No! It’s seventy-three fifty-five. Wait...”

  Fingers poised over her computer keyboard, Maria waited.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s seventy-five thirty-three, after all.” I heard footsteps behind me, so I pulled my shirt down farther and pressed my breasts against the console. “Is this going to take long? Because I’m kind of in my jammies.”

  Maria started typing. “I’m so sorry. It’ll take just a minute. Do you have any ID?”

  I stared at her incredulously. “I was locked out of my room in my nightgown. Where do you think I store it?”

  She kept looking at the computer screen, making a face that suggested she didn’t know how to handle such a tricky situation. “And your name is?”

  “Kate Ryan!”

  “Hmm...”

  I clutched the sides of my shirt even harder than was required to keep myself decent. “Listen, Maria, I need to get back to my room before I either freeze to death or get molested when some drunk pervert assumes I’m another part of the onboard entertainment. If you won’t give me my ship card right now, go find someone who will.”

  Maria curled her lip up in distaste. “You don’t have to get nasty about it.”

  “How would you feel?”

  In a flurry of movement, she entered something on the computer then pulled out a card. While mumbling to herself, she fed the key into a little machine then handed it to me. “Don’t lose this one.”

  I snatched it from her hand. “I didn’t lose the others!”

  Maria smiled. “Enjoy your cruise.”

  I turned around, still struggling to keep my shirt down and walked away with as much dignity as possible. I knew she was watching me and laughing. Probably even figured out why it was so damn important for me to keep the shirt down. I might have fared better with a guy, lecherous grins and all.

  I walked in the direction of the elevator, hoping it was empty. In fact, I currently wished the entire ship was deserted, à la the Queen Mary. So when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, I pressed my back against the nearest wall and tried to see who was coming.

  It was April. And I don’t know what it was about her, but she looked like she was sneaking.

  Moving farther into a dark corner, I watched her. She walked straight up to Maria at the front desk and rested her elbows on the console. I strained to hear what was said.

  “I need you to look up a room number for me,” April said, toying with a strand of bleached blonde hair.

  Maria’s face didn’t look nearly as sour as it had when I was in front of her. “I don’t want to get into any trouble.”

  “You owe me one, remember?”

  “Of course I remember!” She looked briefly over her shoulder at the door that led to the security office. “Just tell me the name and I’ll look it up for you. Quickly.”

  “Max Walker.”

  I inhaled sharply. Why did she want to
know the location of Max’s stateroom?

  “Here you go. He’s in room eight-eleven.”

  “Thanks, Maria. You’re the best.”

  I flattened my back against the wall and held my breath. This had gone past the point where I could reveal myself and still look innocent. The inevitable question of how long I’d been hiding in the corner was not one I wished to answer.

  With a happy sashay, April made her way to the elevators and, after waiting a moment, entered one of the cars. The doors closed.

  The tension fell out of my muscles and I finally left my spy nook. I pressed the elevator call button while I continued to watch the lighted numbers ascend on the car April had gotten into. They stopped at eight. So she was actually going to see Max, in the early hours of the morning, dressed like a promiscuous teenager. I always thought the tiny, trendy skirts they sold in the junior’s section at Macy’s were cute, too, but I had some restraint.

  Another elevator arrived and I paused for a moment, still mulling over April’s mysterious rendezvous. Then I felt the cold floor on my bare feet and a draft up my t-shirt and realized I was worrying about someone else’s midnight rendezvous while I was in public wearing a thin nightgown and nothing else. Priorities much?

  I rode up to my floor and hurried to my stateroom. For a few seconds before I slid my card through the lock, I feared the worst. That Maria had gotten her silent revenge by giving me a card that didn’t work. I successfully slid it through and was happy to be wrong.

  I jumped inside, opened the bathroom door, and turned on the light. When I saw the familiar sink, shower, and toilet, I wanted to kiss them all with relief. Except maybe the toilet.

  Leaving the light on, I did my business, and then stumbled, limped, and hopped back to bed.

  April, of course, still hadn’t returned.

  Chapter Seven

  AH, GLORIOUS SLEEP.

  In fact, I’d never slept better. Getting back to my stateroom after my late night adventure had felt so satisfying. It had been delightful to sink into my bed, knowing I was alone, safe, and not exposing myself to everyone on the ship anymore. That was one mistake I’d never make again.

  I didn’t even hear April come in when she was finally finished with whatever she’d been up to. I’d been too tired to listen for her, and especially too tired to confront her.

  Rolling over in the small bed, I tried to force myself to check the time. I could maybe pull myself closer to the bedside table and check the digital read out on the phone. I felt pretty well refreshed, so that made me assume I’d slept too long. I almost didn’t want to find out.

  In the dark, I reached for the corner of the table, then made a grab for the cabin’s phone. I was a little nearsighted, even though I never wore my glasses, and the dark only made the problem worse. Then I started to actually sit up and I saw that the phone’s message light was flashing. That was easy enough to see, even for me.

  I picked up the receiver and pressed the message button. I followed the auditory prompts to play the voicemail.

  “Kate, it’s Max. Sam and I are going to go into Nassau this morning and I was wondering if you’d like to join us. Meet us on deck thirteen by ten if you want to go. We’ll be waiting at the bar. Hope you can make it.”

  I squinted at the time on the small digital read-out of the old-fashioned phone. It was five after ten. I gasped and dropped the phone receiver. He would have already left his room, so I couldn’t call him back. Did I have any chance in making it?

  I leapt off my bed and ran to the bathroom door. This time I made sure I was opening the correct door, even in my haste, and light flooded into the cabin. Now that I could see, I looked at April. She was passed out on her bed, fully dressed, skirt up around her waist. At least she made it back to the cabin in one piece. I figured waking her would be impossible and somewhat cruel, so I ignored her and grabbed the first outfit I could find in my suitcase.

  This time, despite my modesty, I didn’t go into the bathroom to change. There was no time for that. I stripped down and threw my nightshirt onto the bed, then pulled on the long white skirt and turquoise halter-top I’d found. I got my purse and ship card and ran out of the stateroom. I sprinted down the hall, completely unfazed by the weird looks I was getting from people who were calmly leaving their rooms. My flip-flops almost tripped me up a couple times, even as the toe thongs bit into my feet.

  I got to the elevator and even though the button was already lit, pressed it about ten times in quick succession.

  There was another woman waiting beside me, who I’m sure couldn’t understand what made me think the elevator would come any faster because of my actions.

  I turned to her. “Do you have the time?”

  “Ten after ten,” she replied calmly.

  And the elevator still wasn’t there! So I pressed the button again. Just for good measure. Then I bounced on my heels and glared at the lit numbers. Come on, come on!

  When the doors finally opened, I was confronted with a sea of crimson t-shirts. It was the dreaded tour group, packed together like Tetris blocks. They were speaking their language‌—‌one I couldn’t understand, despite having lived in Miami all my life‌—‌and flaunting their matching uniforms as though they were Dolce & Gabbana. They may not have understood English, but they certainly understood Angry American.

  I parted them like the Red Sea and staked a place in the center of the elevator. I looked back at the woman who’d been waiting with me with silent challenge. “You coming?”

  She shook her head quickly. “Thanks, but I’ll wait for the next one.”

  “Suit yourself.” I pressed the button for the thirteenth deck. Though I didn’t wear a watch (things to do once back in Miami: buy watch) I knew it had to be ten-fifteen by then. Seeing my opportunity slip away, the excited chatter flowing around me pressed on each of my fragile nerves.

  The elevator stopped at deck nine and two members of the tour group stepped out. I gave the rest of them the evil eye, but no one else decided to leave the car. Next we arrived at deck eleven. Three more exited the vicinity. Now I had more room to move around, but no more likelihood of catching Sam and Max before they left the ship.

  Finally, we got to deck thirteen, and I shot out like a cannonball. I immediately saw a bar and knew there could be no other place Max was talking about. It was large and circular and you couldn’t miss it. I raced around the stools like a greyhound once, and then twice, but only saw a few tourists and a handsome blonde guy tending the bar.

  No Sam. No Max. No rabbit.

  This is where you imagine me stomping my feet and making obscene gestures with my arms. I sat on one of the barstool and looked around one last time. A nearby clock showed ten-twenty. They were long gone.

  The bartender spied me and brought his strapping self in my direction. “What can I get you?”

  I sighed and with my elbows resting on the bar, I let my head slump towards my lap. “Anything. Just make sure it’s potent.”

  To my credit, I didn’t wallow in misery for too long.

  Feeling a little buzzed, I avoided the cliché of laying my problems on the bartender, and went in search of something to do. Four hours until the men had to get back to the ship so it could disembark. Four hours that should be spent simply enjoying myself.

  I explored a bit and found a casual place offering pizza by the slice. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I actually got the front of the line, and I ended up getting three slices.

  After eating, I heard some fun music playing nearby so I went to check it out. As I looked around, it seemed that almost everyone was underage.

  I got the attention of a girl who was passing by. “Excuse me?”

  She turned her brunette, pony-tailed head in my direction. “Yeah?”

  “Is this some sort of a teen area?”

  The girl looked at me warily. “Yeah. Are you lost?”

  Sadly, I was too old to even be offended. Before I could bid her farewell to find a pla
ce on the ship where they served real drinks, I heard an announcement.

  “Sign up now for your chance to win a seat at the captain’s table tonight. Anyone over sixteen may enter.”

  I stopped, backed up a few feet, and then turned around. “Could you repeat that?”

  A Connoisseur Cruises employee was standing under a canopy and speaking into a microphone. There was a small table in front of him holding a clipboard with an attached pencil. “We’re holding a dance contest. The grand prize is a seat at the captain’s table,” he said.

  The captain’s table was‌—‌according to Max‌—‌where Sam would be having dinner that evening. It was the perfect opportunity to get closer to Sam and to impress him with my winning personality. I looked at the nametag of the Connoisseur Cruises employee standing in front of me. “Can anyone enter, Chip?”

  He paused for a moment before answering. “As long as they’re sixteen or older.”

  “Is there an age limit?”

  He directed his pearly white smile in the direction of the clipboard. “Um... it doesn’t look like it. This is the teen disco, however, and these contests are meant for them.”

  “Is there a similar contest for an adult to win a seat at the captain’s table?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Then I guess you’ve left me no choice.” I picked up the old, bumpy pencil and poised it in the air above the sign-up sheet.

  Chip grabbed the edge of the board and pulled it away. “We want to give the kids an opportunity to speak to the captain of the ship. It’s really an educational experience for them. We may not have a rule against anyone older entering, but‌—‌”

  “Listen, Chip, I have some very good reasons for being at the table. I’m going to enter this contest and I’m going to win.” I snatched the clipboard back and signed it with such force that the tip of the pencil broke off. “I think you’re going to need another pencil. Thanks!”

  “My pleasure,” he replied through gritted teeth.