Dreamboat (12 page)

In their cabin, Jenny changed into a cleavage-revealing, floor-length leopard-print gown with slits up both legs. “I can even flash a little panty in this if I feel like it,” she said merrily. “I'll show that old doctor a thing or two.”

Crissy laughed. “How many animal-print dresses do you own?”

“Lost count.” Jenny glanced curiously at Crissy. “Aren't you going to change?”

Crissy shrugged. “I don't think so,” she said. “It's not a formal night.”

“Yeah, but you've got sexier things than that,” Jenny said. She went to the closet and swung the doors open, then began rifling through the clothes hanging there. “Look,” she said, holding out cream hip-hugging trousers and a matching cream top with a plunging neckline. “This would look great on the dance floor. The pants show off your butt and flare out at the bottom, and the top shows some tit.”

Crissy was hesitant at first, but finally she took the hanger from Jenny.

After they were dressed, they took the stairs to Deck Seven. Entering the disco was like suddenly being transported to another time and place. It was darkly lit, except for the small bar area, and in intimate plush booths along the entrance area, they saw a few couples having drinks and exchanging kisses. There were about seventy-five tables surrounding the small dance floor in a U. Monika waved from across the room.

“As if we could've missed her,” Jenny quipped. “With that hair and makeup and her sequined dress and shoes, she'd light up the darkest hole in hell.”

They wove their way through the tables and chairs and across the room to where the foursome sat. A bottle of champagne was already open. “We got two extra glasses,” Rudy announced.

“Oh, thank you,” Crissy said. “That was so thoughtful.”

“Yes,” Jenny said, “just the thing to prime the pump.”

They sat down and Rudy poured, then they all lifted their glasses and clinked them as they had at the show. “This could get to be habit-forming,” Jenny said.

Mina laughed. “Rudy adores champagne,” she said. “Always we have it. At home, out at dinners, on trips. Always it is the occasion for champagne.”

Crissy's gaze shifted to the bar, where she saw an elegant older woman in an expensive-looking evening gown drinking and smoking while in conversation with two middle-aged men.

On one side of her sat a very handsome man, apparently alone, who seemed absorbed in the music, tapping time with one shoe on the bar stool. He had short light-blond hair and wore a navy blazer with a white handkerchief in the breast pocket, cream trousers, and white buckskin
shoes. He appeared to be so muscular that the jacket could barely contain his body. When he passed near her on his way to ask a single lady at a table to dance, she could see that he had penetrating gray eyes. Crissy didn't know what to make of him, and didn't know what it was that intrigued her about him. But he did intrigue her, she thought. She would love to know his life story.

Rudy and Mina danced to a fast number, and they attracted everyone's attention. Mina's dress stole the show, its ruffled skirt flying in every direction as Rudy virtually performed acrobatics with her on the dance floor. Afterward, he asked Crissy to dance, and she took his proffered hand and joined him for a slow dance, then a fast one, on the small floor.

The crowd grew in size as it got later, and some of the ship's officers and a few of the young women who worked aboard in the duty-free shops or elsewhere took tables together. Crissy was sitting alone, enjoying the spectacle on the dance floor, when the tall, muscular stranger who sat alone at the bar approached her.

“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked in a polite and formal manner. He had the slightest accent, but she couldn't place it.

“Yes,” she said, feeling a flutter in her chest. “I would like that.” She took his hand and let him lead her to the floor. A slow number was playing, and he led her around the floor expertly. When the music changed to a fast piece, he looked at her questioningly. “Okay?” he asked.

She nodded. He took her hand and proceeded to twirl her around the floor, leading her through wild, nonstop paces, occasionally taking her in his arms and dipping her first one way, then another, then twirling and whirling her again, until Crissy was practically dizzy but having a wonderful time. He made her look better on the dance floor than she actually was, she thought. When the number was over, she told him she wanted to go back to her table for a drink.

“Why don't you have a drink with me at the bar?” he asked.

Why not?
she thought. “Okay,” Crissy said. He escorted her to the bar, where she sat on a stool next to the one he'd occupied all evening.

“What would you like?” he asked.

“Water,” Crissy said. “I've already had my limit of alcohol, I'm afraid.”

He didn't try to dissuade her. “Sparkling or still?”

“Sparkling,” she replied.

He ordered her water, and a scotch and water for himself, then turned
to her. “I am Valentin Petrov,” he said, nodding formally and extending his hand. “And you?”

“I'm Crissy Fitzgerald,” she said.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” he said, nodding to her again. The waiter brought their drinks, and he handed Crissy hers.

“It's nice to meet you, too,” Crissy said. “And thanks for the water.” She took a big drink, then another.

“Is this your first cruise?” he asked, lighting up a cigarette.

“I've been on one before,” she said, “but it was a week's trip from New York to the Caribbean. Nothing like this.”

“I see,” he replied. “Do you not drink?”

“I do, but I have to stop after one.”

“I see,” he said. “It's a matter of discipline.”

Then he smiled, and the short blond hair, intense gray eyes, and muscular body seemed less daunting, a little more human. “Most people have the same problem, do they not?”

Crissy shrugged. “I don't know about most people, but I know about me.” She drank more water, almost finishing off the glass.

“Where are you from in the States?” he asked.

“New York,” she said.

“The city?”

She shook her head. “No. I live in Albany. It's upstate. The capital of New York.”

“And a sewer, from what I'm told,” he replied.

Crissy didn't know what to say. While she wasn't particularly fond of her hometown, she didn't appreciate its being denigrated by a total stranger. “Well . . .” she began.

He looked at her again and smiled slightly. “I am playing,” he said. “Don't take offense.”

She returned his smile, but was somewhat perplexed by his form of play. “Where are you from?” she asked.

“Sofia,” he said. “In Bulgaria. Part of the former Soviet Bloc.”

“Oh, how interesting,” she replied. “I don't think I've ever met anyone from there.”

“No?” he said. “Not surprising. Not many of us ever leave. Not until recently, anyway. The Russians made it impossible, and now that we can leave, there is no money to get out.” He took a long drag off his cigarette. “If there is a worse stink-hole in the world than Albany, it is Bulgaria.”

“So I guess we're equal,” she said with a laugh.

He frowned. “I don't know about that,” he said. “You seem soft and tender, gentle and kind. Me? I come from the KGB's old recruiting ground. The Bulgarians are supposed to make the best assassins.”

“You're joking,” she said.

“No,” he said. “I am quite serious.” He stubbed his cigarette out and drank the remainder of his scotch and water. “Would you like to dance again?”

“Sure,” Crissy said.

On the dance floor, he held her close to him during the slow dance, but didn't try to get fresh. When the dance was over, she told him that she should return to her table.

“Of course,” he said, and he led her there. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He nodded formally again.

Crissy started to introduce him to Monika but Valentin had already returned to the bar. She sat down next to Monika.

“Tell me about him,” Monika whispered at once. She now had an ornate fan, painted with courtly scenes highlighted with gilt, that she waved before her face from time to time in rapid little motions.

“He's from Bulgaria,” Crissy said, “and his name is Valentin Petrov.”

Monika nodded. “I see,” she said. She held the fan in front of her face, then turned to Crissy. “I don't think he's remotely appropriate, darling.”

“Well, I didn't have anything serious in mind, Monika,” Crissy replied. “I just said yes when he asked me to dance.”

“I would advise you to stay away from any of the Eastern Europeans,” Monika said.

“Why?” Crissy asked.

“My darling,” Monika said, as if addressing an imbecile, “they are a crude, uncivilized people, deprived for so long of practically everything—oxygen, even, if you see their air—that it will be years before they recover, if ever. Obviously, your young man is more clever than most, managing to get out, take a cruise even. But they're an untrustworthy lot. Gangsters, a lot of them. Ruthless, too.”

“He's not my young man,” Crissy said with a laugh. She could only laugh at Monika's take on Valentin, trying to pigeonhole him as a thug. What an imagination the woman had. What would he be doing on the ship if he were a gangster?

“Some of the ship's employees are Bulgarian, of course,” Monika said.
“There are Russians, Romanians, what-have-you, but most of them are in servile positions, Crissy. That's all they know how to do. You'll discover that for yourself as the cruise goes on.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Crissy said, unwilling to argue with the woman, although her instincts rebelled against such harsh generalizations. “But you don't have to worry, Monika. I only danced with the guy.”

“Oh, I know,” Monika said, waving the fan, “but one thing does lead to another, doesn't it?”

Crissy could only laugh again. “Believe me, dancing with Valentin will not lead to anything.”

“Good,” she said. “Oh, look at the doctor and your friend. Dancing madly.” She chortled, then positioned her fan to hide her mouth again. “I think Doctor Von Meckling is quite fond of your friend,” she said conspiratorially.

“Well,” Crissy said, “Jenny certainly does attract a lot of men. I don't know if she would really be interested in a man his age, but . . .”

“Age means nothing when it comes to matters of the heart,” Monika said. “Or the pocketbook.”

Crissy smiled. “Jenny is well fixed for money,” she said. “She gets a lot of alimony from her ex-husband.”

“Indeed?” Monika digested this news in silence for a moment. “A very clever girl,” she said. “More so than one would think by looking at her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Crissy said, prepared to defend Jenny.

“I'm simply surprised she has some brains to go with the sex appeal,” Monika said. “Don't fret, darling. I'm not denigrating your friend, but she is rather obvious about trying to attract men. Nothing subtle about her.”

Rudy and Mina returned to the table, their faces flushed. “You and Rudy are the stars of the dance floor,” Crissy said. “You dance everything awfully well.”

“We took lessons,” Rudy said. “Many lessons. We love to dance.”

All heads turned as Captain Papadapolis entered the room with two other officers. The man certainly had presence, Crissy thought, but it was one of the men with him who caught her eye and held it. Like many of the Greeks, he had raven-black hair, an olive complexion, and dark eyes, but he was taller than the others. He also seemed rather reserved. While the captain stopped and spoke to everyone in his path as they made their way to a table, the man who had drawn her attention stood a slight distance away. After they were seated, a waitress immediately appeared to take
their orders. Then the captain and one of the officers popped back on their feet again, asking women seated close to them to dance. But Crissy's tall, dark stranger remained behind at the table, glancing about the room with apparent boredom, then sipped from a glass of white wine when it was brought. Perhaps it was his reserve, his difference from the others, that attracted her.

Her attention was quickly diverted, however, when Mina leaned close and said, “He's a fantastic dancer, isn't he?”

“Who?” she asked.

Mina laughed. “The captain, of course. He's an absolutely fabulous dancer, the most correct and graceful dancer in the room.”

Crissy watched the captain on the dance floor, as nearly everyone in the disco had, and saw that what Mina said was true. He led the woman about the dance floor as if he were a professional dancer. His bearing and uniform enhanced his image considerably, she thought, but he possessed an innate grace and considerable training.

“I could watch him all night,” Monika said with enthusiasm.

“Yes, he's good,” Rudy agreed. “Come on, we must get on the floor and show him what we can do.” He and Mina got up, and off they went, leaving Crissy with the doctor, who'd returned to the table, and Monika.

Mina and Rudy put everything they had into the dance, and when a Spanish flamenco air came next, they put on a show that drew a crowd of observers and enormous applause when it ended. Afterward, the captain asked Rudy's permission to dance with Mina, and they set the floor on fire during the next number. Nearly everyone was on the dance floor now, enjoying proximity to the ship's handsome captain and his beautiful dance partner.

Crissy watched silently, and noticed that Valentin was dancing with a middle-aged woman she'd seen sitting with another woman nearby earlier. Oddly, she felt possessive of him when she saw the woman enjoying herself, laughing at something Valentin had said into her ear. She wondered if he was telling her the same things he'd told her. But she brushed the thought aside when she saw that Jenny was now dancing with Manolo, her handsome young officer. Their arms were wrapped about each other, and they were practically making out on the dance floor. They brought a smile to her face, and she wondered if she would see Jenny again tonight.