Going Nowhere (A Romantic Comedy Novella) (7 page)

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.

A
H
,
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 place 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.

“Don’t mention it.” I started to move aside, and then popped back one more time to terrorize Chip some more. “I don’t suppose you’re the judge?”

“No.”

“Perfect,” I replied, clapping my hands together and grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll wait over here until you’re ready to get started.”

“We have to wait for the judge.”

Chip tried valiantly to solicit other people to join the contest, but he wasn’t successful beyond the five names that were already on the list. He pressed the button on the walkie-talkie that he had hanging from his belt loop. “We’re ready to start the contest. Are you on your way?”

It made that sound walkie-talkies make, then,
“I’ll be right up.”

That voice sounded kind of familiar. I crossed my fingers, hoping for an old friend. The Connoisseur Cruises headquarters was in Miami. A lot of people I grew up with worked for them.

I bent my knee and held my ankle up against the back of my thigh to stretch my hamstring. Then I did the other side. I heard someone snicker, but I figured they were laughing at that geek Chip.

“Oh, great. You’re here.”

I looked up and turned in the direction of approaching footsteps. Crap. The judge for the dancing contest was none other than Maria from guest relations. The same Maria who’d had little concern for my nightgown-clad body last night. My shoulders slumped in defeat.

I could feel both Chip’s and Maria’s beady gazes land on me in damning synchronicity. There was some nervous shuffling before Chip halfheartedly shielded his mouth and said, “There’s something I need to warn you about.”

I straightened my back‌—‌Grandma always said good posture inspires confidence‌—‌and marched right up to them and said, “I was joking about that whole ‘joining the contest’ thing. I have better things to do than waste my time with such triviality.”

Maria nodded. “That’s good, since no one expected an adult like you to participate in this ‘
triviality
.’”

“Then we’re in agreement!” With that, I stalked off deck twelve without a backwards glance.

Yes, I was being a quitter, but I knew Maria would never let me win. I wasn’t about to humiliate myself without good reason. I did that enough back home.

All I could think was that this cruise was starting to look like an expensive lesson in forethought.

A
COUPLE OF
hours later, I was on my way to the miniature golf course on the top deck. April was nursing a hangover in our cabin, but Sam had actually called her while I was exploring the ship. He’d wanted to know what size pants he wore so he could buy some knock-off designer jeans at the Straw Market.

Then he told her he was planning on playing a few rounds of golf when he got back on board. That he’d actually be there and that I’d be able to find him was probably too much to hope for.

I lucked out. There he was: a tall lanky man overdressed in a polo shirt and long pants. I paced casually, trying to decide if I should start playing or wait until Sam noticed me. Then I looked in Sam’s direction and, by my good luck, he was looking in mine.

“Sam Goldblum?”

He cracked a smile. “Hey! Don’t you work at‌—‌”

“Yes, I’m an attorney at Goldblum, McCarthy, and Harcourt. I’m Kate Ryan.” I held out my hand. “This is
such
a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the one who’s always hanging around my secretary?”

“Um... yeah. That’s me.”