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I can picture her expression, her body posture. She’ll have her arms crossed over her chest in such a way that pushes her boobs up. Her carefully stenciled eyebrows will aim for the bridge of her nose.
I know all of her pouts, every disdainful look. We spent most of our waking hours together, driving to work in my car, visitingthe coffee cart for matching caramel lattes, eating lunch in the courtyard, and often hanging out in her cube or at my desk outside Rhett’s office.
We did countless happy hours and too many weekend drinking binges to count. She wasn’t an easy best friend, a little self-centered, a bit demanding, but she was loyal. She liked to say, “Bailey, it’s you and me against the world of Dougherty Inc.”
And then it all fell apart.
“Let’s find our rooms!” Viola says. “All is not lost. Not by a long shot. I still have the pink bikini. Nobody denies Viola Jennings in a pink bikini.”
Kenna either has no answer to that or says it too softly to hear.
I move my bags away from the door. I haven’t thought much past my triumphant stowaway mission.
Now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do. I have to wait for us to embark, that’s for sure. But then, do I simply waltz out and take a dip in the pool? Challenge George in accounting to a game of shuffleboard? Take the lion’s share of the prime rib from the lunch buffet?
I do love prime rib.
I suddenly remember that scene fromTitanicwhen they accuse Jack of stealing the fancy diamond and handcuff him to a pipe in the belly of the ship. Will they do that to me if I’m discovered? I’ve mapped our route, and the only place they can put me off is the stopover in Freeport, Bahamas. I’d have to get a ticket home, but maybe I can sleep on the beach, bum drinks off hot tourists, and extend the vacay.
Oh, Rhett Armstrong will be so mad when he realizes what I’ve done.
He just might kick me off the boat. I picture myself, sunburned and pathetic, floating behind the cruise ship on a raft tied to the back.
I’ll have to risk it. I didn’t sneak onto this cruise to sit like a frightened mouse in my cabin.
A long, low blow of a horn sounds from the back of the ship. I think that means we’re about to leave the dock.
I move to my teeny tiny balcony and pull the curtains close to either side of my face as I peer out. Not that I need to hide. The gray-blue of the ocean spreads across the horizon, only a thin white line separating the water from the sky.
Other cruise boats dot the vastness of the space, all at varying distances from the shore. Some appear to be coming in rather than going out, but it isn’t easy to tell.
Something rumbles far below the floor of the cabin. The moderately uneasy feeling that the world isn’t standing still becomes a hair stronger. At first, I can’t discern if we’re moving or not. I stare at a white column in the water farther along the shore to see if it moves, but it’s impossible to be sure.
But then we gain steam. A great cheer erupts from somewhere above. The sendoff. I hate to miss it, but it doesn’t seem safe to leave my cabin yet.
I open my suitcase and find a pair of flip-flops to replace my mismatched Bernie Mevs. Those I set out on the small table so the wet one can dry.
If my room faced the other way, I’d know when we’re a good distance from the shore, but for now I can only wait. I sit by the slit in the curtains, watching the waves over the water.
An announcement piped into the room startles me.
“All passengers are required to muster on Deck 1 in a half-hour. This is a mandatory safety check. All rooms will be visited to ensure participation.”
Oh. I didn’t know about this. Surely if we’re practicing safety, we’re well underway? Is a half-hour out far enough away to not return to shore and eject a stowaway?
I glance around the room. There is literally nowhere to hide when they check the room. There’s no way to hide beneath the bed or sofa. I move to the bathroom. The door slides left to right, so there is nothing to stand behind. The shower is clear glass.
Time to get creative.
In the corner, between the bed and the tiny balcony, is a small desk. I pull the chair aside and slide my suitcase next to it. This creates a hidey-hole beneath the desk, obscured by the suitcase.
I could still be spotted through the legs of the chair, however. I unzip my bag and pull out a dark blue maxi dress. I drape it over the chair, letting the long skirt fall to the ground.
There. Now it would take a hard look for someone to notice me.
Twenty minutes until mustering. I don’t want to cram myself under the desk for that long, so I fall back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s fancy, tin squares pressed into ornate designs. I’ve only seen ceilings like this in pictures from decorator magazines. I have very little opportunity for upscale things in my life.
Truth is, I’ve been hanging by a thread for a long time. My parents couldn’t afford to send me to college, so I cobbled together a few scholarships, several jobs, and a brutal amount of student loans to get my degree in political science.
