Cruising for Love (The Escape Series Book 2) (8 page)

I shake my head in disbelief. I just want to wake up and realize this was all some horrid nightmare. I look around as tears pool and threaten to fall––the horrid nightmare part is true, but it's happening in real-life.

T.J. has left the stage and well-wishers from the rest of the audience are making their way forward to congratulate us. It takes me a moment to process the fact that no one is coming up to me. The other five all have people surrounding them––giving them hugs and lavishing praise on them. I, however, am standing alone. I don't blame the crowd. After all, how do you tactfully approach someone about becoming a trending internet sensation for being so hated?

I quietly slip out of the auditorium, seeking solitude.

Syd chases me down the hallway. "Ruthie! Wait up," he calls.

I don't want to see him or anyone else right now. My ever-present camera is here to capture the moment. Plus, I now know there are cameras hidden all over the ship, so the viewing audience won't have to miss a moment of my meltdown. The tears I had been attempting to stifle are now running freely down my cheeks. I'm fairly confident they are leaving mascara streaks to serve as further evidence that I am indeed the hot mess my BFF has told the world I am.

I'm not in any mood to talk. I just want to be alone, but Syd is not having any part of that. He easily catches up to me and gently touches my arm––evidently remembering about my sunburn. "Are you okay?" he asks me, seeming honestly concerned.

"Did you know?" I turned on him. "Did you know I would be portrayed that way?" I feel like lashing out at someone, and he is the only one around.

"No, Honey, I promise I didn't know." His words sound sincere. He reaches out to tenderly swipe the back of his finger under each of my eyes, evidently clearing the black mascara trail.

I want to believe him. It feels like he is my only friend left in the world. I know the show has creatively cut the clips from my loved ones to put me in the worst possible light, but it still hurts. I hiccup on a sob as I try to say, "Everyone hates me."

Pulling me into a gentle hug, he coos, "It's going to be okay." He holds me for a long time, while I release all of my pent up anger, frustration, and hurt feelings. An older couple decked out in fancy, black eveningwear approach us in the hallway, giving us a strange look. "Nothing to see here," Syd informs them, waving them on, so they scurry past.

Releasing me from his hug and turning to the cameraman, Syd breaks our only rule, by addressing him directly. "Could you give us a few minutes?"

The guy raises his shoulders and shakes his head as if the matter is out of his control. Digging in his pocket Syd retrieves a twenty-dollar bill from his money clip. "Please," he adds as he hands over the money.

Pocketing the cash, the cameraman turns off the record button and heads into the adjacent bar without a word. We briefly hear the haunting singing voice of a woman in a sparkling pink gown sitting atop a grand piano as he opens and closes the door of the lounge.

"Thank you," I tell Syd, and I mean it. I hadn't realized how draining it is to have the camera constantly recording my every movement––especially now that I know the footage is being used to show me in such an incredibly unfavorable light.

"There are still plenty of hidden cameras," Syd waves a hand around our surroundings, reminding me that I'm not completely off the hook.

I nod in acknowledgement of his warning as he gives me a sad look. "I wish I could make this better for you." He sounds sincere.

"I feel like I'm all alone in the world," I reveal to him.

"I'm here, Baby," he says kindly. I nod again, trying to be brave and not wanting to point out that I've only known him for two days.

"You miss your family, though," he guesses correctly. At my nod, he goes on, "And you want to make sure that they still love you."

His assessment is spot-on, and a couple more tears escape as I nod at him. "I'm sure they do, Sweetheart," he reassures me. "They probably all said loads of wonderful things about you in front of the camera, but the show manipulated the one thing they said that could be construed as less than flattering to make it look like you are spoiled rotten."

I lean back on the railing, unconcerned about falling. I know in my heart that what Syd has said is true. My family and friends still love me, but seeing them on screen adding fuel to the 'hate Ruthie' fire had been overwhelming and sad. "I wish I could see the entire videos that were filmed with each of them," I admit to Syd.

"I'm sure they are all just as upset about the rotten portrayal as you are," he reminds me.

"You think so?" My voice sounds hopeful. It's not that I want them to feel bad, but I would like to know for sure that they hadn't intended to make me looks so horrible.

Syd nods, then his eyes widen with an idea. "Come with me." He grabs my hand, pulling me behind him.

I follow him into a tiny ladies room. He drags me inside and snicks the lock into place. "You shouldn't be in here," I remind him.

"It's okay," he reassures me before adding, "there won't be any cameras in here."

Comprehension dawns as he pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. "One call," he tells me, before adding sternly, "And if you tell anyone, I'll deny it."

"I won't tell a soul," I promise, grabbing the phone greedily. I don't have to think long about who to call, especially since her number is one of the few that I know by heart in this day of automatic dialing.

She picks up on the first ring. Rather than a traditional greeting, she answers by saying, "I'm going to give those snot-nosed, lying television turds a piece of my mind!"

I have no idea how she knew I was on the other end of the phone, since I'm using Syd's cell, but her fired-up, no-nonsense response immediately makes me feel better. "Baggy," I breathe a sigh of relief as I talk to my wild, crazy, grab-'em-by-the-balls-and-never-let-go grandmother.

Feeling a great deal better after my chat with Baggy, I emerge from my bathroom hideaway with Syd. Knowing now how the producers of the show want to portray me, I figure they'll try to make it look like he and I shared a forbidden rendezvous in the ladies' room. I refuse to worry about that right now, though.

Not wanting to run into anyone from the show, but too jacked up to sleep, I turn to Syd with a questioning look. Sensing my dilemma, he takes my hand. "I have an idea. Come with me."

I gladly follow him, feeling relieved to let him do all the thinking. When he pushes the elevator button for the fifth floor, I start to become slightly nervous. Thankfully, he leads me in the opposite direction of the 'theatre of shame,' where my fiasco of an internet television debut had just occurred.

When we reach the smaller theatre at the back of the ship––at least I think it's the back, although I still get turned around in the vessel's enormous interior––I balk about entering. "I don't want to be around people," I inform Syd, although I would have thought he should already know that.

"This is where the overflow crowd from the show's debut had to go," he reveals. "Our theatre was standing room only, so the people in here have no idea what happened." He points to a Broadway-style poster that indicates there is a magic-comedy act in progress.

I don't feel a bit like watching a cheesy comedian. My face must have betrayed my reluctance because Syd leans in to convince me. "It will be dark in there, and we can partake in some adult beverages."

"You had me at dark." I smile at him. A lack of light means that cameras won't be able to watch my every move. It's amazing how quickly my feelings about having my every word and gesture recorded have changed. Just yesterday, I loved the attention because it made me feel special and sought after. Now––not so much.

We try to slip quietly in to the back of the theatre. I sure don't need a snarky comedian picking on me for arriving late to his show. It takes a bit for our eyes to adjust to the black room. We find an empty two-top table at the back and claim it.

Immediately, a perky waitress in a short, black skirt appears to take our drink order. Syd orders us each a mojito. That probably wouldn't have been my first choice, but as long as the beverage has alcohol in it, I'm not going to complain.

Our mojitos quickly arrive and I am pleasantly surprised to find the cool drink is tastier than I would have expected. I take a couple of healthy gulps before turning my attention to the stage. Something about the stance of the man in the spotlight catches my attention.

His dark hair, broad shoulders, and slender hips are undeniably attractive. The tight black tee shirt he is wearing makes it obvious that he is in great shape. There is something familiar about him that I can't quite pinpoint, though. I watch him, mesmerized. I find myself listening to the lilt of his voice, but not really his words.

I sense the moment he sees me. His eyes lock on mine, and he smiles, making two huge, gorgeous dimples. I feel bowled over by his gaze––at least I hope he's looking at me. Now I wish we had sat closer to the stage.

Even as I'm telling myself that the stage lights must be in his eyes and that he couldn't possibly have been looking at me, Syd leans over to whisper, "Did you see the way he just looked at you? I'd give anything to have that hunk of beefcake look at me like that!"

I smile at Syd in acknowledgment, but don't respond. My eyes quickly dart back to the man on stage. Suddenly, it hits me who he looks like. My breath turns quick and shallow. It
can't
be him. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
What are the chances?
I wonder.

Trying to convince myself that my mind is playing some kind of trick on me, I lean over to Syd. "What is the performer's name?" I ask him.

Making a quiet request of the lady sitting next to us, Syd accepts the offered paper program and hands it to me. I squint to see the words in the dim lighting. When I finally make out the name of tonight's headliner, I nearly fall out of my seat––Andrew Stark, the exact man whose picture I gaze at almost every night before bed.

Feeling like I might suffocate or hyperventilate, I get up and run from the darkened theatre. Before long, Syd follows me. "What's wrong, Sweets?" he asks, sounding truly concerned.

"Do they know? How can they know? Is he a plant? It this a trick?" I ask Syd desperately. Even though deep-down I know that he has no idea what I'm talking about, I can't seem to stop asking him the questions that are burning through my brain. Syd's bewildered expression confirms that I have thoroughly confused him. "They can't know, can they?"

"Who can't know what? You're not making any sense. You're going to have to back up a little."

"The magic man in there," I point to the theatre doors, "is
the one that got away
from me." I inform Syd as I run my hands through my hair and slide down the wall to sit on the floor.

Syd only hesitates for a moment before joining me on the plush primary-colored, geometric-patterned carpet. "Tell me," he says simply.

"Andrew was my high school crush." I reveal.

When I pause, Syd inserts, "He's held up well over the years. That guy is a dreamboat."

Nodding and smiling at him, I continue. "He was always just out of reach, but not in the way you would think." At Syd's curious look, I expand. "He wasn't the stereotypical irresistible athlete, despite his hot body. He was more of an artsy, moody musician type."

"Ahhh, one of those." Syd smiles down at me. "They're always more difficult to land than the dumb jocks."

I nod, acknowledging that Syd is right about that. "I spent all of one song in his arms, dancing on Prom night, and it was Heaven."

"Spill," Syd leans in––all ears.

"He was a Senior, and I was a Junior," I start.

"I already have chill bumps," Syd squeals, showing me his arm as proof.

"It's not a great love story," I tell him before admitting, "Well, maybe a one-sided one."

"Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that, but go on." Syd urges me.

"I had an enormous crush on him, and I did everything in my power to make him notice me. I tried short skirts, blatant flirting, and even parading around on the arm of the quarterback of the football team; but Andrew never seemed to take notice of me."

"He was playing hard to get," Syd guesses.

"Or he just wasn't interested," I say sadly.

"Not possible," Syd tells me kindly.

Smiling at him, I continue with my story. "He was always just out of reach for me, and it drove me absolutely crazy. I had never before––or ever since–– had a man turn down my advances. You being the exception to that, of course." I nudge him gently with my elbow to let him know I'm teasing.

"I'd totally go for you, if I was into ladies," he grins at me.

"Right," I say sarcastically. Not wanting him to feel required to flatter me, I shift back into my story. "Anyway, he didn't seem interested in me at all, which, of course, made me want him even more. I used to finagle my schedule so that I would pass him in the hallways at school. Everywhere I went, I took the long route so I could drive past his house and snoop to see if his light was on or if he had anyone over."

"Stalker alert," Syd teased me.

"No kidding," I admitted. "But it was so much more than that to me. I wanted to be where he was, to listen to him talk or breathe, or to just watch him. It was like I came alive when I was in his presence. It was an overpowering feeling, but the more I tried to deny it, the worse it became."

"It sounds like you were obsessed with him," Syd says carefully.

"I guess I kind of was, but not in a creepy, keep-him-locked-up-in-the-basement kind of way. I wanted him to want to be with me, and it devastated me that he didn't; but I would have never forced him into anything."

"Glad to hear it," Syd gives me a reassuring smile.

I can't believe that I am sharing all of this with Syd, but it is a relief to finally be revealing the truth. My family knew that I had an enormous crush on Andrew, but I never talked about it so openly with anyone. Deciding that I've gone too far to turn back now, I forge on. "Anyway, you can imagine how thrilled I was when there was a huge upset in the voting for Senior Prom King and he beat out the superstar jock that was expected to win."

"Awesome! I love when stuff like that happens. It's just like the movies," Syd gushes.

"It felt like a movie when the head cheerleader / girlfriend to said jock ran off the stage crying and yelling about how
this wasn't how things were supposed to work out
."

"What a biotch––trying to ruin Andrew, the hot band geek's, big moment." Syd was clearly on the right side.

"I'm glad she did that, though," I admit, "because the principal was so befuddled by her abrupt departure that he announced that the Junior Prom Queen would be doing the spotlight dance with the Senior Prom King, rather than the runner-up Queen for the Seniors, who it probably rightfully should have been."

"Yay!" Syd actually claps with excitement over my story. "So, you and Andrew got to dance in front of everyone at his Senior Prom?"

I nod in confirmation, thrilled to see that Syd is clearly in my corner. "I was all glammed up for Prom, and he looked incredibly dashing in his black tuxedo. He pulled me into his warm embrace, and I nearly melted on the spot. He was a graceful and firm leader as he guided me around the dance floor. He smelled like fresh pine needles and chocolate." I close my eyes, still able to recall the scent having relived it so many times in my memory. Lost in the story, I continue, "I can still feel the chills that raced down my spine as our fronts lightly brushed against each other as we moved together as one. His hot breath near my ear made every inch of my body tingle with excitement. It was the most perfect few minutes of my life. If I could choose to freeze any moment in time, it would be while I was in his arms. To this day, anytime I hear the song 'In Your Eyes' by Peter Gabriel, I stop whatever I'm doing and am immediately transported back to that glorious moment in time."

"Wow." Syd says simply. He has clearly been swept into my story.

"Yeah, wow," I agree before sharing the rest of the story. "He returned to his abandoned date immediately after our life-altering-for-me dance, and the rest is history. He graduated and moved to Las Vegas to pursue his dream of becoming a famous showman. My mom occasionally runs into his mom at the grocery, so I get regular updates on his accomplishments. I try to be in all the right places the rare times he comes home to visit, but I never seem to be lucky enough to run into him."

"Well, he's here now," Syd reminds me with an excited look on his face.

"Yeah, about that," I start. "Do you think it might be too big of a coincidence that he is conveniently here while the show is filming?"

"Paranoid much?" Syd teases me.

"There's one thing I haven't told you yet," I admit. At his raised eyebrows, I add, "I have a school picture of him that I like to look at pretty much every night. I'm not still obsessed or anything," I quickly add wanting to squash any concerns he may have about my mental stability. "It's just that I like to remind myself that it's possible to feel so wonderful with another human being, and I don't want to ever settle for anything less than that kind of all-consuming passion."

"I guess that makes sense," Syd admits.

"It's really more of a reminder of how love can feel than of Andrew himself." I'm still trying to justify keeping the picture and allowing it to be such an important keepsake so many years later. At Syd's understanding nod, I go on. "The picture is in my suitcase, and someone unpacked all of my things for me. They didn't move the picture, but do you suppose they saw it and told one of the producers?"

Syd's bright blue eyes widen in surprise at me. "So, you think someone found that tiny picture tucked away in your luggage and took it to the producers who then researched who it could be before returning it to your bag, had someone track down the person from the picture and bring him aboard the ship to do a show in the hopes that you might stumble into each other on a cruise with thousands of passengers and rekindle your high school almost-romance?"

"Well, it sounds a little far-fetched when you put it like that." I grin at him until we both start laughing at my paranoia.