Dreamboat (24 page)

He leaned back against the bulkhead and slipped the cell phone into a
pocket. He'd had to slip into the kid's suite to take another look at the trunk, just to reassure Georgios Vilos that the explosives were still where they were supposed to be. Nothing less would do. And of course they were there, as he knew they would be. But when he told Vilos, do you think that calmed the old man down? No. Not for a minute.

Now he was still obsessing about the explosives being safe until it was time to use them and, more irritating, consumed with the welfare of his son. The man spit on the deck. He didn't give a damn about the son. He was hired to do a job, and he was going to do it and do it right. If Sonny Boy got blown to Kingdom Come with the rest of the people on the ship, it was no skin off his back.

Fuck him. And fuck the old man, too,
he thought.
I'm getting paid to blow up the ship, not be a nursemaid.

Even in the darkness of the deserted deck, his eyes glittered. The man was enjoying this job more than he thought he would.

Chapter Thirteen

S
he awoke later than usual and hurriedly dressed for breakfast. The telephone call almost immediately came to mind, but she decided to dismiss it as a prank. If it happened again, she would know it was directed at her. Then her late-evening rendezvous with Luca replaced everything else in her thoughts. She could hardly wait to call for an appointment to see him. She left for breakfast humming a happy tune.

She had breakfast, as had become her habit, on the deck outside the cafeteria-style dining room, preferring the out-of-doors in the morning and saving the more formal dining room for lunch and dinner. The sky was a uniform gray this morning, and there was rain in the air. She found an empty seat near the railing. From there she could follow their progress along the coast of Spain, visible in the distance.

Around ten o'clock, passengers began to flock to the deck railings because the ship was about to pass Gibraltar. Crissy fetched her camera out of her shoulder bag and took several photographs of the giant rock, then turned her attention to the coasts of both Spain and Africa.
I can't say I've
been
to Africa,
she thought,
but I can say that I've seen it.
The ship soon passed the famous rock and churned on through the choppy sea, headed for their next destination, Tenerife, in the Canary Islands. They wouldn't arrive there until tomorrow afternoon, and she couldn't help but smile, thinking that today she was supposed to call the hospital for an appointment.

She decided that no time was better than the present, so she returned to the cabin to place the call. Luca had told her to try to make it as late in the day as possible, so that she would be his last patient. When the gorgon
of a nurse, Voula, answered the phone, Crissy told her that she had to see Dr. Santo.

“What seems to be the problem?” she asked.

“It's my stomach,” Crissy replied.

“Your stomach,” Voula said.

Crissy could visualize the woman's eyes, magnified by her glasses, and her terribly bleached hair, which was streaked with brassy gold and orange. “Yes,” she said, “my stomach.”

“This is not an emergency,” Voula said. It wasn't a question, Crissy noted. She supposed that if your problem was stomach-related, then Voula wouldn't under any circumstances consider it imperative that you see the doctor as soon as possible.

Crissy replied anyway. “No, it's not an emergency. I saw him once before, and I'm taking antibiotics. But something's still wrong.”

“I see. . . .” Voula's voice trailed off for a moment, then she said, “You can come tonight. At nine-thirty or nine forty-five.” In a triumphant voice, she added, “No sooner, so if your stomach bothers you, it will have to bother you. The doctor is booked.”

“Nine forty-five,” Crissy replied, thinking:
Perfect!

“Your name again?”

“Crissy Fitzgerald,” she said.

“Nine forty-five,” Voula said, slamming the receiver down.

I should tell Luca to give her some lessons in customer relations,
she thought.

She heard the cabin door open, and turned to see Jenny come into the room. “Hi,” she said gaily. “What've you been up to?”

Jenny shrugged and kicked off her heels, the same stilettos she'd been wearing last night, Crissy observed. “Not much,” she said in a flat voice. “Not anything that would interest you anyway.”

That's a good answer, Crissy thought. Good and hostile. This from the young divorcée who had shared all of her sexual exploits with Crissy since she'd left her ex-husband. She obviously didn't want Crissy to know what she'd been up to, so, Crissy decided, Jenny wasn't going to hear anything about her activities either. The thought was not a happy one, for Crissy really wanted to share the joy she had found with Luca, and she and Jenny had always shared information about the men in their lives. Well, no more, she supposed. She didn't understand what had happened, why Jenny had cut her out of her life, but she didn't think
that she should push for answers because Jenny wasn't in a talking mood.

She watched as Jenny silently slipped out of her glittery top and matching miniskirt, dropping them to the floor in a pile, then saw her go into the bathroom and close the door without another word. What was the silence all about? she wondered.

Who cares? She's not going to take the shine off my day,
Crissy thought. Nothing, not even the gray skies and threatening rain, was going to do that. She retrieved her shoulder bag, deciding she would take a stroll about the ship.

She took the stairs up two decks, where the shops, casino, library, card room, and piano bar were located. Seeing a duty-free shop that looked interesting, she decided to browse for presents she could take back home. A very pretty young German woman—
GUDRUN
, the tag read—ran the shop, and in her perfect, unaccented English she asked Crissy if she would like to volunteer to be a guinea pig.

“For what?” Crissy asked.

“See the rollers with the diamonds by the yard?” Gudrun pointed to a display table on which several large metal rollers were wound with yards of gold chains set with sparkling stones every six inches or so.

Crissy nodded. “What are those anyway?”

“First, they're not actually diamonds,” Gudrun said with a rueful smile. “The chains aren't gold, either. They are rhinestones set on different gold-tone chains. See?” She regarded Crissy questioningly.

“Yes,” Crissy said, “but what are they for?”

“Oh,” Gudrun replied. “They have many uses. I can cut lengths to make bracelets or necklaces, one strand or several, depending on what you want. Also, they're great to weave in your hair if you wear it up. Remember”—she raised a finger in the air in a gesture reminiscent of a schoolteacher—“tonight is a formal night, so you want to be extra-beautiful.” She smiled brightly, and her pale blue eyes glittered impishly behind her glasses.

Crissy laughed. “I think I can pass,” she said. “I don't really have the money to spend on them.”

“You don't even know how much they are,” Gudrun replied.

“How much are they,” Crissy retorted.

“For you, free,” Gudrun said conspiratorially.

“Free? But why?”

“Because you will be my advertisement,” Gudrun said. “You are one
of the most attractive women on the ship, so everyone will see these on you and want them. They will think that if they buy them, they will look more like you.” Her flow of words ceased, and she stood as if at attention, her hands folded in front of her, daring Crissy to challenge her logic, but smiling all the same.

“You're serious,” Crissy said.

Gudrun nodded. “I will cut bracelets for you, a necklace, and even wind them in your hair.” She approached Crissy with a serious expression. “May I?” she asked, her hands rising to Crissy's hair, but not touching it.

“Yes,” Crissy said.

Gudrun ran her hands through Crissy's shoulder-length hair, then let it drop back into place. “You have just enough to put in a French twist or a chignon, either of which I can wrap in our world-famous diamonds by the yard.”

They both giggled.

“Well, are you interested? All you have to do is wear my precious phony gems, look beautiful, and tell everyone that you got them here. How's that?”

“I-I guess it's all right,” Crissy said.

“I promise to make you look beautiful—enhance your beauty I should say—but restrain myself from making you look like a walking advertisement. I get a commission on these, so I want you to look your best.”

“I'll do it,” she said.

“Oh, you're a sport,” Gudrun said. “I'll cut the bracelets and necklace now. Then if you don't mind, come by tonight before dinner, and I'll do your hair.”

“I can have it put up,” Crissy said, “so it shouldn't take long.”

“You are wonderful,” Gudrun said. “Give me a few minutes, and I'll have the bracelet and necklace. I'll have to fit them on you.”

Crissy watched as Gudrun selected a length of gold-tone and rhinestone chain from one of the rollers then snapped it off. She draped it around Crissy's wrist, where, surprisingly, it looked much better than on the roller.

“This will wrap around three times,” Gudrun said. She unrolled another length of the same golden chain set with rhinestones, this one much longer, and cut it off. She draped it around Crissy's neck, then stood back. “I think it's perfect,” she pronounced, “but look at it in the mirror on the counter.”

Crissy did as she was told and agreed with Gudrun. It would be a glamorous touch with her simple formal gown tonight. “It is perfect,” she said. “I don't know how you do it.”

Gudrun laughed. “From doing it so many times,” she confessed. “A lot of women don't like to travel with valuable jewelry nowadays, then they see this and want it to dress up their outfits. It's a relatively inexpensive way to do it, and if somebody should rob you, God forbid, you haven't lost something valuable or of sentimental value.”

“That's what I'll tell everyone,” Crissy said with a laugh. “That I left all of my real jewelry at home and had to get these.”

Gudrun laughed. “Very good,” she said. She busied herself with small metal cutters and a pair of pincers, first cutting a link, then securing it to another one to create the bracelet and necklace. “Maybe with your hair we can try a different style chain and a rhinestone of a different cut.” She looked up from her work at Crissy. “What do you think?”

“I think so,” Crissy said. “Why not?”

“You're my perfect model,” Gudrun replied. “Is there anything else you want?”

“No, I don't think so,” Crissy replied. “I'd thought about buying a small bottle of the
Femme
perfume, but even here it's expensive, so I'll pass on that.”

Gudrun went to the shelf where the various size bottles of
Femme
were displayed and took a small one. She brought it back and slipped it into Crissy's shoulder bag. “There,” she said. “A thank-you.”

“Well, thanks,” Crissy said. “I feel sort of like Cinderella now.”

They both laughed again. “I'll see you around eight,” Gudrun said.

In the hospital, Monika sat down on the examination table, wrinkling her nose at the crinkling paper that was spread down it. She knew it was for hygienic purposes, but the noise it made was unpleasant nevertheless. Crossing her long, shapely legs—her best feature, she thought—she hiked up her skirt just a bit to give the doctor a better view while not appearing to be unladylike. When he came in and introduced himself, she could see that he was even better-looking than she remembered.

She held his extended hand longer than necessary. “I'm Monika Graf,” she said, “the writer.”

“Yes, of course. We met in Pompeii,” Luca said, removing his hand from hers. Was she flirting with him? he wondered. He thought it best not
to say that he wasn't familiar with her books. He looked down at the form she'd filled out for Voula. “I'm sorry it's under the present circumstances,” he went on. “I see you have a stomach problem.”

“Yes,” she said, patting it lightly with one hand, her rings flashing in the light. “
Mal de mer?
A wee seasickness? Something I ate? I don't know.” She fluttered her eyelids coquettishly.

Luca looked back down at the form, as if searching for vital clues to her sickness. Who was she kidding? he wondered. She could almost be his mother. “Could you describe the symptoms?”

“It's been upset,” Monika replied vaguely, shifting on the examination table, uncrossing and crossing her legs.

“Have you been running a fever?” Luca asked. “Or had any other symptoms?”

“No,” Monika said. “It's just my tum-tum.”

“I can give you something to help settle your stomach,” Luca said, “and if you don't feel better tomorrow, then I want you to give me a call. Okay?”

Monika could see that he wasn't interested in her and was neither surprised nor disappointed. She wasn't to many young men's taste—few of them liked mature women such as herself, regardless of their superior knowledge and abilities—although there were those who would gladly worship at her feet. “That's so sweet of you,” Monika gushed. Then she added, “I can see why Crissy likes you.”

He was surprised by her reference to Crissy and a little embarrassed by this personal intrusion into his professional life. He couldn't ignore the woman's remark, however. “Ah, you can?” he said. He pulled a pad from the pocket of his lab coat and began scribbling on it.

“But I must warn you,” Monika went on, “she's not the innocent abroad she seems. No, indeed.” Her eyes lit up malevolently, and she held a finger in the air to make her point. “She's a vixen, wanton and dangerous, and you'll be sorry you ever met her. Mark my word, if you continue to see her, you'll regret it, Doctor.”