Tapas on the Ramblas (25 page)

"Yeah, thanks," I said. "Have you seen your cousin Flora tonight?"

"Sure, Mr. Quant," the more serious Nigel answered. "We all had dinner together."

Nice. "Did she go back to the suite with Charity and Dottie?"

"Uh, no, Aunt Charity and Aunt Dottie weren't here."

"Aunt Dottie was feeling a little under the weather," Harry explained. "Probably from what happened yesterday. Didn't Flora meet you?"

Huh times two. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"That's why she left early," Harry told me. "She had a note from you asking her to meet you."

The words hit my brain like acid on skin. I had written no such note. "What are you talking about? She had a note from me? Did you see it? Do you know where she was going to meet me?"

Harry looked worried now. "Russell, what’s going on? Is everything all right?"

No, it wasn't. Something was very wrong. "Harry, do you know what the note said?"

She stumbled a bit but got it out. "She was to meet you after dinner. At the aft end of the running track.

She left like twenty minutes ago."

Shit. I had no idea what was going on or time to figure it out. All I knew was that Flora Wiser was in danger.

I was back on the Pool Deck. The weather had worsened considerably since I'd abandoned my wait for Flora. Drizzle had turned into downpour making the deck flooring slick and nearly unnavigable in my spit and polished black patents, and the famed gentle Mediterranean breeze blew strong enough to rival any Saskatchewan windstorm. The pool, although swimmerless, seemed alive, its contents sloshing from side to side. The running track, where Flora had been lured to meet me, was most easily accessed via stairs at the far end of the pool area. So, lowering my head against the wind, I marched ahead, grasping anything nailed down that would help keep me upright and moving forward.

Bullets of rain hit me with the force of liquid BB gun pellets exploding against my skin and tuxedo. The onslaught of water flattened my hair against my skull. I pushed aside a swath of it from my eyes, only to have to repeat the action over and over again. I finally reached the stairs and, taking hold of both rails, hoisted my sodden self up each step. When I'd made it to the top I wondered if Flora would be crazy enough to still be up here, waiting for me in such dreadful conditions. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't leave until I was sure one way or the other.

From where I stood, three-quarters of the running track was visible. The rest of it, where the track led along one side, behind and out the other side of a large multi-unit storage area was not. The logical place for Flora to wait, assuming she would seek out as much protection as possible from the driving wind and rain, would be in one of the storage cubicles. I yanked off my tuxedo jacket, held it over my head like a Hugo Boss umbrella, and clipped down the length of the track until I reached the first bay. Except for stacks of deck chairs and chaise lounges securely fastened together and to the floor with bungee cords, the space was empty. No Flora. The same in the second bay. And then I heard the unmistakable sound of trouble.

I rounded the corner into the next storage bay and through the oppressive darkness made out the shape of a man and a woman. He was on top of her, grunting with his efforts to restrain her, she whimpering and then screaming out. Flora was being assaulted. I rushed forward yelling and, using my jacket as a kind of hooded lasso, tossed it over the man's head, tightening the collar around his neck and pulling back with all my weight. Flora screamed again and the man let out a strangled sound of alarm, muffled by the fabric of my coat over his face. We fell back, our drop softened by a pile of chaise lounge cushions. He struggled mightily to get away from me causing us to roll out of the storage area and onto the rain-pelted deck.

"Run!" I yelled to Flora. I couldn't see her. I had no idea how long her attacker had been at her or whether she'd been hurt. I just hoped she was okay and physically able to escape.

The man was tall and strong. I could feel legs and arms everywhere as he wrestled with me, screaming like a banshee for me to let him go, to get the coat off his face. As the rain covered us, it made us slippery as eels and I was having a harder and harder time holding my tuxedo noose in place. He used his greater size and leverage to flip me over onto my back, trapping me under him. Somehow the jacket was still covering his eyes and, fitfully blinded, his hands grew wild, fingers and nails mauling my face like an angry bear. I felt a tear in the skin at the corner of my mouth followed by shooting pain. I tasted blood mixed with rainwater on my tongue. I hate that.

I released my failing hold on the jacket, preferring to grab hold of the bastard's neck with my bare hands anyway. The sudden disappearance of the fabric from around his face took him by surprise, just long enough for me to regain some leverage of my own. I humped my hips and thighs up and to the right, with as much force as I could muster, and managed to sway him off me and onto his side, with me on him like salt on fries. Yes, he was bigger. But I was stronger. For a brief moment we were clasped together in a spooning position. With my front against his back, my right forearm around his neck, I reached down with my free hand to thread my arm between his legs, hoping to mount and subdue him once and for all.

Instead, I felt the unexpected. My hand grabbed hold of a rather long penis. Everything happened so fast in so little light, I hadn't realized that the man was naked from the waist down.

It surprised me and then it enraged me.

This man hadn't just been attacking Flora. He was raping her.

With a growl of fury I grabbed onto his handy sack of accessories and squeezed as if I wanted juice.

The man yelped like a blind dog running snout first into a porcupine, and his entire body stiffened like a board.

"Stop it! Stop it!" someone else was screaming over my shoulder, hands clawing at me, pulling me off the man.

"You sonofabitch!" I screamed at the man. I was now getting a better look at his face as I manipulated myself into a kneeling position over him, one hand full of scrotum, the other around his neck. Large, scared eyes were staring up at me out of a very young, not unattractive face. I loosened my hold on his privates just a bit. I didn't want him to pass out before I had a chance to yell at him some more.

Still the shrieking over my shoulder. "Get off him, you stupid! Get off!" I chanced a look and saw Kay la Moshier, wet, wild and wooly looking, her mouth flapping at high speed as she continued to berate me.

Fortunately, the wind and rain stole much of what she was saying. I tried to ignore her and instead made a frantic search for Flora, desperate to see how she was. Had she survived? Or.. .wait a second...

It wasn't Flora this man had been attacking. It was Kayla. Ahhhh jeeeeez. It wasn't an attack...it was a..

.date?

"Let him go! You're hurting him!" I heard Kayla pleading with me, still pulling at my shirt, her voice at its whiniest peak.

Yup. A date.

I did as she instructed and as soon as I got off him the young man shrivelled into the fetal position. His hands were globed over his nether regions and he unsuccessfully fought back a deluge of tears.

I sat back on my haunches, letting rain wash over me, and watched in disbelief as Kayla threw herself at the boy's side, asking him if he was all right. He wasn't answering just yet. She glared back at me, smeared lipstick and mascara painting her face into an unattractive mask. "Why the fuck did you do that?

You asshole! What do you think you're doing?"

"I thought I was saving.. .you.. .from an attacker," I said dumbly, noticing a large rip in my tuxedo shirt revealing most of my left pec. I lifted my hand to my mouth. I could feel a nasty cut, the blood still not completely clotted because of the sluicing rain that continued to pour over us. "Let's get him in here," I suggested, getting to my feet and urging the young guy to unravel. "Where it's a little drier. And maybe...his underwear is in there somewhere?"

I reached down and helped the young guy to his feet and into the storage bay.

"This is Aaron," Kayla told me when we were out of the rain.

"Ffffffuck, maaaaaaan," was all Aaron could say for the first while. After we found his boxers and he gingerly pulled them on, he scuffled about the room, half crouched over, still trying to overcome that deep-in-your-stomach sickness, verging on nausea but worse, that overcomes a man when his goods have been.. .compromised.

"I'm sorry, Kayla," I said, meaning it. Sort of. "I thought you were in trouble."

"What were you doing up here anyways?" Good question. She glanced around. "Did you come up here with someone?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Up here is like where you go if you're like into having some fun with someone you shouldn't be having fun with," she told me, as if this had been part of our first-day orientation session.

"That's not why I'm here," I responded, wondering how she knew about this place. Did everyone know except me? Was it cruise ship etiquette? Had it been announced in our daily FOD newsletter or perhaps over the PA system by Judy Smythwicke: "Ladies and gentlemen, should you be desirous of a wee shag, please proceed-after dark only-to the storage area directly off the running track where we've created for you, our treasured FOD guests, a delightful atmosphere just for such shenanigans and rowdy romps."

"So why then?"

"I was looking for Flora. Did you see her?"

She rolled her eyes. "Uh, no, I was busy. Besides, this is the last place
she
would ever be."

I just nodded, still feeling unsettled about the whole thing and developing a healthy headache.

"You won't tell anyone about this, will you?" Kayla asked.

She was seventeen. Legal, as far as Canadian law anyway, for consensual sex. So I gave her an understanding, hip-uncle kind of look. "I'm not going to tell your mom and dad."

"Who cares about them," she snorted.
"I
mean the Dorothy people."

I gave her a puzzled look. I just didn't get this gal.

She pointed at the boy with her chin. "You can't tell them he's like straight. Nobody on the ship knows."

"Oh Kayla, it's okay." I knew this because Alberta told me so. "It’s okay that he's straight. Anyone can work on this ship, gay or straight, as long as they're gay friendly. He won't get fired if they know he's straight."

She gave me another look, as if she couldn't believe how dense I was. "That's not it, jeeeeez. If the guy passengers think he's straight, they won't tip him. And that's how Aaron makes most of his money. He
wants
them to think he's gay."

Oh for crying out loud. I shook my head and wondered how many gay guys Aaron had suckered on this ship, giving them intentionally false hopes with an insincere smile or shake of his firm bonbon. Suddenly I didn't feel as bad about damaging his merchandise and decided to take off before I did it a
gain-as payback from my people.

Four flights of stairs later I was back outside Flora's door. I knocked. Still no answer. I thought I could hear someone inside. I knocked again. Nothing. I debated breaking in-as I had most of the other cabins belonging to the Wiser clan-but decided against it. I'd learned my lesson some time ago: never break into a room unless certain it's empty. I clipped up one deck to my room to use the phone, thinking that maybe she wasn't answering the door unless she knew who was behind it. When I arrived, my message light was blinking.

"Mr. Quant, it’s Flora. I waited as long as I could but it was raining and I was cold and I...well, anyway I'm in my cabin now. I thought I'd wait for you here, hoping you'd get this message." A pause. "But maybe you haven't? It's Flora...or did I tell you that already?" Another pause. "Anyway. I'm supposed to take Grandmother to the musical revue at the Munchkin Land Auditorium...anyway...I guess that's it. Bye."

What the hell was going on?

At least I knew she was okay. She had waited for me and left just because she was cold. But I still didn't know who sent her up there in the first place.

I dragged myself into the bathroom and stood before the mirror. I was aghast. Even worse than before-the debonair fellow who'd left here only a few hours ago had definitely left the building. My hair looked like the tangled, wet head of a dirty brown mop. My bow tie was still fastened about my neck but looked more like a drowned rat than an article of formal wear. In addition to the tear over my chest, my shirt was shredded in several spots and stained with dirt and my own blood. Never mind my jacket, which was a wretched, soaken, misshapen mess. (Thank goodness this was the last formal night of the cruise.) The cut at my mouth had clotted now and chips and blots of dry blood dotted my jaw.

But hey, at least the bruise I received compliments of the tender captain was almost gone. I gazed longingly at the bathtub, wishing I could shed my ruined clothes and immerse myself in hot water up to my chin. I wanted to soak away the cold that had settled in my bones after being wet for so long, and clean the wounds and scratches I'd gotten from my tussle with Kayla's loverboy. But there was no time for that.

Something not good was afoot tonight on The Dorothy.

I dabbed away the worst of the blood smears from my face and left the cabin and its beckoning tub behind. I headed for Munchkin Land which, mercifully, was on the same level, across the central lobby and down a hallway. My legs were aching from running up and down those damn stairs.

"Sir, are you all right?" a box-shaped, uniformed woman asked me when I screeched to a halt outside the closed doors of Munchkin Land Auditorium, no doubt looking like Wile E. Coyote after the Road Runner had TNT'd him for the umpteenth time.
Beep! Beep!

"Is it closed?" I ignored her question. "Isn't there a musical revue tonight?"

"Well, yes, sir,
Gays and Dolls.
But I can't let you in now. I'm afraid you're too late." She moved her made-for-overalls body in front of the doors to demonstrate her serious intent.

"Oh please," I begged. "I'm looking for someone. It's important."

"I can't, I'm sorry. Opening and closing the door during the act distracts the performers. But you can wait right here," she said, indicating a nearby collection of cushy looking couches and armchairs. "It should be over in a few minutes."

It was twenty-five minutes to be exact, but who was counting. At least it gave me time to catch my breath, do some thinking and practice my glaring technique with the usher who steadfastly ignored me the entire time.

When the doors finally opened I ran into the auditorium against the flow of guests, some heading back to their cabins, others to the casino or the Cowardly Lion lounge, but most to Emerald City where the big drag show was scheduled to begin. Eventually I spotted Flora, getting into the queue to leave. She was alone.

"Flora!" I called out as I wrestled to get by a gaggle of giggling gays. "Where is Charity?"

"Mr. Quant," she said when I reached her. She was wearing a long brown bag of a dress under a baggy brown sweater that stretched halfway down her thighs. "Where were you? I waited."

"Where were you?" I mimicked. "Your note said to meet you on the Pool Deck. You never showed."

Flora looked at me with confusion, her glasses migrating down her nose. "Mr. Quant, no,
you
sent
me
a note to meet you. I never sent you a note."