Cruising
by Robbie Kenyon
Julius peeked out the porthole and swore. He strode out the door into the corridor and let loose on one of the porters. I looked out; all I could see was the dimly lit hall leading to the promenade deck. We had paid for a cabin with an ocean view. I stepped outside. Julius stood at the end of the corridor giving what-for to the porter.
“Julius, don’t bother, it’s only two weeks.” He was yelling too loudly to hear. I went back inside and changed into a bathing suit, robe, and flip-flops, and glanced into the mirror. Two months ago, I’d replaced desserts with martinis and lost weight.
I looked fantastic.
The dining room was already crowded with passengers. I could still hear Julius yelling at the porter. I checked my watch. What the hell, I shrugged, and flip-flopped up to the bar.
“Morning, ma’am,” the bartender nodded. “What can I get for ya?”
I looked him over. He looked like a man who spent a lot of time outside. A sailor man. Julius’s temper tantrum faded into the background.
“Bloody Mary, please.” I watched as he inserted a toothpick into an olive, plopped it into the glass, and pushed it across the bar. Our fingers touched, and his left cheek dimpled as he smiled. I nodded my thank you and strolled onto the deck. I glanced back just once, to calculate my chances. He was watching me.
Chuckling, I chose a comfortable lounge, curled up next to my Bloody Mary, and gazed out at the sea. Julius would disembark in two weeks. I wanted to tell him before the end of the trip, but not too much before the end because I’d have to live with him until he left. Maybe I’d wait until after he left, and send him a letter from Greece. It was a coward’s way out, I know, but I’ve never claimed to be courageous. I sniffed my Bloody Mary, the breakfast of cowards, and gulped it down. I'd get a little cottage on a nice island somewhere, buy a red scooter, shack up with a lover, do a little painting, and never have to think about Julius ever again.
A man sat down in the lounge next to me. I slid my sunglasses down my nose, and gazed at him over the rims. He recognized the look in my eye and grinned.
“'Allo, luv,” he said. My god, he was English! Or Australian. I can never tell. Anyway, he had an accent: a sexy, sexy accent.
“'Allo,” I replied. “Quite a view, isn’t it?” He stared out at the sea. I stared at him.
“Lovely. Are you getting off in Italy or Greece?” he asked. He could have told me to eat dirt; it still would have sounded like sweet nothings with that accent.
“Greece, of course.”
“Really. I’m working in Athens for the summer. How long will you be staying?”
“As long as I like.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Independently wealthy, are we?”
I winked at him. “Just independent.”
“I see. Rich uncles? What’s your family name?” I gave him a sidelong look. There was no guile in those eyes. He wasn't clever enough to be a gold digger.
“Rochester. Marcia Rochester. Yours?”
“Dr. Ben Gardner. I’m going to Greece to authenticate an antiquity."
"Isn't that interesting?" Never hurts to engage in a little ego-stroking.
"Freshen your drink?” I handed him the glass. Between the tan and the accent, I deemed him qualified to apply for the job as my summer entertainment. He seemed like a bit of a talker, but no matter. I could just tune out the words and listen to that gorgeous accent.
“Marcie!” Julius came bounding out of the sun like a big, loping puppy. I winced. Marcia. My name is Marcia. I opened my mouth to correct him, then closed it. It felt like too much work. I looked past him towards the bar. Where was that refill? Julius grinned down at me with those watery blues. I've gazed into street puddles that had more depth. I should never have married a man with eyes like that.
“They assigned us to the wrong cabin. We’ll switch in a while.” He looked down at me like a conqueror who had vanquished a formidable foe. You should have seen the other guy. “Are you comfortable, darling?" he asked. "I’m going to the dining room. Is there anything I can get for you?”
I thought back to the bartender and raised an eyebrow. Ben Gardner returned with my drink and gave Julius a glare that most people reserve for drunks, cheats, and bums. He set the Bloody Mary down on the tiny table next to my chair.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Gardner. This is my husband, Julius Rochester.” Julius smiled at him and extended his hand. Ben clenched his teeth together and shook it.
“I see even your name belongs to her,” Ben said. Poor Julius; he looked so confused. Then he smiled down at me and laid his hand on my shoulder.
“Everything I had was hers the moment we met.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. My god, the man was still sick with love for me. I grinned up at Ben Gardner and he shot me a dark look.
“I see.” He picked up his towel and his book from the lounge chair. “If you’ll excuse me," he said, and he and his work in Greece walked out of my life forever. I sighed and watched him go. It could have been so beautiful. I looked up at my husband of twenty years. Julius, you’re an idiot. What would you do without me? I slipped my hand into his.
“Get yourself a drink, love,” I said and gazed out to the sea. “Then come and join me. The view is delicious.”
Robbie Kenyon is a long-time writer just now getting the ol' act together to publish. Her short story "Higher Standards" appeared in The Foliate Oak, and her story "Honey" was published in Residential Aliens. Another one of her shorts, "Daughters of Hemingway," has been accepted for an upcoming issue of Cezanne's Carrot. She's currently working on a middle-grade children's chapter book. Contact Robbie.
