Believe the Magic Page 21

  It was humming that woke me.

  A weathered, old gentleman pushed a broom around the lounge chair where I lay. “Ma’am, so sorry. Would you be wanting to go back to your cabin?”

  Cabin? I looked up at the huge stack thrusting upwards from the deck. In the artificial daylight, I could see blue and white banners outlining the upper viewing area. I was back on the ship.

  “Um, I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes, hoping he’d just walk on by. What was I going to do now? They didn’t toss castaways overboard anymore did they? Or make them walk the plank?

  The trip to the island must have been a dream. A horrid nightmare. Especially the Quentin part. I closed my eyes to bring back the image of his worried face. In my dreams, he cared. He had pleaded with me to wake up. He’d touched my face with the caress of someone who loved, not someone who was just a lover.

  “Ma’am? Your husband told me to escort you to your cabin when you awoke. He took your purse, said he didn’t want to leave it here for just anyone to pick up.”

  Purse? Husband? I sucked in a deep breath. I’d already checked. I was myself.

  I gave myself a mental pep talk. The tube of lipstick was still in my pocket. Only now they were shorts. And I still had gems around my neck. So I wasn’t stranded.

  I pulled myself up, feeling about as old as this fellow looked and followed him and his broom down the hall.

  Everything down the corridor screamed first class. The trim along the top was most certainly teak, the carpet a thick plush royal blue. Wonders will never cease.

  The steward knocked on the door, winked at me, and retreated as fast as his little legs would carry him. I was still watching his lopsided gait when the door opened.

  “About time.”

  Quentin stood in the doorway. Actually, he leaned against the doorframe. The door was open about four inches, allowing me a clear view of his bare chest. A pair of black satin pajama bottoms hid the rest of him from sight.

  “What?” I was speechless. Stunned. And relieved.

  But he hadn’t opened the door.

  “Are you going to run again?”

  I shook my head. Not for a long while. Not if I had a warm bed to sleep in and the promise of food when I woke up.

  He opened the door wider and let me walk in under the tunnel of his arm.

  I dropped immediately into the nearest chair. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you, Quentin.” My eyes closed of their own accord.

  My fanciful dreams had influenced it, I know, but the illusion of feeling loved was once again tangible when Quentin scooped me up and carried me to bed.

  I felt pulled from deep sleep just a few times. The cabin was dark and quiet. My heart would race for just a few seconds before Quentin’s even breathing and warm body would come back into focus. I’d wrap an arm or leg around him and slide back into nothingness.

  But I awoke alone.

  It was bright. We had a giant window on the wall opposite the door and the brilliant sunshine had chosen to peek in through the glass at me.

  Did I have a hangover? I couldn’t remember drinking, but there was no telling what had happened during my lapses in memory. “Crap!” I grabbed at my neck. Yes. Gems were still there. But my clothes were gone. That meant…

  I jumped up and jerked until the starched sheet came loose from the military style tucks at the foot. Toga clad, I searched the room. The shorts and top I’d been wearing had been folded on the chair just outside the bathroom. The pockets were empty.

  I sank to the floor in horror. What if Quentin had taken it back? What if it had been all a ploy to get me to trust him? If I had it, he could basically control it without having possession of it. He could have been waiting for the perfect moment to walk in and use that gem as the ultimate bargaining tool.

  What if right now he was back at headquarters fitting it into the final spot, creating the circle of power and proving to Mr. B his worth and claiming his place into right hand man? What if the island had already crumbled and I was stuck on a cruise ship, far from being of any help?

  “Please, God, no. Please don’t let him have taken it. Please give me one more chance, I’ll dump it in the ocean, anything.”

  I heard a throat clear behind me. Quentin stood with his hands on his hips and a lost puppy dog look on his face. I guess he hadn’t expected to find me wrapped in a king size sheet, crumpled on the floor and crying.

  “Go away,” I told him. Of course I meant the exact opposite. I just prayed that he hadn’t already.

  “You were so glad to see me last night, too. I had hoped you might learn to trust me, Ella.”

  “But…” I motioned at my shorts.

  “You shouldn’t leave it lying around, Ella. It could fall into the wrong hands.” He pulled the lipstick from his pocket and tossed it at me.

  I stared at the dark tube against the white sheet. Disbelieving. And afraid to open it.

  He must have figured it out. “I wouldn’t steal it, Ella. For crying out loud, I’m the one who gave it back to you. Or did you forget that already?”

  My mind flashed back to the scene where I learned he was betraying me to get to Winzey. I narrowed my eyes as the pain returned like a fresh knife to my chest.

  Quentin had tuned into my channel 3 reruns. “Before that, Ella, before Bergestein was there.”

  I saw the pillow and its glittering treasure and Quentin’s hand coming out of invisibility to grab my arm. I nearly jumped when he touched my shoulder.

  “Easy now. Go on, check to make sure it’s there. Then we’ll have to figure out a way for you to wear it.”

  “Wear it? Can I do that? But I thought there was some rule about having more than two?”

  “Just be careful with fire, okay? You’ll be pretty powerful.” He winked. His dimple winked too.

  “Now, I bet you’d like a shower, a toothbrush and some clean clothes?”

  “Oh yes.” I couldn’t convey how much.

  Quentin excused himself. He had other matters to attend to, which of course, just raised the hackles on the back of my neck. It was a creepy feeling even the hot, pounding shower couldn’t wash away.

  A ham sandwich was waiting for me when I stepped out of the fully steamed bathroom. The only thing missing was a razor. The poor patrons of the boat would have to deal with Queen Hairy Legs until I could get to the convenience store. That is, if I had any money.

  “What’s the chances of getting a razor for my next bath?”

  Quentin’s sideways grin said it all. “You finished faster than I thought.” He held up a brown sack. Make-up and deodorant? I certainly hoped so.

  The deepening creases around Quentin’s eyes told me yes. I wanted to cheer as if the Cubbies had just clinched the World Series. Hey, I live in a magic world. It really could happen.

  “What am I wearing?”

  “One heck of a sexy blue towel.” Quentin raised an eyebrow and tossed a glance at the still messed up bed.

  “Later,” I whispered. I wasn’t much of a seductress, but I could play a good flirt. “I’m interested in food. I hear cruise ship food is the best in the world.”

  “It certainly ranks near the top.”

  “So what are we waiting for?”

  He looked down at my towel. Oh. Yeah.

  “Clothes?”

  He stepped back and showed off two fancy suitcases. “Tell me these aren’t someone’s luggage?”

  “Hey, suitcases go missing all the time. No one here on this cruise. Do you have any idea how hard it was to mentally scan all the outgoing suitcases at the airport to find one that had our sizes?”

  I didn’t want to know. Really. “This doesn’t sound ethical.”

  “Unethical would be to let you go have brunch in your towel. You’d get plenty of attention, but I bet a few husbands would have to be tossed overboard to cool them off.”

  I didn’t believe his comments, except perhaps the attention comment. Regardless of a woman’s build, if she went to a public m
eal dressed like this there’d be talk.

  “So what’s in the suitcase?”

  He held out a strappy sundress. With big sunflowers on it. He was kidding, right?

  “No.”

  “No?” He asked. I think he’d liked it.

  “Well… Is there a white t-shirt in there to wear under it?” I was caving in.

  He frowned. “It ruins the cleavage.”

  “Tough!”

  He laughed and pitched the t-shirt at my face. The owner of the suitcase had obviously just bought herself a new set of clothes for her ill-fated trip. I hope she was wealthy enough to replace the items. And of course, Quentin would return these bags, slightly worn, to the airport when we were done.

  “I will?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. If I wasn’t afraid my towel would fall I’d reach out to slap him. I ducked back into the bathroom instead.

  He followed. “Here’s your supplies.”

  I didn’t even want to think where they came from. “If you must know, I used the money I had left and managed to do pretty well at the casino downstairs. Those items were bought honestly.”

  “Money you had left?” I queried, lifting an eyebrow.

  He simply smiled.

  Quentin gambled with what could only be stolen money and called the gains honest. You just gotta love the man for his warped sense of right and wrong.

  I figured any minute now the pirate police would arrive to cart us off to that area below deck prepared for just such offenders. The shock was, just the opposite happened. We were greeted as royalty and pulled into the midst of an overflowing food extravaganza.

  “Wow,” I exclaimed, pointing to my near empty plate with a fork full of Belgian waffle. I smiled as I licked the frosting off. “I’ve heard the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but on a place like this, I think I’d fit that category as well.”

  I meant it as a jest, not even slightly serious. I wasn’t even fishing for a comment back, perhaps a laugh, a smile at least. What I got was stony silence.

  I replayed my words. Had I gone too far? Did he think I was being pushy, even smothering? Dear God, what did I say to counteract that?

  “You should try the waffle,” was the best I could think of.

  “I think I’m full.”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted. I couldn’t have him getting all distant on me. Not after the warm comfort of the bed we’d shared. Not after I thought I’d gone and lost it all. I might be holding on by my fingernail, but this little hangnail wasn’t going to get rid of me.

  “For what?”

  “For saying what I did. I think we should leave our hearts out of it, don’t you? I was just, you know, using a cliché to mention how good the food was.”

  He waved me off like I was a bothersome fly. The tight-lipped smile contradicted his creased forehead. I could tell the difference, because the captain got the honor of a full dimpled smile when he walked by and clapped Quentin on the shoulder.

  It was too late.

  I was the cola someone had drained the caffeine from. And the carbon dioxide. I was flat and without energy. I feigned a headache and sought refuge on the sundeck, alternating between a seat with an umbrella and one without.

  The whole time I stared up at the crisp white lines and festive colors. Why should I have even entertained the idea that an illusion of harmony was possible for me? I chewed on my tongue, the perpetrator of this new mess.

  I sat up on my elbows and studied the bodies around me. Well, not actually the bodies themselves, just the people. The nice thing about a cruise ship, I realized, is the diversity. Quentin stood at the railing. His conversation with the forty-something mid-life crisis in a polo shirt was full of sharp animated hand gestures.

  “Hey, look at him,” I heard the breathy voice of a Hollywood vixen. I looked. There was more than one of them. Great. And they were looking in Quentin’s general direction.

  Please let them be thinking of the older fellow as a potential sugar daddy.

  “Wouldn’t you love to run your fingers through his hair?” Bimbo One said to Bimbo Two. Nope. It was Quentin. So while I was doing a wonderful job of pushing him away, these chicks were doing there best to land a lasso around him and lure into the silicone valleys.

  I faked looking at something over their heads to take in their fake tan and fake hair color and fake breasts. While I could almost stifle a laugh, I felt no less substandard.

  What a fun vacation I was having. I think I’d almost rather have my toenails plucked by a homicidal maniac. Well. I said almost.

  I did the next best thing. I walked away. Of course, the little green man sent me directly in Quentin’s direction. I stuck out a hip and touched his arm. “Honey, I’m going to lie down for a bit. I don’t have my key, can I use yours?”

  He looked straight through me, but relinquished the door card. I felt like sulking away. But that would defeat the purpose.

  “Thanks, sugar,” I cooed, loudly. And then turned heel and sashayed, at least I hope I sashayed, to the upper deck and the hallway to our room.

  The idea of a hot bath was tempting. But impractical. Duh, Ella, as if. I didn’t need to finish that. I turned on the faucet and plugged the drain. It was my bath and I would enjoy it.

  I shouldn’t have looked at myself in the full length mirror while I slipped out of my clothes. My thighs were heavier than the current designers had intended a woman’s to be and my stomach had nothing in common with a washboard. The sun obviously wasn’t interested in mutating my melanin, for there wasn’t even the slightest tan line to be found.

  And I wondered why I was still single?

  I piled the stick straight, dark hair on my head and contemplated my features. Sure, I could paint my eyes just so and look more oriental. Or maybe pull off an American Indian look. Too bad the lithe body that accompanies a face like that had abandoned me at birth.

  “Ugh,” I told the mirror.

  So I lowered myself into hot water, yelping little curses as my skin turned the color of sunburn. See? I felt like yelling to the orb of fire, water can change the color, why can’t you?

  But my tension dissolved like a bitter pill and I didn’t have the energy to even mouth the words. I didn’t bother to fix my hair when it rebelled against the bobby pins. I didn’t even care when the phone rang.

  Tough. Quentin, eat your heart out. I’m on a date with Neptune.

  I was too lazy to even wonder if Neptune was even close to the right name to give a god of water. Hey, in my world it was right, just for that moment. Bliss.

  “Ella?”

  I hadn’t even heard the door open.

  “In the tub.”

  The way we kept meeting in the bathroom was uncanny. “What do you want?” I hollered, hoping beyond hope he’d just answer me and not have to invade my false sense of peacefulness.

  I should have known better.

  He’d changed into his swimsuit. I groaned. Yeah, that’s all I needed. A distraction. He leaned against the bathroom counter with his long, tanned legs and arms crossed.

  My water suddenly went tepid. I guess he had something to do with it.

  “What-”

  “You ran away,” he accused.

  “How could I have run? I was sitting in the sun and decided I’d had enough.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you mean, yeah?” I reached over and gave the hot water tap a quick flick of the wrist. His muttered answer was drowned in the gurgle of the water starting to drain.

  “What are you doing now, running away again?” His louder comment managed to reach over the noise. I stood up and pulled the shower door closed.

  “No. Just showering.”

  “Helluva avoidance technique. Maybe I wanted to talk to you now.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” Soap ran into my mouth. Ugh. I hadn’t even said the “f” word. Yet.

  “About why we’re here and what we’re
going to do.”

  I was too busy gargling hot water and scrubbing my tongue with my finger to answer.

  I spat out the last of the sudsy water. “What time is it?” I was technically done. My hair was washed and conditioned and my body squeaky clean.

  “Time for you to come out before you start looking like one of those senior citizens. Though you might fit in on this particular cruise.”

  I glanced at my crocodilian fingers. “Hey,” I called back, “my breasts aren’t big enough to sag like theirs.”

  That earned a laugh.

  “Besides,” I continued. “You just said you wanted me to stay in the bath so you could talk to me.”

  I flipped off the water as he forced an exaggerated groan. “I’m going to get dressed now. You can leave.” I made the little pushy motion toward the door by sticking one hand out of the opaque door.

  “Okay.”

  He agreed too easily. But I heard him walk toward the door and it opened and closed.

  I stuck my head out. It looked like the coast was clear. “Well, fine then.” I got out and immediately clicked my heels to go invisible.

  “Hey!”

  I knew it.

  “Quentin, when I said leave, I meant really leave.” All the while I yanked a shirt over my still wet body. Once sufficiently covered, I popped back into visibility.

  He appeared with a chocolate-dipped strawberry held inches in front of my lips.

  “Oh,” I gasped. He slid the blunt point of the fruit against my semi-parted lips. His green eyes darkened as mine widened in surprise.

  My eyes remained locked on his. They had nowhere else to go. The chocolate on the fruit had softened and melted against my tongue. “Oh.”

  I let him push a little harder and fill my mouth with the drug-like taste of chocolate.

  “Bite it,” he whispered. I did.

  The sweet juice squirted against the inside of my cheeks, bubbling on my tongue and running out. This was edible ecstasy.

  My body felt a million miles away yet zinged with the lightning bolts of every nerve ending. Taste had become the most important sensation. I felt enslaved by it, but didn’t care.

  He slid the sweetness from between my lips. It was a lover leaving me, its warmth replaced with coldness.