Authors: Joanna Rees
Romy, still in shock from her ordeal in the brothel, had been relieved to find someone having a worse night than her and had struck up a conversation with Christian. Glad to be talking in her
native language, she’d asked him what he was doing and why he was annoyed.
‘I’m playing cards,’ he’d said. ‘I’m losing.’
She’d peeked around him through the open doors into the warm kitchens beyond. She’d been willing to bet anything there’d be hot food in there.
‘Why don’t you let me play in your place?’ she’d suggested, seizing her chance.
‘You?’ The German guy had looked her up and down.
Romy had held up the note the girl at the Tube station gave her. ‘I’m good. An expert. I’ll split my winnings fifty-fifty with you.’
He’d nodded. ‘OK, you’re in. Don’t let me down.’
That night Romy had cleaned up, to the delight of Christian and the amazement of Dieter, Gazim, Harry, Bernard and Luca. After the game, when the guys had discovered that Romy was homeless and
she’d told them about her journey from Germany, Christian had taken pity on her and smuggled her up the staff stairwell to a spare room, where she’d broken down and told Christian what
had happened to her with Carlos and about her horrible ordeal with Jimmy.
Christian had given her a big hug. ‘You make your own luck,’ he’d told her. ‘You just made yours, by finding me.’
The next morning he’d woken her gently, given her a staff uniform and taken her hooker’s clothes to burn in the incinerator.
‘It didn’t happen,’ he’d told her. ‘I’ve made you an appointment with a doctor to check you’re OK, then you’re going to forget all about last
night. Forever. But for now, you’d better get up. I’ve got you an interview lined up with the hotel manager at nine. Here’s a list of places I want you to memorize to tell him
that you’ve worked.’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘The fact that I’ve vouched for you should seal it, I think.’
He’d been right. Romy had started work at the hotel that very afternoon. Christian had even fudged some typed references for her. Two days later her results from the doctor had come back
clean. More of that luck that Christian had told her was hers.
Romy had loved her time at the hotel. Working out with Christian, she’d learnt how to use the weights in the gym and build up her stamina. She’d learnt to cook and clean properly and
had improved her English beyond measure, obliterating her crude German accent, by mimicking the snatches of television soaps that she caught every day, until she could do a perfect Bet Lynch from
Coronation Street
and Sharon Gless from
Cagney & Lacey
.
But most of all she loved hearing all the stories from the guys when they played poker at night. Secret relationships, tales of being an outcast – Romy related to them all. As the hotel
guests came and went, she’d strike up conversations with them, and later identified all the places they’d been in the atlas she’d bought in a second-hand charity shop, along with
a growing assortment of funky second-hand clothes and boots.
When Christian had discovered her thirst for knowledge of the world, he’d put her in touch with one of his friends, a chef on the cruise ship
Norway
. Once Romy’s passport had
come through from Yanos, the Pole who could procure anything for the right price, she’d got a job as crew.
Yes, she was on her way, she thought, looking out again at New York and the cars in the distance glinting along the edge of Central Park. And those buildings. They were amazing, she thought,
looking at one of the skyscrapers with a big gold M on the top. What would it be like to stand on the top of there? she wondered.
Closer to, on the
Norway
, she could hear the whoops of the kids jumping in the pool on the aft upper deck, and a band playing ‘When the Saints Come Marching In’ wafting
towards her on the breeze. Then a noise right behind her made her jump.
‘What are you doing out here?’ Donna asked, in her rough Australian accent. She flopped against the railings breathlessly. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for
you.’
Donna was Romy’s friend and room-mate on board
Norway
. She was small with blonde hair, tapered up the back of her head, with a long fringe that she liked to backcomb. She had an
infectious laugh and the drinking capacity of a man three times her size.
‘There’ll be a party later on, when we dock. Clark’s got some mates he can hook you up with,’ Donna said, wiggling her eyebrows.
Romy couldn’t think of anything worse than being match-made with one of Clark’s buddies. Affairs amongst the crew were rife and carried out in public, and Romy had managed to steer
clear of becoming involved with anyone. Sure, there were nice enough guys, but Romy didn’t ever seem to fancy any of them. Not like Donna, who permanently had a crush on someone.
‘What about Dwight?’ Donna asked, widening her eyes. ‘He’s single now.’
Romy laughed, thinking of the pimply bartender. ‘You think I’d go for Dwight?’
‘He’s a great guy, and he thinks you’re hot. He told me.’ She fixed Romy with a look. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, you know.’
‘Who says I’m begging?’ Romy said, playfully punching her arm. Donna had no idea about the kind of man she secretly dreamt of ending up with. It would sound silly to say it out
loud, but Romy had read too many novels to be swayed from the idea that one day she’d be swept off her feet. Instead she gave a practical reason for turning Dwight down. ‘Aren’t
you forgetting the bunny-boiler?’
Donna nodded, taking Romy’s point on board. Susie, Dwight’s ex-girlfriend, had got her nickname after
Fatal Attraction
– the favourite movie in the crew mess at the
moment – when Susie had publicly shredded the teddy that Dwight had given her, in a fit of hysteria. Romy was happy to steer well clear.
‘Thank you. But no,’ she said firmly, closing the subject.
‘Aww, come on, Romy. You’re young and you’re OK-looking, for a Pom. If you can’t live a little now, when can you?’ Donna asked, and Romy laughed at her familiar
refrain. ‘Pah, I’m wasting my breath. We’d better get back to work. Anyway, I forgot. You’re working the tables tonight, right?’
‘Yes, thanks to you,’ Romy said.
Two of the American crew members had applied for immediate shore leave on compassionate grounds, meaning that Romy had temporarily been promoted to junior croupier, when Donna had grassed to
Heston, the Casino Manager, about Romy’s card skills and her quick head for numbers. Tonight was her first night in the Monte Carlo casino.
‘Think of all the tips,’ Donna said. ‘You’ll be able to save them for the day when you finally decide to have fun.’
That evening the casino was full and Romy couldn’t get enough of the atmosphere, the sheer noise and exhilaration of the room, the whirring roulette wheel and the clatter
of chips. As well as the high-flying guests on the
Norway
, people came from Manhattan to sample the delights of the famous cruise ship, and Heston, the Manager, had already given her way
more responsibility than she was expecting.
‘So far so good,’ Heston said, after she’d finished croupiering a long game of seven-card stud. He waved over to a man in a croupier’s jacket. ‘Meet Xavier,’
Heston shouted over the din, introducing the Spanish-looking man with a floppy fringe and brown eyes. ‘Lives here in New York. He’s helping us out for the night.’ He clapped
Xavier on the shoulder. ‘Can’t we tempt you back to
Norway
, Xav?’
‘Maybe,’ Xavier said.
Romy felt a wave of something so unexpectedly physical that she had to rip her eyes away from his to the floor. Who
was
this guy? Had the heat just turned up in the room? Why did she
suddenly feel so hot?
She felt tongue-tied and shy, as she and Xavier prepared the table. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him and the way his strong, nimble fingers caressed and stacked the chips. Suddenly
everything seemed heightened – Whitney Houston singing ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ on the sound system, the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume, the bright-green baize, the
heat of the room, the sweat on her glass of icy water.
And then Xavier was talking to her, as if they’d known each other for ages. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips and his trendy goatee beard, as he told her about how he was once
head croupier on the
Norway
and how he was starting his own bar in Brooklyn.
Take me there
, she found herself thinking. Yet she hardly knew the guy, she told herself, unnerved by the feeling that was growing inside her. So what if Xavier was cooler and more
sophisticated than anyone she’d met on the
Norway
so far? She was here to work.
But as the play began she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him and the easy way he charmed the guests. He was always professional, but he had a way of complimenting the women and
congratulating the men, when they won a hand, that made everyone warm to him. No wonder Heston had been delighted to get Xavier back for an evening.
‘You’ll have to go to that table, Romy,’ Heston said, nodding over towards the table by the bar, where a group of guys was raucously drinking cocktails. ‘They’re up
next.’
Reluctantly Romy tore herself away and went to stand by the far table, smiling nervously as she sorted the stacks of cards and chips. These guys looked like city hotshots – yuppies,
she’d read people called them now – with their slicked-back hair and sharp, shiny suits. She looked over at Xavier, who winked at her reassuringly, and she smiled back.
‘Is it a special occasion, gentlemen?’ she asked, quelling her nerves and taking Xavier’s confidence on board, as she dealt out the cards for the first round.
‘Sean here is getting hitched next weekend,’ one of the guys slurred, putting his arm drunkenly around his friend.
They played badly, roaring loudly when they lost their hands against the house. But still they kept on playing, thanks to the beefy blond one, who got more chips from the cashier. He had a
swagger about him, an arrogance, that was only backed up by the fact that all the other men looked up to him.
Romy noticed him watching her as she handed out the chips. He was drunk too. A mean drunk. Not good-natured, like Sean, who could barely keep himself upright on his stool.
‘Have we met before?’ the blond one asked her, in a break between games, when the boys were getting their drinks from the hostess. ‘You seem familiar.’
‘No,’ she said, trying to smile. But something about his eyes unnerved her. They were cold and assessing. She’d seen eyes like that before.
Fox’s.
That never happened
.
But the buried memory had punctured through her wall of lies and she felt her heart thumping hard, as the blond guy continued to stare at her. She watched him taking out one of those brand-new
mobile phones and pretending to make a call on it, before putting it back in his pocket, clearly assuming that she’d be impressed.
In the next break, again when his friends were distracted, he grabbed her hand.
‘I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to come back to my apartment,’ he said in a low voice.
Romy ripped her hand away, colour rising to her cheeks.
At that moment Sean let out a whoop as he won the hand, his arm flailing out and catching the tray of drinks that the waitress was holding, sending shot glasses and a bottle of tequila
flying.
‘OK, my friend. Time to go,’ Xavier said, twisting Sean round on the stool and letting him stumble off into his arms.
‘Come on, man. It was an accident,’ one of Sean’s friends protested.
‘Sorry. House rules. You gotta be able to sit upright to play. You better take your buddy somewhere else, boys.’
He helped Sean to the door, the others around him protesting, but good-naturedly. The blond guy was last to leave.
‘If you change your mind, it’ll be a thousand,’ the guy added, leaning in close. She could smell whisky on his breath. ‘You are very beautiful.’
He slid a card, with its embossed gold name, across the green baize towards her.
When the shift was finished and the last gamblers had staggered to bed, Romy lingered so that she could walk out with Xavier. Tiredness pinched her eyes, as she watched the sun
lightening the skyline of New York, glinting on the top of the Twin Towers.
‘You OK?’ Xavier asked, as she sighed, looking out at the city.
‘Sure,’ Romy smiled.
‘You did great tonight,’ he said, taking off his jacket. ‘It was tough – even for an old-timer like me.’ He held his jacket over his shoulder. She hadn’t
noticed how broad and strong his shoulders were, despite his slim frame. He obviously worked out.
‘Are you going back now?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve got an apartment downtown.’
The words sounded so impossibly glamorous. She trailed her hand along the wooden railing, noticing the way the sunlight was turning it gold.
‘So you wouldn’t consider signing back on with the
Norway
?’ she asked, hopefully.
Xavier laughed. ‘There’s lots about it I miss. But you can’t stay too long. People go stir-crazy if they stay too long.’
‘Is that what happened to you?’
‘I got shacked up with a waitress. She was a nice girl, but it didn’t work on dry land. The ship gives you a warped perspective of what people are really like.’
Is that what he thought she had? Romy wondered. A warped perspective? She hoped not. Because she couldn’t bear to take her eyes from his face.
‘You were great dealing with those guys earlier. Heston was impressed.’
Romy picked out the card from her pocket and the cash that the blond guy had given her.
‘One of them even had the nerve to give me his card. To ask me back with him.’
‘People like that think they can get anything – and anyone.’
‘Yeah, well he was wrong,’ Romy said. ‘Brett Maddox,’ she read. ‘MD Media Division, Maddox Inc.’ She ripped it up into little pieces and let them go. They
fluttered away like confetti on their long descent to the water.
‘He was right about one thing, though,’ Xavier said, as they stopped at the top of the staircase.
‘What’s that?’