Caribbean Crossroads (3 page)

Stepping on the short black bridge from the dock to the ship with her ID card ready, Megan paused. This was it. Now or never, no turning back, no crying to Mama—though she would never do that anyway.
Gazing up at the massive ship and back down to her small feet, she breathed in the salt air, adjusted her luggage hold, and strode across the gangplank.

Somewhere behind her, Megan felt that same impression of someone watching her. But this time, she tossed her head and walked on.

***

Megan searched the hallway signs for “Vista Deck,” trying to remember Jillian’s breathless information on the dock. If only she had the paper. For no reason at all, a
tall, blond man in a mango T-shirt came to mind.

Jerk.

Mentally, she continued to deride him for five more minutes, noting the way his white teeth had stood out against his tanned face. Why had he looked at her that way? It had been so odd—and yet compelling. Megan shook her head, ignoring a small flutter in her stomach. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had more important things to focus on. Like not making a complete fool of herself at the first rehearsal. And finding her room.

After a few more minutes of wandering hallways, Megan paused. Angry sounds echoed from around the nearest corner and she edged closer for a look.

A large man standing with his back to her wearing bright shorts and black socks berated a maid standing at her cart.

“I said fresh towels. Does it look like I have fresh towels?”

“No, sir, bery sorry. No one say to me.” A Latino girl—maybe in her early twenties—standing next to a cleaning cart handed him a stack of white towels. She bowed her head apologetically.

“And I asked for them ten minutes ago. What’s wrong with you people?”

The man stomped away in the opposite direction while the girl wiped her eyes and began placing golden wrapped chocolates in a decorative bag. 

Megan wasn’t sure what to do until the girl looked up at her and gave a hesitant but courteous smile.

Megan walked toward her. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes watered slightly but she nodded.

“You must work very hard,” said Megan, not knowing what else to say.

“Yes, I work bery hard,” she said it quietly, as a statement. But there was a confidence to her, and an optimism in her tone.

Megan took in the light sheen of perspiration on the girl’s skin and the dark puffy circles beneath her eyes. “Thanks for all you do. I’m sure there are some long days. Hopefully you know the passengers appreciate it.”

With a shy smile the girl passed Megan a chocolate, which she accepted. “Thanks. I mean, ‘gracias.’ I don’t remember much of my high school Spanish. But your English is very good.”

The girl nodded as a little child. “I teach you. My name. You say, ‘Cómo te llamas.’ Okay? You try?”

Megan unwrapped the chocolate. “Cómo te—was it llamas?”

“Rosa. Mucho gusto. Dat means, nice meet you. I speak only English, dat is good, no? So I ask you, what your name?”

“Megan McCormick.”

“Very pretty name for pretty girl. Now, how help you? Are ju lost?”

Megan felt the watched feeling again and looked around the fluorescent-lit hallway, barely wide enough for the cart and another person. She thought she saw a blur of mango color at the hall intersection but maybe she was wrong. “I’m trying to find the Vista Deck, and I think room
535.”

She nodded knowingly. “Dis good news. Dis Vista Deck. All singers and dancers stay on dis floor, no? Boys here, girls dere. Make it separate, good idea, no?” Rosa shared an earnest look that made Megan laugh.

“Good idea, yes,” said Megan. “Thanks, these chocolates are really tasty. I mean, gracias for la chocolate?”

Rosa’s smile spread over her face. “Bery good, Megan McCormick.” She handed Megan several more chocolates and pointed to the right hallway with her other hand. “Buena suerte. Dat good luck.” She entered the open room door behind the cleaning cart.

“Buena suerte, Rosa.” Megan turned and walked a few feet to the end of the hallway when she saw a familiar back of a head walking away from his room—the video gamer with the junior high hair cut from dockside, it had to be. He would know where the Coral Stage was.

He turned the corner and she hurried after him only to smack into Surfer Boy.

“Oh, I’m so—
you
?” Megan blushed.

“Still me, last time I checked.” He just stood there—a six foot two, massively attractive mango road block. How long had he been standing there—was he the color blur from earlier? Possible, but realistically, what reason would he have for watching her talk with a maid?

Megan needlessly adjusted her shoulder luggage strap. “I meant … I mean—” She couldn’t gather her thoughts. Looking down at her, he wore a particular smile—less arrogant than before, this time more gentle and appraising. As Megan tried to get by him they sidestepped a few times before she finally put her free hand on his chest to stop him.

In a shocking second, something of a tingle passed through her, like the first seconds of immersing her cold body in a hot bath. Touching a man—it had been a while and she had forgotten how it felt, like this.

No. 

 She did not want to feel that, to feel anything.

“Okay—I’m passing on the right,” she said.

“Need help with your—”

“Nope, I’m good.” She had already moved beyond him, striding down the hall without looking back. She refused to think about the hot bath tingle.

A few minutes later she found room 535
but realized in the surprise meeting of Surfer Boy, she still didn’t know the location of the Coral Stage. Megan groaned. After pulling out her dance wear, she quickly stowed her luggage in the cabin’s miniscule drawers and—as she was the only one present—chose the left bottom bunk. Jillian was apparently still with lover boy and there was no sign of her other roommates, except for an expensive-looking set of baby blue embossed suitcases. Megan located a ship’s map and after changing clothes headed in the right direction.

By the time she entered the theater doorway, Megan could see that most of the cast and crew members sat down near the stage in the cool, dimly lit room. Clint was talking to a few of the cast, and though she couldn’t clearly see, one of them looked like the surfer boy. To her immediate right she noticed Marvy standing a few rows close to her, holding onto some costume pieces and looking perplexed at several large boxes on the ground.

“Can I help with something?” said Megan.

“Ah, Michelle.” Megan smiled at the mistake but said nothing. “No, I’m—well, yes, maybe you can, just for a minute.” She stole a glance at the stage. “I need to find the matching waist sash to this one skirt but my silly sciatica is acting up right now. Makes it hard to bend. I don’t want Clint to know because
he’ll make a big tadoo about it and think I need to go lie down, like I’m an old woman or something.” 

Though she’d spoken lightly, Megan could see the deep lines in her face beneath the stage makeup Marvy typically wore. For the first time Megan thought how hard it must be for a woman to age in this business. 

“Not a problem,” said Megan, keeping her voice private and       surveying the blue skirt. “It’s probably more about these boxes, sitting down on the floor like this.” She lifted up one of the narrow but deep boxes onto       the seat. Though heavy it was doable, and she quickly sifted through for the match.

“Bingo,” said Megan, handing her the blue ribbon sash that had slid near the bottom.        

Marvy smiled and thanked her, seeming suddenly shy and embarrassed. “Just my silly back. Sometimes it has a mind of its own.” Megan gave her a comforting smile then hurried down to the front, scanning for Jillian, who was in earnest conversation with Derek, and sat beside her.

Amidst the murmur of chatter, Megan looked around the medium-sized hall which appeared fairly new and able to hold maybe 150 or more. She was about to mention this to Jillian when someone plopped down next to her. The scent of ocean surf and man hit her first, and then the realization.

Megan stared at him. Where had he come from? She did not want to think about men, especially hot performers who were likely I’m-too-sexy-for-my-shirt kind of men.

She took in his easygoing manner as he settled back in the chair. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem like that kind of person. In fact, he reminded her of her brother, Sam. A smile started on her face, then she stopped. No, she would not think that. Just because he looked fairly harmless meant nothing. Like a mantra, she must remind herself of that very point, several times a day. It was crucial she kept up her guard,
especially
in this environment where looks could definitely be deceiving.

He turned and smiled—relaxed, and completely unaware of the stomach flutter he caused in her again.

Megan shifted to a cool demeanor. “You again?”

“I was actually given a Christian name.”

“St. Annoying?”

He showed no response and bent a knee over his leg, tanned calves showing below khaki shorts.

“Bryant, actually. And this is Chad.” He thumbed to the person next to him.

The video gamer guy. Still intent on his game, he nevertheless looked up. “Hey,” he said, and returned to his game.

“A pleasure,” Megan said to Bryant, her voice syrupy. His wavy caramel-colored hair touched a shaving knick along his strong jawline. For no reason Megan smoothed her hair.

“So, what did Marvy need?” He had a kind of bemused, interested look on his face.

Marvy? Had he been watching them? “Oh, nothing, really. Just girl chat.” His eyebrows raised and Megan faced front, her face beginning to get warm. 

Clint and Marvy now entered stage left, parading out and touching hands like it was opening night. He gave her a slight twirl, and they took a mock bow to the applause.

“Sorry we’re late getting started—it was my toupee. But don’t say anything, Marvy still thinks it’s real.” He raised his eyebrows in a dramatic gesture. “All right folks, thanks for coming on time and seeing as we don’t have much of it, we’ll cut to the chase. Marvy?”

With a slight flourish she moved to center stage. “You all look lovely, truly lovely.” She beamed. “Now, remember, rehearsals are today and tomorrow, that’s all we have. Then it’s show time, as they say. Matinee performances are at 4:00 on sea days and
night performances at 8:00 and 10:00 p.m. Green room is an hour before performance, but of course it all depends on your makeup and costume needs.” She gazed meaningfully at a few people.

Clint stepped up beside her. “Thanks, Marvy. Now people, your orientation packet has all the details but I want to emphasize the basic rules. Don’t forget that you’ve all been hand-picked—the best that west coast Christian schools have to offer. That means you’re gonna see a lot of things happening on this ship that you’re not to participate in.”

Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats, a few mumbled, and two girls turned to each other and laughed quietly at a private joke.

“Yes, I know, I’m the happy God-fairy who gets to make all your restrictive dreams come true. I have to answer to the board, but more worrisome than that, to your parents. I don’t care if you’re over 21—you know what’s expected so let’s go through the short list. No going anywhere on excursions without a buddy, especially in Jamaica. Curfew is at midnight, one a.m. on performance nights. And there is no, and I mean absolutely, don’t mean maybe, NO dating of cast members. Did you all catch that last sentence? Jasmine, take out your earbuds. What did I just say?”

A red-haired girl with a bored expression took out one earbud. “Buddy. Curfew. No messing around with the hired help.” She put the earbud back in.

“Right on cue, Jaz,” said Clint.

Megan leaned over to Jillian. “But isn’t that how you met Derek? I thought you said this was the place to meet guys. But if you can’t date . . . I mean, not that I’m interested, just that—”

Jillian whispered back. “It’s the biggest joke. Fifteen marriages and counting, but we all get that it’s ‘the rule,’ for the parents’ sake. And the board’s.”

Megan shrugged her shoulders. Show biz.

 “Okay, ladies and gents.” Clint clapped his hands. “Everybody up onstage. Let’s do a run-through with the salsa number first. Grab your partner and to your marks—sound crew to the booth. Lighting and stage crew, you know what to do. Tape is on the floor, so look for your color.”

Everyone seemed to know what to do, except Megan. Following Jillian, she nervously moved to the outside of the stage, a black half-circle outlined in lights. Clint walked to the center of the stage with what appeared to be the star performers—the girl named Brittany was there. And Bryant
.

So he was a star performer. Hmm.

She didn’t know why she was surprised. He seemed on the ball, but her idea of a star performer was all charm and no conscience. That didn’t fit him. Well, what she had seen of him anyway.

As the cast gathered on the stage, Megan tried to look more confident than she felt. She glanced around the room, noting the minor performers in an outline on the frontal half-moon and guessed her spot. The recent hours of dance practice evaporated into a blank screen. She fought down the panic.

Jillian scooted up to her. “Just like we rehearsed. Be natural. No stress. Breathe.” Then hurried back to her position. Megan nodded and smiled, but swallowed down momentary reflux. 

After a few minutes of cueing the music and testing the lights, hot salsa beats exploded from an excellent sound system. Megan’s stomach clutched—it
had
to be the salsa. It was the toughest dance in the lineup.

Marvy took on an intense countenance—clapping beats, shouting directions, correcting dance steps. Megan partnered with Garrett, an amiable young man with shoulder-length dark hair. Together they managed the tempo and moved fairly well. Just as she started to get it, they entered a complex series of movements, and passed through an X-formation with each other, moving like Vegas performers but doing salsa steps and turns. Megan tried desperately to keep up.

Bam. Megan slammed right into a perfectly coiffed guy.

“What are you doing?” he yelled over the music, and with a disgusted sound, hurried to his rightful spot. She didn’t have time to apologize, though it wasn’t necessary—she bumped into him several more times before the rehearsal was over.