Chapter Five

 

 

The next morning Tess returned to her cabin at the same time as the arrival of the breakfast tray. After she opened the door for the steward, she took the tray from him and thanked him. The aroma of heavenly coffee drifted up to her, but she suspected Aaron’s stomach couldn’t tolerate anything stronger than hot tea, which she’d already ordered. Chamomile, to be precise.

Aaron’s empty, rumpled bed greeted her, but retching noises in the bathroom signaled his location. She set the tray down and arranged the pills, which the ship’s doctor had given her early that morning, on one of the cloth napkins.

“Ugh, food,” groaned Aaron when he emerged from the bathroom and spied the breakfast tray. Although his face was still pale, his eyes were clear. A definite good sign. Sometime during the night, his fever had broken and she’d slipped out of his bed, undressed and had managed a few hours of sleep in her own bed.

“Good morning to you, too, Skin.” Like a stern mother, she handed him two capsules and a glass of water. “The doctor says these’ll do the trick.”

“Y’mean, take me out of my misery? Good, it must be cyanide.” His self-deprecating grin vanished as he washed the pills down. His eyes, though, shone with gratitude as he glanced over her tank top and shorts outfit.

She flashed him a wry smile. “Black humor—also a good sign. Now sit down and drink some tea. Try and eat some toast, too. These pills are strong so whatever you do today, you need someone with you. In other words, no scuba, no water-skiing, no driving motor bikes or ATV’s.”

He slumped onto his bed but did as he was told, appearing too weak to offer resistance. Steam curled up from his cup, which he sniffed cautiously with a grimace. Then, sipping the hot tea, he closed his eyes and sighed raggedly.

“I swear to you, Red, I’ll never eat junk food again. No more taco stands for me. Today we’re in Acapulco? Damn, I wanted to rent a motorbike and go out to see those famous cliff divers.” Aaron glanced wistfully at the cloudless, cerulean sky outside their cabin window and frowned. His disappointment touched her.

“Look, Skin, if you feel better—” she consulted her watch—“in one hour, we’ll go on that motorcoach excursion to the cliffs. I’ll watch over you, make sure you don’t throw up on your new, little girlfriend…who, by the way, is one callous bitch. In fact, let’s not invite her to join us.”

Despite his obvious battle with nausea, his expression took on a more chipper cast, even though he ignored her barb about Sherry.

“Okay, you’re on. Give whatever-the-hell-these-pills-are one hour to work. They say we stumble to our destinies with blind faith…so let’s see what happens. Either you hate me and those are poison or you love me and I’ll get well. Hey, Red, it’s almost medieval intrigue.”

She laughed at his wit and took up her coffee. That was Aaron. Although there were times she could kill him, his cleverness always made her laugh. God, how she’d missed him this past year since she’d begun seeing Porter!

“Jeez, I smell like a corpse…and not a fresh one, either,” he added, standing up and stripping off the tank top that he’d slept in. “I’m in dire need of a shower.”

“Feel up to it?” she asked. The dubious look she threw him broke off as his bare chest distracted her. The hair in his armpits was dark blond, a shade darker than his head hair, but, strangely, lighter than his sideburns. The same dark blond in the hair that arrowed between his pecs to a fine line down his chiseled abdomen and disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. Had she noticed this before? All the shades of blond and brown hair on his body? She watched him as he wiped his chest with his sweat-stained shirt. A flush spread up from his neck to his cheeks when he caught her staring.

“I look that bad, huh? Well, here goes. If you hear a crash, Red, promise you’ll come in the shower with me…and help me out. Y’know, soap up my back, my ass. I don’t know if I can do it by myself…I’m so weak.”

The sly smile on his face made her wave him away with a smirk. She attacked one of the muffins between sips of strong, chicory-tasting coffee. Caught off-guard when he continued to stand there, she looked up. His hands on his hips, he suddenly stared down at his cup of tea as if trying to read the tea leaves. His guarded look, the one she’d seen lately on him, reappeared. Apparently, something was on his mind.

“I was out of it last night…my head, y’know. Did I say something stupid or offensive?”

“Stupid, probably. Offensive, no. In fact, it was sweet. In a slightly insane sort of way.”

“Insane? Yeah, well, that sounds like me. What did I say?”

Tess repressed an outrageous teasing remark, but her resolve cracked and she ended up giggling, anyway. “I think you proposed to me. That’s happened only twice to me.”

Aaron’s handsome face scrunched up and, with his knuckles, scrubbed the blond stubble on both cheeks. His eyes studying her, he took a long sip of tea.

“Proposed what? Sex? God, Red, if I did, I apologize.”

She grinned. “No, not sex. Something worse. Marriage. Marriage and kids. The whole enchilada.”

Aaron coughed, spraying the tray with tea. With a fist, he pounded his sternum to make himself stop. Meanwhile, Tess broke up in soft laughter.

“Aw, bullshit. I did no such thing—” he insisted.

“Well, Skin, you sure did. But don’t worry, I turned you down.” Reflexively, she glanced down at her ring finger and the huge diamond solitaire. Too late, she realized what that silly motion would imply to Aaron. That he could never measure up to what she wanted. It was not something she meant to imply, for she sensed at some level he’d be hurt by it. To cover her misstep, she added jokingly, “Not that I wasn’t flattered. I was, and if things don’t work out for Porter and me, I’d love a rain check.”

A series of emotions played over his face, so rapidly and subtly that Tess wasn’t certain she could read his reaction. Whatever it was, he covered his expression with an exaggerated look of disbelief and humor.

“Good thing you turned me down,” he said, wiping his hand over his forehead, “I couldn’t afford you, baby. You’re too high maintenance.”

He unzipped his khaki shorts, turned his back and stepped out of them. This time he was wearing white briefs and these clung as nicely as the black ones to his buttocks. He turned to the side and tossed them on his bed as if he were shooting a basket. Her eyes strayed to his groin and the partial erection that made his briefs poke out a little in front. He darted her a cavalier wink before disappearing behind the wall divider.

“You don’t have to be so snotty,” she said around a mouthful of banana-nut muffin. There went her diet and she didn’t even give a hoot. She swallowed hard and cried out, “You should talk. You’re so not husband material. A girl would have to be crazy to accept your proposal.”

The next thing she heard was muffled swearing and the sound of his shower turning on.

Yep. She knew it. That was Skin the Savior talking last night. Feverish and delusional, her own personal Sir Galahad only wanted to save her from a loveless marriage and a childless future. He wasn’t really serious. Certainly not about her.

The emotion that flooded her next was a mixture of relief and heart-sinking disappointment. The disappointment bothered and confused her. How could she feel so conflicted? Did Aaron really feel such disdain for her? In Aaron’s eyes, she was a greedy witch perhaps…but by her own view, she was justified in seeking a secure future for herself.

Did money really mean that much to her? Sure, it did! She never wanted to be poor again! Never be helpless and at someone else’s mercy. That much, she’d sworn to herself, was a foregone conclusion. No one else was going to give financial security to her, except Porter. Bless his cynical yet romantic, aging heart.

Nevertheless, Aaron’s disdain—though delivered jokingly—still hurt. Would he have praised her if she’d chosen to marry a penniless, older man? And why the hell was Aaron’s opinion so important anyway? He hadn’t been very wise in his choice of girlfriends over the years. His girls never stayed around for long. As soon as they realized he wasn’t going to wine and dine them or shower them with gifts or a marriage proposal, they were gone.

If he didn’t like her choice of husband, too bad!

 

Standing on the top most level of six terraced patios, she and Aaron watched the graceful dives of four young Mexican men from the rocky cliffs at the southern tip of Acapulco Bay. One after another, each man rose on his toes and leaped out, arms outspread like an eagle’s wings, poised in the air in a seemingly frozen tableau. Dropping suddenly, each one cut the water with his hands raised high above his head. A moment later, the young daredevil emerged to an eruption of applause and catcalls.

“Poetry in motion,” Aaron marveled, shaking his head in awe.

“Their timing has to be perfect,” Tess agreed, “just when the wave comes in. Jeez, what a way to make a living.”

“Hey, we all do what we’re compelled to do, whether it’s singing, composing or diving a hundred feet.”

He took her elbow and indicated the terra cotta steps. As the divers moved through the crowd, assembled on the six tiers, collecting tips, she and Aaron made their way toward the steps. They stuffed a few pesos in one diver’s hand, but before moving on, the young man’s brown eyes grew big as he took in Tess from head to toe.

“Que bonita!” he gushed, grasping her hand. He smiled and showed even white teeth, then added with Latino gusto, “Marry me, pretty woman!”

Tess laughed in appreciation, but hooked her arm through Aaron’s. “My boyfriend, so sorry.”

The young diver feigned exaggerated chagrin, then turned to move on to collect more tips. Aaron clasped her hand, pressing it in place in the crook of his elbow. “Another marriage proposal, Red. Things’re looking up for you. So is this guy better husband material than I am?”

“The cliff diver? Only if he has a million-dollar life insurance policy.”

“Always the cynic, huh?”

“No, always the realist.” On her heels, Tess leaned against Aaron for balance on the steps just as much as he leaned into her for a little support when weakness threatened to overcome him. She sneaked a quick look at his face. “Three proposals of marriage in two days. Wow! This could go to a girl’s head. I must be on a winning streak. Hmm, wonder if Mexico has a lottery.”

“Huh, a dying man’s marriage proposal. Guess you’re never going to let me live that proposal down, are you?”

“Nope. But it was sweet, no matter how delusional you were at the time. How’re you holding up, Skin?”

In a half-grimace, half-smile, Aaron shakily escorted her down six terraces of steps to street level. “I’m starving. And I need to sit down. Eat something, drink something…those pills from the doc really settled my stomach, but my legs feel like wet noodles. And my throat’s dry as sand.”

“Sounds fine to me.” She was happy that he was on the mend. “Lunch will be my treat and it won’t be at some dusty taco stand. When you travel with me, Skin, it’s first class. Look over there.” She pointed to a restaurant across the street. “El Pajaro Exotico. Food should be good…and, most of all, sanitary.”

The obvious tourist trap, colorful and already packed with Americans, beckoned them. Cautiously, they crossed the busy street, engorged with midday traffic. Twenty minutes later, they were clicking tall glasses of iced tea together and toasting their first cruise gig. A couple of passengers from the ship recognized them and waved.

They acknowledged them with smiles and waved back. Lunch came on two hot, clay plates covered in hand-painted birds. The steam rose and the enticing aromas lured them in. While Tess stuffed one flour tortilla with carnitas and pico de gallo, Aaron poked at his fajita and frowned.

“This might end badly,” he said, eyeing his plate with suspicion.

She swallowed a tasty bite and urged, “Go on, Skin. Take a leap of faith…like you always tell me to do.”

He finally did so grudgingly, and lunch progressed without an embarrassing run to the bathroom. They both relaxed and smiled at each other and at the passengers who stopped by to compliment them on their show. Left alone as they finished up, Aaron leaned back in his chair and leveled a serious, contemplative stare at her. Uh oh, what now, she wondered. She knew that look of his. It was always a prelude to something big.

She forestalled him with, “Let’s call Mac and tell him you proposed to me.”

“Are you kidding? Bahrain? It’s probably the middle of the night there. Besides, he’d kill me.” All of a sudden, he looked uneasy, his eyes shifting away.

“Are you serious, Skin? Why would Mac care that you and I—I mean, what you and I do together. I told him last week—when we spoke on the phone—that we were doing this cruise gig together and he said to go for it or something like that. He’s always encouraged our friendship, you know that.”

“Our friendship, yes.” At that comment, Tess frowned. What was he getting at? Aaron shrugged and jumped to change the subject. “Just messing with you, Red. Listen, about my new musical—I want you to audition for the female lead for Cold War, Hot Love. You’d be perfect for the Sophie’s role.”

Tess put down her iced tea and sat back. He wasn’t joking.

“Sophie? The British journalist who falls in love with both the American water polo player and the Russian water polo coach and has to choose between the two?”

“See, you know more about my play than you’ve let on.”

“Well, I’ve read the libretto and I’ve heard you play two of the songs. Did you finish all twelve? And what about the lyrics? I thought your pal, Pete, was working on them.”

“Pete bugged out when the studio told him his screenplay for that western was due in one month. That sent him into a frenzy. Besides, he was the wrong man for the job. He’s a great wordsmith, don’t get me wrong, but my play required a bit of…finesse and panache. Turned out I’m an able lyricist… for this particular play, anyway.”

Aaron’s matter-of-fact expression surprised her. She expected him to be upset, frantic, worried—anything but calm and confident. The musical was scheduled for a trial run at the La Jolla Playhouse in September after a one-month rehearsal period. Basically, he had six weeks to finish the score for the entire play, revise it, polish it and master playing it. A near impossible feat, especially since he’d also had to finish the musical score for a low-budget, independent film these past six months.

“So…”

His blond eyebrows arched in anticipation. “So, Red, I wrote the lyrics myself. Astonishing as it might seem, I’m more of a poet than I realized. You know what I’ve been like these past eight to twelve months. Well, I crawled into my cave and finished all the numbers. Finished the film score, too. That’s one reason why you haven’t seen much of me in quite a while.”

“Yes, you’d pretty much disappeared from my life.” Curious, she cocked her head and slit her eyes. “So, you’re telling me that all this time, you’ve been holed up, scoring your play and writing the lyrics? Why haven’t you asked for help? I’ve written some of your lyrics before. That diet commercial ditty we did together went over well. I’m still getting royalties from that…”

“You were busy with Mister Money-Bags.” He stared at her unsmilingly. “But listen, I brought the whole opus with me if you’d like to take a look. When we do my set for ‘Cold War’, I’d like you to sing all of Sophie’s numbers. Try them out and see how our audience likes them. Some are sassy, some are sentimental. You can get into character and see if you like the fit. And if you do, maybe you’ll agree to taking on the role.”

“What happened to auditioning for it?” She returned a sly smile.

“You don’t need to. I know what you can do. You’re perfect for the part.”

“Really? So how many songs does Sophie have?”

“Four, plus a duet with Guy, the American.”

“Ah, the one she ends up choosing?” She remembered his book and a portion of the script’s first draft she’d read almost a year ago. Even then, with only two songs finished, she knew the play had narrative and melodic potential.

Her memory of it elicited a grin from Aaron. “You remember…well, that’s a good sign. Yes, five in all. We can try out the duet when we do this set. Think I can manage the vocals for Guy.”

Tess hesitated. Learning five new songs and perfecting them meant a lot of extra work over the next week. That also meant sacrificing her afternoons sunbathing by the pool on the Horizon Deck. Of course, Aaron would be working hard, too, mastering his compositions and possibly arranging the numbers to accommodate her vocal key. She had a three-octave singing range, but any musical number had to be adjusted to fit the singer’s distinctive voice.

“Are you serious about me singing the Sophie’s role?”

“Absolutely.” His mesmerizing stare held a silent plea. “This time I think I’ve hit the jackpot. Some of these tunes will blow you away.”

His quiet, understated excitement began to permeate through her top layer of skepticism and reluctance. Reluctance because she was afraid she’d fall short of the challenge. Skepticism because of his failed track record. Finally, a bubble of anticipation arose in her chest and began spinning around in her brain.

“Remember, I was the one who told you to try out the score on the ship. Okay, let’s do it.”

He beamed and reached over to chuck her gently under the chin. “Good girl, I thought I could depend…well, I wasn’t sure since—The bottom line is I need some feedback and the ship’s passengers—well, it’s a perfect opportunity for me to try out these numbers. You were right about that. Even without the context of the play, I’ll be able to tell if they’re going over or not. Thanks, Red. I’ll be forever in your debt. And if you like the numbers, maybe you’ll even consider doing the part in La Jolla.”

“Singing tunes is one thing, Skin. I can do that.” She suppressed a laugh. “But the last time I did musical theater was in high school. I can’t act.”

Blue eyes narrowing, Aaron tipped his glass to his mouth and paused. “You can’t act? Tess MacIntosh, you’ve convinced a jaded, older man that he rocks your world and that you adore the ground he walks on. In my book, that’s pretty damn good acting.”

She swallowed his double-edged compliment and bit back an angry retort.

“Boy, for a guy who’s asking for a favor, you don’t hold back, do you?”

His face fell and his eyes dropped remorsefully. “You’re right. I owe you an apology. That snide remark was uncalled for.”

Tess frowned and pondered Aaron’s assessment for a moment. Was he right? Was that the reason behind Porter’s possible cheating with that curvy blonde in his club? Was Porter beginning to realize the truth about Tess’ feelings for him? She wasn’t in love with him. Never would be.

Why was that? She certainly wanted to be in love with Porter.

Her gaze locked with Aaron’s vivid blue stare. No…no…they were just friends. Their romance ended long ago. She wasn’t good enough for him, anyway. Not then. Not now. She was damaged goods…

Aaron broke the mutual stare and finished off his iced tea before continuing. “I’m not being completely fair. I suppose you love him…in your own way.”

If he was going to be blunt, she would, too. She was too close to Aaron to pull the wool over his eyes. “It’s true, Skin. I’m not in love with Porter. I love the fact that he loves me and wants to share his wealth with me.”

“Ah yes, there’s that.” He heaved a resigned sigh and looked away. “You’re perfect for Sophie’s role. You look the part, you can act and sing and… I wrote the part with you in mind.”

Since they’d started this cruise, Aaron’s surprises kept popping up like unexpected, too-early-for-spring blooms. She didn’t know what to think about this metamorphosis of his. Like Skin was channeling a more confident, more mature yet risk-taking alter-ego. Inspired by this new boldness of his, Tess smiled. “Let’s see how it goes, okay? I’ll be back from my honeymoon before August, so I’ll be free to rehearse. You have a backer?”

“Yeah, several. They produced a musical on Broadway last year. They said if it goes well, they might consider a trial run in several cities.”

Poor Aaron. He’d gotten his hopes up before and had seen them dashed on the rocks. Still, he looked hopeful. As he always did before one of his musicals premiered and flopped.

“Well, let’s see how it goes first, okay? See if I can do justice to Sophie’s songs—”

Her cell phone rang and she looked at the lit screen. Damn! It was Porter. His first call since their cruise began, so she had to take it. She stuck her forefinger in the air, making Aaron clamp his mouth shut.

“Justice? I know you—”

“Hi, Porter…yes, sweetheart, I’ve missed you, too… Yes, it’s been just work, work, work… Skin—Aaron’s got me running ragged, with three-hour-long rehearsals and shows every night…haven’t had a chance to relax and have fun… Yeah, Aaron got sick on some cheap tacos… All the noise? I’m having lunch in town with some of the entertainment staff, then it’s back to the ship for afternoon rehearsals…yes, I’ve missed you so much!” She pressed that same forefinger to her lips to warn Aaron to keep silent.

Aaron’s stormy glower immediately morphed into mockery. He held both hands, clasped together, over his heart, his eyes skyward, in a parody of a lovesick swoon.

She bit back a laugh before adding, “Oh yes, Porter darling, can’t wait to see you! Wish you’d come along! We could’ve had so much fun together!”

Now Aaron was sticking the tip of a forefinger into his mouth in a gagging gesture. She kicked his shin under the table, prompting his exaggerated, “Ow!”

Stifling a chuckle, she pressed the open cell phone against her chest and hissed at Aaron, “Stop it. You’re such a child.”

Laying it on thickly, she said into the phone, “Oops, we’re leaving right now. I’ll call you back in about an hour. Love you, too, darling. I miss you so much!” She made smacking noises into the mic before ringing off.

Maybe Skin was right. She was a damn good actress.