Romance on the Sea

Chapter 1

Romance on the Sea

By Emery C. Walters

Somewhere in the hour-long shuffle toward cruise terminal security, someone ran a suitcase over my foot. The bad one. Then at the counter, a suitcase dropped on my foot. The bad one. As the day wore on, I discovered that my bright idea of wearing the new comfortable shoes, was a stupid one; they grew less and less comfortable as the hours passed. By the time we boarded the ship, five hours after leaving the house, I could barely hobble. The shoes came off, and I am now one of those elderly men you see wearing socks with sandals. It has come to this.

Roger and I are barely speaking. I wish we hadn’t decided to continue to travel together this one last time; we were one of the first gay couples to get married, and also one of the first to get divorced. But we had already paid for this cruise, so we agreed (We must have been drunk) to travel together. Weren’t we still friends at least? Oh hell no, not really, but we had found ways to cope, mostly, with each other’s less-endearing ways.

And it was New Year’s, a time for new beginnings and a good time for endings, as well.

Roger’s new boyfriend, who was thoroughly pissed at him for doing this, was into this latest scented oil for health craze, and the stuff he made Roger bring with him made my stomach lurch. So, of course, he dabbed it on himself every chance he got. He said it brought him peace and reminded him of Bart.

Dear beloved Bart, at thirty, was half Roger’s age. He even had hair! Blonde, dyed—I even know what brand of dye, but I can’t think of it right now. And the blue eyes were contacts. Body by gym machine. Income by…well, next up: Roger. And other than money, what could he see in Roger? I knew better of course; I knew dear Roger’s finances as well as I did my own. It had taken long enough and cost us enough in legal fees to separate them, after all.

I glanced at Roger out of the corner of my eye. I was so upset with him I could barely speak, but in those cases I usually became so sweet and sugary that anyone around me got an upset stomach and gained four pounds. Aren’t I evil?

We had just entered our cabin. I had paid for a large veranda suite with two rooms; at least, I had paid Roger to get one of those, but here we were, on the same deck but with only one small room and a tiny balcony. The room was barely big enough for the queen-sized bed in the middle. One queen—if that queen was Roger, would I get the floor? Well maybe Roger would get lucky and end up sleeping in the crew’s quarters. It was against the rules, but it happened. Especially, if they thought he had money. And Roger loved foreign boys. Oh, did he ever.

Our room steward looked from one to the other of us. “The couch opens out into a bed, kind sirs, should the brother not want to share a bed anymore with his brother.” He nodded like he’d grown up with six or seven brothers and felt that way himself.

I smirked politely, nodded, and said thank you.

After the steward left to get more sheets, Roger growled. “Let’s go eat. I’m famished. Should the brother not want to eat with his brother…” and we both laughed. Not totally sincerely, but close enough for now.

Just as I opened the door, a small boy ran past, hissing, “Wait for me! Come back!” and looking down the corridor I saw a black and white cat running full speed ahead. Hearing the commotion, someone opened their door at the end of the hall. There was a corner there, so it was a straight shot into the cabin for the cat, which ran right between the man’s naked legs. My eyes, of course, ran up from shins to knees to thighs…before the door slammed shut. The boy ran headfirst into it and bounced back onto the floor, where he laid back and cried.

I rushed over to him to comfort him and see if he was okay. Behind me, however, Roger roared with laughter. “Dude!” he cried. “That was awesome! And here comes Auntie Lame to tend to you.” To me he added, “You’re such a mommy. Go do your thing. I’m going up to the Lido for breakfast. See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.”

My name is Lane, but Roger has always had so much fun changing my name, sometimes Auntie Flame, Auntie Shame, whatever…but it didn’t used to be in cruelty, just in fun. Now it’s just plain meanness.

Roger stomped off up the hallway (the wrong way, I thought smugly) and I sat down on the floor next to the boy. “Was that your kitty?” I asked, wanting to ruffle his hair, but afraid to touch him because I am a man.

“No. It’s the ship’s cat, Captain Tiny Cat. I just wanted to play with him.” He looked up at me, sea-green eyes, blond hair, maybe six years old. “Look at the ceiling, it’s all sparkly. See?”

I saw. I saw more than he knew—I saw the future.

“My name is Jordan. I’m a stowaway. My grampa said so. So don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Of course not,” I said, wanting to tell him I was a pirate.

“Well, my grampa is very nice, but my dad is mean like yours, and my uncle is even worse. He’s a criminal.”

My—ha-ha—my dad—oh my God, Roger would be furious! He was balding, true, and I was only 45 to his 60, and I still had my full head of brown curly hair. This was hilarious

“Did you see the man who has the cat now? He was naked! You could see his stuff and everything. His p***s is huge! Did you see it?”

I blushed. Instead of answering, I said, “Let’s get up off the floor. It might be dirty, or someone might need to walk by.”

“Oh ugh, dirty? Yuck!” and the boy leapt to his feet, almost kicking me in the head in his haste. “By the way,” he said, “I’m lost.”

As I stood up, I wondered what to do. Rescuing the cat sounded—interesting (had he dressed yet? The man, I meant.) I looked at the boy. Yes, he was wearing the required wrist band.

“Can you pick me up? I’m tired. And yes, I know you’re a stranger and all that, but I’m lost, and I’m gonna get in trouble!”

So I picked him up. I also carried him down the hall, into the elevator, where he nestled his head into my shoulder, his blond curls tickling my chin, and went to sleep. I took him to the information desk and told them I had a lost boy. Actually, I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when a man behind me said, “You little manure head. I’m gonna whop your ass.”

Before turning around, I felt my left eyebrow rise slowly to my hairline. Everyone turned to look. I felt Jordan stir. He turned his head and clutched me around the neck, tight. “You’re not my father!” he growled at the short man standing behind me.

“Let go of that boy!” shouted the short, fat man.

“No! You’ll only beat me up again! And you’re ugly, too!”

I raised my chin at the short, fat, ugly man before me.