Romance on the Sea

Chapter 2

Well, about three hours and four security guards later, Jordan was released to his grandmother, a haughty woman of a certain age (with blue hair and a frosty gaze, down her long nose), and I released him because the little monster/angel kept saying what a nice, pretty man I was, and we’d all missed breakfast. As an afterthought, the door to the security office slammed on my foot on my way out. The same foot, of course, that Roger had dropped his suitcase on earlier at the dock.

The man? He turned out to be the boy’s uncle. “You’re only my stupid Uncle Nard!” the little hero had proclaimed with a toss of his shiny curls.

So I headed back to my cabin to hit the john and clean up before lunch. As soon as I opened the door, I heard Roger tossing things around. Sure enough, he was half buried in the closet. “Where’s my damn Viagra!” he was shouting, luckily into the closet and clothing so it muffled the sound. I’m sorry, but I only smirked, snorted and slipped into the bathroom, which looked ransacked, not surprisingly. My shaver and clean towels awaited me in peaceful harmony.

Through the door, I could still hear him, until finally he belted out, “My whole trip is ruined!” followed by a string of curses. Then the hall door slammed, and it was quiet once again.

When I came out, there was a black and white cat asleep on my bed. I laughed, and went to lunch. Up to the Lido. I was still a bit too shaky for the dining room, with its fancy waiters and tablemates you’d have to speak politely to. “Where are you from? Where’s your wife? What do you do?” and then, usually, a monologue by one person while the rest all pretended to listen.

The herds were here: I usually came early to avoid the masses, but I was late, today. I thought I saw Uncle Nard (oh my God, that was a good one), and then I thought I saw some familiar legs. This time there were definitely shorts above them; not that I lost interest, au contraire. But my sandwich was ready.

Oh all right, so I followed him and when he found a place to sit, I asked if he minded if I joined him. It was pretty crowded, and he smiled and pulled out the chair next to him. Oh goody, we could rub thighs and knees and not have to gaze rapturously into each other’s eyes.

“Was that your cat?” was the first thing he said. God, he was so cute!

“Why?” my inner stupid asked. “Do you like p***y?”

He laughed so hard he spit salad out his mouth. I gulped so hard I choked. Our knees touched. Finally he turned and looked at me. “Listen,” he said, “I’m so gay I was born Caesarian.” That took me a minute. Two minutes went by…and he said, “See, I’ve never been there! Get it?” This was followed by embarrassed groans and a bit of touchy feely tickling, as if we were two ten-year-olds. I loved it.

“Who was that kid? Yours?”

“I was starting to wonder that myself. His real family is slightly less than fabulous, which, by the way, he indicated your…uh…room…never mind.”

He blushed.

I covered it. “My name is Lane, and I’m from Phoenix. I teach junior high history and art.”

“I’m so sorry,” he answered, laughing. “I’m Steve, I’m also a teacher, but I teach English to high school students, near Seattle.”

“Are you here with anyone?” I asked.

“Several of us won the trip as awards for being best teachers. Can you imagine? I think it was some college or prep school or something that did it.”

“And I’m here with my ex, because we were both too cheap to lose our deposit on the trip. He’s around here somewhere, but he’s lost his Viagra.” I snickered. He joined me.

“I’ve been gay all my life and I still don’t know, or at least remember, if there’s a sign that you’re a bottom or a top,” he said.

“Well uh…me either,” although I did remember, but it was kind of early to tell him what my ex was because that would make it pretty damn obvious what I was, or wasn’t.

So we finished eating in silence, wondering if we’d gone too far over the line, already.

“Maybe we’ll figure it out later,” Steve said quietly, with a quick look at me and then an equally quick glance away. Something caught his eye when he did that, and I followed his gaze. There a couple of tables away sat my ex, with another man. A younger other man, of course. We both tuned in.

“I’m telling you,” Roger said, firmly, waving a breadstick to prove his point. “This ship is full of old people, and their parents. You’re one of the youngest passengers I’ve seen. And you’re in shape; most of these people have fed themselves on grain, out in the meadow with the rest of the herd.”

The other man snickered. He had black hair, set in—God help me—a mullet, a business in the front, party in the back style, one he’d worn when it was popular and never grown out of. He wore those ubiquitous black plastic glasses that were so popular, unfortunately, again. He sucked in a long string of spaghetti. Roger raised an eyebrow appreciatively. I know what Roger thinks, and what he thinks with.

“Look at that woman over there in the Walmart special top. Moo. Moove over Bossie! Har har har. Not the brightest cow in the pasture. Uh oh, whoops! Here comes the train, s**t, no turn signal! Collision imminent!” They laughed, and we saw beyond them two women collide, the older one almost falling. I saw Roger had gone all out and was wearing all three of his fake-diamond rose-gold rings and his Chinese-made, knock off Rolex (spelled Lorex in tiny font) watch. But remember, all that glitters…

“That older man reminds me of a shop that uses bait-and-switch tactics,” my companion said, quietly, and we shared a smile. Then he leaned in toward me and added quietly, “You know, like when they put the biggest stuff right out front there and you go inside and it’s all teeny-weeny little things!”

I had to cover my face with my napkin. Anyway, after that other voices drifted in and not being able to not listen, we openly eavesdropped. “Well, we were just driving home from the hospital where my wife had been diagnosed with terminal cancer,” a large man was saying. “Now I’ve lived my whole live on my farm in Ontario, and who’d have thought it would be her to go first. I’ve had tractors run over me, horses kick me, pestitudes—is that what they call that poison—and such, but we’re driving along and this pick-up truck rams right into us, knocks us over the fence and into the ditch, and the wife died on the way back to the hospital, and that guy flipped his truck end over end three times after he hit us. Turns out he’d have twelve citations for bad driving previously, and all he got was another slap on the wrist.”

And before we could even react, another voice from the other side of us said, “The longer I’m on this cruise, the stupider I get!” and the guy behind him said, “I’ve only been male for ten years but My IQ has been dropping since I quit the estrogen team and joined this one!”

“Let’s go for a walk,” I managed to get out, not knowing if I was about to laugh, cry, or snort.

“That’s some major one-up-man-ship right there,” Steve said, and we got of our chairs and headed down to the promenade deck.

After a few steps it was obvious I was limping, and it made me both ashamed and feeling old. “Old war wound?” Steve asked.

“An unfortunate incident with my sword cane,” I replied.

“And my glands are so swollen it reminds me of when I had mumps as a child,” Steve replied, feeling his neck. “There are always so many smells on a ship: varnish, paint, perfume, smoke, ugh. I sort of knew that, but I wanted to come, anyhow. You have to rise above as much s**t as you can, and you never know how far above you can rise until you try.”

“Meeting a small boy, a cat, and you have made it all worthwhile, and I’m hoping there will be many more similar things to come.”

Steve took my hand and squeezed it, and we stopped at the stern of the ship, where the water churned out from beneath the hull in half a dozen unusual shades of green and blue, all swirling and changing as if blown around by a giant wind. The sun had risen high in the sky, and I remembered it was only early afternoon.

It was rather a romantic moment, or could have been, had we known each other longer and it been sunset. But behind us came the patter of little feet, and as we turned the cat ran past, made the turn and took off. Behind him came a small boy—guess who—in a swim suit and running full tilt. He climbed up the railing next to us and screeched, “My gramma said I could swim today!” and he slipped one tiny leg over the rail.

I almost had time to move before Steve dove and grabbed him, just in time. “I suspect she meant in the pool!” Steve gasped out, his face pale. Jordan looked at Steve, and he smiled. “Oh, you’re the man with the big—” but I interrupted him with “hairy legs!” just as an old lady came waddling up, albeit, waddling as fast as she could. She was not a small woman.

“Put my grandson down, you pervert!” she screamed, red in the face. Okay, now she was a fat cow.

“Watch me dive!” Jordan shouted happily, struggling to get free.

And here came security…

“You again!”

And off we went. Since Jordan refused to be pried out of Steve’s arms, and Gramma refused to let go of his arm, the three walked in unison, with Steve gravely explaining the difference between could, can, and may, to the ignorant masses.

I’ll give Gramma credit; she went ashen when she realized what she’d said.

* * * *

So. Several hours later…Steve and I walked out free men. Although we only made it around the corner before Steve cracked up. “Did you hear our own personal little Calvin trying to tell his Gramma how fabulous my p***s is? I’m sure I would have been thrown in the slammer if you hadn’t interrupted him again. That sweet innocence, but still, I never want to have a kid, ever.

“And big! He said big, too! I may have to check this out for myself!”

We reached my cabin and the Do Not Disturb sign was out, along with a sticky note that said, This means you too, Auntie Lame.

Steve smiled, grabbed my arm, and said, “Come with me…”