The sun was just starting to rise into the cloudy sky when Shy reopened his towel stand on the empty Lido Deck. Early mornings at sea were breathtaking, and they usually made him feel brand-new. But today all Shy felt was used up and stressed out.
As he placed a folded towel at the foot of all two hundred deck chairs he replayed his night with Carmen. He felt sick about it. Damn liquid courage. All that space shit he’d talked. The hand holding. Hooking up with Carmen was both everything he wanted and the worst thing that could’ve happened.
He mopped the deck and removed the Jacuzzi cover and turned on the heat and the jets, and then he fished a few more bugs out of the pool with the skimmer and treated the water. The whole time he kept his eyes peeled for Carmen. Usually she’d cut through the pool area at some point with her morning coffee. On her way to the Normandie Theater. And they’d kick it for a few minutes.
But he was over an hour into his shift now.
And still no sign of Carmen.
Shy forced himself to think of other things instead. Like the suit guy Kevin warned him about. He’d go talk to Paolo between his shift here and his afternoon shift at the gym. Then there was the Skype he was supposed to do with his mom. If something bad had really happened back home, he didn’t know what he’d do. He was stuck way out here on a ship. Middle of the ocean. No help to anyone.
Soon scattered passengers began trickling out onto the deck. A few shivering kids lining up for the water slide, their moms and dads standing around sipping coffee, introducing themselves to one another. An old couple under a Paradise umbrella rocking old-people sunglasses and reading electronic books.
Across the deck, the Island Café had opened and the smell of bacon and sausage and waffles filled the air. The clinking sound of silverware on plates and early-morning chatter. The aspirin was finally working on Shy’s headache. He scored a coffee from the café and took it back to his stand, where he sipped at it and studied the dark clouds in the distance and watched people.
By ten the pool area was half full.
Shy handed out fresh towels, miniature golf equipment, Ping-Pong paddles, swimmies, scuba masks. Cocktail waitresses moved through the rows of lounge chairs, taking orders for espressos, Bloody Marys, mimosas. The ship emcee announced the day’s activities and reminded passengers that the duty-free shops had just opened in the main promenade.
Still no sign of Carmen.
And nobody in a black suit—though Shy doubted anyone would wear a suit out by the pool when it was like ninety degrees. The guy would probably have changed into shorts or something. Which meant Shy didn’t even know what he was looking for.
By noon the deck was humming and the sun beat down in front of clustered rain clouds. Almost every lounge chair had been claimed. Elegant women in wide-brimmed hats and bikinis, reading magazines, eating the fruit out of their tropical drinks. Men sleeping in sunglasses or watching the pool, bulging stomachs already bright red from the sun.
Just like on Shy’s first voyage, the women were all better-looking than the men. And younger. But this group was a little quicker to tip. He already had a small wad of cash in his pocket as he made another pass through the crowd, replacing used towels with freshly laundered ones.
Whenever the used bin filled up he’d cart it across the deck to housekeeping and hurry back with fresh warm stacks.
He was so busy now he hardly had time to think.
And not thinking was clutch—like somebody should bottle the shit and sell it ten bucks a pop.
On his third trip back from housekeeping, though, he stopped cold.
Carmen.
8
The Glare Off a Diamond
She was on the other side of the pool, maybe twenty yards away, wheeling an amp and a microphone stand toward the far staircase, which would lead her down to the theater.
Shy parked his towel cart by his stand and started toward her, brainstorming how to best present his apology. But just as he rounded the Jacuzzi a passenger in a cowboy hat flagged him down.
“Hey there, bud,” the man said. “Wanna check out the ring I’m about to give my soon-to-be-better-half?”
Shy tried to muster a Paradise-worthy smile even though the question had caught him totally off guard, and he was in a hurry. “Uh, okay, sir.” He glanced in Carmen’s direction, saw that she had stopped at the outdoor bar to talk to one of the cocktail waitresses. Katrina.
The man unzipped the leather fanny pack resting underneath his stiff-looking beer gut and reached inside. He had a little gray mixed into his mustache and sideburns. Legs so spindly and white Shy wondered if it was the first time he’d ever stepped into a pair of shorts.
He pulled out a small blue box. “Springing this on her tonight at dinner,” he said, looking all proud of himself. “She doesn’t have a clue.” He flipped open the box, and the knuckle-sized diamond caught the sun, nearly blinding Shy.
“Wow, sir. It’s really big.”
“Impressive, right?”
“Very.” Shy glanced at Carmen again—still talking to Katrina. He needed to wrap up the big show-and-tell session and go catch her before she left.
“Over seven carats,” the man said. “I’m guessing you’ve never seen a seven-carat diamond before.”
“Not even on TV,” Shy told him, leaving out the part about him not giving a shit.
“Well, I’m in oil, boy. Big oil, just like my daddy. We’re oilmen. And you know what all the top oilmen have in common?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“When we decide to do something, we do it big.”
Shy snuck another glance at Carmen and Katrina, then looked back at the ring. He tried to think up something else to add as the man kept talking, something flattering—’cause maybe that was where he’d gone wrong with the passenger who’d jumped—but he was drawing a blank.
The oilman stopped himself, mid-sentence, and followed Shy’s eyes to Carmen. “Young lady,” he called to her suddenly.
Carmen pointed at herself, mouthed: Me?
He nodded. “Come on over here a second, will you?”
Shy kept his smile going, but inside he was in a bit of a panic. Last thing he needed was for his and Carmen’s first interaction since the hookup to be chaperoned by Roy Rogers.
Carmen said something to Katrina, then wheeled her amp toward them wearing a Paradise smile of her own.
“You gotta check out this ring,” Shy told her, trying to play like everything was normal between them. But the fact that she didn’t even look at him seemed problematic.
“Oh, this isn’t just any ol’ ring,” the man said, tapping the Tiffany’s box closed. “But first things first, sugar. What’s your name?”
“Carmen.”
“Gorgeous name for a gorgeous gal. And where you from, Ms. Carmen?”
She glanced at Shy for a fraction of a second, then told the man: “I’m from San Diego, sir.”
“Originally, I mean,” the man said. “What race are you?”
Carmen was as good as anyone at laying down the fake cheerful vibe. But Shy could tell by her eyes, she wanted to boot dude in the huevos.
“Guess,” Carmen said.
“All right.” He got a big grin and looked her up and down, spending a few extra beats on her cleavage. “I gotta warn you, though. I’ve been all over the map on business. And I know my women.”
When the guy took Carmen by the arm, and actually spun her around so he could peep her backside, Shy started getting pissed, too. If they were anywhere besides a cruise ship he’d have already swiped the ring and Carmen’s hand and been halfway to Ensenada.