Jessie was about to shove her new clothes in a cubby drawer when Sauna said they were off to the showers next. She gave him a suspicious look but he put up his hands and explained that he was too scared to try anything on her. And yes, there was plenty of soap.
It had to have been at least two years since the last time she’d taken a real shower. All Tethys had given her was a bucket and rags, and soap whenever he remembered. The soap stopped feeling like it was doing much good after three months of getting used by men.
The showers were located opposite the bathroom, and good god were they repulsive. The pigs had centerfolds, drawings and paintings of voluptuous women all over the walls. The very thought of what these men did to themselves in this room, besides clean, made her back up. Sauna sidestepped out of her path.
“We’re just hombres, Jessie, but I guess I should’ve warned you.”
“I’ll live. This isn’t some five star hotel anyway. Where are the towels and such?”
Sauna pointed to a row of lockers by the shower room door. “The fresh ones are all the way on the right. You can pick a locker and leave your towel there after you’re done, or you can take it to your bunk.”
“Where do I get a key?”
“To your bunk?”
“To the showers.”
“You have to go to either Rammus or Sam for one.”
“Can’t you?” There was no way she’d wander around another ship alone, surrounded by men.
“I have to go do my job.”
“How do you expect me to shower?” she asked, exasperated.
“We down two men. Trust me, we all busy and hurting inside.” Sauna bid her farewell and shut the metal shower room door behind him with a clang loud enough to almost satisfy Jessie.
She stared at the door a moment, her heart going out to Sauna for the loss of his friends, then she scanned the vulgarly-decorated room. It was clean enough, with the stray pubic or head hair here and there. There wasn’t any mold or mildew—just caulking between tiles that wasn’t pearly white anymore. The lockers were all closed. The place smelled of soap, water, metal and male body odor. Jessie crossed to the far right one and plucked a beige towel from the top of the pile, then braced herself to enter the closest shower stall.
The stalls were laid out like a gym shower unit, with a bench to sit on, or drop her clothes on just inside a slide lock door, and then a large stand-in shower just on the other side of the plastic curtain. A waist-high steel bar stretched across the shower curtain. Maybe it was there for safety for anyone dumb enough to wash in rough seas.
Jessie shut and locked the stall, plopped her fresh clothes on the bench, then sat next to them and reached for her shoes. She’d never noticed how dirty, worn down and falling apart they were before. Holy crap. Her now brown sneakers were white two years ago, the laces ready to rip in a few places, the soles peeling off both at the heel and toe, and the padding worn down to the thickness of a packaged condom. No wonder her feet hurt all the time. She chucked her sneakers to the opposite side of the stall, then removed her socks, which matched her shoes, and chucked them aside as well.
She unlocked the stall and peered out a half-inch crack, just to make sure no one had been hiding in the shower room the whole time. Seeing no one, she opened the door wider and checked the rest of the room, then locked the door once more. No one was standing or crouching in any other stalls either. She gratefully removed the banana peel of filth known as her clothes, then ducked under the bar and entered the shower. The ceramic tiles chilled her bare feet, but she didn’t care. She was about to take a long, hot shower and use a whole bottle of soap. She pulled and twisted the shower knob, then pried a bottle from its shelf and began cleansing herself of two years of grime and abuse.
Somewhere around half an hour later, Jessie persuaded herself to shut off the shower, then spun around when the hiss of water fell silent. She’d just heard the shower curtain rustle. No one was there but one side was swaying a bit. She tried to sneak closer to the curtain but her feet sloshed in the small pool of draining water. There was a whimper, followed by a fleshy slap on the tiled floor, and then rustling as someone slipped under her stall door.
“Hey!” She shoved aside the curtain and socked herself in the stomach with the metal bar as she attempted to give chase. She doubled over and wrapped her arms around her ribs as she listened to someone run away. A locker door opened, more rustling ensued, and then the locker door slammed shut. Jessie took a deep breath and exhaled. That pig was going to pay for the show he got. She ducked under the stupid bar and grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her torso. It would take only one fist to beat up someone stupid enough to wedge himself in a locker.
Once she opened her stall door, Jessie could hear muffled whimpering coming from the lockers. The monkey-like noise struck her as an odd sound for a man to make, but right now she was hoping the pig was pissing himself in anticipation of the beating she was about to dish out. Jessie ripped open the trembling locker door and cocked a fist. A red-headed man screamed and shielded his head. Jessie socked him in the gut twice. The man doubled over and fell out of the locker. Jessie was about to start kicking him until she realized the redhead had started crying. What the heck? She’d never made any of the pigs she’d beat up cry; just moan in pain. What was wrong with this wuss? “Get out of here!”
The redhead pushed to his feet, one arm wrapped around his stomach, then looked at Jessie and began bawling like a two-year-old. He ran to the shower room door, heaved it open and ran off without closing it.
Jessie stood there, dumbstruck, staring at the ajar door. She’d never seen a full-grown man behave like that before. What…?
Then the realization that she was standing around with just a towel on galvanized her legs into moving towards the door. She pushed it shut, then returned to her stall. Jessie had a feeling that man had been planted in the shower room as some sort of prank organized by her new dear captain. But then why did Mr. Prankster make a noisy scene of hiding in a locker? That’s something a kid would do. And that was… Well, the captain could supply her with an explanation pertaining to his poor hosting skills after she got dressed.
Chapter 6
Difficult Apologies
Once the Pertinacious meandered past the tip of Long Island, I found myself stuck in the wheelhouse. It being hurricane season in the Atlantic, one good-sized storm could send the whole east coast into turmoil. By the looks of it, one had to be wreaking havoc somewhere around Florida, meaning the storm would greet us either in Virginia, or along our way to Morocco if it swung away from the coast sooner.
This trip was just getting better and better.
The swells varied between three and seven feet. They’d get bigger as my ship plodded farther south. The seas weren’t rough enough to capsize a steam frigate but they were enough to render my auto pilot wood ineffective. I’d learned that the hard way in my novice days when I’d almost beached a smaller steam ship in the night. A ship doesn’t just sail in the direction it’s pointed it. Wind, waves and tides enjoy having a say in steering. I countered the swells and moderate winds with small twitches of the joystick, concentrating hard on not oversteering.
My wheelhouse door clanged against its lock. I flinched. Sure enough, there was my unlucky charm trying to get in. She glared and her muffle voiced yelled at me to let her in. She was wearing the clothes I’d tossed her. Her attire was a bit too big and way too baggy—at least on her torso. I couldn’t see blow her stomach. Maybe the bagginess would be a good thing, hiding her coveted breasts.