Time of My Life (Oceanic Dreams #2) Page 7

  “Can we please argue over whose fault this is later?” Penny asked weakly. “I need to sit.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Pen.” I helped her hobble to a folding chair in the front of the room. “We need to get you back to the cabin.”

  “She should go to the infirmary.” Frank put his hands on his hips and glared at me.

  “I’m fine,” Penny said loudly. “Give me a few minutes, and I can get back to the room myself.”

  “Someone should walk with you,” I insisted. “You’re not yourself.”

  Penny’s hands shot to her hips as she pulled herself as upright as she could from her position on the chair. “Then call Guillermo, because he’s the only person besides Robbie who knows what’s going on. You’ve got a lot of work to do. I can’t cut into your practice anymore.”

  Frank glanced at his watch. “The infirmary is closer than your cabin.”

  Penny and I exchanged an amused look before I said, “Let me make the call.”

  I wanted to go with my friend, tuck her into bed, make sure she was okay. But I couldn’t walk away from the little time we had to practice. With a sigh, I opened a panel on the wall and pulled out the shipboard phone.

  After Penny left, we resumed the workout. The tension from our argument hung in the air, but we needed to keep going. I spoke woodenly, trying to keep my emotions from getting the best of me again. Every minute lost weighed heavily on my conscience. We had to get this right, and we didn’t have much time.

  If life were an ’80s movie, our rehearsal felt like the inspirational training montage. Except the sight of me hitting the ground over and over and over wasn’t terribly inspiring. I’d simplified the original routine since Frank didn’t have much time to learn the moves. I cut some of the more difficult positions that Penny and I did, and I substituted some that required strength for poses that showcased flexibility. I was a good teacher, but I couldn’t give Frank years of stretching in a few days. He hadn’t kept up on his exercises, so despite being in good shape, he wouldn’t be doing splits any time soon.

  One move, however, needed to stay: our showstopper. I’d fought with Max to be allowed to do it, because he worried that it was too dangerous. The prude. He wanted me to tone the whole thing down. Instead, I’d ramped it up a notch or two. As long as the audience loved it, he’d forgive me.

  At the end of the original routine, Penny and I did a running leap onto the poles, grabbing them between the tops of our thighs while gripping with one hand. The other hand reached out in front of us, legs extended in back to give the illusion of flying.

  “I’m no Superman,” Frank said after I showed it to him for the dozenth time.

  “You can hold the pose easily,” I said. “It’s the mount you’re having trouble with. And that’s all in your head.”

  “Really? It’s all in my head that it’s a bad idea to take a flying leap at a metal pole, castrating myself when my balls hit it at ten miles per hour. That’s the hill you’re willing to die on?”

  I glared at him until he broke into a sheepish smile. “Okay, maybe we’re running like two miles an hour.”

  “I suggest you avoid slamming your testicles into the pole,” I said. “But just in case, there’s a cooler full of ice in the corner.”

  “Thanks.” He pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s try it again.”

  We pushed off together. Step, step, step, jump. I gripped the pole easily, as I’d done a thousand times. Frank got one hand on the pole, but his legs flew forward past their mark. He got his other arm behind him, holding him aloft long enough to lower his legs gently. Then he groaned and smacked the pole with one hand.

  I dismounted. “That’s much better!”

  “I missed.”

  “But you didn’t dent the mat with your ass this time. It’s progress.”

  He glared at me.

  “Try it again.”

  Frank sighed. “What time are we done?”

  My temper flared. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to walk away whenever he wanted, and I’d do the routine myself. At the moment, having a nauseated Penny writhe on the floor while I performed seemed slightly preferable to continuing this farce. But I needed him, and he knew it.

  “Soon. We can come back to that move later. Let’s climb up, pretend we got it, and do the suspended inverted vee.”

  “Fine.”

  Up the pole I scrambled, as easy as pie. Beside me, Frank did the same, his years of dance training showing. Once he got into position, he leaned over and reached a hand out to me. I gripped it, then gazed into his eyes.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  He nodded. I could see the exhaustion on his face, but also the determination. We’d get this, even if it took all week. For this move, he would hold me in the air while I gripped his hand and swung backwards, rotating my legs over my head and spreading them in a vee. We’d practiced several times. Frank’s part required a lot of strength to hold me up, but his moves weren’t terribly advanced. Most of the work was done by the person swinging on the bottom.

  He tugged, and I let go of my pole.

  Frank’s arm dropped, as expected. I swung my legs toward him.

  His fingers opened, and my hand slipped out of his grasp.

  I landed on the mat with a loud thud. Tears stung the corner of my eyes, and a loud grunt escaped me. We used a four-inch thick mat for a reason, so I’d be fine, but the impact knocked the wind out of me.

  Frank let out a sound of surprise, somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

  My back stung, but my pride hurt more. We’d never be ready at this rate, and this week would be for nothing. With that thought, I lunged to my feet, suddenly on the offensive. “Are you trying to kill me? Do you think this is funny?”

  He dismounted. “Yes, actually, I find this hilarious. I love making an ass of myself. This is way more fun than exploring the Cayman Islands. I love missing my entire vacation so I can bruise myself. I still can’t do the Superman mount, I’m not clear on all the spins, I have no idea what I’m doing half the time, and part of me is still worried you’re going to tell me at the last minute I have to learn a Fonzi.”

  His mispronunciation of “fonji” broke some of the tension inside me.

  Frank hadn’t finished his rant, though. “I’m doing all of this to save your ungrateful ass, and yeah, part of me thinks you deserved to be dropped on it.”

  While he spoke, I really looked at him. A full examination. Redness ringed his eyes. His shoulders drooped. We’d been at this for hours, turning breakfast into a distant memory. At the reminder of food, my stomach growled, filling the room with angry noise. Suddenly, I felt terrible. Frank wasn’t used to the four hour practices anymore. He hadn’t signed up for this. He just wanted to keep his sister company while she took the Sassy Singles cruise. I’d been working him to the bone since Day One, while making snotty comments about rich people. Desperation had turned me into a person I didn’t like very much.

  I waited for a long moment after he stopped talking. “You done?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry my hand slipped. But, yeah, I’m done.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re absolutely right. All of it. Let’s take a break. Come with me.”

  Scooping up my clothes, I dropped into a chair in the corner to remove my shoes. Perhaps he expected more of a tongue lashing, because Frank stared at me for a beat before grabbing his shirt off the ground.

  I grabbed his hand and led him through the bowels of the ship, not caring for once if anyone saw us. On port days, about a third of the staff went ashore, and everyone else worked. No one stopped to look at me. Minutes later, we’d arrived at the ferries carrying guests from the Aphrodite to the mainland.

  A moment after we sat, Frank nudged me. “Does that woman look familiar to you?”

  Since every single person on the ferry was also on the ship, I theoretically could have encountered any of them. Still, I looked where he was pointing. To my surprise, she did look f
amiliar. I’d seen her face plastered across at least two of the celebrity magazines my sister read.

  “Oh, yeah. She’s on that show. Legal something?”

  “Legal Lies,” Frank said. “It’s a good show. Do you get a lot of famous people on the ship?”

  I didn’t want to admit that my knowledge of pop culture was about as extensive as my knowledge of astrophysics. He was making conversation to diffuse the tension lingering from our argument, so I needed to meet him halfway.

  After a moment, I remembered something he might find interesting. “Some. A rock star shot a video on Monday. And there’s a baseball player getting married onboard this week.”

  “Interesting,” Frank said. “So where are we going?”

  “First, food,” I said. “Tell me more about yourself. Pole partners need to trust each other, like you said. It’s hard to trust a stranger.”

  “You think I can hit that mount once I get to know you better?”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  I sent him on ahead with instructions to meet me at a café about three blocks down while I chatted with some of the other entertainers. Ten minutes later, I followed.

  After our second breakfast, we went back to the docks, but not where the cruise ship dropped us off. The benefit of visiting the same ports time and again was knowing people at all of them. Today, we went to visit a friend’s studio. It wasn’t open, but she’d long ago given me a key so I could drop by and work out when in town. In exchange, I checked on the place when she left the island.

  Frank stopped dead on the sidewalk and looked at me. “Aqua-batics? What is this?”

  “Underwater pole dancing.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nope. Water is the best place to work these moves,” I said. “When I’m weightless, it’s easier to work on form.”

  “This is my penance for dropping you,” he muttered, but he followed me toward the giant tank. “You’re going to drown me and leave me here.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I replied.

  My outer clothes hit the ground. I climbed up the ladder on the side of the tank, then dove off the platform into the water without looking back. Opening my eyes, I swam to the pole and gripped it in a very basic climb: one of the first moves we’d practiced. Then I searched for Frank on the other side of the glass, in the observation area.

  When I didn’t see him, my heart sank. For a split second, I thought he’d abandoned me. Then the water parted, and seconds later, he reached my side. I spun around, twisting my body into the flag position I’d demonstrated the first day of class. Frank gripped the pole about a foot above my head and did the same.

  I grinned up at him, and he shot me a thumbs up. Relief flooded me. On the way here, a voice in my head had insisted this was a terrible idea, but it seemed to be working. Releasing the pole, I kicked to the surface and motioned for Frank to follow me.

  “This is amazing,” he said when his head broke the surface.

  I grinned at him, relieved. “I’m glad you think so. Let’s go through the moves.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Tag! You’re it.”

  Pushing off the pole, he sliced through the water. I watched him go, admiring the graceful way he moved. Then with a laugh, I took a deep breath and dove down after him.

  When we finished, I collapsed onto the floor, grateful for the crash mats left for stretching. Following an intense workout, the two inches of foam felt more luxurious than any bed I’d ever imagined. Not even the Queen of England could sleep as comfortably as I felt right then. When Frank stretched out beside me a moment later, I moved over to rest my head on his shoulder.

  Within seconds, I drifted off to sleep in his arms.

  Chapter Nine

  That afternoon, Frank and his friends had signed up for a tour of the island. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t ask him to cancel. After an exhausting morning dancing in the water, he needed rest. He also needed to spend more time with his friends. Luckily, Frank said Lisa threw herself into the Sassy Singles events, despite being interested in Robbie, so she gave Frank a lot of space.

  I did, however, insist that he meet me after dinner. Worried that he would back out if he knew what I’d planned, I gave him the address of a diner a couple of blocks from our destination. When he arrived, I took his hand and led him through a maze of back alleys. He squeezed for a second, so lightly I might have imagined it. Or maybe our morning strengthened the connection for both of us.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” Frank said as he trailed behind me, “but where are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  We continued in silence, Frank glancing nervously around after every couple of steps. I suspected only his sense of chivalry stopped him from leaving me in this part of town. Thankfully, he didn’t know I’d taken self-defense training when I started working the clubs. One of the bouncers showed me a few tricks in exchange for watching his daughters on my nights off.

  After a few minutes, I drew to a halt in front of a dark, dingy building. Potholes filled the parking lot.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Frank said. “If you wanted a drink, there are half a dozen places closer to the ship. Places where we don’t have to worry about getting gonorrhea.”

  “Check your privilege,” I told him. “This place is fine. In fact, it’s exactly what we need right now.”

  He flushed and looked at the ground. Part of me felt bad. He didn’t ask to be born rich. At the same time, he didn’t have to be a snob.

  I pointed at a sign in the window. AMATEURS’ NIGHT. CASH PRIZE.

  He shook his head. “Oh, no. Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  A wide-eyed, innocent grin was my only response.

  “I’m not ready.”

  “You are, but that’s beside the point. You need to practice before an audience.”

  “And you don’t think the guys in there will boo me off the stage for not being a beautiful woman?”

  “Unlikely, since it’s a gay bar.”

  He chuckled. “You think of everything.”

  “I’ve learned to be pretty resourceful. Come on.”

  Inside, the club looked much nicer. Clean, brightly lit areas around the stages, with comfortable seats and tasteful artwork. Frank let out a low whistle. “Why don’t they fix the outside?”

  “Maybe they’re looking to keep out the upper crust.” I winked at him.

  Before he could protest any more, I signed both of us up for the evening’s competition. They didn’t have a doubles category, so we would perform alone. There was really no need for me to do a set, but I put my name down first. I figured Frank would feel more comfortable watching me before taking the stage.

  I didn’t ask about the prize money, assuming it would be around twenty bucks. Chump change for Frank and less important than the practice to me. The competition wouldn’t start for another half hour or so, so I ordered us each a rum and cola. While I generally discouraged poling drunk–and wouldn’t teach students who showed up under the influence–one drink should help take the edge off.

  Of course, I hadn’t expected Frank to empty the glass in one gulp and immediately order another. I put my hand on his arm. He said, “Don’t worry, the drinks are on me.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “You need to keep your wits.”

  “There are four people on the list ahead of us,” he said. “I’ll make the next one last, I promise.”

  I met his eyes squarely. He held my gaze, breathing steadily. I wanted to tell him no, that he could only have one drink before we performed. But this was the first moment since we arrived that he didn’t look petrified, about to bolt at the slightest provocation, so I didn’t argue. But if he ordered a third, I’d tip the bartender NOT to bring it.

  Slowly, as the clock inched toward eight o’clock, patrons filled the bar. The ship left the port at ten, so I prayed the show started on time. While a professional pol
e routine could last four or five minutes, it took a lot of stamina to go on for that long, so amateurs usually stopped after about two to two and a half. Our routine took three minutes, fifteen seconds.

  Finally, our host appeared. An Asian drag queen strode onto the stage wearing six-inch platform Pleasers that made her seem ten feet tall.

  “Good evening, y’all! I’m Tabby Rangoon. How’s everyone doing tonight?” With a microphone in one hand, she grabbed the pole with the other and swung her legs wide, twirling in a circle. The audience hooted and hollered. Her skills didn’t worry me, but Frank swallowed hard.

  “Relax,” I whispered. “The host isn’t going to be performing. She’s a professional drag queen, not an amateur.”

  “What about you?” he whispered back. “Are you allowed to perform?”

  “Probably not.” I shrugged. “We’re here for you. I don’t care about me. My eye is on a bigger prize at the moment.”

  He nodded, and we fell quiet as the first performer took the stage. Strains of I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself filled the room. Over the years, this song appeared at so many amateur nights that I finally borrowed my bouncer friend’s phone to google it and find out why. The routine presented on stage reminded me of a less-polished version of the old music video I’d found online. A lot of smiles and winks, no terribly difficult pole tricks. Competitor Number One presented no threat.

  The second performer was much better, throwing in a few spins and tricks. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she’d taken some lessons or worked in a club for a couple of weeks. Frank’s eyes widened a bit as he watched, but he didn’t need to worry. He could out-perform Number Two in his sleep.

  Then the third performer took the stage. The first male so far, and he’d been practicing. He twirled around the pole as if it were an extension of himself, swiveling and climbing and flirting with the audience like he’d been born doing it. Beside me, Frank’s face went pale. If his spine stiffened any more, he’d turn to wood.

  “Relax,” I whispered, although it hurt to realize we might not win the cash. No matter how many times I said it wasn’t about the prize money, deep down, Poor Janey knew the truth. “You’re here to practice, get comfortable on the pole in front of people. There will always be other talented performers, you know that.”