Read Online Caribbean Crossroads by Connie E Sokol - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Connie E Sokol
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It’s strong, and supple, and healthy, and about mid-day it gets a little poof right here around the middle no matter how many sit ups you do. So just to be clear—I will never have a bimbo body and I’m sick of hearing and feeling like I need to. And if you think you can sit in judgment like one of those bachelorette shows, let me tell you, buddy, you are—you are wronger than wrong.”
“Wronger than wrong?”
“That’s right, and I don’t care how bad the grammar is. So long as we understand each other. And whatever little comment you were about to make, you can just swallow it, right along with your whale-size ego.”
Megan’s chest rose and fell but he just stood there. Then he picked up his towel. “I was just going to say that your price tag is still on.” He took his key and walked out.
Megan looked down and sure enough on her shoulder strap was a price tag for $69.99. She wanted to crawl under the ship.
***
Megan walked cautiously toward the Green Room, checking her watch. She was a good forty-five minutes early, giving her time to dress and think of a sincere apology for Bryant, but without making her sound too vulnerable, or interested, but appropriately remorseful. She was sorry and embarrassed but she dreaded talking with him face to face. How could she even begin to explain her behavior?
Gurgles sounded in her tummy—she couldn’t tell if it was from nerves for the evening or from her thoughts. Opening the door she stopped short—Bryant turned in the folding chair, holding a letter, his expression was as shocked as hers.
“What are you doing here?” said Megan, unable to withhold it. Of course she wanted to apologize, but first to figure out what to say.
“Do I need a reservation?”
“No, but for heaven’s sakes, you don’t need a lot of—” she was about to say makeup but it sounded strange—“costume changing.”
“I wanted to think, some peace and quiet.” With his foot he pushed out a chair for her to sit on.
Megan debated—each interaction so far had been way too close despite her best attempts to stay distant. Cold and distant was not her usual way. Pretending to be was even harder. Especially with him. For months she’d been able to stiff arm any feelings she didn’t want to feel but he had a way of softening her, without her permission. Then, remembering her need to apologize for the Swimsuit Incident, she instantly felt contrite. But then, wasn’t she supposed to be winning Round Two? Sarcasm and fight?
Okay, contrite was good. But with an edge of sarcasm. Right after she apologized. Megan sighed inwardly. Before she could confuse herself further, she strode to the chair. She’d just have to wing this. “Peace and quiet? And you can’t find that in a four-person bunk room?”
“Exactly.”
“Who’s the letter from—one of your many adoring fans?”
“All over sixty.” He looked at the letter. “Just my family.” Again, the bitterness.
“And they still write actual letters? It has to be from your mother.” His expression remained pensive so she stopped being light. “Is it bad news?”
He folded up the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. “No, it’s not bad, not for them at least. It’s about my post-cruise life.”
“So after the summer dancing extravaganza, you go back to a real job like the rest of us?”
“Why, is your temp agency hiring?”
“No, I mean cruise singing is great and all that, but don’t you want to graduate from the Mickey Mouse Club?”
Too sarcastic. She knew as soon as she said it. He just looked at her.
“Sorry.” And she meant it. What was it about him that made her defenses go on alert? She took an imperceptible breath. It was now or never.
“Bryant, about earlier . . .” For a moment the thought came to her that she liked saying his name. “About the swimsuit diatribe . . .”
His mouth upturned slightly.
“I don’t know how to explain this, but, it had nothing to do
“Wronger than wrong?”
“That’s right, and I don’t care how bad the grammar is. So long as we understand each other. And whatever little comment you were about to make, you can just swallow it, right along with your whale-size ego.”
Megan’s chest rose and fell but he just stood there. Then he picked up his towel. “I was just going to say that your price tag is still on.” He took his key and walked out.
Megan looked down and sure enough on her shoulder strap was a price tag for $69.99. She wanted to crawl under the ship.
***
Megan walked cautiously toward the Green Room, checking her watch. She was a good forty-five minutes early, giving her time to dress and think of a sincere apology for Bryant, but without making her sound too vulnerable, or interested, but appropriately remorseful. She was sorry and embarrassed but she dreaded talking with him face to face. How could she even begin to explain her behavior?
Gurgles sounded in her tummy—she couldn’t tell if it was from nerves for the evening or from her thoughts. Opening the door she stopped short—Bryant turned in the folding chair, holding a letter, his expression was as shocked as hers.
“What are you doing here?” said Megan, unable to withhold it. Of course she wanted to apologize, but first to figure out what to say.
“Do I need a reservation?”
“No, but for heaven’s sakes, you don’t need a lot of—” she was about to say makeup but it sounded strange—“costume changing.”
“I wanted to think, some peace and quiet.” With his foot he pushed out a chair for her to sit on.
Megan debated—each interaction so far had been way too close despite her best attempts to stay distant. Cold and distant was not her usual way. Pretending to be was even harder. Especially with him. For months she’d been able to stiff arm any feelings she didn’t want to feel but he had a way of softening her, without her permission. Then, remembering her need to apologize for the Swimsuit Incident, she instantly felt contrite. But then, wasn’t she supposed to be winning Round Two? Sarcasm and fight?
Okay, contrite was good. But with an edge of sarcasm. Right after she apologized. Megan sighed inwardly. Before she could confuse herself further, she strode to the chair. She’d just have to wing this. “Peace and quiet? And you can’t find that in a four-person bunk room?”
“Exactly.”
“Who’s the letter from—one of your many adoring fans?”
“All over sixty.” He looked at the letter. “Just my family.” Again, the bitterness.
“And they still write actual letters? It has to be from your mother.” His expression remained pensive so she stopped being light. “Is it bad news?”
He folded up the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. “No, it’s not bad, not for them at least. It’s about my post-cruise life.”
“So after the summer dancing extravaganza, you go back to a real job like the rest of us?”
“Why, is your temp agency hiring?”
“No, I mean cruise singing is great and all that, but don’t you want to graduate from the Mickey Mouse Club?”
Too sarcastic. She knew as soon as she said it. He just looked at her.
“Sorry.” And she meant it. What was it about him that made her defenses go on alert? She took an imperceptible breath. It was now or never.
“Bryant, about earlier . . .” For a moment the thought came to her that she liked saying his name. “About the swimsuit diatribe . . .”
His mouth upturned slightly.
“I don’t know how to explain this, but, it had nothing to do
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