Chapter 17
Traditionally, the night before touching at the first foreign port-and again at home port- there are ritualistic ceremonies. Among them is the captain's dinner-either a dress affair or, sometimes, a costume party.
And then a "special" dance. Which, as Elsie had pointed out to Jennifer, was not likely to be so special, since the same orchestra played for all dances.
The bridge tournament was really a hangover from earlier days, before the ship had gone the swinging singles route. However, it did serve a useful function, even on a swinging singles cruise. Those who had been swinging a trifle excessively could at least appear and sit in public view without doing anything more strenuous than hold cards. And, without rancor on anyone's part, be "turned off" that night, in preparation for the land portion of the trip, which could be strenuous but in an entirely different way.
Jennifer could play-act with the others in the juvenilities of the costume party which the captain had elected, except that she was hard put for a costume. Everything she had was brand new and very much in style. Now at home there was an attic full of old trunks from which, as a young girl, she had recreated fashions of generations past, had pranced and pretended-but they were back home.
"You could always go as Eve and carry an apple," Elsie had suggested, safe in the knowledge that she had a serviceable domino carried on these trips for just such occasions.
"Or you could go as Lady Godiva," Bruce suggested over her shoulder. "And carry a horse."
"You two are no help. Besides, I don't think horses are available. And all the apples have been made into applesauce, to judge by the amount we're served." Jennifer slumped in her deck chair, glowering-or making a fair imitation of it. "Nobody told me there'd be a costume party. I'd have brought one of my middy blouse outfits... Bruce! That's it! Can you bribe a steward or one of the crew to rent me one of those middy blouses? And maybe a pair of pants..."
Bruce frowned, sitting on the deck by her chair. "This is a burly Dutch crew and you're not so much on size. You'd fall out of 'em. Though that might be interesting to see."
"No, no! I'll go as Mary Martin in South Pacific when she did that act on the beach. Remember? Big, baggy blouse, rolled-up sailor pants... Of course, I can't sing. Come to think of it, I can't dance, either. Oh yes. And one of those white hats. Like our navy boys wear."
Bruce chuckled. "I have one that survived my navy days."
"Perfect! Now if I could just-Bruce, can you teach me a few steps? You know, a-what do they call it?-routine."
Bruce shook his head. "Jennifer, you see me in my last moment of tranquility. End-of-cruise-night is a cruise director's nightmare, and I've got my saddle ready. Tomorrow I eat aspirins like peanuts. Somebody is bound to get belligerent in the bar, someone will quarrel with the orchestra over the piece to be played. Three couples will demand a recheck on the bridge scoring, and the movie projector will break down at the most interesting part, where the heroine climbs out of the creek, naked, and meets the boy on the creek bank, naked. Tonight I function in all capacities." He smiled ruefully at Jennifer. "And so I'll be late. Very, very late."
Jennifer touched his hand reassuringly. It wouldn't matter, she thought. She could use the waiting time to dream of the lovemaking to come. To anticipate this last night together. Somehow, without her realizing it, she had put a period to the affair-landing at Acapulco.
Bruce gave her a last, regretful smile and wandered off on his duties.
She only caught glimpses of him after that. A brief encounter at the captain's party, for which the little Javanese girl had brought Jennifer an assortment of blouses and white duck pants--and Bruce's own navy white hat. A view of his back as he bent over a bridge table, re-checking a score or settling some point of rules.
He had been quite right. The projector did break down. Not at the spot he predicted but it did break down. And Jennifer saw him dash for the projection booth.
The dance, which turned out to be composed largely of waltzes since that was the only tempo the captain recognized, was still going at one a.m., when Jennifer hauled herself down the corridor and to her stateroom. It really hadn't been such a strenuous night, it was just that there was so much of it.
She had only had to block a few minor passes, mostly by amiable and easily discouraged drunks. And since she didn't dance, she had sat out most of that. The movie, while exhausting and boring, hadn't required much activity.
Yet she was tired, bone-weary, it seemed. Perhaps the cumulative effects of several nights of lovemaking had caught up with her. She didn't feel actually weary. It was just that muscles didn't seem to care about cooperating.
She peeled out of the silly Mary Martin costume and stretched out on her berth, naked, letting the warm tropic breeze from an open port blow over her. Later she pulled a light sheet up to her breasts and lay staring into the dark, drowsing off and snapping awake as she waited.
He must have slipped in at one of her napping periods, because suddenly he was beside her, the warmth of his body seeping through to her. By the night light in the head Jennifer could see he was naked, and she flung out an arm, encircling his neck.
He leaned over and kissed her, tenderly, not savagely. It hadn't built to that yet.
But she could feel the stirrings in her pelvis, the awakening heat in her pussy. Her breasts responded to a gentle caress, with her nipples becoming erect, amber-pink buds of sensitivity.
She rolled over, pressing her breasts against his side, throwing one leg over his, so that his limp priapus touched her pussy. There was a faint stirring down there. She could feel the motion of his swelling penis and the slight restlessness of his hips as he snuggled closer in to her.
One arm crept around her shoulders and his hand draped over her breast, just a light, butterfly brush that started new urgings, catching her breath tight in her chest, making her breasts swell with anticipation.
His other hand rested on the curve of her waist and tugged her gently toward him. She moved closer, closer and the hand slipped behind her back, moved gently along her back, down toward her buttocks.
She heard him murmur her name... "Jennifer, Jennifer..." before his voice faded off.
And Bruce was asleep.