Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight, Ch 2

Dangerous Moonlight Ch 2: The Tango

September 1, 1990

The Comstock Line operated cruise ships of various sizes which sailed to various parts of the world, from one day “Cruises to nowhere” that embarked and debarked at the same port, to round the world cruises. In order to market their cruises, they did not maintain a staff of travel writers, but rather invited members of the Travel Writer’s Association to take a cruise once or twice a year – on the house of course (or rather, on the ship) – and write about them.

They were able to pick and choose the travel writers they wanted, of course, depending on what effect they were going for. In the case of the maiden voyage of the world’s largest cruise ship (to date), they were going for the wealthy and elite of the world – and they wanted travel writers who had contributed to such magazines as The Robb Report and Connoisseur.

The writers – and their photographers (for taking professional quality photographs is a skill that most travel writers don’t possess) – were given free passage, but they had to share cabins – and inner cabins, at that. Not that that was such a hardship, Michele Bravo thought as she relaxed on her bed.

It was late…her roommate was still out and about, partying, but she had felt the need for some peace and quiet. She was too excited to sleep, though, so she pulled out her laptop.

What to write, she thought....staring at the blank Word document.

She began to type… but nothing was coming. Well…that was no surprise…she wasn’t a writer. Her sister was. It was her sister who was supposed to be on this ship.

Maybe if she started by telling that story…she’d be able to get to the rest of it.

“My father,” she wrote, “was an officer in the US Airforce. My mom was a stay at home mom. Both he and my mom liked touring overseas, so he always put in for assignments in Japan, England and Germany. My mom started writing travel articles for the local camp newspapers, and her writing was so good that soon she was on tap to write all kinds of material.

My sister, five years older than I, followed in my mom’s footsteps as a travel writer. But she took it a step forward, by starting the first website devoted to travel and travel writing. Whereas my mother had concentrated on travel news for military men and their families, my sister – her name is Alice – targeted her site at civilian travel enthusiasts, with an emphasis on those interested in the high-end, luxurious travel accommodations and sites.

It was Alice who had been scheduled to travel on the Britannia, until two days before the ship was due to sail, she had broken her leg in a skiing accident. She immediately called me up.

“Michele,” she said, “You may be five years younger than I am, but we look just like twins. You know everyone says so. You can pull this off. Take my passport and driver’s license, and go and have some fun.”

“But I can’t write.”

“You don’t have to do any writing. Just pay attention to everything that goes on, and make copious notes. Email me everything, and I’ll do the writing. Oh, and photos. Take lots of photos.”

So, here I am. I have to admit, I felt a thrill of excitement…a rush of adrenalin…as I impersonated my sister…felt kind of like a secret agent…Modesty Blaise or Emma Peel…all the travel writers were treated to a cocktail party yesterday, where our role during the launch festivities was made clear to us. I didn’t want to have to do any of the interviews so I requested a photographer’s job for the night, and they said, sure, which made me happy! Patrick was the one who did the interviewing, and I learned a lot listening to him.

But now that the festivities are over and we’re actually sailing, it’s every man…and woman…for themselves. Theirselves….? Whatever.

Michele sighed. She opened up her email and quickly typed a message to her sister – “I’m here, I’m tired, I’m going to bed. Having a blast though. More tomorrow.” She sent the message, turned off her computer, stowed it away, and then went to bed.

“Would you care to dance?”

What? Where’d he come from?

But there he was…Robert Wade. The hunky Robert Wade without his shirt on.

“I’d love to,” she answered.

He stood up tall and straight and threw his head back. He extended an arm.

Hell, he wanted to tango? She didn’t know how to tango!

She put her hand in his, and he pulled her towards him. She spun around into his arms, her dress swirling around her legs.

He held her for a few seconds, gazing down at her, and his eyes gazed into hers. Her lips began to part, but just when she thought he was going to part his lips as well, he spun her away from him, unrolling her like a top on a string.

Then he was next to her once more, grasping both of her hands, pressing her body to his.

And they were dancing. That so dramatic and sexy dancing she’d seen in the movies.

He spun her away again, and she reached down with both hands to grasp her dress and twirl it around as she stalked around him, showing off her shapely thighs. They were shapely, she noted with satisfaction. Years of mountain biking had given her rock-hard thighs and calves.

Wade grabbed her in his arms again, bent his head close to hers, and fastened his lips over her mouth.

“Robert, Robert!”

Suddenly, they were surrounded by a dozen girls, all tugging him and pulling him away.

She reacted quickly, instinctively, twitching her dress higher above her thighs and high-kicking her rivals …not actually kicking them but kicking the air in front of their faces … and they disappeared back into the shadows, and then she was in Wade’s arms again and now she had no clothes on and he was guiding her backwards onto a bed….

“Oh, god, kill me now.”

Michelle sat bolt upright. Her room-mate, one of the entertainers on the ship, had stumbled into the room and then stumbled into the bathroom and was kneeling, inelegantly, beside the toilet bowel.

Michele plopped down on her bed and put her hands over her eyes, choking back a rueful laugh. Jesus! Her virginity saved by a drunken bitch! This time, she thought with a smile.

After that, with the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom, the mood had rather vanished. If she fell asleep again she knew she’d never take up where that dream left off. But Wade was on this boat, and if she’d dreamed of him maybe he’d dreamed of her…