September 5, 1990
Michele Bravo stood at the prow of the Britannia, watching the dolphins body-surf along the wake. The moon was riding high in the sky, and its pale light coated the water with a silver glow.
Truth to tell, she was feeling bored. She was not a party girl, or a conversationalist, come to that…and that was all that was available on this ship. If it had been the Caribbean, now, she could get off at every port and see the sights and talk to people of different cultures…but on this ship, heading across the Atlantic Ocean toward England, there was nothing but miles and miles of water.
She’d be meeting Robert Wade for a swim the next morning, but that ship had sailed, as far as she was concerned. After her initial burst of euphoria it had occurred to her that if he’d really wanted to talk and…do other things….he would have made a date with her for that night, not just said, “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After she’d exchanged her swimsuit for shorts and a t-shirt earlier that day, she’d continued her rounds of all the activities offered by the cruise ship – the dancing (she was getting good at the Charleston, and after only two lessons!) the art gallery, she’d attended a couple of lectures, and she’d watched a lot of fun movies, true.
Meantime, Patrick, apparently getting the feeling he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, had moved on to another woman, and indeed, she’d seen them together at one of the dances. And of course, relief at being free of him warred with the feeling that it sure hadn’t taken him very long to replace her….but it was like her sister had said, everyone wanted shipboard romance, what happened on the ship stayed on the ship, and once the ship hit port, everyone went their separate ways and anyone who thought log-lasting relationships would be formed was foolish.
Another three days, Michele thought disconsolately. If I’d taken a plane I’d be in London seeing a play in the West End right now!
“Wait a minute,” she thought. “There’s skeet shooting off the back of the boat every day…I’ve yet to give that a try….that could be kind of fun.”
Well, it had been a long day. She’d check to see if one of the restaurants was open and perhaps get an ice cream sundae before turning in.
When she walked into the Neptune’s Nook, her eyes lit on Robert Wade. He looked up at her guiltily…not because he didn’t want to see her, she perceived, but because he was in the process of devouring a huge hot-fudge sundae with brownies, and whipped cream.
“I’m supposed to be on a diet,” he told her confidentially. “But, hell…excuse my French…if they want me to stick to a diet they shouldn’t put me on a cruise where they’ve got restaurants open 24-hours a day.”
“If I have some of your sundae, that’ll be only half the calories for you,” Michele suggested.
“Sure. Grab a spoon.”
Michele did so.
“Eat from that side,” he ordered. “I don’t have any germs and I’m sure you don’t either, but just for propriety’s sake.”
Michele spooned some hot-fudge covered brownie into her mouth.
“I’m going to try skeet shooting tomorrow afternoon,” she told him. “That’s about the only thing on this ship I haven’t tried. Would you like to join me?”
“Sure.”
“So,” said Wade, “It must be fun, being a travel writer.”
“A family tradition,” said Michele. “My mother started the business, my sister carried on. Me…I’m thinking of jumping ship.”
“Oh? What are you going to do instead?”
“Air Force,” she said. “My father was in the Air Force, I’ve been thinking of carrying on the tradition.”
“That’ll work,” said Wade. “You get to travel everywhere for free in the Air Force, too.”
“Yep,” said Michele with a grin.
“What field?” he asked.
She pushed at her glasses. “I’d like to be a pilot, but that’s not going to happen. I was thinking of the Security Forces.”
"The Security Forces?"
"Yes...they used to be the Air Police, or AP for short. MPs, military police, those are army. SP, shore police, those are Navy and Marines. AP, air police, is of course, the Air Force. But of course they had to change the name, way back in 1967, I guess, to Security Forces. But to cut out the pedantry, I'm going to be an SP."
“Sounds good. So, you were an Air Force brat?”
“Yeah. Traveled everywhere when I was a kid. Germany, Japan, England. Not to mention several places in the States, too. I’ve had a bit of wanderlust ever since. I hate to stay in one place.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty independent, too.”
Michele nodded. “I usually am pretty happy in my own company. So, how are you liking the cruise?”
They talked far into the night. It turned out that Wade also was a WWII buff, and although his scope of knowledge was broader than hers, they could discuss the relative merits of the planes used by the various air forces quite intelligently, cumulating in a friendly argument on which plane had been more important to the British during the Battle of Britain, the Spitfire or the Hurricane.
Wade escorted her to her cabin and kissed her goodnight on the cheek.
September 6, 1990
The next morning, Michele and Robert Wade met and swam in companionable silence. After they finished their laps and got dressed, they walked to the back of the ship where the trap shooting was to take place.
“I’ve done a bit of shooting,” Wade told the attendant, “and I’ve watched a bit of it,” said Michele with a grin.
The attendant gave them shotguns, showed how to load them and how to stand when they were firing.
“I throw the clay disc into the air,” she said, “You follow it along with the battle of your shotgun, go out a little further to lead the disc, and then shoot.”
Michele missed her first three tries, each blast coming closer and closer, however, until with her fourth shot she finally hit the disc dead center and shattered it. She and Wade exchanged high-fives.
After that, she was hooked, and made a respectable showing, with a 70% success rate.
“Although they throw it very slow, eh?” she commented to Wade, as they headed for lunch. “A real skeet shoot meet probably has those things going pretty fast.”
“You seem to be a natural. I think you’ll be pretty good with some practice.”
She enjoyed the lunch. Wade was funny, he told stories, but he was also an attentive listener. As an 18-year old she didn’t have a fund of stories she thought he’d be interested in, but her sister Alice had told her quite a few funny stories in her adventures as a travel correspondent, and after all, as far as this trip was concerned, she was Alice.
After lunch, Wade told her he had to go spend some time with his agent, and that he’d see her the next day at the pool. “See you then,” she replied with a smile.
As she walked back toward the skeet shoot – she intended to get in some more practice – she decided that she really liked Robert Wade…as a person. She hoped that this seed that was just starting to grow would blossom into a long-term friendship.
Unfortunately, if it did, it would be as Alice Bravo, not Michele.
Michele had learned some Shakespeare in school…. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave….”
Well, the web had been woven, she’d just have to carry on with it!
She hoped she’d have a chance to carry on with it!
Showing posts with label Dangerous Moonlight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dangerous Moonlight. Show all posts
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight, Ch 7
Dangerous Moonlight Chapter 7: Teaser
September 4, 1990
And of course he wasn’t there the next morning.
“Should have known,” Michele murmured to herself as tossed her terrycloth robe onto one of the deckchairs and slipped into the water, choosing the center lane as usual. She started to swim.
She’d been conflicted, both hoping he’d be there and hoping he’d not be there. And so now she was both disappointed, and kind of hurt, as well as relieved.
“Jesus, kid, get a grip,” she told herself as she swam. “You’re acting like such a schoolgirl. And for how many years were you feeling all superior over all those girls at school who spent their time mooning over boys instead of getting on with their lives?”
She’d never felt sexually interested in any of the boys in her high school, from sophomore right up until senior. She preferred “older” men, like Captain Kirk from that old TV show, Star Trek, or Richard Boone from Have Gun Will Travel, or Mike Nelson from Seahunt, shows she’d used to watch with her parents when she was growing up. (Thank heavens for TVLand reruns.)
She had had a crush on one of her English teachers….after learning that in the summer months he was a smoke jumper.
And that had given her her clue. She was attracted to action-oriented guys. Not necessarily the most handsome guys on the block, but the ones who were out there living their lives, being heroes, already mature, and not learning how to be mature.
So why had she been so suddenly attracted to Robert Wade? He was the right age, early thirties, but she’d never seen any of his movies. Still, he did sort of resemble William Shatner….same square face, same high cheekbones, same muscular body (at least during his Captain Kirk days!)…
Well, it didn’t matter, he wasn’t coming.
And it was time for her to stop playing this stupid game anyway. She’d allowed herself to get excited, she’d done a little fantasizing, but really, did she want to give away her virginity to a one-night stand on a cruise ship? Even with a handsome actor? No, this was probably all for the best.
She was wearing a red one-piece. She’d intended to bring only one swimsuit, her blue one, but Alice had supervised her wardrobe and advised her to pick up a couple more. “When you’re swimming at your local pool, you can wear the same suit every day. But when you’re on a cruise, you should have a change of suits. Just as you’ve got to have a different set of clothing for each day.”
“My suitcases will weigh a ton!”
“They’ve got porters!”
So she’d picked up a white suit and a red one, to have a patriotic theme. And she’d decided to wear the red suit today, because while blue was her favorite color, red had always been her lucky color.
“So much for luck,” she thought.
She sped up the speed of her laps.
“Well, maybe it was luck,” she thought after a few more laps. “After all, actors…”
Her mind drifted into other channels…. her sister and mom wanted her to come in on the family business of travel and travel writing….and that would certainly fulfill her dream of spending her life traveling….her dad wanted her to go into the Air Force. She wouldn’t have minded being a pilot, but although her eyesight wasn’t that bad it wasn’t good enough to be a pilot…
Michele completed her twenty-fifth lap and decided that was enough for the morning. She had places to go, things to do.
She levered herself out of the pool and, plucking up her robe, headed for the women’s locker room to take a shower.
“Hey!”
She turned around, and her heart gave a little leap. He’d just come out of the men’s locker room.
“Hi,” she said. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I got held up. Had to talk to my agent.”
“Oh….good news, I hope.”
He shrugged. “Promising news, anyway. In this business you learn not to get your hopes up until the producer’s signature is on the contract.”
She was now well educated on Robert Wade’s career, after visiting a few message boards that gossiped about actors. He’d guest-starred on a few popular TV series, and been the side-kick in two moderately successful movies, and there was an unconfirmed rumor going around that he was supposed to be the star in a planned remake of a movie called The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
“You’re up for a role in ….Creature From the Black Lagoon, right?”
“Yes,” he said, his face brightening. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I have my sources.”
“That’s why I’m working hard on my swimming,” he continued, gesturing toward the pool. “I’ll be spending practically the whole movie underwater, if things work out right.”
“I hope they do,” she said.
“Thanks.” He glanced at her dripping form. “You’ve finished your laps already, then?”
“Yes. I’ve got places to go…”
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then, okay?”
“Sure,” said Michele. “I’ll be here.”
He nodded to her and then turning, took a few steps and dove into the pool.
Michele found the privacy of the women’s locker room, where she allowed herself to giggle uncontrollably for a minute or so before sternly telling herself to get a grip.
She’d have much to dream about tonight…and who knew what would happen tomorrow?
September 4, 1990
And of course he wasn’t there the next morning.
“Should have known,” Michele murmured to herself as tossed her terrycloth robe onto one of the deckchairs and slipped into the water, choosing the center lane as usual. She started to swim.
She’d been conflicted, both hoping he’d be there and hoping he’d not be there. And so now she was both disappointed, and kind of hurt, as well as relieved.
“Jesus, kid, get a grip,” she told herself as she swam. “You’re acting like such a schoolgirl. And for how many years were you feeling all superior over all those girls at school who spent their time mooning over boys instead of getting on with their lives?”
She’d never felt sexually interested in any of the boys in her high school, from sophomore right up until senior. She preferred “older” men, like Captain Kirk from that old TV show, Star Trek, or Richard Boone from Have Gun Will Travel, or Mike Nelson from Seahunt, shows she’d used to watch with her parents when she was growing up. (Thank heavens for TVLand reruns.)
She had had a crush on one of her English teachers….after learning that in the summer months he was a smoke jumper.
And that had given her her clue. She was attracted to action-oriented guys. Not necessarily the most handsome guys on the block, but the ones who were out there living their lives, being heroes, already mature, and not learning how to be mature.
So why had she been so suddenly attracted to Robert Wade? He was the right age, early thirties, but she’d never seen any of his movies. Still, he did sort of resemble William Shatner….same square face, same high cheekbones, same muscular body (at least during his Captain Kirk days!)…
Well, it didn’t matter, he wasn’t coming.
And it was time for her to stop playing this stupid game anyway. She’d allowed herself to get excited, she’d done a little fantasizing, but really, did she want to give away her virginity to a one-night stand on a cruise ship? Even with a handsome actor? No, this was probably all for the best.
She was wearing a red one-piece. She’d intended to bring only one swimsuit, her blue one, but Alice had supervised her wardrobe and advised her to pick up a couple more. “When you’re swimming at your local pool, you can wear the same suit every day. But when you’re on a cruise, you should have a change of suits. Just as you’ve got to have a different set of clothing for each day.”
“My suitcases will weigh a ton!”
“They’ve got porters!”
So she’d picked up a white suit and a red one, to have a patriotic theme. And she’d decided to wear the red suit today, because while blue was her favorite color, red had always been her lucky color.
“So much for luck,” she thought.
She sped up the speed of her laps.
“Well, maybe it was luck,” she thought after a few more laps. “After all, actors…”
Her mind drifted into other channels…. her sister and mom wanted her to come in on the family business of travel and travel writing….and that would certainly fulfill her dream of spending her life traveling….her dad wanted her to go into the Air Force. She wouldn’t have minded being a pilot, but although her eyesight wasn’t that bad it wasn’t good enough to be a pilot…
Michele completed her twenty-fifth lap and decided that was enough for the morning. She had places to go, things to do.
She levered herself out of the pool and, plucking up her robe, headed for the women’s locker room to take a shower.
“Hey!”
She turned around, and her heart gave a little leap. He’d just come out of the men’s locker room.
“Hi,” she said. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I got held up. Had to talk to my agent.”
“Oh….good news, I hope.”
He shrugged. “Promising news, anyway. In this business you learn not to get your hopes up until the producer’s signature is on the contract.”
She was now well educated on Robert Wade’s career, after visiting a few message boards that gossiped about actors. He’d guest-starred on a few popular TV series, and been the side-kick in two moderately successful movies, and there was an unconfirmed rumor going around that he was supposed to be the star in a planned remake of a movie called The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
“You’re up for a role in ….Creature From the Black Lagoon, right?”
“Yes,” he said, his face brightening. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I have my sources.”
“That’s why I’m working hard on my swimming,” he continued, gesturing toward the pool. “I’ll be spending practically the whole movie underwater, if things work out right.”
“I hope they do,” she said.
“Thanks.” He glanced at her dripping form. “You’ve finished your laps already, then?”
“Yes. I’ve got places to go…”
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then, okay?”
“Sure,” said Michele. “I’ll be here.”
He nodded to her and then turning, took a few steps and dove into the pool.
Michele found the privacy of the women’s locker room, where she allowed herself to giggle uncontrollably for a minute or so before sternly telling herself to get a grip.
She’d have much to dream about tonight…and who knew what would happen tomorrow?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight, Ch 6
Dangerous Moonlight Chapter 6: Dangerous Moonlight
September 3, 1990
After breakfast the next morning, Michele put on her swim-suit, a dark blue one-piece; a white terry cloth robe, and flip-flops. The Britannia had several swimming pools – four of them on the lido deck aimed at children and families, and a couple on a lower deck suitable for adults who wished to swim in relative quiet.
She had heard the term “lido deck” when she’d watched re-runs of that 1980s tv series, the Love Boat, but had never thought about what it meant. The literature with which she’d been provided explained it. “The term lido comes from the Lido di Venezia on the sandy barrier beach that encloses the Lagoon of Venice, where sea-bathing took place from the later nineteenth century.”
The passengers had not been asked to use 1920s swimsuits when they made use of the pools, so the men were bare-chested, and most of the women wore bikinis, some of the skimpiest variety possible. They also weren’t swimming, but rather relaxing on deck chairs getting a tan.
Three of the pools on the lido deck were devoted to children – one was two feet deep, one four feet deep, another very deep, with water slides for the kids, and adults.
The pools were all fresh water, and kept at a comfortable temperature.
After swimming for a while, Michele found a deckchair and relaxed, watching the little children frolicking in their baby pools, their faces filled with joy at the experience. Michele enjoyed their enjoyment, without feeling the least bit maternal about it. She liked kids, as long as they were other people’s kids.
After an hour, though, this palled. Time to leave this fun fest. Because she was a completionist, she decided she’d finish the pool project that very day. She’d go down to the pool reserved for adults only and dip her toes in that for a few minutes.
But she found the pool…and it was a beauty…deserted. It had been divided into 8 lanes – it was strictly for swimming laps.
Michele dove right in.
A few minutes later, as she performed a flip turn to start another lap, she saw that she had company. A man had entered the pool and begun doing laps as well. She had chosen to swim in the center lane…he had taken the far right lane.
Michele swam on and on, enjoying the exercise. These were her two sports – swimming and mountain biking.
After about 30 minutes, she came to the edge of the pool and levered herself out. She grabbed up her towel and started drying herself off, when her swimming partner ended his laps and levered himself out of the pool as well.
She recognized him immediately. It was Robert Wade.
Robert Wade…a couple of inches taller than she was, nice tan, well muscled with a well-defined six pack and a broad, hairless chest that showed his pectorals off nicely, and a smile on his face.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she squeaked back.
This was it, she thought. This was her chance. Say something clever!
She couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. The old standby when talking to an actor was, “I really enjoy your work,” but since she’d never seen anything he’d been in, that might turn out awkward. She could say, “Nice body,” because that would be nothing less than the truth, but while guys could get away with saying that to a woman, a woman sure as hell couldn’t say that to a guy….unless she was a certain type of woman looking for a certain type of guy!
“The old double standard,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I meant, this is a nice pool. I’m surprised we’re the only two people here.”
“Well, I suppose most people like to be in the pool on the lido deck so they can enjoy the sunshine. It’s only serious swimmers like us who use this one.”
“Yes. I….do you swim this time every day….” (Oh, God, what a question to ask!)
He grinned. “Yes, I like to get my work out in early.”
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Sure.”
With a final wave of her towel, Michele walked into the women’s locker room, whereupon she proceeded to stuff her towel into her mouth and then scream around it.
After that, she felt better. After all, she hadn’t done too bad. She’d given herself another day to read upon him – thank heaven for the internet – and he had looked genuinely pleased that they’d see each other the next morning.
If he shows up, she thought darkly.
Then…. Of course he will! And I’ll be ready, next time.
September 3, 1990
After breakfast the next morning, Michele put on her swim-suit, a dark blue one-piece; a white terry cloth robe, and flip-flops. The Britannia had several swimming pools – four of them on the lido deck aimed at children and families, and a couple on a lower deck suitable for adults who wished to swim in relative quiet.
She had heard the term “lido deck” when she’d watched re-runs of that 1980s tv series, the Love Boat, but had never thought about what it meant. The literature with which she’d been provided explained it. “The term lido comes from the Lido di Venezia on the sandy barrier beach that encloses the Lagoon of Venice, where sea-bathing took place from the later nineteenth century.”
The passengers had not been asked to use 1920s swimsuits when they made use of the pools, so the men were bare-chested, and most of the women wore bikinis, some of the skimpiest variety possible. They also weren’t swimming, but rather relaxing on deck chairs getting a tan.
Three of the pools on the lido deck were devoted to children – one was two feet deep, one four feet deep, another very deep, with water slides for the kids, and adults.
The pools were all fresh water, and kept at a comfortable temperature.
After swimming for a while, Michele found a deckchair and relaxed, watching the little children frolicking in their baby pools, their faces filled with joy at the experience. Michele enjoyed their enjoyment, without feeling the least bit maternal about it. She liked kids, as long as they were other people’s kids.
After an hour, though, this palled. Time to leave this fun fest. Because she was a completionist, she decided she’d finish the pool project that very day. She’d go down to the pool reserved for adults only and dip her toes in that for a few minutes.
But she found the pool…and it was a beauty…deserted. It had been divided into 8 lanes – it was strictly for swimming laps.
Michele dove right in.
A few minutes later, as she performed a flip turn to start another lap, she saw that she had company. A man had entered the pool and begun doing laps as well. She had chosen to swim in the center lane…he had taken the far right lane.
Michele swam on and on, enjoying the exercise. These were her two sports – swimming and mountain biking.
After about 30 minutes, she came to the edge of the pool and levered herself out. She grabbed up her towel and started drying herself off, when her swimming partner ended his laps and levered himself out of the pool as well.
She recognized him immediately. It was Robert Wade.
Robert Wade…a couple of inches taller than she was, nice tan, well muscled with a well-defined six pack and a broad, hairless chest that showed his pectorals off nicely, and a smile on his face.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she squeaked back.
This was it, she thought. This was her chance. Say something clever!
She couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. The old standby when talking to an actor was, “I really enjoy your work,” but since she’d never seen anything he’d been in, that might turn out awkward. She could say, “Nice body,” because that would be nothing less than the truth, but while guys could get away with saying that to a woman, a woman sure as hell couldn’t say that to a guy….unless she was a certain type of woman looking for a certain type of guy!
“The old double standard,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I meant, this is a nice pool. I’m surprised we’re the only two people here.”
“Well, I suppose most people like to be in the pool on the lido deck so they can enjoy the sunshine. It’s only serious swimmers like us who use this one.”
“Yes. I….do you swim this time every day….” (Oh, God, what a question to ask!)
He grinned. “Yes, I like to get my work out in early.”
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Sure.”
With a final wave of her towel, Michele walked into the women’s locker room, whereupon she proceeded to stuff her towel into her mouth and then scream around it.
After that, she felt better. After all, she hadn’t done too bad. She’d given herself another day to read upon him – thank heaven for the internet – and he had looked genuinely pleased that they’d see each other the next morning.
If he shows up, she thought darkly.
Then…. Of course he will! And I’ll be ready, next time.
Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight, Ch 5
September 2, 1990
That evening, Michele sat with her laptop on her lap, vainly trying to get the juices to start flowing so she could write her report to her sister. But nothing was coming. The white screen glowed at her, impersonally and unhelpfully.
Well…it was non-fiction. What if she tried her hand at fiction….at some fantasy she had, and start writing that. Perhaps then she’d be able to segue into her real work.
So…what could her fantasy be….?
Well, she could fantasize about Robert Wade, of course, but what…. She didn’t want to just fantasize that he’d show up in her bed out of the blue…no, it was the chase that counted…the pursuit. That was what had always been sexy to her, when watching TV shows as a kid. The “will they ever get together” storyline. Once two characters did get together, the interest was gone! Then, to try to rekindle the interest, the writers would introduce a baby into the mix… which she’d always thought made it worse.
No, it was the chase that was the thing…
Just a few minutes ago, she’d come back from her cabin from watching the movie Thank You, Mr. Moto. There were three! movie theaters on board the ship – one of them was airing first-run movies, one was running silent movies only, and one was running only movies that had a cruise boat theme, or at least a ship appeared at some time during the proceedings. She’d stopped in and seen that Peter Lorre’s first outing as Mr. Moto, Thank You Mr. Moto, was next up. She bought a bucket of popcorn with extra butter and a large Pepsi and settled back to enjoy herself.
Although Mr. Moto had been the hero of the film, the viewers didn’t know for sure whether he was a hero or a villain until two thirds of the way through. Indeed, he had been a rather ruthless hero, at one point throwing a villain – still alive – overboard.
She had loved that part, thought Michele. “I know who you are, Mr. Moto,” the fake steward had said.
And “That is most unfortunate for you,” had said Mr. Moto. Then there’d been a judo fight and over the side the steward had gone.
“What a great line…”
What about that, then, as the plot for her seduction fantasy….
Dangerous Moonlight, by Michele Bravo
She stared at the title for several seconds.
Okay, how abut this, she thought. I don’t write it like a story. No need to describe the setting or the character. I write it like a movie. Yeah. I’m the heroine and Robert Wade is the hero. And we’re on a luxury cruise liner from San Francisco to Honolulu. And it’s almost midnight and there’s a full moon. And…and…it’s 1938, just before World War II, and he’s supposed to be the pilot of a new test plane, and he’s traveling to Hawaii with the plans, and I’m supposed to find out if he’s really a pilot or just a spy, trying to steal the plans. And he is a real pilot, but he thinks I’m a spy, trying to steal the plans from him.
Michele put her hands over her eyes and giggled. Jeez, I’m making this pretty complicated for my first attempt at a seduction scenario. Just start the damn thing.
Dangerous Moonlight, by Michele Bravo
Michele - played by Michele Bravo
Robert –played by Robert Wade
The scene: They’re walking along the promenade deck of a WWII era cruise liner. It’s a full moon, and the silver light glints on the waves.
Michele: The full moon is lovely, isn’t.
Robert: I hate the full moon. Moonlight is dangerous.
Michele: [Coquettishly] Why, whatever can you mean?
Robert: Have you never heard of the bomber’s moon? That’s what a full moon is. When the night sky is so bright, thanks to a full moon, that’s the time bomber pilot’s love best.
Michele. Oh.
[Michele knew a great deal about certain aspects of the Second World War. Her grandfather had flown P-51s in that war, and her grandmother had been a WASP. When they’d visited him – her parents and her sister – he always talked about the war, and sometimes had friends over, and they’d talk about dogfights. Michele had started studying fighter pilots, not only of WWII but also of WWI. Indeed, while most of her friends had had posters of rock stars on their walls since their early teens, she’d had posters of the Red Baron, and WWII era-aircraft.
However, the reason why she knew about the bomber’s moon, and could mention it so glibly, was that she was also a fan of mysteries, and , indeed, had just finished A Late Phoenix by Catherine Aird only a week or so ago, in which that author had used the term. One could learn so much about history by reading mystery stories. ]
Robert: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cast a damper over your enjoyment of the evening.
Michele: That’s quite all right. I’m so fascinated by pilots and aircraft. The thought of two brave pilots…desperately trying to outmaneuver each other as they fight for their lives in the air….I can’t explain it. It’s just so…. Did she want to say “Hot”? Did they even use the term “Hot” for sexual excitement back in 1938? She didn’t know….
Robert: Oh, the adrenalin flows, I don’t deny it. A lot of pilots during WWI never could go back to civilian life after the war ended, because they needed that extra excitement that peacetime didn’t offer.
Michele: So you’re going to Honolulu to fly planes? That’s out of the way, isn’t it? It’s Germany we need to worry about, surely.
Robert: [smiles] If only that were true.
The couple reach the prow of the ship. They can see the white foam churned up by the ship scything through the water, and the dolphins bodysurfing on the waves.
Robert: [sighs]: It is romantic, isn’t it?
Closeup of their hands brushing against each other. Of their fingers intertwining. Camera cants upward slowly to reveal their two profiles facing each other, silhouetted in the full moon…they kiss.
…..
The door opened, and Michele’s roommate staggered in, her face green. She headed straight for the bathroom and bent over the toilet.
Is she going to get drunk every night? Michele wondered.
She glanced back at the page, at the blinking cursor. The mood was gone…the sounds from the bathroom quite destroying it.
Hell, she may as well get started on writing her story of the events of the day for Alice.
Coitus interruptus again, she thought. Twice! Well, hopefully the third time would be the charm….
That evening, Michele sat with her laptop on her lap, vainly trying to get the juices to start flowing so she could write her report to her sister. But nothing was coming. The white screen glowed at her, impersonally and unhelpfully.
Well…it was non-fiction. What if she tried her hand at fiction….at some fantasy she had, and start writing that. Perhaps then she’d be able to segue into her real work.
So…what could her fantasy be….?
Well, she could fantasize about Robert Wade, of course, but what…. She didn’t want to just fantasize that he’d show up in her bed out of the blue…no, it was the chase that counted…the pursuit. That was what had always been sexy to her, when watching TV shows as a kid. The “will they ever get together” storyline. Once two characters did get together, the interest was gone! Then, to try to rekindle the interest, the writers would introduce a baby into the mix… which she’d always thought made it worse.
No, it was the chase that was the thing…
Just a few minutes ago, she’d come back from her cabin from watching the movie Thank You, Mr. Moto. There were three! movie theaters on board the ship – one of them was airing first-run movies, one was running silent movies only, and one was running only movies that had a cruise boat theme, or at least a ship appeared at some time during the proceedings. She’d stopped in and seen that Peter Lorre’s first outing as Mr. Moto, Thank You Mr. Moto, was next up. She bought a bucket of popcorn with extra butter and a large Pepsi and settled back to enjoy herself.
Although Mr. Moto had been the hero of the film, the viewers didn’t know for sure whether he was a hero or a villain until two thirds of the way through. Indeed, he had been a rather ruthless hero, at one point throwing a villain – still alive – overboard.
She had loved that part, thought Michele. “I know who you are, Mr. Moto,” the fake steward had said.
And “That is most unfortunate for you,” had said Mr. Moto. Then there’d been a judo fight and over the side the steward had gone.
“What a great line…”
What about that, then, as the plot for her seduction fantasy….
Dangerous Moonlight, by Michele Bravo
She stared at the title for several seconds.
Okay, how abut this, she thought. I don’t write it like a story. No need to describe the setting or the character. I write it like a movie. Yeah. I’m the heroine and Robert Wade is the hero. And we’re on a luxury cruise liner from San Francisco to Honolulu. And it’s almost midnight and there’s a full moon. And…and…it’s 1938, just before World War II, and he’s supposed to be the pilot of a new test plane, and he’s traveling to Hawaii with the plans, and I’m supposed to find out if he’s really a pilot or just a spy, trying to steal the plans. And he is a real pilot, but he thinks I’m a spy, trying to steal the plans from him.
Michele put her hands over her eyes and giggled. Jeez, I’m making this pretty complicated for my first attempt at a seduction scenario. Just start the damn thing.
Dangerous Moonlight, by Michele Bravo
Michele - played by Michele Bravo
Robert –played by Robert Wade
The scene: They’re walking along the promenade deck of a WWII era cruise liner. It’s a full moon, and the silver light glints on the waves.
Michele: The full moon is lovely, isn’t.
Robert: I hate the full moon. Moonlight is dangerous.
Michele: [Coquettishly] Why, whatever can you mean?
Robert: Have you never heard of the bomber’s moon? That’s what a full moon is. When the night sky is so bright, thanks to a full moon, that’s the time bomber pilot’s love best.
Michele. Oh.
[Michele knew a great deal about certain aspects of the Second World War. Her grandfather had flown P-51s in that war, and her grandmother had been a WASP. When they’d visited him – her parents and her sister – he always talked about the war, and sometimes had friends over, and they’d talk about dogfights. Michele had started studying fighter pilots, not only of WWII but also of WWI. Indeed, while most of her friends had had posters of rock stars on their walls since their early teens, she’d had posters of the Red Baron, and WWII era-aircraft.
However, the reason why she knew about the bomber’s moon, and could mention it so glibly, was that she was also a fan of mysteries, and , indeed, had just finished A Late Phoenix by Catherine Aird only a week or so ago, in which that author had used the term. One could learn so much about history by reading mystery stories. ]
Robert: I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cast a damper over your enjoyment of the evening.
Michele: That’s quite all right. I’m so fascinated by pilots and aircraft. The thought of two brave pilots…desperately trying to outmaneuver each other as they fight for their lives in the air….I can’t explain it. It’s just so…. Did she want to say “Hot”? Did they even use the term “Hot” for sexual excitement back in 1938? She didn’t know….
Robert: Oh, the adrenalin flows, I don’t deny it. A lot of pilots during WWI never could go back to civilian life after the war ended, because they needed that extra excitement that peacetime didn’t offer.
Michele: So you’re going to Honolulu to fly planes? That’s out of the way, isn’t it? It’s Germany we need to worry about, surely.
Robert: [smiles] If only that were true.
The couple reach the prow of the ship. They can see the white foam churned up by the ship scything through the water, and the dolphins bodysurfing on the waves.
Robert: [sighs]: It is romantic, isn’t it?
Closeup of their hands brushing against each other. Of their fingers intertwining. Camera cants upward slowly to reveal their two profiles facing each other, silhouetted in the full moon…they kiss.
…..
The door opened, and Michele’s roommate staggered in, her face green. She headed straight for the bathroom and bent over the toilet.
Is she going to get drunk every night? Michele wondered.
She glanced back at the page, at the blinking cursor. The mood was gone…the sounds from the bathroom quite destroying it.
Hell, she may as well get started on writing her story of the events of the day for Alice.
Coitus interruptus again, she thought. Twice! Well, hopefully the third time would be the charm….
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight, Ch 4
September 2, 1990
Before leaving the cabin, she checked her face. She was only eighteen, and she needed to look like she was in her mid-twenties, or even older. “Alice Bravo” might have a reputation among the travel-writing cognoscenti, but when you mixed with the rich and the famous you had to have an air of sophistication about yourself as well. And youth and sophistication didn’t really mix.
So Alice had explained to her.
Michele had never paid much attention to makeup – she’d never needed it. Her eyebrows were perfect arcs already, her nose was long and straight, her cheekbones high. As a mountain biker she had a natural tan, and no need for blusher. She’d worn a bit of lipstick and that had been enough.
“But not for this cruise,” her sister had pointed out, and then spent three hours teaching her how to do her face. For looking mature in daylight, and for looking all dolled up and ready to party in the evenings.
After applying a bit of eye shadow to bring out the intense blue of her eyes, a bit of lipstick, and a bit of blusher, Michele sallied forth once more.
The promenade deck that morning was well populated with strolling singles and couples, power-walkers, and even joggers.
Michele plucked out her sister’s voice-activated digital recorder from her pocket, turned it on, and began to describe what she was seeing.
“This cruise ship has several decks, each with a different name. Right now I’m walking on the promenade deck. The center line of the deck is taken up with various public access rooms, a lounge, a bar, a lounge and a bar, a couple of restaurants, an art gallery, a movie theater, and a stage theater – where the musical acts are going to perform tonight. And there are bathrooms, of course.
The actual promenade, is about twenty feet wide, made of some kind of wood….oak? Looks quite pretty actually. It runs all the way around the ship, so that joggers and people who want exercise can go around in circles as many times as they want. Alice – the ship is 3 football fields in length. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how many miles once around it is!
But the deck isn’t just for joggers. There are deck chairs everywhere, and they are already filled to capacity with sunbathers, and every once in a while, someone reading a book.
It’s ten a.m., and lots of people are out here getting their exercises. Some are in shorts and shirts like me, others are in swim suits. Oh, and we’re protected from falling overboard by a waist high railing. …I don’t see any of the actors….”
“Alice”, said Patrick.
Patrick Ardmore, her partner from last night, was suddenly at her side.
He also was dressed in mufti – plaid shorts and a white t-shirt.
“Good morning, Patrick,” said Michele, smiling. “Out for your morning constitutional?”
“That was my plan, but jeez, this ship is as long as a city block. My dogs…”
“Are killing you,” Michele finished for him.
“You got that right. You’d think they’d provide people with roller blades or something….”
“Well, I’ve promised myself I’m going to walk around the entire ship, so…”
“Sure – I’m going to grab that deck chair before someone else gets it. Care to have lunch with me today?”
“Sure. When and where?”
“How about noon straight up, in the Charing Cross Lounge?”
“I’ll be there.”
Patrick nodded and staked his claim to the deck chair, while Michele continued on her walk.
Patrick stared after her. She had a long, athletic stride. Too bad her shorts were so long, extending almost to her knee. He’d’ve liked to have seen a lot more skin…most girls these days wore their shorts right up to their buttcheeks, and she had a sweet ass…
Over lunch, Patrick said “I enjoyed last night. A memorable party to start the cruise.”
“Yes, it was fun.”
“They’re having a dance tonight in the main ballroom. I’d love to escort you to it.”
Michele smiled. Flattering…but if she were to meet Robert Wade there, she didn’t want to have an escort. On the other hand, even if she did meet Robert Wade, would she have the nerve to go up to him? Although she was 18, Michele had no fear of chatting with CEOs, politicians, or people of that ilk. After all, she’d helped her mother and sister entertain at parties that her father had given for the Airforce brass on occasion. But for some reason she was nervous meeting an actor….
“I don’t know how to dance,” she said. It was true – she didn’t. Not the type of dancing that required two people working together as a team, like the Charleston or a Tango or something of that nature.
“No problem. They’re holding classes in the Terpsichore Lounge.”
“That’s right,” agreed Michele, “I’d forgotten. All cruise long.”
“Classes every hour,” Patrick expanded. “So there’s one starting in a few minutes. I’ll be your partner.”
Michele smiled again. Nice as Patrick was, she didn’t want to be stuck with him all cruise long. Even if there was no Robert Wade….she wanted her privacy, her independence. She wanted to be able to go where she wanted when she wanted, and she was getting the impression that he wanted to be by her side every minute.
Alice had warned her about that. “Shipboard romances are very popular on cruises, Michele. The atmosphere is so heady…you’re in a world of your own for six days, seven days….”
She hadn’t expected the atmosphere to get to her….and it wasn’t going to, as far as Patrick was concerned. But Robert Wade the actor….
But how to put this diplomatically to Ardmore? She didn’t have the experience in letting men down firmly but subtly that her sister probably had, after five years of mingling with the rich and the famous, (as well as the poor and unknown too, of course). And then how humiliating it would be if she was totally wrong about Patrick’s interest her, and he was only desirous of her as a dance partner and for no other reason. Was she just being a hopeful virgin?
“What’s so funny?” asked Patrick as a chuckle escaped her.
“Sorry, I was thinking of something else. Sure, let’s go dancing.”
Before leaving the cabin, she checked her face. She was only eighteen, and she needed to look like she was in her mid-twenties, or even older. “Alice Bravo” might have a reputation among the travel-writing cognoscenti, but when you mixed with the rich and the famous you had to have an air of sophistication about yourself as well. And youth and sophistication didn’t really mix.
So Alice had explained to her.
Michele had never paid much attention to makeup – she’d never needed it. Her eyebrows were perfect arcs already, her nose was long and straight, her cheekbones high. As a mountain biker she had a natural tan, and no need for blusher. She’d worn a bit of lipstick and that had been enough.
“But not for this cruise,” her sister had pointed out, and then spent three hours teaching her how to do her face. For looking mature in daylight, and for looking all dolled up and ready to party in the evenings.
After applying a bit of eye shadow to bring out the intense blue of her eyes, a bit of lipstick, and a bit of blusher, Michele sallied forth once more.
The promenade deck that morning was well populated with strolling singles and couples, power-walkers, and even joggers.
Michele plucked out her sister’s voice-activated digital recorder from her pocket, turned it on, and began to describe what she was seeing.
“This cruise ship has several decks, each with a different name. Right now I’m walking on the promenade deck. The center line of the deck is taken up with various public access rooms, a lounge, a bar, a lounge and a bar, a couple of restaurants, an art gallery, a movie theater, and a stage theater – where the musical acts are going to perform tonight. And there are bathrooms, of course.
The actual promenade, is about twenty feet wide, made of some kind of wood….oak? Looks quite pretty actually. It runs all the way around the ship, so that joggers and people who want exercise can go around in circles as many times as they want. Alice – the ship is 3 football fields in length. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how many miles once around it is!
But the deck isn’t just for joggers. There are deck chairs everywhere, and they are already filled to capacity with sunbathers, and every once in a while, someone reading a book.
It’s ten a.m., and lots of people are out here getting their exercises. Some are in shorts and shirts like me, others are in swim suits. Oh, and we’re protected from falling overboard by a waist high railing. …I don’t see any of the actors….”
“Alice”, said Patrick.
Patrick Ardmore, her partner from last night, was suddenly at her side.
He also was dressed in mufti – plaid shorts and a white t-shirt.
“Good morning, Patrick,” said Michele, smiling. “Out for your morning constitutional?”
“That was my plan, but jeez, this ship is as long as a city block. My dogs…”
“Are killing you,” Michele finished for him.
“You got that right. You’d think they’d provide people with roller blades or something….”
“Well, I’ve promised myself I’m going to walk around the entire ship, so…”
“Sure – I’m going to grab that deck chair before someone else gets it. Care to have lunch with me today?”
“Sure. When and where?”
“How about noon straight up, in the Charing Cross Lounge?”
“I’ll be there.”
Patrick nodded and staked his claim to the deck chair, while Michele continued on her walk.
Patrick stared after her. She had a long, athletic stride. Too bad her shorts were so long, extending almost to her knee. He’d’ve liked to have seen a lot more skin…most girls these days wore their shorts right up to their buttcheeks, and she had a sweet ass…
Over lunch, Patrick said “I enjoyed last night. A memorable party to start the cruise.”
“Yes, it was fun.”
“They’re having a dance tonight in the main ballroom. I’d love to escort you to it.”
Michele smiled. Flattering…but if she were to meet Robert Wade there, she didn’t want to have an escort. On the other hand, even if she did meet Robert Wade, would she have the nerve to go up to him? Although she was 18, Michele had no fear of chatting with CEOs, politicians, or people of that ilk. After all, she’d helped her mother and sister entertain at parties that her father had given for the Airforce brass on occasion. But for some reason she was nervous meeting an actor….
“I don’t know how to dance,” she said. It was true – she didn’t. Not the type of dancing that required two people working together as a team, like the Charleston or a Tango or something of that nature.
“No problem. They’re holding classes in the Terpsichore Lounge.”
“That’s right,” agreed Michele, “I’d forgotten. All cruise long.”
“Classes every hour,” Patrick expanded. “So there’s one starting in a few minutes. I’ll be your partner.”
Michele smiled again. Nice as Patrick was, she didn’t want to be stuck with him all cruise long. Even if there was no Robert Wade….she wanted her privacy, her independence. She wanted to be able to go where she wanted when she wanted, and she was getting the impression that he wanted to be by her side every minute.
Alice had warned her about that. “Shipboard romances are very popular on cruises, Michele. The atmosphere is so heady…you’re in a world of your own for six days, seven days….”
She hadn’t expected the atmosphere to get to her….and it wasn’t going to, as far as Patrick was concerned. But Robert Wade the actor….
But how to put this diplomatically to Ardmore? She didn’t have the experience in letting men down firmly but subtly that her sister probably had, after five years of mingling with the rich and the famous, (as well as the poor and unknown too, of course). And then how humiliating it would be if she was totally wrong about Patrick’s interest her, and he was only desirous of her as a dance partner and for no other reason. Was she just being a hopeful virgin?
“What’s so funny?” asked Patrick as a chuckle escaped her.
“Sorry, I was thinking of something else. Sure, let’s go dancing.”
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight, Ch 3
September 2, 1990
Four hours later, Michele opened her eyes and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Six thirty. In the morning. She wished she could roll over and go back to bed, but she had a lot of work to do. Nevertheless, it took her a couple more minutes before she could force herself to roll out of bed. She glanced at her cabin-mate – still dead to the world.
After grabbing a quick shower, Michele threw on black shorts and t-shirt and made her way to the aft dining room. (The liner had two dining rooms of course, one forward and one aft.)
A breakfast buffet lined the entire back of the room. Michele filled a plate with a couple of sausage, which she doused liberally with maple syrup, and scrambled eggs prepared with chopped onions and cheese mixed in. A cup of ice-cold orange juice topped off the deal.
The dining room was large and there was plenty of room to walk between tables. Michele glanced around as unobtrusively as possible, half hoping she’d see Robert Wade and half hoping she wouldn’t. He would undoubtedly be dining in his cabin, away from the hoi polloi.
And really, she told herself, what would you do even if you did see him? All she knew was that he was an actor, and cute. She’d have to do some research on his career so she could talk to him intelligently, if she ever did see him again. She took her tray to a table adjacent to a huge plate glass window that allowed her to look out over the blue ocean, and caught her breath. So beautiful.
And the food wasn’t too bad, either.
Back in her cabin, she fired up her laptop.
“Okay,” she told herself, wiggling her fingers in preparation. “Do it just the way the Red Queen told Alice. Start at the beginning, go on until the end, and then stop.”
So she started from the beginning, with her arrival at Pier 31 the day before the ship was to begin its maiden voyage. A Comstock representative had met her and escorted her to what he called the Green Room, where she’d met the rest of her fellow travel writer, and their role for the next evening’s festivities had been sketched out. She’d also received her information packet about the ship, which all the other guests would find laying on their pillows in their cabins, along with a couple of mints.
She then jumped to the next day, and wrote her sister of the party on the pier….and being someone who told her sister all, she mentioned her sudden attraction to Robert Wade.
The festivities had continued once the passengers had walked onto the ship. Their luggage had already been delivered to their cabins. They could go to their cabins if they wished, or visit one of the many conference rooms that had entertainment laid on. In one such room, 1920s silent movies were being shown to the accompaniment of a piano player. In another, there was dancing. In another, modern-day documentaries – how the ship had been constructed, a history of the Comstock line, and so on. Michele had spent her time walking along the decks, as had many of the other passengers, just walking arm-in-arm enjoying the moonlight and the glitter of the moon on the water.
Finished at last, Michele decided to add a note about her interrupted dream of the night before. She knew Alice would get a laugh from it.
That job complete, she powered off the computer and placed it in the cabin safe. Not that she expected her room-mate or anyone else to make off with it, but better safe than sorry.
Michele took a deep breath. Her first full day on the cruise ship, continuing her impersonation of a sophisticated travel writer. Time to start making the rounds of the ship.
Four hours later, Michele opened her eyes and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Six thirty. In the morning. She wished she could roll over and go back to bed, but she had a lot of work to do. Nevertheless, it took her a couple more minutes before she could force herself to roll out of bed. She glanced at her cabin-mate – still dead to the world.
After grabbing a quick shower, Michele threw on black shorts and t-shirt and made her way to the aft dining room. (The liner had two dining rooms of course, one forward and one aft.)
A breakfast buffet lined the entire back of the room. Michele filled a plate with a couple of sausage, which she doused liberally with maple syrup, and scrambled eggs prepared with chopped onions and cheese mixed in. A cup of ice-cold orange juice topped off the deal.
The dining room was large and there was plenty of room to walk between tables. Michele glanced around as unobtrusively as possible, half hoping she’d see Robert Wade and half hoping she wouldn’t. He would undoubtedly be dining in his cabin, away from the hoi polloi.
And really, she told herself, what would you do even if you did see him? All she knew was that he was an actor, and cute. She’d have to do some research on his career so she could talk to him intelligently, if she ever did see him again. She took her tray to a table adjacent to a huge plate glass window that allowed her to look out over the blue ocean, and caught her breath. So beautiful.
And the food wasn’t too bad, either.
Back in her cabin, she fired up her laptop.
“Okay,” she told herself, wiggling her fingers in preparation. “Do it just the way the Red Queen told Alice. Start at the beginning, go on until the end, and then stop.”
So she started from the beginning, with her arrival at Pier 31 the day before the ship was to begin its maiden voyage. A Comstock representative had met her and escorted her to what he called the Green Room, where she’d met the rest of her fellow travel writer, and their role for the next evening’s festivities had been sketched out. She’d also received her information packet about the ship, which all the other guests would find laying on their pillows in their cabins, along with a couple of mints.
She then jumped to the next day, and wrote her sister of the party on the pier….and being someone who told her sister all, she mentioned her sudden attraction to Robert Wade.
The festivities had continued once the passengers had walked onto the ship. Their luggage had already been delivered to their cabins. They could go to their cabins if they wished, or visit one of the many conference rooms that had entertainment laid on. In one such room, 1920s silent movies were being shown to the accompaniment of a piano player. In another, there was dancing. In another, modern-day documentaries – how the ship had been constructed, a history of the Comstock line, and so on. Michele had spent her time walking along the decks, as had many of the other passengers, just walking arm-in-arm enjoying the moonlight and the glitter of the moon on the water.
Finished at last, Michele decided to add a note about her interrupted dream of the night before. She knew Alice would get a laugh from it.
That job complete, she powered off the computer and placed it in the cabin safe. Not that she expected her room-mate or anyone else to make off with it, but better safe than sorry.
Michele took a deep breath. Her first full day on the cruise ship, continuing her impersonation of a sophisticated travel writer. Time to start making the rounds of the ship.
Friday, June 4, 2010
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…
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…
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight: Ch 1
Dangerous Moonlight Ch 1: A Night in the 1920s
September 1, 1990
Pier #1 at New York Harbor was alive with lights and paper streamers and the sounds of a party, a party for the maiden cruise of the new cruise liner Britannia.
On one side of the pier was the vast length of the Britannia, as long as three football fields and almost as high as one. Opposite the ship, on the pier, crowds of people milled about. Ladies in cloche hats and flapper dresses and men in tuxedos talked and laughed, danced to the music, and drank champagne – or other alcohol – from teacups.
Red jacketed waiters and black-and-white uniformed waitresses circulated among them all with trays full of Hor D’ouerves. Those individuals who did not wish to wait for a waiter could go to one of the many tables set up, each one providing a different type of hot or cold Hor D'ouerves. Servers were stationed behind each of these tables. At each end of the ship was a band playing ragtime and jazz classic (at just over a thousand feet's distance, the music from one band faded out long before it got to the other side).
The presence of a handful of police officers, clad in the standard 1920s uniform, did not detract from the festivities. They hovered on the edges of the crowd, hands behind their backs, looking stolid….but ready to spring into action at any moment should the need arise.
Three reporters, clad in serge suits and wearing fedoras with a sign labeled PRESS tucked into the brim, wended their way throughout the crowds – carrying a heavy wire-recording device over one shoulder and waving a microphone in the other hand, soliciting on-the-spot interviews with as many people as possible. Each reporter had his own photographer, wearing jodhpurs, a white shirt, and an oversize felt cap. The cameras they carried were the huge, box-like kind, with enormous flashbulbs. Only one of these individuals was a woman…Michele Bravo, and the jodhpurs and loose white shirt she wore only served to accentuate her tall, feminine frame.
Michelle was enjoying herself immensely. The Comstock Line was doing itself proud with the launch of its newest cruise liner. Many of the ship’s decks, not to mention its cabins, had been decorated in art deco fashion, and the Comstock people had decided to go all out and throw a pier-side launch party with the same theme. All of the 2,000 guests scheduled to sail from New York to Southampton had gotten into the spirit of the thing, wearing the appropriate 1920s costumes. Comstock itself had hired the reporters and photographers and gotten them rigged out appropriately as well (and dressed its security people in police uniforms). There was nothing on the pier to destroy the image of a lovely 1920s night.
Her attention was caught by a couple dancing the Charleston...she'd have to learn how to do that....
Michele’s reporter finished his interview with the actor Robert Wade and walked back to one of the Hor D'ouerves tables. Michele wasn't much of a movie goer and actually hadn't recognized him, but she thought he looked rather cute - he had the round face she liked and his bangs were brushed forward in a Roman kind of way. Plus he he filled out his tuxedo quite nicely.
"Smile," she said to him quickly, raising her camera. She had caught him by surprise, he had started to turn away. He looked back and she pressed the button. "Got it," she said, giving him a dazzling smile.
Wade blinking after her like an owl, as she joined Patrick - her reporter partner - at the hor d'ouerves table. He had tucked his microphone into his breast pocket and was helping himself to a cracker covered with caviar.
Michele slung the camera over her shoulder, reached into a back pocket and pulled out a silver flask. She unscrewed the cap and took a quick sip.
“What a good idea,” said Patrick. He twitched the flask out of her hands. “Give us a sip.”
“It’s water,” she warned him.
He stopped with the flask halfway to his lips, looking horrified, and then sniffed. Yes, it was water.
“My god,” he said, “What are you, a teetotaler?”
Michele just grinned.
Although the reporters could help themselves to any of the food on offer, they were expressly forbidden from indulging in alcohol. They
Patrick turned to the waiter behind the Hor D'ouerves table and asked disconsolately for a coffee.
Michele took another sip from the flask and returned it to her back pocket.
“I can’t wait to get on the ship,” Patrick murmured. “My dogs are killing me.”
“I think our bit is just about done,” replied Michele. They won’t want us monopolizing the A-list all night.”
“The A list…” Patrick mused. “Some of the wealthiest people in the country, some actors, top businessmen, a few minor politicians, some well-off retirees, debutantes and their mothers….”
“Plus the top crew, support people and entertainers in the cruise line industry,” Michele mused back at him. “Plus the best travel writers money can buy.”
Patrick showed all his teeth in a Cheshire cat grin. “That’s us, love.”
“And the best security service,” Michele murmured.
Patrick nodded. “Are those cops going to stay in costume for the whole cruise?”
“I think so. Special uniform for security guards. Why not? I’m sure all of the passengers also know that there’s going to be some plain clothes security on the ship as well. But I bet they like to see the boys in blue, too.”
“I wonder how many gigolos, swindlers, and confidence tricksters managed to get aboard this ship,” he murmured.
"Hopefully we'll know by the time we dock in Southampton," Michele replied.
She turned to look over the Hor D'ouerves table, then twitched her nose in disgust. Only caviar.
“I’m not into caviar. At all,” she said. “They must have some beef wellington, or better yet some chocolate truffles.”
Patrick grabbed up another cracker and heaped it high with caviar. He thrust it into his mouth and said, “Sure, let’s go foraging.”
September 1, 1990
Pier #1 at New York Harbor was alive with lights and paper streamers and the sounds of a party, a party for the maiden cruise of the new cruise liner Britannia.
On one side of the pier was the vast length of the Britannia, as long as three football fields and almost as high as one. Opposite the ship, on the pier, crowds of people milled about. Ladies in cloche hats and flapper dresses and men in tuxedos talked and laughed, danced to the music, and drank champagne – or other alcohol – from teacups.
Red jacketed waiters and black-and-white uniformed waitresses circulated among them all with trays full of Hor D’ouerves. Those individuals who did not wish to wait for a waiter could go to one of the many tables set up, each one providing a different type of hot or cold Hor D'ouerves. Servers were stationed behind each of these tables. At each end of the ship was a band playing ragtime and jazz classic (at just over a thousand feet's distance, the music from one band faded out long before it got to the other side).
The presence of a handful of police officers, clad in the standard 1920s uniform, did not detract from the festivities. They hovered on the edges of the crowd, hands behind their backs, looking stolid….but ready to spring into action at any moment should the need arise.
Three reporters, clad in serge suits and wearing fedoras with a sign labeled PRESS tucked into the brim, wended their way throughout the crowds – carrying a heavy wire-recording device over one shoulder and waving a microphone in the other hand, soliciting on-the-spot interviews with as many people as possible. Each reporter had his own photographer, wearing jodhpurs, a white shirt, and an oversize felt cap. The cameras they carried were the huge, box-like kind, with enormous flashbulbs. Only one of these individuals was a woman…Michele Bravo, and the jodhpurs and loose white shirt she wore only served to accentuate her tall, feminine frame.
Michelle was enjoying herself immensely. The Comstock Line was doing itself proud with the launch of its newest cruise liner. Many of the ship’s decks, not to mention its cabins, had been decorated in art deco fashion, and the Comstock people had decided to go all out and throw a pier-side launch party with the same theme. All of the 2,000 guests scheduled to sail from New York to Southampton had gotten into the spirit of the thing, wearing the appropriate 1920s costumes. Comstock itself had hired the reporters and photographers and gotten them rigged out appropriately as well (and dressed its security people in police uniforms). There was nothing on the pier to destroy the image of a lovely 1920s night.
Her attention was caught by a couple dancing the Charleston...she'd have to learn how to do that....
Michele’s reporter finished his interview with the actor Robert Wade and walked back to one of the Hor D'ouerves tables. Michele wasn't much of a movie goer and actually hadn't recognized him, but she thought he looked rather cute - he had the round face she liked and his bangs were brushed forward in a Roman kind of way. Plus he he filled out his tuxedo quite nicely.
"Smile," she said to him quickly, raising her camera. She had caught him by surprise, he had started to turn away. He looked back and she pressed the button. "Got it," she said, giving him a dazzling smile.
Wade blinking after her like an owl, as she joined Patrick - her reporter partner - at the hor d'ouerves table. He had tucked his microphone into his breast pocket and was helping himself to a cracker covered with caviar.
Michele slung the camera over her shoulder, reached into a back pocket and pulled out a silver flask. She unscrewed the cap and took a quick sip.
“What a good idea,” said Patrick. He twitched the flask out of her hands. “Give us a sip.”
“It’s water,” she warned him.
He stopped with the flask halfway to his lips, looking horrified, and then sniffed. Yes, it was water.
“My god,” he said, “What are you, a teetotaler?”
Michele just grinned.
Although the reporters could help themselves to any of the food on offer, they were expressly forbidden from indulging in alcohol. They
Patrick turned to the waiter behind the Hor D'ouerves table and asked disconsolately for a coffee.
Michele took another sip from the flask and returned it to her back pocket.
“I can’t wait to get on the ship,” Patrick murmured. “My dogs are killing me.”
“I think our bit is just about done,” replied Michele. They won’t want us monopolizing the A-list all night.”
“The A list…” Patrick mused. “Some of the wealthiest people in the country, some actors, top businessmen, a few minor politicians, some well-off retirees, debutantes and their mothers….”
“Plus the top crew, support people and entertainers in the cruise line industry,” Michele mused back at him. “Plus the best travel writers money can buy.”
Patrick showed all his teeth in a Cheshire cat grin. “That’s us, love.”
“And the best security service,” Michele murmured.
Patrick nodded. “Are those cops going to stay in costume for the whole cruise?”
“I think so. Special uniform for security guards. Why not? I’m sure all of the passengers also know that there’s going to be some plain clothes security on the ship as well. But I bet they like to see the boys in blue, too.”
“I wonder how many gigolos, swindlers, and confidence tricksters managed to get aboard this ship,” he murmured.
"Hopefully we'll know by the time we dock in Southampton," Michele replied.
She turned to look over the Hor D'ouerves table, then twitched her nose in disgust. Only caviar.
“I’m not into caviar. At all,” she said. “They must have some beef wellington, or better yet some chocolate truffles.”
Patrick grabbed up another cracker and heaped it high with caviar. He thrust it into his mouth and said, “Sure, let’s go foraging.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
