7.15 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy smiled, but it was a thin and rather brief reaction as he recalled those monkeys. “At least take one of the guards with you, even on the ship. Please.” Bob was standing overly close. It was obvious that he was listening. His eyes were round and staring. Not upset about the spat Timothy and I were having, but worried, I guess, about the outcome. Terry, always the calmer of the two, was sitting down on one of the lounge chairs on the open patio. He was watching us, like Bob, but he was the more patient and calm of the two. He would wait to see what Timothy wanted him to do. But, from the look on his face, I think, Terry was probably wondering how to intercede, or if he should. “We’re not arguing, I told the two of them. Not exactly. Timothy was just explaining how I’m a four year old child who needs constant supervision.” Okay, so that wasn’t really fair, but . . . Bob gasped. Terry nodded and said. “Fine, then Bob and I will return to our room while you two finish your discussion. We will hope you solve this problem. Boss, Penelope,” Terry said, giving each of us a formal nod as he stood up and headed for the door. Bob’s eyes flitted back and forth between Terry’s exit and our agitation, but then he shrugged and followed after his buddy. “My bride bites,” Timothy said, then swooped me up in his arms and began carrying me up the stairs. That was not the way to settle this argument, and I should have demanded that Timothy put me down, except it reminded me of Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind. Rhett had carried Scarlet up the staircase and romanced her so well that the next morning she was smiling. The three of us girls had gone to see the movie, just before Sammy had to depart for Bakersfield, and Cara took off to live in an artist’s commune. But in that final celebratory send off, we had all agreed that Rhett carrying Scarlet up those stairs was the most romantic scene of any movie ever. Because of that, what could I say? My Timothy was every bit as sexy as Rhett Butler. So instead of fighting him, I wrapped my hands around his neck (No, not to choke him, but to hold on.) And when Timothy reached the top of the staircase and was still not the least bit out of breath, I half-way swooned like Scarlet might have if we’d seen that part. Timothy had done all the work, but my heart was the one pumping double time, and I was ready to hop back into bed — only not to sleep. Timothy continued on, carrying me into our fancy room, then set me down on the bed. I hoped Timothy hadn’t caught the Rhett Butler image I was thinking about, but it was too late to worry about that. My clothes were soon tossed on a chair, his followed, and then we used up a big chunk of time practicing how to be newlyweds. My desire to be let off the leash, kind of fizzled out. In fact, in the middle of love-making, one has a tendency to forget absolutely anything else. It’s rather marvelous.
7.14 The Pooka’s Wife
Days passed, having fun, eating too much, and doing things that married couples, especially just married couples, did during the night. We swam lots, almost every day, in fact. I actually made it up to ten laps without stopping. I was so proud of myself. Timothy kept cramming cautions down my throat until I was about to scream. I hadn’t been watched so avidly since I was a toddler. About a week in, I’d had it. I declared that I wanted the freedom to do things on my own: to shop in the little boutiques, to go to a beauty parlor, to . . . just drift. Timothy shook his head and frowned. “The Fae are aware of you now. The various factions get up to great mischief. Just because you are more or less under the protection of the Queen of the Unseelie, doesn’t mean that others would honor that. They squabble like children.” “There are no Fae here on board this ship. Well, except Ben, and he’s on our side, isn’t he?” For a moment, I saw a shadow of doubt cross over my husband’s face. “I think so,” Timothy said after a moment, “but you are not to be with him alone. His allegiance must always be to the Queen and to the Fae.” I sighed and looked down. Why were there always such complications? Timothy was a Pooka, and, two werewolves guarded us, plus a Fae and a Thunderbird god. So, why should I expect anything else? Yet, for all I knew, I was still just a human, despite Timothy’s biting me. He said my body was still adapting. . . But being human should mean that I was free of these obstacles. Right? “Please, take pity on my suffering, Penelope. If something were to happen to you, I’d break down into a . . .” Since he’d stopped and seemed at a loss for a descriptive phrase, I jumped in. “A screaming monkey?” I suggested. It was one of our jokes, having seen the tantrums of the zoo monkeys when they decided to wreak havoc with the group. (And screaming was definitely not the worst thing they did.)
7.13 The Pooka’s Wife
We explored the ship for the rest of the day, visiting the gym, where I worked out for a while, then we discovered what they called an art gallery. Later, we checked in with the language professor for some French lessons, which Timothy scheduled me for every day from then on (10:00 – noon.) After lunch, where we dined on tacos, frijoles, and chips, we swam in the ship’s Olympic-sized pool. No kids were allowed, so we really did get to swim some laps. I was completely out of shape and only did five, but Timothy kept going for a half-hour. Watched over by Ben and Daniel, who’d finally come out of hiding, I was quite content to dry out in the sun. Nothing is more relaxing. Oh, and that evening, we did go to the musical show. All four guys, which Timothy deemed to be necessary. There was absolutely no reason for heavy guard duty. No one paid us any attention. Everyone was watching the show. But all in all it was a great first day. I was completely bowled over by how wonderful life on a cruise ship was. And the food, oh, my stars and stripes! Good thing the ship had all those pools, gyms, and the jogging path. At dinner, I splurged on a piece of German chocolate cake. Yum. The next morning was similar. We swam, jogged, and I used the weights at the gym. Bob teased me a bit for using wimpy ones. He took the heaviest dumbbells and with a couple of grunts, lifted them more times than I cared to count. Show off. Terry hovered over me, working out on a stairstep. He was a showoff, too. That was one piece of equipment that always seemed like torture to me. My legs always complained after a five minute workout. The most interesting part of the day was the French lesson. Timothy already spoke French, as did Daniel, so they sat outside the room where my lesson took place. Terry and Bob actually came inside with me. They weren’t really supposed to take part in the lesson, but as they waited in two chairs over in the corner, they seemed equally intrigued in learning the language. The instructor, Monsieur Betron, was a petite man with overly black hair which he kept tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck. He wore a moustache just like the villain I’d seen in an old time melodrama where the man insisted the beautiful young woman must marry him or else. My favorite part of that play had been the people all around us booing and hissing whenever Mr. Dowrong came on stage. It had been great fun to attend. It had been Cara’s treat to us to celebrate Sammy’s birthday one year. But Monsieur Betron, even though he looked like that quarrelsome, evil villain, was actually a big softie. He introduced me to the verb avoir and had me speaking in simple sentences that would be perfectly acceptable for a four-year-old. J’ai un chat. (I have a cat. I wish.) J’ai un chien. (I have a dog.) and a bunch of other variations. I even learned how to ask someone if they had a dog or a cat: Avez-vous un chien? Avez-vous un chat? I hoped that future lessons would lead me into more useful dialogue unless France was big on conversations concerning cats and dogs.
7.12 The Pooka’s Wife
When I came downstairs in my comfortable, but new jeans and tee, I saw that, apparently while I’d been in the shower, Timothy had gotten dressed. He looked good in his stream-lined jeans which deliciously hugged his taut, muscular rear, a polo shirt that was not too tight, but seemed to meld itself very nicely to his chest, and that grin of his. Wow. What a combination. I wished he’d joined me in the shower. That would have been super romantic, but I also knew it would have delayed us from our explorations of the ship. There would be time for bedroom play later. I’d make sure of it, I said, giggling to myself. Timothy’s smile widened as he caught my thoughts. He flashed his straight white teeth at me and sent my lower limbs trembling with want. Oh, my. For a nickel, I’d grab his . . . arm and drag him back upstairs. I’m willing he mind sent. But I think you’re counting on doing some cruise ship discovery. The reminder jolted me from my licentious thoughts. Except that adjective probably didn’t apply since the two of us were now legally married and on our honeymoon where all such passions were expected, right? Phelon had left the suite. Bob was sitting at the table. The cookies and strawberries had all disappeared. At one time that would have angered me, but I figured it was better that they were gone. I had a bikini in my suitcase that I wanted to fit into. And a couple of elegant but tight dresses. Yes, be gone all cookies and chocolate dipped strawberries. I needed to find a gym and do some jogging on the ship’s advertised running track. The brochure promises that it completely circled the outer rim of the ship. **** I was completely lost the moment we stepped out of our quarters. I was well content to have Timothy guiding us forward. He seemed to know exactly where the elevators were. We got off on one of the floors and headed to a couple of restaurants, peered into the windows, then passed on, heading for another area. That meant another elevator ride, and I saw that we were up on the top deck. It was incredible. Water surrounding us, joggers running over to the side, lounge chairs, bars serving drinks, and sunshine streaming down on us, it was a circus of pleasurable sights. The air smelled . . . well, clean, like I’d never inhaled fully before. I breathed it in deeply, just enjoying the taste of it, the freedom of taking in non-polluted air. The ocean breeze was actually a bit chilly. I should have thought of that and grabbed up a sweater, but Timothy’s arm around me kept me from feeling the cold. Crowds were everywhere, but no one seemed to take notice of us, even with the three good-looking guys escorting me. In fact, most people were too busy scanning their cell phones, reading books while sunbathing on the lounge chairs, or sipping their drinks while chatting and laughing with friends. We passed a small cafe where there were only fast food items: Hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, ice cream, chips . . . Both Bob and Terry picked up some nibblies. No money exchanged hands. The crewman just touched the men’s medallion necklaces. I knew our meals were free, part of our package. We could eat a smorgasbord of items, and the crew wouldn’t complain. But that bathing suit would show new bulges. I shrugged and kept walking. Not long after, we arrived at the All Day Breakfast Resto. I ordered scrambled eggs and an English muffin, then dived into the fruit bar at the center. Imagine unlimited fresh blueberries, raspberries, and green and purple grapes. I was ready to move onto the ship permanently.
7.11 The Pooka’s Wife
That announcement shot us up. We ran to the glass door, shoved it open, and sped to the side of the ship’s balcony. A plastic shield kept us from hanging over, but it was clear for good viewing and so clean it actually sparkled. Terry was absolutely right. We could see a whole school of dolphins riding the ship’s wake. “It’s just like in San Diego,” Bob said. “They’re very pretty.” I nodded, joined hands with Timothy and just took it in, oohing and aahing a bit, because the sight of dolphins cavorting about in water never gets old. We watched until the animals took off, perhaps heading off in search of a meal. “Shall we go explore the ship now?” Timothy asked, grinning most handsomely. I did a double take. Had he forgotten our earlier row? I whispered into his ear about how much I loved his smile, even though I knew I didn’t need to whisper. because he could hear my thoughts. And speaking something out loud meant that the two werewolves could always hear whatever I said, even at a whisper. But I found the mind reading thing very confusing. What if I was thinking something bad about Timothy? What if he’d irritated me beyond measure, and I just wanted to go off on my own? And if my thoughts got out when I didn’t want them to, how could I stop him from hearing them? If I irritated you, I’d want to know, Timothy mind sent. If you need alone time, that would be fine. I’d stay in my room until you were ready for me to join you — but to go off on your own? That . . . But saying anything more would spur you on to run off without me, right? I nodded. Timothy needed to know that I absolutely would not be bossed around. I’d worked too hard to earn my independence and having a husband wasn’t going to disrupt that. I wanted to see that musical, and I intended to go, no matter what. “Okay,” Timothy said. “All four of the men will accompany us to the musical. I’d rather give in than to have you endanger yourself by going off on your own, but . . .” Whatever he had planned to say, he didn’t get a chance to complete it because I threw myself into his arms and kissed him over and over. Perhaps, he and I might have journeyed back upstairs, sending the two werewolves back to their room next door, but Phelon at that moment, knocked, and Terry, glancing over at Timothy to get an okay, headed to the door to invite the butler inside. It was at that point, with Phelon’s eyes curiously eyeing me as I stood there with nothing on except my robe, standing with Timothy and the two other guys, that I realized I’d never taken the time to get dressed. “Morning, Phelon,” I called out, grabbing the coffee he’d brought me. Thanking him for the drink, I propelled myself up the stairs, determined to get ready so we could at last start our tour of the ship. I figured that jeans and a tee would be a lot more appropriate than being naked underneath a white, fluffy robe.
7.10 The Pooka’s Wife
I inhaled sharply. I suddenly remembered that we were sitting at a table munching away calmly while a whole world of adventure was passing by without us. Well, Bob and I were. Terry had left. He was probably checking in with the other two guys. But we were sitting on a cruise ship just wasting our time eating cookies and strawberries, and we hadn’t even explored this monstrous whale of a ship? Wow, time to go do something! “We got a print out,” Bob said as if reading my mind, which Timothy had told me werewolves couldn’t do, except perhaps with their own mate. Timothy had developed a funny expression with those words and added, “Which is definitely not you.” Unaware of my memories at that moment — hopefully — Bob handed me a colorfully printed paper. There was a picture of a calendar on it with today’s date circled. It said: embarkation from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, USA. I set the paper down between my husband and myself, and leaning against each other, because we wanted to, not because the paper was difficult to read, we studied it. “There’s a show tonight. Do you want to see that?” I asked Timothy. “That would be fun.” The paper said this show was a musical, one I’d never heard of, but I’d never had money to buy tickets for such things, so I really hadn’t kept up with what was “hot.” Bob crammed in the latest cookie, and speaking with a mouthful of both cookies and strawberries said, “That sounds like great fun. Let’s do that!” Timothy gave Bob a look, then shook his head. “Too many people all crowded together. I don’t want to risk it.” “Is that what you’re going to say about everything?” I spouted, getting riled up by Timothy’s response. “There are thousands of people onboard, and they are always going to be around us: in the pool, at the theatre, in the restaurants . . .So you want us to be stuck inside this suite the whole time? It’s a very nice suite, but . . .No. Just no. I want to see everything, to live a little, so I’m going with you or without you, but I’m going to see this musical, husband of mine.” “I’ll go with her,” Bob spurted out. Not a good moment for that. The look Timothy gave him was full of princely fury. I set my hand on Timothy’s shoulder and said, “Please?” Terry had returned to our quarters. He wasn’t part of this conversation, probably purposefully. He’d gone directly over to the big picture window where he was staring out to sea. “Hey,” Terry said at that moment. “There are dolphins out there.”
7.9 The Pooka’s Wife
The next morning, someone was pounding on our door. That’s what woke us up. We thought it was Phelon wanting to clean or bring us something, but it was Bob and Terry. I threw on a robe – a big, white fluffy one supplied by the cruise ship, and walked downstairs with Timothy to see who was at the door. Timothy hadn’t bothered with a robe, He just slipped on a pair of pants. Guys were lucky like that. Looking under Timothy’s arm as he stood in the doorway, I lost interest. Bob and Terry were not nearly as exciting as the exploration of an ocean palace. But before we did any of that, I sat down at the table and began munching on a strawberry dipped in chocolate. It made me wonder who took a really really good for you fruit and turned it into a delectable but guilt-provoking dessert? Yet, it was only a fruit, right? I ate another strawberry, convincing myself that if I didn’t eat any of the cookies on the nearby platter, I was still eating healthy. Not so. A chocolate cookie jumped into my mouth while I was staring at the strawberries. (It might have had a little help?) It was too scrumptious not to join it with a couple more. Bob pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. “I stuffed myself already on waffles this morning. I couldn’t eat anything more.” So he said, but he was already reaching out for a strawberry and grabbing up a cookie when his hand passed over the plates. I laughed. Bob was always Bob, with an insatiable appetite, despite the fact that his abs showed not an ounce of fat. I supposed it must be the werewolf genes. Did that mean the two of them could stuff themselves daily and still never gain weight? Maybe I should check out how one could get some werewolf blood without going fully furry. Timothy came up behind me, ran his hand over my back and then sat down on the other side of me. “I guess we can’t blame the men for knocking on the door. It’s after ten!” Timothy said, giving me a big smile, as if remembering why we’d slept so late.
7.8 The Pooka’s Wife
“I have put bottles of water in the refrigerator,” Phelon, our personal butler, said as he popped the champagne cork and poured our drinks so skillfully that none of the champagne came gushing out over either the floor or the table. “There is a single serve coffee maker over there,” he said motioning to the coffee corner, set up with sugar packets, creamers, cinnamon, chocolate powder, and more. “Or you can place an order for any flavor or variety of coffee you like. For you, the kitchen will be open 24 hours.” As we sipped our bubbly, Phelon showed us how to place orders on the television, but he added that we could simply press button 2, and he or the dining room would bring us anything we desired. “Also, there is a sign on the inner pocket of the door. If you place that sign on the outside of the door, it informs me to come service your suite, or, if you like, you can dial me by pressing 4. “Your luggage has been taken upstairs,” he continued. “I hope you don’t mind that I placed your items in the drawers and stored the baggage in the closet.” Really? I hoped Phelon hadn’t fingered my undergarments, if I had any. I had no idea what Simone had packed. Maybe she’d left me without any clothes so I couldn’t leave our room the whole time. But I knew she wouldn’t do that. Queen Moragana might have, but she probably hadn’t dropped into my bedroom during suitcase packing. “Is there anything else you need right now?” Phelon asked. “Would you like to select a catered meal now, or will you be heading out to a restaurant? I will be happy to make a reservation for whatever time is convenient for you. Anything you want. It’s my job to bring it to you. I am like a genie, you see,” he added with a wide grin that told me he enjoyed the imaginative description. I thought about demanding a banana tree in the corner of the room just to be a brat. Oh, and a kitten, or something equally wild, but I muzzled my mouth, not sure that Phelon would understand my humor, since nobody else did. Timothy cracked a smile, obviously, reading my thoughts. Then he shook his head and said, Personally I love your sense of humor. I find it adorable, my darling. After Phelon left, Timothy and I started to explore the rest of the suite. But my favorite part was the huge bed upstairs. It wasn’t late in the day, but I was exhausted, and Timothy was very agreeable to the idea of snuggling into the bed, which we did immediately and that was the very reason we completely missed seeing the ship’s departure. It would have been fun to watch, but fun and games, followed by sleep prevented us from even taking time to check out our wrap-around balcony with the whirlpool that Timothy had told me about. ***
7.7 The Pooka’s Wife
Harrison showed us how to open our rooms with the pass medallions we all wore around our necks. Bob and Terry got to enter their room first. They were on our right side. Ben and Daniel got the room on the other side of us. We left the men to their perusal of the rooms and prepared to get acquainted with where Timothy and I were going to nest during the cruise. I can’t begin to tell you what our “cabin” was like! I’d seen examples of the simple bed, tv, and if you were lucky (or paid extra) the window out to sea that people were given in most cruise cabins. The ladies at work had often scattered cruise brochures across the table in the lunch area for us all to moan and sigh over. This was nothing like that! Our suite with multiple rooms was like a floating mansion. For one thing, our room was two-storied. We had a white piano on the lower floor, a living room as if we’d be doing entertaining onboard, and even a spare bedroom. “That’s for when you kick me out of the bed telling me I’m snoring,” Timothy whispered. Ignoring the remark, Harrison introduced us to our cabin steward, then gave us a quick bow, and wished us well. Our steward, Phelon, standing in the center of the room with fresh white towels dangling from his arms, called himself our twenty-four hour butler. He said that he would be providing anything we needed or wanted. (I wanted to ask him if he could bring us a cute little tuxedo kitten, but I knew to keep my mouth shut.) Phelon gave us a quick head bob, then guided us about the suite. The man was petit, thin, and full of smiles. I couldn’t help grinning back at him as he spoke with a heavy accent that told me that English wasn’t his native language. Phelon was wearing a dark jacket that had gold piping. No stripes for him and no fancy epaulets. His eyes looked kind, and I could see that he was earnest about winning our favor by satisfying our every wish. “Will you be Bob and Terry’s butler too? And Ben and Daniel on the other side of us?” I asked. Phelon looked confused a moment, then said. “Only you, but I will take messages to your brothers if you like.” We didn’t correct him about the relationship. It was better if Phelon didn’t know the men were our guards. At least that’s what Timothy had told us all earlier. Phelon took the towels he was holding into the bathroom and returned with an offer to open up our champagne. Apparently chilled bubbly was a custom passengers received whenever they were setting off to sea. Our bottle was sitting in a bucket of ice, and two delicate crystal goblets were waiting on the table, ready for our pleasure. Besides them were some fancy cookies – not the kind from boxes, but fresh from the ship’s oven, I presumed. We had a small platter with strawberries dipped in chocolate, too, as well as a fruit bowl with red, delicious apples, kiwi, bananas, grapes, and pears.
7.6 The Pooka’s Wife
As we entered inside, passing over the threshold, the captain almost immediately introduced us to the Senior Concierge Officer who was supposed to take us to our rooms. The captain apologized for leaving us, but confessed that he had a whole pile of checklists to go over before the ship was ready to leave port. We thanked him, watched him stride away with a purposeful step, then turned to face the new person. Harrison, which could have been his first or his last name, but it was the one printed on his uniform’s name tag, wore the same white uniform as the captain, except his came in short sleeves. Harrison also had the fancy gold epaulettes on his shoulders, which might have made him look dashing, but although he was the same age as the captain, he wouldn’t have been considered a gray fox by any standard. For one thing he wasn’t wearing that super elegant hat with the two tone and gold trim, so we were looking at hair that was sparse and straggly. (No, I’m not against bald men. Some look amazingly sexy.) But this man, not only had been shorted on looks, but he was squat, or rather stubby, I guess. I know that to do his job he didn’t have to be handsome and hunky. Only, the captain was a ten, and this man seemed more a four. (Sorry, I know that’s rude.) Harrison was also stiff, formal, and appeared to have the personality of a grapefruit, unlike the smiling captain who could have charmed a flea into leaving its cushy dog buddy. Wasn’t an Senior Concierge Officer, whatever that meant, supposed to be an expert at PR? Daniel stepped near and whispered into my ear, “Be gentle in your thoughts. The man is intimidated by Bob and Terry. Some react badly to their nature.” Timothy eyed Daniel, but didn’t seem offended by the man’s coming so close. My husband also didn’t react like he did sometimes when the werewolves teased me (which Timothy called flirting.) But back to Harrison: Timothy hadn’t seem bothered by Harrison’s rigidity, but my darling husband suddenly took on the princely command persona that sometimes played havoc with his likeability. With an assertive voice, Timothy explained that we had just gotten married, so my passport was still in my maiden name, which was all good and proper, but then . . . “You will let it be known that my wife is to be addressed as Mrs. Caldwell aboard the ship,” Timothy commanded sternly. Harrison stopped walking to congratulate us and said he’d make a note of it, then speed-walked us into a grand hall with multiple elevators, at least eight, I think. Since our luggage had been taken care of and was supposed to be meeting us in our cabin, things were smooth-sailing, if you’ll pardon the pun. Once the elevator took us to the top floor, we stepped out to a hall that seemed even fancier than the one downstairs. I’m not a fan of gold, but the person who had decorated everything sure was. There were gold trimmings, gold wallpaper, gold framed posters of different famous sites around the world, and even an official notice about how to find whatever we were looking for on the ship, bordered in . . . gold.