The Pleasure Trip. Joanne Rock
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the showgirl was at work this afternoon, prepping for an influx of passengers after a day docked in St. Kitts, the second island stop on a ten-day Caribbean cruise.
Rita had done the same trip plenty of times as official seamstress for the Venus. But this wasn’t just any cruise, and Jayne knew it. This particular excursion could be Rita’s big financial break since she’d gone out on a limb to create new outfits for the show—outfits five times as good as what they’d bought from manufacturers in the past. She just hoped the cruise management company would agree and pony up an appropriate payout.
And of course, she hoped Jayne—one of the show’s featured performers—didn’t mess up Rita’s big night.
When no answer was forthcoming, Rita stomped her way to the end of the hall, following the scent of the Chanel No. 5 Jayne preferred even though none of the dancers were supposed to wear perfume out of deference to the costumes. The familiar fragrance wafted from the same interior stateroom from which a warbling rendition of “Stand By Your Man” currently emanated.
Rita let herself into the compact room they shared in the bowels of the ship, a room Jayne never bothered to bolt no matter how many times they discussed the potential dangers with an ever-changing crew of nine hundred. The drone of shower water mingled with god-awful singing.
“You are so dead.” Rita figured it would be okay to strangle her sister today since Jayne hadn’t bothered to show for dress rehearsal this afternoon when she knew damn well this was Rita’s one chance to shine in her peon job as a seamstress.
The singing stopped as Jayne popped her head out of the shower, all smiles amid a cloud of steam. “Rita? What time is it?”
“Past time for rehearsal and Danielle already wants your head on a platter for not checking in with her. Star status doesn’t buy you exemption from attending show preliminaries.” She torpedoed a towel against the shower curtain, nailing Jayne in the hip through the white waffle weave. “Besides that, do you know how many corporate managers I corralled into seeing the show tonight to see the new outfits? The boat pulls out in twenty minutes.”
“Crap.” The reference to the timeline at least got Jayne moving as she ducked back into the shower spray to rinse. “I’ve got to hurry.”
Mildly disappointed no butt kicking had been needed, Rita gave her flip-flops the rest of the day off. She stalked out of the closet-size bathroom, noting the unholy mess scattered about their cramped cabin now that she wasn’t focused solely on her beef with Jayne. Clothes were strewn everywhere, the twin beds both covered in discarded silk tops, scarves and skinny hot pants.
“I’m not even going to ask what happened in here.” Rita flung her plastic thongs into the closet and reached for a more forgiving pair of sneakers to wear with her jean shorts. “I’ve got too much on my mind to wade through your wardrobe crisis.”
“That’s okay.” The shower curtain rings scraped over the rod with a metallic ting as Jayne toweled off. “I solved my own crisis, thank you very much, although God forbid you give me any credit for it. I know we’re all excited about your foray into costume design, but you forget your sister is the Queen of Vintage and a fashion force to reckon with in her own right.”
Rita needed to be back at the rehearsal stage to help dress everyone before show time, but her sister’s comment slowed her reach for the door. “What do you need a great outfit for anyway? You’re going onstage as soon as the ship sails.”
She peered across the wardrobe tornado at Jayne sliding into a floral sundress in record time.
“Can’t a girl dress up for her man?” She winked over her shoulder, one long red curl plastered to her cheek. Presenting her back to Rita to zip her up, she smoothed the hem of her short skirt. “How do I look?”
“Flushed and overexcited.” Rita fastened the hook and eye over the zipper and wondered for the umpteen-millionth time how Jayne could appear so movie-star gorgeous with her confident stride and graceful moves while Rita lumbered through life with as much finesse as a linebacker. They were sisters, for crying out loud. Same genes. Same ballet lessons. Same basic looks and size. Where was the justice? “You’re practically bubbling over for that matter. What gives?”
Jayne shuffled around her makeup table that doubled as a desk and poked Rita in the arm with a lipstick case. “Can’t I be excited for you? I’m still in shock you finally talked the management into new outfits for the opening number. They’re normally so stingy about wardrobe.” Uncapping bright fuchsia lipstick, Jayne smeared it on her sister’s mouth in a futile effort to make Rita look pulled together. “Now all you need to do is drag me out of show business and you’ll be happy, right?”
Rita rolled her eyes and tried to stand still for the makeup job even though she’d rather not have her face lacquered while she was working. Didn’t Jayne realize they were going to be late? But some things weren’t worth arguing with her over. Makeup for one. And the fact that Rita hadn’t truly sold the costumes to Roman Cruise Lines quite yet. Jayne would have had a conniption to think her big sister—by all of eleven months—had accepted a work-for-hire job to force the higher-ups into appreciating her. But they’d worked the cruise ship for minimum pay long enough after back-to-back six-month stints. Time to move on to greener pastures.
“Oh please. As if I’ll be able to haul you away from this business or Horatio the Latin lover any time soon.” Although Rita could always hope. She’d tried before to get Jayne to consider moving to New York to make the most of her dance talent, but Rita had never succeeded in convincing her to leave boy-bimbo Horatio behind. “You’re addicted to all that glitters, remember? I’m just happy my costumes came together in time for tonight.”
Rita had been trying to coax her starry-eyed sibling into developing interests outside of dancing since high school, but Jayne had the same stage aspirations as their mother and no promise of any stable, long-term work had ever wooed her away. The job on the cruise ship had been reliable and working on a luxury liner gave the illusion of being on vacation all the time—a welcome fantasy after they’d done their share of waiting tables in dive bars while waiting for Jayne’s big break.
Showbiz opportunities hadn’t been hiding in any of the trucker hangouts on Interstate 95 north of Fort Lauderdale where they’d grown up. And Jayne couldn’t be convinced to try Broadway since their mother had a gambling problem along with a mixed bag of other addictions that kept her daughters on their toes and perpetually bankrupt unless they hid their money very carefully. The cruise stint allowed Jayne to keep tabs on Mom while Rita kept an eye on her baby sister.
Somehow, it all worked. For now.
“I mean it, Ree.” Jayne coated her sister’s eyelashes with industrial-strength mascara. “I think I’m ready to blow this showgirl gig once and for all. Finally, we’re both going to have everything we dreamed about.”
“You really think my outfits are going to be a hit?” Rita had sewn until her fingers bled to pull together the new costumes to unveil at tonight’s program. She’d paid off one of the other dancers to model the extra garments informally around the tables before and after the house lights went up at the main performance. When the dancers weren’t onstage, they spent plenty of time walking around the ship in full showgirl regalia to pose for pictures with the guests, so it wasn’t like Missy didn’t have experience preening while she mingled.
“Absolutely.” Jayne smeared gloss on her lips and finger combed her damp hair into waves around her face. “You’re going to knock ’em dead tonight. It’s high time you came out of hiding to show your talents to the world.”
The words of sisterly support were as welcome as they were rare in a relationship marked by old rivalries and very different perspectives. But deep down, she knew Jayne wanted her to succeed. Didn’t she?
“Thanks.” Rita pulled open the door, feet itching to get back to the stage. She hated it that suspicion held her up once again. “You’re not planning anything unusual for the show, are you? No special theatrics to highlight my outfits or impulsive gestures sure