"Alan! Alan!" I begged, trying not to laugh, but with little success, "wait, help me!" Now, I can't stop laughing…and the dogs are beginning to drag me down the deck, with more force than before. Alan managed to catch up with me, as the dogs he's holding continue to act like perfect angels. See, what did I tell you? The dogs are perfect with him and only him. He grabbed me by my shoulders before taking the leashes.
"Here." He split up the leather leads between himself and I, as I brushed my hair from my eyes. "You're a lot smaller than me. I forget that." He managed a smile as I struggled not to wrap my hands around his neck and choke him. I forced a smile myself.
I don't know why he thought me taking more dogs than him out for their daily walk was a good idea, especially since I am smaller than him, but I think he learned that he should just take the dogs, not me. And yet, after picking up the breakfast ware, it's nice being outside. Just as long as I don't look over the railing, which Alan feels the need to point out every ten seconds, him not realizing my irrational fear of water—everything should and will be okay. He began to laugh, for no apparent reason.
"What's so funny?" I questioned.
"You."
"Me? Why me?"
"Because of that dumb expression across your face." I laughed a little myself. "A little frazzled or what?"
"A little," I managed to admit, holding onto the leashes tighter than before.
"You must assert control with these beasts," he said, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, really?" I glanced down at all of the pampered pooches that were under our watch for the time being. What would take place if something, God forbid, happened to one of these animals, such as an accident? Are we accountable or is Maureen? Probably us, and then Maureen. I laughed, just at the sight of how happy all of the animals are, panting and wagging their tails. They really adore Alan and I just can't figure out why. "They're dogs, Alan! They're pets!"
"Pets that have yet to see my wrath."
"The Mallard wrath?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Should I back up and let you work your magic?" I began to laugh hysterically, at the sight of his face. He's one determined steward. "You're a steward, my friend," I said, patting his shoulder. "You must learn to live with that."
"But, damn it, it's so hard," he whined sarcastically.
"Damn it, those paychecks are nice, though, aren't they?" He smiled.
"If I had a paycheck…"
"Oh, please, don't start!" We continued down the deck, the dogs all seemingly happy enough—at least happy enough for my tastes. Alan, though, here he goes. He's felt the need to guilt-trip me about not having any money, even after he gets his paycheck, because of his sticking up for me. This has gone on for hours—since this morning, to this afternoon and it's getting really old. "I know I owe you. I'll pay you back!"
"I don't want your money."
"Then stop complaining," I snapped.
"I'm not complaining."
"What would you like to call it, then?" I asked.
"Reminding."
"Reminding?" He nodded.
"Yes, reminding."
"You're reminding me that you're going to be dirt-poor?" I asked skeptically.
"Exactly."
"No, you're complaining!" I sighed angrily. "God, Alan, if I knew this was what was going to transpire from this morning, I would've admitted to it."
"Oh, really?" I shot him a look. "Okay, really."
"Yes, really. She still knows I was involved. She keeps glaring at me."
"More than usual?"
"Absolutely, definitely…more than usual." I paused, putting a hand on my hip. "Did you not see her staring at me, muttering to herself, shining that teapot?" He shook his head. "She was cleaning with such force, I thought she was going to polish the silver away!"
"I didn't notice."
"How could you not notice!?" I exclaimed.
"I just didn't!"
"Well, that's not her normal persona."
"Just stay out of trouble, that's your best bet."
"Trouble finds me, Alan."
"Sure it does. Sure." He rolled his eyes. "Women," he mumbled.
"Now, you're going to pull that card! God!"
"Is it completely impossible to get some service around here?" A polished oak cane had stopped us in our tracks down the deck, the hook of the cane holding onto the leashes horizontally. I guess we're not going anywhere. I followed the cane that was blocking our way to a wrinkled hand, and then the hand, then up the arm, covered by a very expensive-looking black wool coat and then to the face. It's an old man, with a large smile on his face. First-class obviously, but an older gentleman, just the same. And he's out here, in the sunlight, enjoying himself, teetering on one of the ship's many deck chairs, the blanket on the edge seemingly untouched. Thank you, God. It took Alan and I forever to fold those. "About time I found someone who actually works here!" He laughed.
"What would you like, sir?" Alan asked, before I even had the chance to open my mouth to tell this man to get his cane out of my way before I throw it overboard.
"Tea." Tea. I hid my groan and glanced at Alan, who looked just as aggravated as me. fI swear, if I hear another damn tea request after this, I will take the tea bags and throw them into the sea! I hate tea now—I didn't mind it before, now I despise it with a passion. If I ever find out who made tea to begin with…their future generations will have Hell to pay, let me tell you.
"Yes, sir." Alan glanced at me. "Do you want me to get it or do you want to?" he mumbled under his breath.
"I'll go," I offered, handing him the dog leashes.
"I'd like it cold." I stopped, glancing down at the passenger. Is he serious? The whole point of tea is to have it hot! I have no idea on even how to make tea cold. One of Alan's talents is making tea cold—He just can't make tea correctly, and that's why I offered to make it in the first place. But, Hell, if the man likes it cold, God bless him. A man after my own heart. For as strange as this may sound, I adore cold tea. I can't make it cold, but Alan can. I'm not sure what he does—maybe he warms it and then puts the cups into the icebox for a few minutes, but I think it's great cold. Alan has mastered the technique, it's practically an art form now.
"I'll go," Alan told me, handing me back the dog leashes I had seconds before and his. He brushed past me and I stood there, in shock, for a moment or two before regaining my composure.
"You know, that's so strange…"
"What is?" Oh, did I just say that out loud? I blushed. I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut. I took a few steps forward, my arm practically pulled out of its' socket from all of the animals.
"Well, if you're all set…" I said, changing the subject completely. This is weird, awkward silence and these dogs are getting jumpy, since I'm not moving fast enough for them. He managed a smile at me, standing up from his chair, leaning against that cane of his.
"What's strange?" he continued to prod.
"I drink tea the exact same way," I blurted.
"Oh, really?" He smiled. "How many people do you meet with that odd quirk?"
"Not many, apparently," I said politely. "Sir." I added that in as an afterthought and he must've known, because he laughed.
"I already feel old enough, young lady, without the sir!" He switched his cane from his right hand to his left. "And it may be rude and improper to ask," he began, "but what's a pretty girl like you doing here, working, of all things?" He tipped his hat to me. "Oliver Bern."
"Lucy," I managed to choke out.
"You see, Lucy." He stopped short. "Is it okay if I call you Lucy?" I nodded. Why not? My job is already on the line. "Women your age should be enjoying themselves." I had to laugh at that. It sounds insane, but he speaks the truth!
"Ah, that's only for the young and the very rich!" I laughed.
"Either way, you on a such a large ship, serving all of us? It doesn't seem right." Well, women need money, too, so I suppose women have to work. Oh, to live in the lap of luxury! "And it's not as if the first-class people need the confidence boost of bossing someone else around."
He rolled his eyes. I forced a smile. He glanced at me, and then cocked his head, keeping his eyes on me. As if I enjoy having complete strangers somewhat gawk at me, I'm completely uncomfortable. Plus, there's this silence. I'm not all that great with silence. I want to just walk away. I don't want to socialize, damn it! I don't get paid to socialize.
"You know," he said, with a chuckle, "you look so familiar to me. Have we met somewhere before?" Now, I can't leave. I get to be interrogated by this senile old man. I shook my head.
"No, I don't think so, sir." He smiled.
"Oliver," he corrected.
"No, I don't think so, Oliver," I repeated. "I think I'd remember if we had met." I know I'd remember him. His suit alone must've cost at least five figures. More money than I'll ever see in my entire life. You don't see old men walking around with outfits on like that every day of the week. It leaves an impression.
"Either way, you look so familiar—I just, I just can't place you." He sighed, shrugging a shoulder. "Maybe it's the old age. Everyone I see, I swear I've met before."
"Oh, I'm sure it's not that," I lied. That probably is the case.
"Don't feel the need to lie because you work here," he told me simply. My jaw must've dropped, because he chuckled. "What I mean is: don't feel the need to be polite," he somewhat corrected. "And where's that other nice steward, anyway? How long does it take these days to make tea?" I shrugged. With Alan, who knows if he'll even come back.
"Oh, there he is!" I said, seemingly relieved. Alan seems to be running down the deck in a seeming panic, a tray in his hands. Don't drop the tray, don't drop the tray! When he finally caught up with us, I forced a smile. "Does it take that long to make tea?" I questioned between clenched teeth as he placed the tray down on the chair Oliver had been sitting on.
"It is when you want it cold," was his mumbled reply. "Is that all, sir?" he asked Oliver. He glanced down at the tea and then to Alan.
"You didn't get any for the young lady!" Alan shot me a look.
"You wanted some?" he questioned, sounding just a tad aggravated.
"Us cold tea enthusiasts must stick together!" Oliver exclaimed.
"I'm fine," I reassured both of them, splitting up the dogs leads and hanging half back to Alan. "Well, if you're all set, sir…We really must get back to work. Right, Alan?"
"Oh, right, right." He seems like he's off in his own little world, as usual.
"Well." Oliver, should I really call him that, took my hand, gently squeezing it. "It was a pleasure, Lucy." I forced a nod as Alan shot me a look of how did he know your name? He dropped my hand and nodded to Alan. "And thank you for the tea…" His voice trailed off as Alan cleared his throat.
"Alan, sir."
"Thank you for the tea, Alan. You two have a good morning, now."
"You, too, sir," Alan told him, taking me by the arm. "Come on, Luce." Oliver kept his eyes locked on me as we began down the deck. Please, stop staring. I sighed as Alan dropped my arm. It's been one long morning. "Was that weird or what?" he asked, with a tiny laugh.
"What?"
"Just to think: two people, on the same liner, who both like cold tea! What are the odds?" I smiled.
"I know, I know. And luckily for him, you make the best tea this side of the sea." He smiled at the compliment.
"Either way…You two must've dropped from the same coconut tree!" I smiled at him, before quickly glancing over my shoulder. And there that Oliver character is, drinking his cold tea, in perfect paradise. He must be crazy. He has to be. Why else would he like cold tea? Why else would he be nice to me, of all people? There has to be something wrong with him. That's the only reason I can fathom.
"It's more like a coconut grove," I mumbled.
