over the piano and Blake leaned against it.
“Minnie is ready,” Blake told her.
Alexi smiled as she looked down at the keys. “Hey, kids! How many of you have seen The Wizard of Oz?”
Some had; some hadn’t. A few had seen newer versions of the old classic.
She talked about the original movie and the book, and was glad to see one preteen gazing at her with wide eyes.
She hoped they had the book in the ship’s library, because she knew the young girl would be asking for it the next day.
“So this, my young friends,” she told them, “is the song that Judy Garland sang in the original movie—which is even older than I am!” She sang the song. Minnie, of course, was singing, too, in her high, clear soprano. Blake was watching Minnie, enthralled.
It had taken Alexi a while not to be thrown off by Minnie, but now she kept her ghost performer’s voice in a compartment in her mind.
She paused to encourage everyone to join in on the chorus.
A cheerful group did so. Even a grouchy-looking old man urged the kids to sing along. When the song ended, she found the piano surrounded by young fans. She asked them what they liked, and pretty soon she’d begun a round of tunes that encompassed most of the animated films produced in the past fifty years. Little girls were fond of princess movies, while little boys seemed to like superheroes of all kinds, pirates and robots. At least, that was the case with her young crowd tonight.
She was glad to see she had two seasoned travelers in the piano bar that evening—Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey. They weren’t close friends who took trips together, but retired men who often took Celtic American cruises. Roger had been a TV network CEO and he and his wife, Lorna, just hopped on a cruise whenever the whim struck them. They preferred the Caribbean, since they were both fond of heat. Hank was some kind of computer programming whiz who’d sold his first multimillion-dollar company before his thirtieth birthday. He wasn’t yet forty, although he was retired and rolling in money. Alexi was surprised that he wasn’t married and that he usually sailed alone. He was slender but wiry and while not classically handsome, he had warm brown eyes and a pleasant face. He’d told her once that he tended to attract beautiful women—who were usually after his beautiful money. He was looking for a nerdy girl, he’d said. Or a musician, he’d added with a wink, at which point she’d explained that she had a while to go before she was ready to see anyone again.
She’d mused on his comments, thinking that many young women might like the idea of being with someone who had everything—everything material, at least. She liked him just fine; the problem was that she felt absolutely no sense of attraction to him. Hank got on well with kids; he was far easier, more relaxed, with them than he was with adults. So she wasn’t surprised that he popped up, asking if he could sing a number from Song of the South.
The ice was broken. Roger came up next, wondering if she knew an old cartoon song, which she fudged. The kids sang some more, and then Roger and Hank sang a few tunes. After that she started getting passengers to join her on the choruses, but not performing themselves.
Luckily, Larry Hepburn showed up, just as he’d promised, around ten thirty. She made the kids very happy by doing a few prince/princess duets with him. Then the families began to leave and the more adult crowd moved in. She did some Carole King songs; a regular who was often on the ship sang a couple of Billy Joel numbers and Larry piped in with some Broadway. Someone requested a number by Lady Antebellum, and Larry took a seat at the piano with her to share the song.
Luckily, it was during Larry’s part that Alexi noticed the man standing across the hallway from the open bar; he leaned against the clear glass walls to the Banshee Disco.
It was the man she’d seen earlier. But as she watched him, he began to pull the prosthetic makeup from his face. It fell away in clumps; he seemed oblivious.
He just stared at her—and she stared at him.
Larry nudged her. She realized her fingers had moved over the keys by rote, but she was forgetting to sing.
She corrected her mistake quickly, breaking the song to make a joke and tease a woman who was coming in to take a seat. Then she picked up the song again.
When she looked back, the man was gone.
Why hadn’t she told the men she’d met that afternoon, the men from Celtic American’s headquarters, more about him? What if he was a weird social predator of some kind?
He wasn’t, she thought. He was young, in his early twenties. Not particularly tall or well built, but attractive in a wholesome way. She’d seen that once the makeup was gone.
She was grateful that Clara came in then; she asked her friend to do some Kelly Clarkson songs. Clara smiled and agreed.
Alexi searched the area to see if the young guy had headed toward the gallery or even the casino; she didn’t see him, but she did note that one of the “bigwigs” was in the lounge.
She froze, quickly looking from him to her piano keys. It was the man who’d been introduced to her as Jude McCoy.
He looked more as if he belonged on the cruise now, wearing denim jeans and a blue polo shirt. Maybe it was because of the shirt, but it seemed as if his eyes were more blue this time than green. A piercing blue. He seemed to be studying her, but for some reason, she didn’t believe he was grading her performance or planning to fire her.
He seemed to be looking for something else.
Perhaps he knew she’d been lying to him earlier.
“Let’s do the duet from Wicked!” Clara said.
Clara was leaning on the piano, dangerously close to Minnie. Minnie could have moved; she didn’t. Instead, she glared at Clara—as if she saw her as a rival for Blake’s affections.
“Come around here,” Alexi suggested, and Clara joined her. Once again, Alexi felt strangely hemmed in, seated between Larry Hepburn and Clara. But she smiled, talked about the fact that they’d started the night with “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” which made it fitting that they should move into the popular Broadway play.
She loved the duet and had done it with Clara many times. They were a hit with the crowd, who applauded loudly. When Alexi looked around again, Jude McCoy was gone.
She didn’t understand why she felt so miserable. The night was endless. Other members of different entertainment groups on the ship came by and sang. The crowd grew a little more giddy—the many ship’s cocktails no doubt had something to do with that—and was ready to laugh about anything.
Finally, Clara said good-night and left.
Soon after, Larry, tired of being brilliant and handsome, said good-night, too.
Even Minnie and Blake left the piano bar, holding hands, smiling, waving as they headed out for a “constitutional.”
By one o’clock, the crowd had dwindled down to about five. Alexi announced the last song, but even after that people stayed. She made a point of picking up her music books; the cocktail waitress made a point of clearing the tables and announcing which lounges were open until two.
At last she was alone. She sat at the piano bench and sighed, closing
