Chapter 66 Ore
Chapter 66
Ore
Day 13
Ore had one more night on board Thalassa , before they docked in Sydney. It was the first time she’d woken up before Daniel. He was definitely an early bird. The light was grey and mauve, glowing through the thin gauze of the curtains. Ore had not only come to tolerate the endless swaying of the waves below, but to enjoy them. How would she sleep with the sound of sirens, and the vibrations of the subways under foot back in New York?
She hadn’t felt this well rested in years. It struck her that she hadn’t touched or thought about alcohol since they’d been on the island. She guessed that sleeping with a captain on duty was probably a good influence on her metropolitan drinking habit. She’d also been eating well, thanks to Carlos, and definitely getting her fair share of aerobic exercise: swimming, walking and … all the other stuff too. She smiled to herself, pleasantly surprised by her ability to take satisfaction from something other than achieving .
Her professional life was in tatters; she’d been ignoring all of Henry’s increasingly urgent emails and messages about the profile, and she wasn’t interested in that sham job offer. She’d spent the past two weeks chasing a story that was probably unpublishable, and she had no other prospects, having let her other regular freelance writing slip by the wayside.
And yet, here she was grinning, content, happy. Maybe Carlos had a point with all this ‘living in the moment’ stuff. And she didn’t have much moment left. She nestled her face into Daniel’s back and he shifted awake.
‘Morning, beautiful.’ He smiled dopily, and she planted a kiss on each of his drooping eyelids.
‘I wish I could wake up to this every morning.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, piercing through their embryonic cocoon of denial. She felt the tension seize his body almost immediately, and her own stiffened in response.
She’d have done anything for one more minute in the ‘before’ but it was too late now. The bubble was burst, and the world outside it needed to be faced.
They were both quiet for a time, bodies pressed against each other in the dawn light.
‘I’m going to miss you.’ Daniel’s tone was disarmingly matter-of-fact.
Ore pulled his face to hers, and when she spoke, her lips almost brushed his. ‘Me too, Daniel, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again …’ She hoped with her whole heart that that was true.
‘I don’t think you can ever know how profoundly you’ve changed me, Ore.’ His eyes blazed. ‘Before I met you, I was on a treadmill, sometimes walking, sometimes running, consistently into my future. But with you I learnt how to fly. And hopefully …’ he betrayed himself, the composure cracking with a break in his voice ‘… after you, I can keep doing that, high enough so that I can see how beautiful everything is.’ She stroked the tear away from his cheek.
‘Honestly,’ she said, her voice low, ‘it sounds like that’s more Carlos’ influence than mine.’ His tears were swallowed into a chuckle then. Ore tried to capture the moment in her mind’s eye. The dark, hot form of him against the cool light. The tiny gap between his two front teeth, the particular shade of pink of his inner bottom lip, the rays of his laughter lines fanning out from those dark, molten jewels.
‘We still have an hour,’ she whispered, sinking her fingers into his hair.
‘It won’t be enough, but I’ll take it,’ he murmured, closing his eyes again and resting his forehead against hers tenderly. And that’s how they lay, for the next fifty-nine minutes, the seconds ticking away unceremoniously until Daniel pulled himself away and quietly got dressed. Ore stayed as she was, eyes closed, and pictured him moving around. If her imagination was going to be her only access to Daniel soon, she’d better start practising.
The door shut softly behind him as a silent hot tear rolled down her cheek. After an unknown while she got herself up, and slowly moved around her cabin, gathering her things, folding some, scrunching others, and then piling them into her suitcase.
They would dock in Sydney in the early hours and she would be far too groggy and grumpy to pack then. When all traces of her, apart from her toothbrush, were cleared from the room, she sat on the unmade bed and stared at her reflection in the mirror opposite. She was nervous about going back to her old life, where, ironically, she had felt so unmoored. By some strange logic her time on Thalassa had been intense, but also grounding. She was a more certain person than she had been two weeks ago. No job waiting perhaps, but a stronger sense of what she wanted, what she believed, her skills as a journalist and her ability to rise to the occasion.
Her phone buzzed her out of her introspection. It was an email from Henry.
On second thoughts, we’ve decided that the first draft you sent last week was actually some great copy. So let’s run with that. The rest of the team and I are really looking forward to working with you on a permanent business. Congrats!
All my best,
H
P.S. see attached ;)
Ore was unnerved by the tone it was so jovial, as though their last conversation had never happened. And that winky face … She also found herself rereading the first few words over and over again: ‘our end’, an image of Chuck reading the article a few floors above where she was sitting, and nodding along approvingly made her feel nauseous again, for the first time in days.
She clicked on the attachment. EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT FOR MISS ORE BALLOU-ADU. She skimmed over it. It was an outrageous deal. Thirty-five hours with enforced overtime pay, twenty days’ leave, unheard of in New York, and a signing bonus of … $50,001. She closed the document and threw her phone across the bed, a shiver running down her spine. Chuck wanted her to know that he was behind this. Was the cheque in the envelope all part of his plan? To make her understand just how deeply his claws were dug into her life? If she hadn’t been so disturbed she might have been impressed by the foresight of it all. It was really giving ‘evil genius’.
She would have to reply to Henry soon if she wanted to block publication, but she had at least until the end of the day, and for now she wanted to get as far away from her phone as possible.
She made her way up to the pool. Maybe a swim would help clear her head. She rummaged for her swimsuit and grabbed a towel.
She had grown accustomed to having the pool to herself but this morning another black-bikini-clad swimmer was doing lengths of front crawl. They were fast as well. It was hard to tell who it was until the goggled face emerged and removed its cap. Elbows splayed on the pool’s edge, Mel gave Ore a surprisingly broad smile.
‘Hey,’ she said as Ore approached. ‘I was hoping I might see you before we all get off this floating prison …’
Ore chuckled. ‘So you’re getting off at Sydney as well?’
Mel clambered out of the pool as Ore settled on the edge of a lounger. ‘Well we all are, the guests I mean. I think that the crew stay on for a few more days and then have to go moor it up the coast somewhere.’
Ore realised that she’d sort of imagined she might be safe from Chuck if he was endlessly floating around the ocean. Silly really – you were never safe from a man like Chuck. Mel must have misread the expression on her face, but her conclusion was still accurate.
‘You’re going to miss the captain, aren’t you?’ Mel wrapped herself in a beach towel and sat down next to Ore.
‘I am,’ she admitted. ‘Very much.’
‘Well I’m sure you can still, like, see each other, like he can fly to New York and you can visit him when he’s got time off from work?’ The hope in Mel’s face was touching. Ore recognised herself, in her more naive moments.
‘Maybe,’ Ore said with a sad smile, ‘but that kind of travelling is pretty expensive.’
Mel hung her head. ‘Damn, yeah, sorry, that was like, super privileged of me to say.’
‘Nah don’t worry about it, you were only trying to help.’ Ore had grown to like Mel.
‘Like I did when I showed your article to dad, and told him what a great journalist you were, and then he basically invited you to be a glorified babysitter. Sorry about that …’ Mel looked genuinely contrite, but Ore was only just catching up with the first part of the confession.
‘Sorry, what article did you show him?’
‘The one you wrote in i-POP magazine about sustainable practices in the Casper Donran factories.’ Mel had begun wringing water from her hair.
Ore had written that piece whilst she was still at Columbia. It had earned a much-coveted ‘excellent work’ from Gail Fairweather, exposing the toxic dyes used in the factories that made CasperD clothing. The real sting had been that it was mainly manufacturing their ‘environmentally conscious’ range. The hypocrisy.
‘I totally stopped buying anything from CasperD after that,’ Mel continued proudly. ‘I think Dad thought I’d be super thrilled that he invited you on board, but like, I was into that article like two years ago, no offence.’ Mel shrugged, rolling her eyes as if to say: you know useless dads .
‘None taken,’ Ore replied, on autopilot through their familiar exchange as what she had heard sank in.
Not only had her job offer been a set-up incentive for her to write the piece he wanted, but Chuck Regas had even hand-selected her. Ore guessed he hadn’t even bothered to read the article, just assumed that anything his teenage daughter read in a magazine was probably written by some second-rate, PR puff-piece kind of journalist who would write down anything she was told to. He had underestimated them both. She was sure that someone had also pointed out that it might be good optics to give an exclusive interview to a young black woman. How liberal and magnanimous he would seem. The boil of anger quickly solidified into something else: renewed determination. She would find a way to expose him for the hypocritical, narcissistic manipulator that he was. Somehow she would find a way.
‘Mel, if I trust you with a little secret, would you promise not to tell your dad, at least not for a few weeks …’ Ore was hatching a plan.
‘Sure.’ Mel’s eyes glinted with the excitement of conspiracy.
‘If I give you my number, would you give it to your mum and ask her to call me? I’d love to use you in an article I’m writing, but I need a parent’s permission and well …’
‘You can’t ask my dad, because it’s about him,’ Mel concluded.
She’s a bright one . ‘Exactly.’
‘Just promise me one thing in return?’ Mel put out her hand.
Ore was wary but agreed.
‘That you won’t let him get away with his lies, because he will totally deny everything, so you have to like stand up for the truth and not let him bully you into backing down,’
Ore shook Mel’s hand firmly. ‘I will try my best.’
‘That’s not quite a promise, but I’ll take it. Also Mom will definitely call you; she’s always going about how much he lies, but she’s not allowed to say anything, apparently.’
Patricia Regas, now that would be a get, although it sounded like she’d also signed a damn NDA.
‘Thanks so much Mel.’ Ore stood up, and to her surprise Mel did too, pulling her into a soggy hug. Ore’s hands swung awkwardly at her sides. Mel was a little taller than her and it felt perverse to encircle her bare waist.
‘You know I think I wanna be just like you when I’m older,’ Mel gushed into Ore’s shoulder. Ore was taken aback by the sincerity. ‘Like maybe a journalist, but like super nice and also hot.’
Ore couldn’t help but giggle. She was flattered. She pulled herself away. ‘Well if you ever need any advice …’ Ore wondered what on earth might make her qualified as an emotionally turbulent, unemployed twenty-five-year-old to give any advice to anybody, but Mel nodded enthusiastically and retrieved her phone from her bag and handed it to Ore to put her number in it. ‘I’ll totally hit you up,’ she chirped before picking up her towel and plodding back inside.
In the silent churn of her lengths Ore thought about the implications of using the sixteen-year-old daughter of the subject of an exposé as a named source. It wasn’t a good look, but she was probably the only person in Chuck’s life who wasn’t gagged by a pesky legal document. Without Mel, there would be no piece at all. She’d speak to Patricia. Ultimately it would be her decision, and she could only hope that Mel’s mother held her daughter’s best interests more firmly in her mind than Chuck.
After her swim Ore headed to the kitchen. Carlos was already crying by the time she swung through.
‘Oh my darling, how I’ll miss you.’ He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, sniffing into her ear.
‘I’ll miss you too, and your food!’
He gave her a playful slap on the arm. ‘That’s all I am to you, a cook!’
‘A chef!’ Ore corrected and then at his not quite faux wounded expression she added, ‘And a friend.’
Another hug and this time Ore wasn’t sure she was going to keep it together. They had their lunch, as usual, bent over the hob.
‘So how is the story coming along?’ Ore had noticed that Carlos was the only person who didn’t lower his voice when he asked questions like that.
‘It’s fine. It’s sort of done … well my editor seems to think so anyway,’ Ore said evenly.
‘Sort of done?’ It seemed that nothing could escape Carlos’ intuition.
‘I’m not sure I want to publish it. And well, there is another story, a better one, but I don’t think I have enough to prove anything.’
‘Hmm.’ Carlos furrowed his brow in concentration. ‘What do you need to prove these things?’
‘I need people to go on the record,’ Ore said plainly.
Carlos nodded gravely. ‘And no one can because of Mr Regas’ secret contracts.’
‘Bingo.’ Carlos looked confused, and Ore corrected herself with a: ‘Yes that’s right.’
‘You’ve spent too long in America, Ore.’ Carlos shook his head theatrically and Ore laughed. She really was going to miss him, but she couldn’t resist one last push.
‘Would you mind taking this?’ She dug into her pocket and handed him her card. ‘In case you change your mind?’
Carlos looked at her apologetically. ‘I really can’t afford to lose my work Ore.’
‘I know, I’m not …’ Ore sighed, and made to put the card back, but Carlos picked it from between her fingers before she did. She looked up at him hopefully.
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself – it is only to send you some recipes, so you do not have to live off takeout when you return to New York.’ He winked, tucking it into his apron. Ore smiled. It had been worth a try.
The rest of the day dragged on. Ore didn’t have anything else to write, so she wandered around the boat aimlessly, counting down the minutes until Daniel clocked off. At eight she let herself into his cabin with the spare key card he had made for her.
She settled into his bed, first resisting and then succumbing to the urge to bury her face in the pillow that smelled of him. She scrambled to stand as she heard footsteps approaching.