When Love Goes Bad Read online

  “Luis is a hero,” I said brightly when I returned to the table. I explained about the old man and how Luis had saved his life. Everybody lauded Luis’s heroism, but I thought I saw a knowing look pass around the table.

  Then I remembered something: Luis had said that Dr. Hill was almost finished with his examination, but I had seen Gina dancing with Dr. Hill not fifteen minutes ago.

  The next day was bright and beautiful. Luis was extra-attentive, apologizing profusely for his absence the night before and reiterating how he would not have missed the luau for the world, but he did have to save a life and, like I’d said, that took precedence over everything else, did it not?

  I could have called him on the lie—I certainly had every right to—but once again I let Luis off the hook. Maybe I was afraid not to. After all, there were a lot of beautiful women on the ship. There were a lot of beautiful women everywhere. If I raised a fuss, there was no shortage of women eager to take my place.

  Luis complimented me on my purple outfit. We played shuffleboard and ping pong. We tossed the beach ball and swam in the pool, the pool that had been so lonely the day before. I did think that Mitzy lingered a little too long by our side of the pool while she was making her rounds, but I tried to shrug it off. Luis was probably right: I was jealous. I told myself that it was only natural for me to feel threatened by young, attractive females, considering what a good-looking young man Luis was.

  I don’t have anything to worry about, I tried to assure myself. Look how attentive and loving he is to me today. I should have more faith in our relationship.

  Still, the nagging doubts wouldn’t stop: If he wasn’t in sick bay last night, tending to an old man, then where was he? Tending to an attractive female—Mitzy, perhaps? I racked my brain, trying to recall if I’d seen her at the luau, but my mind drew a blank.

  A strange incident occurred that afternoon, but I didn’t think too much about it at the time. While Luis and I were at the pool, sitting in lawn chairs, a skinny, young man in plaid swim trunks with a shock of brown hair, came up behind us and clapped his hand on Luis’s shoulder. I hadn’t noticed him till he was right behind us, and Luis hadn’t seen him at all.

  “Bobby, my man!” the boy exclaimed.

  Luis turned to him coldly. “Excuse me; you must be mistaking me for someone else.”

  “What gives, Bobby?” the young man asked with a puzzled look on his face. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “I said,” Luis repeated slowly and very deliberately, “you—are—mistaking—me—for—someone—else.”

  “Oh—excuse me, man. Didn’t mean to bother you.” The boy quickly loped off.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “I have no idea.” Luis sighed. “There are a lot of crazies running around.”

  I stood before the mirror in my pink ballerina dress, ready for the big dance. It looks beautiful, I thought happily. I look beautiful. . . .

  For just a moment, my mind went backward in time, and Harold and I were dancing—only it wasn’t Harold of the two left feet, who always stepped on my toes, but Harold the suave, debonair dance partner, and for one thrilling, indescribable moment I was nestled in the shelter of his arms again, basking in his love, drinking in his strong, overwhelming physical presence. . . .

  I quickly took a few final minutes to check my makeup and hair before wrapping my pink, satin stole around my shoulders, grabbing my silver, beaded clutch purse, and heading out the door. Lois and Fabian had left a while ago.

  I wished Luis would pick me up at my door, like a proper gentleman, but he’d insisted that he would be occupied with a myriad of details and couldn’t get away till the last minute, and would meet me in front of the ballroom.

  I wondered if Mitzy was one of those “details,” but I pushed the suspicion to the back of my mind, determined to enjoy the wonderful night ahead. I was looking forward to showing off the new dance steps Luis had taught me especially for the trip. We’d spent many hours practicing the waltz, fox trot, and the tango-to-end-all-tangos.

  As I walked the short distance to the ballroom, there was something gnawing at me—a queasy feeling I couldn’t quite shake. I decided that I was probably feeling nervous because of the luau, when Luis had stood me up in front of everybody. I couldn’t risk that happening to me again.

  He’ll be there, I tried to assure myself. I just spoke to him on the phone not more than half an hour ago and he swore to me that at eight o’clock on the dot he would be waiting for me at the ballroom entrance.

  He won’t stand me up again. . . .

  Will he?

  I must admit I breathed a sigh of relief when I rounded the corner and saw Luis standing there, right on time, just where he’d said he would be, in a black tuxedo with a red boutonniere on his lapel. I inwardly scolded myself for doubting him.

  “Elsa!” Luis cried. He handed me a calla lily wrist corsage and spun me around to admire my dress. “You look like a ballerina. Just like in your wonderful childhood dream.”

  My heart soared. He had gotten the connection; I knew that he would. We had spent many hours confiding in each other. We were two kindred souls. I felt ashamed of myself for doubting his love. It was going to be a splendid night, and I began to relax.

  The spacious ballroom was bathed in a soft, golden glow. We paused at the entrance, listening to the orchestra playing, watching couples whisper past under the huge, crystal chandelier. I felt like Cinderella at the ball in my beautiful pink gown, with the handsome prince at my side.

  We joined the others from the Starry Night, who were all standing in a group—the “girls” chattering happily, dressed in lovely ball gowns, their escorts very handsome in tuxes and suits. The other men looked good, but nobody could beat Luis. He’s the handsomest man in the place, I thought proudly.

  Gina was there, with no escort again, in a shapeless, dowdy, brown ball gown with matching shawl. I almost felt sorry for her. Where did she get that outfit? While I looked like Cinderella, she could easily have passed for one of the ugly, evil stepsisters. All she needed to complete the picture was a wart on the end of her nose. She smiled coquettishly at Luis, but he only had eyes for me, I noted with satisfaction.

  Gina moved closer to Luis. I knew that she was going to ask him to dance. But Luis didn’t even see her. He offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

  I cast a triumphant glance at Gina. She stomped over to the punch bowl.

  Luis and I were floating on air, so perfectly in tune were we . . . everyone else in the room melted away. Time stood still on that magical night as we danced song after song after song . . . I barely noticed Gina pouting in the corner. It was my night, mine and Luis’s, and it was purely and simply heaven on earth.

  During a break in the music, I joined Lois and Diane in the rest room. “You’re having a good time tonight,” Diane observed.

  “Yes, I am,” I said, touching up my lipstick.

  “Gina’s not,” Lois quipped, and we all laughed.

  When I left the rest room, Luis was nowhere to be found. My heart fluttered for just a moment, accompanied by a vague feeling of dread, but I resolutely ignored it. I wouldn’t let my insecurity ruin this perfect night.

  There’s nothing to worry about, I told myself. Luis is probably in the rest room or he’s talking to one of the other dance instructors. Maybe he’s making a phone call. I determined to think no more about it. He’d show up soon enough.

  Maybe he stepped out for some fresh air, I thought suddenly. I decided to go take a look. I was in need of some fresh air myself. It was awfully hot in the ballroom, after all that dancing. I left word with Lois that when she saw Luis, she should tell him to join me on deck, if he wasn’t there already.

  I stepped out of the ballroom and into the crisp, black night air. I strolled along, enjoying the breeze and the moonlight dancing across the deep, dark, sparkling water.

  Luis was nowhere to be found on deck, either. This disappearing act is getting to be
a habit with him, I thought with a touch of irritation. But that was Luis—not exactly the most considerate man in the world. Especially lately.

  Still, he did have his good points, I conceded in his defense, ticking off Luis’s many virtues in my head: He’s devastatingly handsome, wonderfully attentive—when he isn’t working on itineraries and other such nonsense, or pulling his disappearing act—he’s a classy dresser, talented, ambitious, smart . . . and he loves me.

  Does he really? I asked myself uncertainly. Luis could often be thoughtful and kind, but he could also be the most irritating, self-centered jerk on the planet. Sometimes I thought he didn’t love anybody but himself.

  But then I thought about the evening and how our bodies and souls had entwined on the dance floor, how we had moved and breathed as one. . . .

  I strolled along slowly in the moonlight, reliving the ecstasy of being in his arms.

  I suddenly awoke from my reverie, shivering. It was getting a little cold out, and I had left my stole inside. I decided I’d better head back to the ballroom. No use catching pneumonia. Besides, if he hadn’t run into Lois, Luis would be worried about me, wondering where I was.

  I was just turning to go back into the ballroom when I heard a familiar voice coming from around the corner. I started to turn back around and hurry toward the voice, but something stopped me. I stood still, listening intently.

  The voice was Luis’s, all right, but it was different somehow. . . .

  It took me a few minutes to pinpoint exactly what the difference was, and then I realized with a start that his accent was gone. He sounded like he came from the Bronx, in the good old U.S. of A., not from some exotic foreign locale.

  I wondered why in the world he was talking like Tony Danza!

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he was saying. “You almost blew it for me with that ‘Bobby’ business.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I thought she was your grandma. I didn’t know you were squiring the Geritol set.”

  That voice sounded familiar, too. I peeked around the corner. It was the boy from the pool.

  I stiffened angrily. Was that young upstart talking about me? I didn’t appreciate being called Luis’s grandma—again. What is it with these arrogant young people? I thought. Haven’t they ever heard of a May-December romance?

  Luis will set him straight, I thought smugly, waiting for Luis to light into him.

  “Well, use your brains, will you?” Luis scolded. “Sometimes you can be such an idiot.”

  I smiled with satisfaction. You tell him, Luis. Let him have it with both barrels blazing.

  I expected him to lambaste the boy further, telling him how beautiful and lovable and wonderful I was, and demanding to know how the boy could make such a stupid mistake as to think that I was his grandma. But instead, he said something very puzzling: “I’ve got a good thing going with these biddies and I don’t want to mess it up.”

  What does he mean? I wondered, confused, and beginning to get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Who is he talking about? I stood very still, listening, my heart racing.

  “Sorry, man. It won’t happen again,” the boy apologized.

  “It had better not,” Luis warned. “I’ve come too far to have you screw it up now.”

  “Say, I saw your mom last week,” the boy said, changing the subject.

  How can that be? Luis’s mother is dead and buried in Havana.

  “How’s she doing?” Luis asked.

  “Fine. She said to come out and visit her when you get a chance.”

  “Will do.”

  “Are you still playing the Italian Stallion?”

  “Naw, now I’m the Cuban Playboy,” Luis said, puffing out his chest. “I turned Latino when Ricky Martin got so popular.”

  “Smart move,” the boy said admiringly. “Are you still telling them you’re twenty-five?”

  “Yeah. These old broads like the young ones, you know. They all think they’re Cher.” He shook his head. “They’d sure be surprised if they knew I was pushing thirty-five. It’s lucky I look young for my age.”

  “Still giving the ladies that cock-and-bull story about the hair comb?”

  “Of course; only now, it’s a red shawl. I got quite a discount on those shawls when I was hiding out in Mexico.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I recalled the red shawl that he had claimed was from his dead mother.

  “It’s a wonderful gimmick,” Luis continued. “First I wax poetic about my sad, pathetic childhood amidst squalor and decay . . . ten children and two adults in a small grass hut—I changed it from six children to ten because I thought it sounded more pitiful—laying it on thick about my poor, sainted mother’s untimely demise. . . .” He wiped away an imaginary tear.

  “Then, as a token of my deep and abiding affection, I present my latest amor with something very precious to me, more precious than gold—” He pantomimed presenting the shawl with a flourish. “—the red shawl that my dearly departed mother bequeathed to me on her deathbed. And, voila! They’re hooked,” he finished, pretending to reel in his catch.

  The boy applauded.

  Luis smiled like an alligator. “It gets them every time.”

  I thought of the red shawl that Luis had offered me, and of how touched I had been. My face burned with shame.

  “Well, I’d better get back before they send out a search party,” Luis said. “I’m schmoozing an ugly old crow who thinks she’s a ballerina.” He laughed harshly.

  I felt like I was going to be sick, all over the gleaming parquet floor. I knew I had to get out of there. He would be rounding the corner at any second. I only had seconds to flee, but my feet felt like lead. My whole body felt like lead. Everything was happening in slow motion.

  Somehow, though, I willed my feet to move. I turned and ran, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I didn’t stop running until I was safely in my stateroom. Thank God Lois was still out. I didn’t relish the thought of having to face her after what I’d heard. I locked the door and broke into sobs. I don’t think I’d sobbed so much since Harold had died.

  Before long, I heard a faint rapping on the door. I knew who it was, even before he spoke. “Elsa? Elsa, it’s Luis.” His accent had magically reappeared.

  “I’m sick,” I said in a muffled voice, from under the covers. It was true enough.

  “Should I call the doctor for you?”

  “No, I just need to rest.” Go away, you serpent; go away!

  “I missed you at the dance, Elsa. Lois said you’d gone out on deck, but I didn’t find you there, so I came here. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What a thrilling, magical night we had, Elsa, dancing in each other’s arms . . . it was so beautiful. I shall treasure the memory of it always,” Luis purred.

  I could have struck him.

  “Well, I had better let you get your rest. I hope you feel better quickly.”

  “Yes, good night,” I said, wishing he would hurry up and leave. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the charade.

  “Good night, my sweet angel. . . .” Luis cooed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He paused at the door, waiting for a reply. When none came, he finally left. I held myself rigid and silent, listening to his footsteps receding down the hall.

  Oh, the unmitigated gall of that man! The heartless treachery! I thought, sobbing into my pillow. I had always suspected that he was a con man, but this vile deception was more than I could bear.

  Earlier I had asked myself if he loved me. What a ludicrous, laughable idea. A knot formed in my stomach, remembering the sneer on Luis’s face when he had called me an ugly old crow.

  Now I knew the hard, humiliating truth: We were not the perfect couple, as I had deluded myself into believing—we were the odd couple! The Cuban Playboy with the ugly old crow? Who was I kidding?

  My instinct had been right all along. Luis—or Bobby, or whatever his name was at the mom
ent—was incapable of love. Only an evil, unfeeling monster could have perpetrated the hoax that he had perpetrated on me. I was filled with shame when I thought of his lies—the disgusting, pitiful lies that I had believed so eagerly.

  Well, you know what they say—‘there’s no fool like an old fool,’ I chided myself bitterly. Was I so desperate for love, so starved for attention, that I would snatch any little crumb of affection that was tossed my way?

  Suddenly, I missed Harold. In almost fifty years of marriage, he had never hurt me the way that hateful gigolo Luis had hurt me. I just wanted to crawl into a hole—the biggest, blackest hole I could find—and die. Waves of nausea overtook me again, finally subsiding. I burrowed deeper into the covers, so that nobody could hear my sobs. I pretended to be asleep when Lois came into the room about an hour or so later. I heard her moving about in the dark, finally climbing into her bed.

  The ship was settling down for the night. I heard a few voices lingering in the hallway, and then all was still, except for Lois’s slow, measured breathing on the other side of the room.

  Still I lay awake, tossing and turning. The first rays of sunlight had filtered through the peach brocade curtains before I finally fell asleep.

  How I got through the rest of the cruise and our time in Bermuda, I’ll never know. I’d been looking forward to the trip for a long time, but suddenly, all I wanted to do was go home. Bermuda was a place of breathtaking beauty, but it was wasted on me.

  All I could see was the specter of Luis’s mocking face when he’d said those horrible things about me. All I could feel was the dagger twisting in my heart. Everything was a blur and nothing interested me. But I acted like I was having the time of my life; I gave a performance that would have put Sarah Bernhardt to shame. I laughed, I talked—I acted like everything was just fine and dandy. Couldn’t be dandier.

  I didn’t want anyone to know the humiliating truth of how deeply Luis had hurt me—not even Luis himself. It was a deep, dark secret that I locked away within myself.

  Luis sensed that something was wrong. Ever since that awful night, when I’d learned the sordid truth, I’d avoided him as much as possible. There was no more dancing, no more hand-holding. I told him I was under the weather, coughing in his face to emphasize the point. It worked: he stayed pretty much away from me after that. A cold, in beautiful, sun-drenched Bermuda? It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but it was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.