Chapter 5

The Globe is magnificent.

But a rival yacht, Utopia, apparently upped the ante, luxuriousness-wise.

Since I was staring in awe at an apparently scruffy ship, I’d have to up my own damn game. Learn some snootiness. Fast. Jeepers, was The Globe a sight!

Walker’s notes told me she was over 900 feet long. Which he carefully explained to me since I don’t really follow team sports, is three football fields long. “Big ass ship,” he told me.

I forget how many tons, but probably a lot. The residences range from around 1500 square feet to almost 7,000. With private verandas. Condo prices went from around $1,000,000 to over $7,000,000. Plus monthly maintenance fees.

But once you bought your home, everything else was free. Meals, booze, entertainment. All-inclusive.

A crew of over 300 men and women to run the ship and see to your needs.

There’s a casino. A boutique hotel. Restaurants. Bars. Nightclub. Tennis court. Billiards room. Swimming pools. Spa. Yoga. Pilates. Stores. Personal shoppers. Gyms. Personal trainers. Art auctions, probably personal Egyptian fan-wavers.

I sniffed. Decent, but hardly up to Winter Jennings standards.

I woke up on board The Globe at 5 AM. Valetta is in the Central European Time Zone. I know this because of Walker-research. He can be a bit anal, but he’s my anal.

I felt great. Rested, alert, hungry.

The interior designer had been carefully neutral. The walls and carpeting were in various shades of beige and white. Smart. Present the owners with a blank canvas to paint as they saw fit. Or as their own designer did.

I slid my feet through the carpet and turned on the light in Walker’s room. Usual little-boy, dead-body sprawl. Well, one part of him wasn’t dead. I turned the light off and went to check the water pressure in our bathroom.

People, even guys about to get laid, have asked me not to sing in the shower so I didn’t.

I decided to wait on breakfast for my son and went on an early morning stroll. The ship had left Valetta sometime while we slept and there was a not unpleasant, gentle rolling motion. The massive stabilizers were at work though, wealth doesn’t appreciate discomfort.

I made a circuit. Not many passengers up this early. Or maybe I should call them residents. Plenty of crew members doing crew things. Dressed in white. White shirts and blouses, white slacks and skirts. White deck shoes.

Different colored fabric belts. I’ll task Walker with learning if there is any significance, maybe rank indicators, in the colors.

Everyone nodded or smiled or said hi. Sometimes all three. But it was a restrained friendliness. Of course. And so I shall comport myself with similar abstemiousness.

Then my stomach growled. Reminding me that it had woken up hungry and what the fuck was I thinking about taking a morning constitutional?

I went straight to full mom-tickle mode until Walker was groggily standing beside his bed. I’ll start my restraint routine after breakfast. One part of him still wasn’t sleepy as I pushed him toward the bathroom.

The week Walker and I were aboard The Globe, he and Pilar were constantly texting. I had made an executive decision not to give him the reminder message about under eighteen sexting. Although part of me hopes that Vanessa did.

It was easy to fall into the yacht’s rhythms because there really weren’t any. At least not that I could decipher. People ate when and where they wanted. Ditto drinking.

The nightly entertainment was low key -- soft jazz, danceable tunes in another lounge. It wasn’t like a shipload of new passengers was boarding every Sunday, nothing like that. These cats were seasoned travelers, used to first class treatment.

During the day, I worked out on the elliptical. Swam laps. Took massages. Power naps. Had my hair and nails done.

Walker was on his own. We’d meet back in our suite and change for dinner. I told him, “Pay attention. Listen to the conversations around you. You might pick up something interesting.”

The food on board wasn’t like friends of mine raved about from their cruises -- all you can eat! All the time!

No, the restaurants specialized in one cuisine, say French. There was a New York-style steakhouse. Funny, the meals were delicious, but Walker and I gravitated to the delicatessen. We’d take simple sandwiches with chips and beer back to our condo and just chill.

Tunis is fascinating. Several centuries old of course. Around a million people, maybe more. An international port city, cosmopolitan and ancient at the same time. And hot. Just over 100 degrees.

I left Walker on his own for the two days we were there. He loves exploring and didn’t seem to mind the heat.

I preferred the climate control of my second-tier ship, The Globe. I was there to investigate, not to go urban prowling. Plus, I’d met a fella.

2nd Officer Eamon Nilsson. I didn’t ask him about the ship’s fraternization policy. Not after I’d sent a photo of the Irish / Swedish dreamboat to Vanessa. Instant reply: GO!!!

Eamon is a sight. Red hair from his Irish mother. Tall, with a dazzling white smile. A Swedish heartthrob and he doubtlessly knew it.

Fortunately I’m a professional. A seasoned detective on a scouting mission. How wise of me to have penetrated the inner workings of crewdom so cleverly.

Eamon told me what his duties were. What a 2nd officer did. Something about navigation and being in charge of bridge. Or the bridge. He worked the night shift. Walker was in Tunis while the sun shone. Kismet. Serendipitous.

Eamon had smiled at me on my morning promenade. I smiled back. He introduced himself, held out his hand. I reciprocated. We strolled aft. Then to starboard or port or somewhere nautical.

Eamon’s father captained a fishing boat north of Gothenburg. His mother owned the Swedish equivalent of an Irish pub. His brother, the unfortunately named Nelson Nilsson, was in prison, don’t ask. But I bet it was drugs.

Eamon said he was sorry I’d be flying back to the states so soon. “I’d like to see more of you.”

“I’m in 505.”

“You sure?” About a tryst.

“Pretty sure.”

Eamon took a shower first thing. I wish more boys did that. Of course sometimes ... Well, it was a fast shower. He loved my tan. I loved his lack of one. He was a natural redhead. I was a natural blonde. Probably something significant in that.

Right before he kissed me, he placed a Do Not Disturb sign where it was designed to go. Probably not the first time he’d done that particular drill.

This 2nd Officer was just exactly, precisely, what I needed. Wanted. He was a little selfish in bed, but not to the point of neglect. I was pleased to see the size of his package. Not because I’m a size queen, but because he wouldn’t be apologetic, in word or deed, about something so personal, so important to guys.

I’ve tormented boys ever since I discovered how fun it is. But never about their endowment. Probably there’s a special bedroom in heaven reserved for me.

Eamon is one of those guys who likes to go down once he’s finished. Which is usually fine with me. He’s no Vanessa, but he was good enough to get the job done. Which got him ready for round two. Also fine with me.

I probably don’t tell Walker everything, but there isn’t much I won’t share. I told him about Eamon Nilsson for a quite practical reason. I didn’t want Walker to tire of Tunis and come barging in.

But more than that, I didn’t want the interlude to be sneaky. I certainly wasn’t ashamed. And Vanessa had pre-approved.

When Walker knocked tentatively, around 5 that evening, I gave him a big hug. Curious about how curious he would be. Pre-Vanessa he wanted all the details. Peggy, Richie, whoever.

But since our marriage ... well, I’ve had only one brief affair. A Texas getaway with Richie.

I wouldn’t volunteer anything about Eamon. If Walker wanted details I’d share. When he came out of his shower talking about Tunis, I knew that Eamon wouldn’t come up. No, I didn’t know that. I knew the subject wouldn’t come up right away.

We opted for steaks around 10 that night. Both of us had worked up appetites. Walker went for a filet with red wine sauce. I opted for the rib-eye, peppercorns imbedded, with an onion blue cheese topping.

Sliced tomato and onion with vinaigrette for a starter. Hash browns. Creamed spinach. Old school.

We split a bottle of the sommelier-recommended Cheval des Andes, Mendoza 2011. No one said a word about Walker’s age. I guess being in International Waters has some perks.

Back in our suite, he attacked a video game while I read. Sent a love note to Vanessa. Walker and I were both yawning by midnight. As we headed for separate showers, I said, “You’re sleeping with me tonight, kiddo.”

“Okay, Winter. Thanks.”

Teenagers can be sort of Puritanical. In streaks. Walker carefully turned his bed down, then messed up the sheets. No one’s getting anything by him.

I wear a long Tee when he sleeps with me, but I didn’t this night. Not sure why, not sure I even bothered to think it through. Felt good though. Walker snuggled back into my arms. He sighed. Felt good to him too.

He whispered, “So?”

“Well. His name is Eamon Nilsson. 2nd Officer. I’m not sure what he does, something about steering.”

I was drawing soft circles on Walker’s chest with my right palm. He whispered, “The 2nd Officer, that’s an important job.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! He’s probably in command of the bridge right now.”

I moved my hand down to his tummy.

He sighed again. But was still curious. “So?”

“He’s a good lover, baby. Very attentive.”

“Like how?”

I started stroking his erection, slowly, gently, and filled in the Eamon details.

Walker said, “What about his ... um.”

So important. “He’s nicely built, Walk. Not as long as you, but nice.”

“And?”

“A little thicker. But like Vanessa told you, you’re still growing.”

“How much thicker?”

“Just a tad.” Small fib.

“Vanessa?” He is so worried about our marriage. Can’t blame him, not after Richie.

“She approved, honey. I wouldn’t go behind her back.”

“But is it cheating?” Little fucker.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. It would be, certainly, if I didn’t tell her. If she didn’t give me her blessing.”

I added gentle squeezes to the strokes.

“That feels good, Winter.”

“I’m glad.”

I tightened the pressure just a little. Used the same technique that I used when I first taught him how to masturbate himself. Slid my hand along the shaft, then squeezed a little tighter when I reached the crown where he is most sensitive. I guess most guys are.

I could tell when he was close and breathed into his ear, “Go on babylove, go on.”

Walker makes such a distinctive sound when he cums. Somewhere between a sigh of contentment and a moan of pleasure. He stayed erect, sometimes he does. Teenagers.

I brought my left hand down, along his spine to between my thighs. Moist. The back of my hand was against his tight little butt as I began stroking him again.

Another day, another matinee.

Our second time around, 2nd Officer Eamon Nilsson and I were a little more simpatico. We’d gotten that initial wonder behind us, the wonder that first-timers have about each other, about themselves, about the fit, the compatibility.

I paid more attention to his endowment this time, Walker’s curiosity echoing somewhere in my subconscious. Eamon’s thickness is more substantial than had first registered, news I have no intention of passing along.

Eamon and I shared our contact numbers and promised to stay in touch. He was going back to Gothenburg for the duration of The Globe overhaul. I would stay in periodic contact, Eamon is a natural gossip. I didn’t pump him for passenger impressions this time, but I plan to.

When Walker arrived back that evening, he took one look at me and said, “Again?”

Did I have a glow about me? An afterglow?

I doubt many PTA moms discuss their sex lives with their children, but Walker’s second question was. “Can I sleep with you again tonight?”

“May I. And yes you may.”

I usually have three or four cases running simultaneously so I wasn’t concerned about down time while The Globe was getting her face lifted.

I had the Sullivan twins combing through the yacht’s ownership lists. We’d pay particular attention to the people who had sold their condos ahead of the projected calendar.

During this time I had learned that one particular pedophile is still alive. The one who had bought Vanessa’s grandmother, Sasha, when she was young. He’s still in Milwaukee. In his 80s, he may be decrepit, but I plan to go see him. And take Vanessa with me.

Also on my personal agenda, it was score-settling time with a certain revenge porn asshole. I’d waited for a few months, keeping a loose eye on him. He was still around, still in Johnson fucking County. Which is in fucking Kansas, political outhouse that it is.

But the case that will take up a lot of my time involves arson. I explained to the Allstate executive, Don Brooks, “I don’t know anything about arson. Never worked on it when I was a city cop or private.”

Don likes me, I did him a solid on a fake hit-and-run a couple of months ago. Found a woman who happened to be looking out of a second-story window in the United Missouri Bank building in the 4900 block of Main Street. Just south of the Plaza.