Chapter 22

The teary eyes hadn't abated, only worsened, until the feminized man, still fully dressed as a sexy French maid, heels and all, was curled up in a ball on the bed. Emotional exhaustion finally put him to sleep.

The dreams that came weren’t peaceful, though they started out pleasant enough.

Standing in his office, beside his wide cherry wood executive desk, Calvin ran his left hand over and through his beard. There was no trace of his time as Clara now that his mission was over. He glared at Sidney before stepping a half a foot forward and poking the bigger man in the chest hard, looking up to meet his gaze. Staring hard into the taller man’s blue eyes without wavering. "Told you I can do it. This is over, and so are you. You're fired, you fucking gorilla." He pulled his hand back to shake it out from the pain in his index finger, then turned and took a few steps to take hold of Moriah.

His beautiful girlfriend was dressed stylishly, in a professional, yet sexy outfit. Her dark purple cowl-neck sweater hung loose at the collar but hugged everything below it, tucked tight into a beige pencil skirt that stopped just above the knee and strained across her hips with her movements as she turned slightly to face him. The leather belt around her cinched her waist, matched her top with the silver oval buckle catching the light. While her plum purple peep-toe heels were four or five inches, they had thin straps with a flash of red for sole. A gold statement necklace sat on her chest, drawing his attention to the swell of her breasts. Along with it she wore a chunky gold pearl bracelet on her wrist, the purple stoned amethyst drop earrings swung against her jaw, and a dark purple croc-texture bag dangled from the arm. Taking her all in he noticed something that was wrong on her left index finger was their engagement ring and the wedding band she had got connected at the jeweler after their honeymoon.

The oddity of it only struck him for a second almost like the only real oddity was him questioning it. He was an inch taller than her, but in her heels she practically towered over him or so it seemed in the way dreams were hard to question. Her five foot six frame, five eleven in five inch heels just seemed so much more dramatic, yet he had no trouble taking her in his arms and dipping her backward. Immediately her arms came up to hold him from around his neck, her purse moving to the crook of her elbow.

Moriah Abrams went back easy, though he wasn’t sure if she was once more a Bennent. He felt one hand fall away from him, hanging down, the purse falling to the ground as their lips met in the kind of kiss that often only existed in movies. And yet that was only how it started. The kiss continued, their lips lingering, opening slightly for him to feel his tongue on hers as he held her with no strain. That was when he heard her talk, her voice clear despite their activity in a way his mind didn’t question. "Oh, Calvin, you're such a man, you make me swoon."

Pulling her back up to her heeled feet, his hands started to explore her body, him fully ignoring the now ex-head of security to the point he wasn’t even sure if he was still there. Closing his eyes, enjoying her and the moment the world faded and then slowly started to come back but it was vastly different, yet it all made sense in the way it can only in a dream.

It was like a fog that burned off on a cold morning, edges first the edges of everything first the taste of then the middle, the cherrywood and the taste of Moriah’s lips, her lipstick fading away to be replaced with salt and wind and the view of a horizon that went on forever.

For a while there was nothing but the Pacific ocean and then the dream gave him a coastline, a beach off in the distance he had seen a countless number of times, though only once from this angle on a fishing trip, if Cal recalled correctly and he wasn’t so sure he did.

The long ragged western edge of California beaches running north and south. It was the kind of view that could be on a postcard. Two hundred feet, maybe Two-hundred yards… off the coast was a low and long ship that seemed almost like a predator on the sea. It’s hull, the deep navy of a midnight ocean with a cream-white superstructure stacked above it in three gleaming tiers. A gold stripe ran her full length like a signature. The name of the vessel, in letters he couldn’t read, yet he knew what it said. Calvin had named the ship in his mind a thousand times over thinking of his future. Ahuva Oniyyah, or beloved ship to represent a new love and how he attained it. He didn’t speak Hebrew but that is where his hotel's name came from, thanks to Moriah’s heritage.

Glass balustrades instead of old brass rails, so the decks seemed to float free of the ship entirely. Every surface could catch the sinking sun. A helicopter sat dozing on her aft pad like a dragonfly at rest. A tender and a pair of jet skis hung in a garage cut into its flank. The ship was luxurious in a way it gave the impression its owner, him, had never known the price of anything

His view shifted, in a way like it was a camera panning in a movie. Sliding down through the sky, past the helipad, past the tender garage, down along the upper decks, and settled on the sun deck, where the teak was warm underfoot and the light came off the water in broken pieces. In the cool water of the deck’s pool, Moriah relaxed in an in-pool lounge chair, her wearing a red string bikini, the blonde part of her hair that she enjoyed being dyed blonde hung down the sides of her face framing it perfectly while a pair of expensive cateyed sunglasses shielded her from the sun while the rest of her hair was up in a bun under her large white floppy hat, while on her feet despite resting on a chair in the water was a pair of five and a half inch cork wedges. Taking a sip from her glass of iced vodka lemonade, she smiled.

Next to the pool was a sun chair facing towards the ocean and in it was a woman that shouldn't be there. Bethany Long relaxed with an overly large pair of sunglasses, protecting her sharp blue eyes from the sun while she wore a flattering navy blue one piece. Despite being fifty her fit body looked fantastic, she was stretching, enjoying the sun with her hair up in a messy updo as the woman looked over the girl’s playing around the pool.

Svetlanna minced forward on her soft pink four inch stilettos and raised one hand up in the air, her tall slim body bouncing slightly as she hit an inflated over sized beach ball. Her peach and pink bikini hardly covered much of her pale Russian skin. The ball floated through the air over to Lauren, who was dressed similar to Svetlanna though her bikini was white and she had a floral wrap around her, though it only went to her thigh and on her feet were strappy white stiletto sandals. She bounced it back only for Ana to dart in front of it to slap it back the ball flying over Lauren’s head.

¡Ponte las pilas, nena! He heard her yell out, though it sounded distant. The phrase meaning “Look alive baby girl.” The sexy latina wore a Mexican flag print bikini with green five inch rounded toe heels with a small platform.

"Be careful girls!” Bethany called out pulling down her sunglasses to peer over them and despite her words he could feel the insult as looked directly at him. It was then he felt the soft inflated surface of the beachball hit him directly in his face before bouncing into the pool.

The impact wasn't even hard enough to sting but it was enough to get his attention and how things on his yacht, the perfect ship were wrong. Looking down he saw his honey kissed skin, his breasts glistening and held in a black bikini and his feet in six inch high cork wedges with black straps that ran up his calf. “¡Dios mío!” He called out his hand with long white gel coated nails coming up to cover his puffy lips.

"Clara. Get your head out of the clouds, dearie, and pay attention to your game you ditzy girl." Bethany's voice cut across the deck as he felt mesmerized by his body.

He opened his mouth to correct her. Moving his hand from his lips he turned his wrist to point at his chest just above the breast that shouldn’t be there. “I’m Clara!” He said in a soft alto voice, wholly confused. “I didn't mean that… I’m not Clara! I’m Clara! He said stomping his foot feeling even more panicked.

“We know who you are. What did you think Mrs. Long said?” Svetlanna said, rolling her eyes. While Lauren rushed over, putting one hand on his forearm.

“Are you okay? Maybe you need some water, it's nice out, but the sun can be brutal. It's about time I at least got more sun screen.”

That was when Ana ed in. “She is fine, Clara likes playing dumb or confused but I know my cousin can be down right conniving at times.”

Things were not adding up for Calvin at all, he had so many questions but the first to escape his lips was to the last thing he heard. “Cousin?”

The reply came quick from Ana that started with a non committal shrug. “Casi para estas gringas.”

Her saying close enough for these white women took Calvin back but before he could fully process how easily he understood her, he heard Moriah raising her voice while lightly splashing the beach ball in the pool.

"Clara, baby," she said, sweet as anything, "be a love and get me another before you fish the ball out, it's drifting off and it’s your fault it fell in ." She tilted the empty glass toward him. The thing that hit him was he knew despite her sweet tone it wasn’t a question. "Or even better get everyone a drink, then everyone can me in the pool to cool off and we can all play."

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded, his eyes opening wide as he turned and moved to go inside the ship, knowing what he had intended to say was that he was no servant that he owned the ship. That he wasn’t some hispanic bimbo and wasn’t related in any way to any of the help.

Stepping inside the ship he looked down at himself again. Black bikini. Bone-white nails. Straps criss-crossed around his calves. Grimacing he touched the pitcher covered in condensation as he heard Ana speak from behind him. "¡Ándale, flaquita! ¡Muévete!"

That was the last thing he heard before he woke back up in a bit of pain. Sleeping in a corset and high heels while curled into a ball wasn't exactly a good way to sleep yet his first waking thought was how in his dream Ana told him “Come on, skinny! Move it!" or "Hurry up, skinny girl! Get moving!" Sitting up he grimaced. “French maid in bed… bikini model servant in my dreams.. And I could live without hearing Ana teasing me every shift about being skinny.”