1 Shore Excursion (11 page)

A
fter
Jay
left
,
I tried to put
his
warning
out of my mind.

I knew I
couldn’t think long about the
risk
s
I was
taking
or I would chicken out.
I also knew that even though
Jay
had
promised to help me, and even if he really meant it,
he has trouble
stay
ing
on task for long
,
particularly when he finds the
task
distasteful.

I went to
finish
question
ing
Al Bostick.
He
had
never brought the mystery bag by the cabin, and I
’d
never finished our conversation about it, either.

Our plan for the day was simple.
While I tackled Bostick, Jay
would
talk to Ortiz and Morgan
. That wasn’t exactly earthshaking, but it was a good start.
After making his handsome offer
to “do this little detective job
,
”
Jay
declared his intention to
work on his costume for the party.
He
loves to dress up.

The one time that I wanted to find him, of course, Mr. Bostick wasn’t in the casino, and the blackjack dealer said that he had been gone for
quite
a while.

I didn’t think Al Bostick would be working on any costume.
I had never seen him wear anything but a faded black shirt and sagging pleated pants.
I couldn’t imagine what kind of costume he would choose
in any case
.
A bookie?
A
racetrack tout
?
He wouldn’t need a costume for
either
of those personas.

The slot machines were
getting
some
heavy use
tonight.
I had a hard time making myself heard over the
clatter
of the payouts and the
ringing of the bells
, not to mention the
crooning of the
singer in the Moonbeam Room next door.

The dealer’s thick Welsh accent didn’t make
my task
any easier. The casino, like the beauty salon and
the shops
on The Rapture
,
is run as an outside concession, a British one
. A
ll the dealers and the pit boss are British.

A cruise rep once told me that
some of the casino vendors
on ships
set the
slot
machines to pay out big at the
beginning
of a cruise to get everybody playing and in a party mood.
Then later in the week,
he claimed,
they tighten them back up and
make a killing.

I don’t know if that’s tru
th
or
cruise legend
, but it certainly has been rumored for years
. I
t could be true, I guess.
Casinos have to close
the entire time
while
a
ship is in port
and
they reopen when
it
sails back into international waters.
Plenty of time for a little tinkering.

I looked in the shopping arcade
—
no Bostick there
—
and
then
I
had a long conversation with Amy and Charlie Wu, who were
pricing
designer
watches.

“I saw him in the casino
. D
id you look there?” said Amy.

“He’s always in the casino.
I can’t imagine what he’ll do when we get into port,” Charlie said.
“Maybe then
he’ll eat and sleep.

“But enough
about
Al
.
We are interested in the
German Christmas Market
T
our you have advertised for this
winter
.
Is it still available?
Can you tell us something about it?”

While I was talking with the Wus, the shop clerk
set up
a kiosk of
long
silk scarves, mostly knock-offs of designer scarves, but really beautiful in their own right.

After the Wus left to find costumes for the party, I lingered over the
gorgeous
silks, trying to rationalize a purchase.
I
ended up buying a lovely, pale pink pashmina
, a
lso
some nail polish remover
and a paperback book
. I
gave up on Al
and went down to the cabin.

I was in the shower when I heard Jay’s key in the door.

“Put a towel on and come out right now, I’ve got a surprise for you,” he bellowed over the noise of the water.

I took my time
drying off, ignoring the hammering
on the bathroom door.

After
I stepped out into
the
totally dark cabin,
I
almost dropped my towel in a sudden blaze of light as he yelled, “Surprise!
Surprise!
What do you think?
Don’t you love it?”

He could have been an extra in
Moulin Rouge
.
I have seen Jay in a lot of strange get-ups over the years, but this one topped them all.

He
wore
a red
spandex bodysuit
to which he had somehow attached
strand after strand of clear Christmas chaser lights.
He must have begged or bribed his way
into the ship’s show props
to get them.

Tiny, white
l
ights
raced
around his legs and down his arms
. O
n his head was a crown of sparklers which I was sure he planned to ignite at the proper moment.
He had sprayed his hair gold. I hoped it didn’t ignite along with the sparklers.

The only flaw in this otherwise splendid creation was limited mobility, because to achieve maximum impact he had to be plugged into a wall socket.

Even for Jay,
th
at
costume
was over the top.

I sat down on the bunk in my towel and howled until my stomach hurt and tears ran down my face.

Jay, delighted and encouraged by my reaction, began to dance.

“Stop it.
Stop.
Stop it.
You’ve got to stop.
I can’t stand it,” I gasped as he flexed back and forth, striking bodybuilder poses with
chaser
lights rippling up and down his body.

“They’re going to love
me, aren’t they?” he smirked.

“I’m not going in until just before dinner.
I want them to get the full effect when I arrive.
Please have me announced.”

He unplugged himself from the wall,
covered the whole thing with
a long black overcoat
, and left.

Somehow
, in spite of all the desserts I’d been enjoying,
I struggled into my standard black cat outfit that I
bring for
all of these
masquerade
things.

Mostly, it is a black dance leotard and tights,
with
a tail, a mask, and
a headband with
ears.
It is easy to pack and I don’t care if Jay’s seen it about a mill
ion times.
It
works for me.

I brushed my hair,
put on
the cat ears, and
longed to
spritz on some free French perfume
that m
y buddy Helga
—
the
boutique
manager
—h
ad just given me
in the shop.
She saves
samples and
the
old
testers
for me
sometimes when
the
new ones
come in
.

I
put the bottle away in my suitcase.
Unfortunately,
I can only
enjoy
wearing
a fragrance
, especially heavy scents, when Jay is not around. He can’t tolerate perfume.
He’s not just being a toot about it
—
he would love to wear it himself
—
but he is really deathly allergic
. If it touches his skin, he
breaks out in a blistering rash, can’t breathe.
Poor guy even has to use unscented soap.

I knew he
would really wow them tonight in that crazy costume
.
I laughed again,
picturing how he would look.
Unbelievable.
There is only one Jay.

I turned off the lights, locked the door, and headed for
the Starlight Lounge.

People were already lining up for photographs with
Captain
Vargos when I got to
his c
ocktail
p
arty.
I ducked past that line, feeling his eyes on the tail of my cat suit.

“Thish ish shoooo exschiting!”

Muriel Murphy
’s
round
green eye
ball
s were trying to focus between gigantic
false eyelashes
.
She was dressed
as a nightclub performer
and stuffed
in
to
a
low-cut
sequined costume
. Obviously she had
been in
to
the champagne for quite a while.
I learned on the first night out that
besides food,
Muriel
also
has quite a problem with alcohol.

My
dad has seven sisters, and one of them
—
my
Aunt Minnie, a very buttoned-up Methodist
—
refers to drinking alcohol as “taking a drink
.
”
I
n her pinched-up opinion, “taking a drink” is the
first
step before “taking dope
.
”
Aunt Minnie would thoroughly disapprove of Muriel. My
old
high school friends would just say Muriel was “bad to drink”
and some of them
would be able to
match her
shot
for
shot
,
but they
would
never
consider
part
ying
with
poor
Muriel.

It wa
s quite
an evening
.
Everyone
had gone
all out on the costumes.
Some
were
brought from home
,
others rented
in the gift shop
or
created on board. B
ut no
ne
w
ere
in
Jay’s league
.
Not
even
close.
There were hula girls and sailors, comic book characters, nuns and priests
.
Elvis
was in the building
,
along with
Prince Charles, Sarah Palin, Obama and Michelle, you name it.

Waiters passed silver trays filled with beautiful canapés, shrimp
tempura
, cucumber sandwiches, and
eggs topped with
caviar; others kept the champagne flowing.
A small combo played on the bandstand
.
..
big
High Stepper favorites like
“
Tie
a
Yellow Ribbon,
”
“
Tiny Bubbles,
”
and
“
Bill Bailey.
”