His first thought was to drive over to Rachel’s office and tell her what he’d uncovered. But she’d brush him off if he showed up unannounced, embarrassed by her unshorn, sloppy brother with the dirty Vans and chin pubes, as she called his attempt at a goatee. She had been such a bitch to him all summer.
So instead of running to his sister, Darius had sunk into the weight of one of the shopping bags, this one filled with a football-themed comforter. It was the type of thing his father might have gotten for him when he was eight and still thought his boy would be a jock like his old man. He decided the best course of action was to do nothing and say nothing. Notwithstanding his decision to stay quiet for the time being, he knew with total certainty that he had stumbled upon an ugly secret of his mother’s. He just wasn’t sure how bad it was. Didn’t want to know either. His mind was cloudy enough just navigating his social life, remembering to take his lifeguard tank top every day so his parents wouldn’t be suspicious, and memorizing different sixteen-letter words he’d never think about again after he retook the SATs.
Now, a month later, his mother was telling him, all rosy and bright, that they were going on a trip with the grandparents he knew she had issues with. And that he shouldn’t bother working on the college applications that both his parents had been dogging him about since June. Strange things were afoot in the Connelly household. Even his father, the straightest arrow, was being dodgy. He’d closed his office door several times when he’d heard Darius approaching. He assumed his dad was looking at porn—Jesse’s dad was an addict—but maybe it was something more nefarious. Perhaps he’d find out on the boat. There’d be nothing else to do and he needed some way to distract himself while he endured five Marcy-less days.
“All right,” he said to his mother, looking over at his friends. The joint was smoked by now to the bit and he relaxed a little. For some reason he had it in his head that once he took a puff of marijuana, he’d no longer be standing on the precipice, he’d be firmly planted on the dark side. Maybe it was all the stories he’d heard growing up about Uncle Freddy. “That sounds cool.”
“You’re going to share a cabin with Rachel,” his mom added. “Should be fun.”
“Sharing with Rachel?” he said, forcing a groan. The truth was that he didn’t mind at all. He wanted the face time with his sister, to put himself so squarely in front of her that she couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist. She’d see that he did in fact need to shave, that he could be considerate in close quarters, that he read every night before bed—real stuff, like Vonnegut and Kerouac. He wanted her to observe his neatness and his rigorous personal hygiene regimen, because earlier in the summer she’d walked into the bathroom and caught him sniffing his belly button lint. She made a huge fuss about it and of course he’d denied it, even though it had been true, but it was only to make sure he was cleaning in there thoroughly enough.
“Well, you two will just have to deal. Grandma and Grandpa are paying for this trip and I can’t very well demand you have separate rooms. I hope and expect you will both be on your best behavior on this trip.”
“Whatever,” he said, noticing Marcy staring intently at Jesse as he regaled the group with some idiotic story that was probably made up. “I gotta go.”
“Darius?” his mother said, sounding like she didn’t want to let him go.
“Yeah?”
“I bought you some new socks and shorts. Also school supplies.”
“Okay, Mom,” he said, feeling a sickness he was certain was unrelated to the vodka come over him.
SEVEN
2200 hours. 10 miles from Port of Miami.
Feldman, David, M.D.
Age 72. Great Neck, New York. Special requests: None. Interests: Rest.
Feldman, Annette
Age 69. Great Neck, New York. Special requests: (1) Low-sodium, high-fiber meals for David Feldman. (2) Feldman and Connelly parties must be seated together at every meal. (3) Feldman and Connelly cabins should be near each other. Interests: Family. Knitting. Mah-jongg. Entertaining.
Connelly, Mitchell
Age 47. Sacramento, California. Special requests: Couples massage billed to separate account for myself and Elise Feldman Connelly. Interests: Writing. Reading. My family. Comedy.
Feldman Connelly, Elise
Age 44. Sacramento, California. Special requests: Make sure my family has fun. Are there boutiques on board and are traveler’s checks accepted? Interests: Finding rare objects. Collecting. Gift selection.
Connelly, Rachel
Age 19. Stanford, California. Special requests: Can the spin bike be reserved? Interests: Spinning. Not being forced into the teen club.
Connelly, Darius
Age 17. Sacramento, California. Special requests: None. Interests: Boarding. None.
Feldman, Frederick
Age 48. Aspen, Colorado. Special requests: Please transfer from standard stateroom to Deluxe Royal Suite on separate deck away from rest of Feldman and Connelly parties and bill the difference to my account. Put flowers in room with card for Natasha Kuznetsov. Deliver a tray of cookies and candy to room of Darius and Rachel Connelly and sign “From Uncle Freddy” along with gift cards to use in the arcade and at the teen pool. Interests: Depends what is legal in international waters. Kidding! In earnest, surviving this trip.
Kuznetsov, Natasha
Age 29. Aspen, Colorado. Special requests: Is there Wi-Fi? If no Wi-Fi in room, how do I get Wi-Fi? Please be in touch with me regarding Wi-Fi. Interests: Yoga. Getting a tan. Relaxing. Getting to know my boyfriend’s family.
Julian Masterino looked over the ship’s manifest for the last time before he was due to set sail aboard the Ocean Queen the next day. Next to him in bed, his partner of three years, Roger Alistair, was palming the latest James Patterson. Their French bulldog, Takai, panted between them.
“Anything interesting?” Roger asked, stifling a yawn. They had done this routine at least fifty times, Julian reviewing the passenger questionnaires the night before embarkation, Roger asking questions about the newest crop of travelers.
“Standard fare. A family celebrating a birthday and nobody wants to be on the trip.”
“You should have been a therapist, not a cruise director. You’d make more money and wouldn’t have to leave me all the time.”
Julian rolled his eyes.
“Boring! I couldn’t stand to listen to the same people’s problems for years on end. With the cruises, you get the dysfunctional families, the hopeful couples, the depressed old people, the irritated kids, and you get to make a difference for them in a week, sometimes less. You’d be surprised how effective an all-you-can-eat buffet is in boosting serotonin.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the omelet station is very therapeutic,” Roger said, turning on his side. Though he clearly considered Julian’s job pure fluff compared to his position as general counsel for the Miami Dolphins, every time his partner returned home bleary-eyed and still adjusting to terra firma, Roger would insist on a full recounting: Craziest complaint at Guest Services? Drunkest person at karaoke? Roger demanded it all.
Julian turned off his bedside lamp. He needed a full eight hours before he set sail with three thousand strangers that he had to transform into friends, trusting travelers, and satisfied customers. Complicated people with thorny relations, much like the Feldmans of the manifest.
“Good night, Roger,” Julian said softly, already feeling himself melting into the mattress. It was already 2230 hours. His time for shut-eye was ticking away.
“I gotta come with you on one of these cruises someday,” Roger said, closing his book with a thud. “We’d have a great time. The captain can marry us. You know you can’t avoid talking about us getting hitched forever.”
“Uh-huh. Tonight I can. You know I need sleep before I ship out,” Julian mumbled. “Good night, Rog.”
PART II
SEA LEGS
&n
bsp; EIGHT
When Freddy saw the Ocean Queen in all her glory, nine hundred feet of hulking iron, steel, and wood, he decided his mother had accomplished her goal. He felt small and inconsequential and that he couldn’t measure up. All morning he’d been puffing out his own chest, reminding himself of everything he’d accomplished, looking at Natasha for reinforcement, but when their taxi pulled into the parking lot and he had to roll down his window and crane his head to see the ocean liner’s full height, once again he felt unimportant. Like a blip on a radar or a single ant in a colony. It was like the ship was his family and he was the little dinghy clinging onto the back.
“That’s one of the lifesaving boats,” Natasha said when he expressed the metaphor to her. She smiled in triumph, satisfied that she’d prevented him from self-pity at least just this once.
They stepped out of the taxi and squinted at the scene before them. The whiteness of the boat reflected in the sunlight made staring at it directly almost impossible, so they were forced to take in the throngs of their fellow passengers. This is America, Freddy thought, taking in the masses in their Hawaiian shirts and floppy hats, already reeking of coconut sunscreen. The selfie sticks were out and proud, even though the scenery was nothing more than a ship too large to fit into the frame of any photo and a few thousand passengers juggling unwieldy suitcases and children. He took a sharp breath as a look of fear spread across his girlfriend’s face.
“It’s going to be fine,” he said and put a protective arm around Natasha. “Let’s find my sister. She said she’d meet me by the character stand, whatever the hell that means.”
After an inquiry to one of the numerous greeters scattered in the loading zone, they were informed that the character stand was about a hundred yards to the left of the registration desk. Natasha and Freddy headed in the direction of the mile-long rectangular table where sailor-suit-clad attendants were checking in passengers. The sign above the table read WELCOME, OCEAN QUEENS: FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE NOW CONSIDERED ROYALTY.
Freddy nudged Natasha. “They might want to work on their marketing. Unless my mother inadvertently booked us on a gay cruise.”
Natasha laughed and Freddy felt himself swing to the other side of the pendulum again. How dependent on praise was he that a little giggle sated him? Perhaps if his reservoir of adulation as a young man hadn’t been so depleted he’d be less needy. Or was it just his nature to seek even the smallest forms of adoration, much like his mother, with her insistence on arriving late to dinners so she could receive compliments on her outfit?
“It’s cheesy,” Natasha said. “But I don’t care. I’m excited to meet your family. Glad your mom and dad were cool with me coming.”
Freddy stared in wonder at this young bird who let him sleep with her, and fondle her breasts whenever he wanted, and who laughed at his jokes no matter how terrible. She was so lacking in suspicion and angst that he couldn’t help picturing her childhood as a leisurely stroll through a field of cotton candy. He felt guilty subjecting her to his own family, but at least it would give her some context.
As they hung a left toward where Elise and her family were meant to be waiting, Freddy wondered how the initial meet-up would go. He was surprised when Elise had texted him a few days earlier. So I guess we’re doing this? she wrote to him and inserted a boat emoji. Seems so, he responded, simultaneously pleased and irritated by her overture. He was the older brother. He should have reached out first. His sister was always beating him, in school, in parent approval, and now in kindness. She had suggested they meet up before boarding and he couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.
It made him cringe to imagine the forced distance his niece would put between them, Rachel waving at him limply instead of him sweeping her into a bear hug. As if Elise would ever have an inkling that he’d bailed her daughter out of Santa Clara County Jail four months earlier and hosted her and her pals for a week over spring break. Freddy had looked the other way while they drank themselves silly after shredding the slopes, but his product?—he didn’t let them touch it, not that Elise would ever believe him.
“I think I found the character stand,” Natasha said, suddenly wide-eyed and looking like she might break into a run in the opposite direction.
“Holy sh—” he started to say as he took in the cast of court jesters on stilts placing paper crowns on the passengers’ heads and handing out light-up wands. He turned suddenly to Natasha, cupped her by the chin firmly, and said, “Thank you so much for coming. I will make this up to you.”
As they drew closer, Freddy spotted his sister. She looked better than she had in the Facebook photo. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, the way she used to wear it when they were kids, and she appeared fit and well-groomed. He’d forgotten how short she was. She was going to hate standing next to the leggy Natasha, who was merely two inches shy of a modeling career. Freddy was pleased that Elise was looking nothing like the tired, overwhelmed housewife she’d seemed to be on his computer screen. He saw his niece and nephew a few feet away from their mother, both glued to their phones, their heads rounded forward like Neanderthals. Darius was a clone of Mitch, with his dark blond hair and lanky frame, though Mitch kept his hair short with a tidy side part and Darius’s was hanging in long, loose clumps. He knew his sister must hate it, along with the baggy jeans and wallet chain. Rachel, as usual, had her innocent veneer intact, and Freddy smiled to himself thinking about how deceiving appearances can be. He still chuckled when he pictured her slumped into the corner of the holding cell, desperately trying to achieve modesty with the scant fabric of what he hoped was a costume. Beyond Rachel, Freddy spotted the back of Mitch’s head. The poor guy was righting two suitcases that had toppled over and had a bulky camera dangling off his arm.
“That’s them,” Freddy said, gesturing toward the Connelly clan.
“Why are they all wearing yellow?” Natasha asked.
Freddy looked back. His sister and her family were, in fact, all wearing sweatshirts in a particularly bright shade of chartreuse. Elise could be haughty and condescending, but at least she’d never been the type of woman to dress her family in matching outfits.
“I have no idea,” Freddy said, shaking his head dubiously. “That doesn’t seem like my sister.”
He rarely thought much about Elise’s life in California, probably because he was largely cut out of the family canvas by the time she moved west, but now he found himself pondering it. Had his sister become a matching-outfit soccer mom automaton? Once upon a time she’d almost been cool, with a secret belly button ring his parents never found out about.
Freddy and Natasha wheeled their suitcases over to where his sister was standing. Thankfully as they ambled over he noticed Elise decline a photo opportunity with the Ocean Queen mascot, a whale wearing a crown. So she wasn’t completely certifiable.
“I feel like we’re all going to be whales after this trip,” Natasha said, eyeballing the mascot with trepidation. “I read they have mini buffets to tide people over between the regular mealtimes. And dinner is typically five courses.”
“You don’t need to worry,” he said. Freddy let Natasha gain a few steps on him and he admired her body for the thousandth time. She was a perfect hourglass, her tiny midsection visible on account of her midriff-baring shirt and low-slung jean shorts from which the string of her thong protruded. How was his family going to react to his girlfriend of one year that he’d never told them about, young enough to be his daughter? Who worked as a masseuse at one of the nicer Aspen hotels but still his parents would assume was a hooker?
At forty-eight years old, Freddy had never once introduced a girlfriend to his family. For starters, there had been none in high school to bring around. He’d spent those four years sickly pining for one girl after another, several of whom were Elise’s friends. If she’d only thought to put in a good word for him with Amy Simon or Jenny Baron, maybe he wouldn’t have turned in
to a twenty-two-year-old virgin who finally gave it up to a weathered fifty-something housewife supposedly “at the spa” while her husband and children skied all day. In college, his luck was slightly better than in high school, the war zone of acne on his face finally declaring a cease-fire, but still it was tame hookups when he was high as a kite and the girl, usually a stoner with ratty hair and a Phish T-shirt, was too. And then he was kicked out of school and things went really downhill. So this was technically the first time that Freddy Feldman was introducing his parents and sister to a bona fide girlfriend.
“Elise,” Freddy called out and gave his sister a friendly wave. At least he was the first to shatter the silence between them.
“Hi there,” she said, offering up a sheepish grin. He couldn’t tell what was behind his sister’s somewhat embarrassed look. Was it shame at how distant the two of them had grown and a feeling that it was more her fault than his? Or was it just because of their surroundings, the realization that they were two middle-aged travelers who wanted to stand out in this crowd for being more chic, sophisticated, and worldly, but who more likely than not blended right in?
The Floating Feldmans Page 8
