“Ha,” he said. “Let’s try to stay optimistic.”
“Fine,” Elise said, tugging him down the hallway. “Let’s discuss something more interesting than what to do if our ship hits an iceberg. How old could Natasha possibly be? I put the over-under at twenty-eight.”
Mitch chuckled quietly. He couldn’t believe it had taken his wife this long to bring it up. He wanted to put his money on under, but for the sake of his wife’s sanity, he decided to go with over.
* * *
—
“Will Frederick Feldman and Natasha Kuznetsov please report to the Sunset Lounge on Deck Two? I repeat, will passengers Frederick Feldman and Natasha Kuznetsov please report to the Sunset Lounge on Deck Two for the mandatory safety training? The ship cannot set sail until every passenger is accounted for.”
The loudest collective groan imaginable sounded. The two missing passengers were the only thing keeping three thousand antsy people from their drinks, the pool, the casino, and, most tragically, the free food. So far, everyone had been gathered for fifteen minutes waiting, but it seemed more like an hour with so many options available the minute the boat left shore. For his part, Mitch was planning to hit the slots. He’d read that the games were rigged to make winners on the first day in order to entice people to return to the casino, where they’d give back their winnings and then some. Well—he wouldn’t be fooled by that! Not everyone had spent as much time as he had on CruisingCentral.net, a blog run by some of the most enthusiastic cruisers imaginable.
He felt his stomach twisting into knots. Freddy wasn’t his brother, but it was hard not to feel responsible when it was his party that was keeping the boat docked in the aptly named Dodge Island, a seedy cruise terminal adjacent to Miami. He looked over at his wife and kids. Rachel and Darius seemed to be the only two people delighted by the delay, their uncle’s absence being the reason they could squeeze in extra time on their devices. But Elise. She looked like she could murder someone, her teeth bristling like sandpaper as they ground and her knee shaking violently. Annette had slipped sunglasses on, to avoid having to make eye contact with anyone. And his father-in-law? David Feldman rose from his folding chair with a fierceness that alarmed him.
“That’s it,” David roared. “I’m going up to drag his ass down here. The least he could do is show up for the goddamn safety presentation. I’m going to wring that no-goodnik’s neck but good.”
“David, David,” Annette hissed, gently reaching for her husband’s arm to guide him back to his seat. Mitch was surprised when she didn’t give him a more powerful yank. His mother-in-law hated any kind of scene.
“Grandpa, sit down,” Rachel yelped, looking up from her phone. “Let the boat people deal with this.” His daughter looked painfully embarrassed and Mitch found himself delighting in the fact that neither he nor Elise was the cause of her mortification for once.
“No, he should go get him,” the man next to Mitch said. He was a rather large fellow, dressed in a Jimmy Buffett shirt and cargo shorts, with a dense thicket of arm hair. When Mitch looked down, he saw that his feet were clad in Tevas strapped over socks, which made him a hell of a lot less intimidating. “I could be in the Jacuzzi with a beer right now,” the man said squarely in David’s face.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” came a voice from the podium. “Welcome aboard the Ocean Queen. I apologize that your trip is starting with this inconvenience. Let me introduce myself. I am Julian Masterino, your humble cruise director.”
Mitch looked toward the stage, where a strikingly handsome, perfectly tanned man dressed in a full sailor suit stood. His black hair was gelled to withstand whatever ocean breezes came its way. Mitch had never thought much about what a cruise director would look like, but it wasn’t quite this.
“I was waiting to show you my good-looking face and let you hear my charming accent—that’s Brooklyn, New York, that I’m covering with a faux British inflection for those of you who couldn’t tell—at tonight’s fiesta, but given the situation, I figured I better come out of hiding. We’ve dispatched crew members to locate Mr. Feldman and Ms. Kuznetsov and in the meantime we’ve decided to go ahead and start the briefing without them. If the boat crashes, they are on their own unless one of you is kind enough to show them where we store the life buoys.”
The room devolved in stitches and even Annette and Elise smiled. David, however, still looked grim, like he was ready to strangle the next person who crossed his path, which, considering his prolonged absence, was unlikely to be Freddy.
“And now, lucky cruisers, please direct your attention to the closest screen, where you will see a four-minute video on what to do if this boat goes Titanic on us. I promise it’s entertaining. De Niro directed.”
An animated film started and Mitch shut his eyes, trying to imagine how in the world his brother-in-law could manage to get away with acting like an unruly child. All Mitch felt when he woke up in the morning was the weight of his responsibilities, bearing down on him like a heavy barbell on his chest. He looked into the faces of his children and saw a running tally of how much they cost him. When he opened the chipped pantry doors to take out his coffee grinds each morning, he thought about how many thousands a desperately needed kitchen renovation would cost. Sitting at his desk at work, he worried how his pension was faring with the volatile stock market of late. But Freddy, forty-eight-year-old man that he was, was getting away with skipping a mandatory safety briefing with no consequences. What was this cruise director going to do to him? Ban him from the craps table? Quite unlikely. It was exactly a bozo like Freddy the cruise companies wanted in their casinos, ordering drinks at the bar and piling far too many chips on the pass line.
“Let’s go,” Elise said to him. Mitch hadn’t even noticed the film had ended. “I desperately need a drink.”
“Elise, did I hear you say you’re going for a drink?” Annette piped in.
“Yes. Do you want to join?” Elise asked. Mitch was proud of her for being inclusive, though he assumed his wife just wanted a partner for Freddy-bashing and he’d never give as satisfying commentary as Annette would.
“No,” Annette said. “Your father and I are going to get something to eat. I just wanted to tell you that we only signed up for the Doubly-Bubbly soft drink package. For alcoholic beverages, you’re on your own.”
“You’re joking me,” Elise said, her voice sharp and menacing. “I would have thought booze would be the first thing you’d spring for, considering you’ve tethered the eight of us on a boat together for five days.”
Annette’s face fell and even David’s eyes widened in surprise.
Mitch forced his face into a smile.
“Elise, you’re hilarious. But let’s leave the joking to the cruise director.” To Annette he added, “You know Elise. Her jokes don’t always land.”
THIRTEEN
Darius stopped in front of a massive neon green sign located in the aft portion of the boat’s uppermost deck. He was, in theory, en route to the boat’s sail-away party along with the other throngs of passengers. After that stupid safety show, the cruise director had announced that everyone was welcome to head to the pool decks at the top of the ship for a “rollicking good time” with DJ Mast-a-mind. Darius had audibly groaned. Was everything going to be one never-ending stream of boat puns?
He remembered his father taking him and Rachel out sailing a few times as a kid. It was a Saturday activity for them after his mother briefly went “on strike.” Something about his father working on Sundays meaning that she never got any downtime. His father tried any number of activities that would get them out of the house for a few hours so their mom could rest. Mini golf proved too short of an excursion, real golf too long and too expensive, but sailing—that seemed to work. Darius actually really enjoyed it—it was the only reason he even picked up on the Mast-a-mind pun—but Rachel claimed she got nauseated on the boat. Darius was skeptical. She�
�d bring along a book and a bag of gummy worms and manage to work her way through both with no trouble, only complaining when her reading materials and sweets ran out. Nevertheless, the sailing excursions stopped, and it was on to bowling.
Darius was a little worried about his uncle Freddy and why he hadn’t shown up earlier. Nobody else seemed to consider that something might have actually happened to him and Natasha, but Darius was picturing all manner of catastrophe: pirates sneaking onto the boat and holding them hostage; a personal crisis forcing them to dash off the boat without saying good-bye; or maybe a terrible fall down a back staircase for both of them. He wanted to voice these concerns to his mom or grandma, but they both seemed angry and not the least bit concerned. A small part of Darius wanted something bad to have happened to Freddy, just so the rest of his family would eat their words.
“Anything good?” came a voice from behind him. Darius whipped around, embarrassed for some reason, as if the person addressing him could read his mind. He came face-to-face with a girl who looked about his age. She was skinny, with long straight hair and black-plastic-framed glasses. Her T-shirt, tight and faded gray, said Highland Debate Team.
“Huh?” he managed in return, after he’d glanced around and determined there was no one else she could be speaking to.
“On the schedule,” the girl said, pointing to the gigantic board in front of which Darius had stupidly been standing, blocking other people’s view. “I can’t see the list of activities.”
Darius took a quick step back. The lit-up sign read TEEN SCENE in circular bulbs and had a detailed list of activities available in half-hour increments. He instinctively looked at his watch.
“Looks like we missed bingo,” she said with a tone that even Darius picked up on as tongue-in-cheek.
“Darn. Hopefully it’s not too late for shuffleboard,” he responded.
“Shuffleboard conflicts with pinochle and I haven’t quite decided which one I’m going to choose,” the girl replied, tucking a chunk of her hair behind her ear. Darius noticed her lobe was pierced at the top with a thin silver ring, which surprised him.
Is this banter? Darius wondered. He never spoke to any other teenagers that he hadn’t known from the time he was two. The kids who remembered when he pooped his pants on the class trip and had to wait on the school bus with the driver while the rest of the children visited the Exploratorium. The neighborhood crew who teased him about his Halloween costume the year he went as mustard and his sister went as ketchup. Why had either of them let their mom talk them into that?
“The outdoor movie doesn’t look that bad, actually,” he said. “It says they’re showing The Hunger Games at the teen pool at nine tonight.” Darius looked down at his feet. He didn’t want this girl to think he was asking her on a date.
“I have dinner with my family then,” she said. “We signed up for the late seating at the fiesta. By the way, I’m Angelica.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said. Was he supposed to extend his hand? He felt an acute awkwardness. “So . . . I, um, I gotta go to the sail-away party. My sister is waiting for me.” Darius turned to leave, although he didn’t have the slightest clue which direction the party was in and gambled on right. Around him, rowdy clusters of people were heading every which way and he hoped he wasn’t making a fool of himself by taking a wrong turn.
“Wait,” she called after him. “What’s your name?”
Darius wanted to bop himself on the head. Angelica had told him her name. He was so socially awkward he didn’t give her his. To think he was congratulating himself on his “banter” a moment earlier. He lacked the basic conversational skills that most preschoolers had nailed. No wonder Marcy never looked his way, choosing instead to splay her heavenly body across Jesse’s lap. Jesse, who never forgot to say his name when he met someone new, which was probably how he got the job at the skate shop instead of Darius.
“It’s Darius,” he muttered.
“See you around, Darius,” Angelica said. “By the way, the sail-away party is that way.” She lifted a skinny arm ringed by a dozen or so string bracelets, the kind he and Rachel used to make on the camp bus.
“Aren’t you going?” he asked. The cruise director had said that was where everyone was meant to go and Darius hadn’t really considered skipping it. He should try to be more like his uncle Freddy. Assuming he hadn’t been mauled by wild animals or detained by pirates, he’d just opted out of the required programming.
“I’m going to take an SAT practice test in the room while everyone else is at the party.”
Angelica didn’t even look upset or embarrassed about it. She stated it matter-of-factly, as though it was perfectly normal to sit for a three-hour exam in a room by oneself within minutes of commencing a vacation.
“I’m supposed to be writing my college essay on this boat,” Darius said.
“Cool. What are you going to write about?” Angelica asked, looping her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Darius answered truthfully. “But if I don’t write something, my mom will go apeshit.”
“Perhaps DJ Mast-a-mind will inspire you at the party. Or his backup dancers, the Wave Girls. Picture the Spice Girls but with floaties. I saw them warming up on the sundeck. Prepare for a lot of gyrating.”
“Maybe,” Darius said, grinning. “I’ll see you around.” He walked off in the direction of the booming base sound, wondering how he hadn’t realized he should follow the music moments earlier.
When he was back on land, he’d tell Marcy about the loser he’d met who took an SAT practice test instead of going to a party. He needed stories to tell her, experiences that set him apart. And if anything crazy had happened to Uncle Freddy, well, the upside was that it would make another juicy tale for Marcy. He imagined her wide green eyes, rimmed black like a cat’s, trained on his face while he regaled her.
* * *
—
Darius stepped out in the blinding light, wishing he hadn’t left his Ray-Bans in the room. He looked toward the DJ booth, which was set up on a platform between two enormous swimming pools that were connected via an interlocking, twisty water slide in primary colors. Mast-a-mind was blasting Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Fight the Feeling” while a group of dancers in bikinis and sailor hats were cherry-picking the motleyest crew of passengers—people that had no business dancing in public—to join them in a revamped Electric Slide. Hundreds—no, maybe thousands—of chaises surrounded the water and weaving through them was like an unpleasant game of Tetris. Darius suddenly felt like a sardine trapped in a can filled with suntan lotion. For a brief second, he considered that Angelica was probably wise to retreat to her room for a practice exam rather than brave this spectacle.
He tried to find his sister and scanned his eyes over the tops of heads, looking for her reddish ponytail emerging from the hole in the back of her obnoxious Stanford cap. Next to one of the numerous bars around the pool, Darius saw a line snaking all the way past the towel dispenser, literally an ATM of rough terry cloth, which terminated at the farthest visible chaise lounges, where the main bar was stationed. He headed off in that direction, thinking maybe he’d find Rachel there attempting to use her fake ID. Even though she’d barely spoken to him all summer, his sister was proud enough of the driver’s license she’d managed to get her hands on at school, which rechristened her Lisa Simmons, age twenty-one, that she’d actually initiated a conversation with him one night when their parents were out to show it to him. He was impressed. Even Jesse didn’t have one of those.
All summer long he’d thought about asking Rachel to get him one that he could flash around after work in front of Marcy. Of course Marcy would want one, and she’d have to go to him. But he’d still not worked up the courage to ask his sister. He suspected he might have better luck with Uncle Freddy. As little as he knew him, Freddy just seemed like the kind of guy who c
ould deliver things, no questions asked. That is, if he ever surfaced again. Darius felt his insides flood with worry once more.
As he approached the line, he noticed that it wasn’t in fact for the bar. People were queued up to reach a mysterious dispenser on the wall lined with metal handles. He turned to a random kid—a young boy in a Gryffindor T-shirt who looked about ten (certainly not a customer for the Sail-Away Sex on the Beach that the crew members were pushing big-time)—and asked what everyone was waiting for.
“Free ice cream,” the boy said, his eyes lighting up. “This machine is open all day and all night. It has chocolate and vanilla. And you don’t need any money. And they have cones!”
“That’s awesome, dude,” Darius said, smiling. “I’m going to get both flavors.”
“Me too,” the kid said. “You can cut me if you want.”
“Thanks,” Darius said, stepping in, but making sure the kid was ahead. He felt calm for the first moment since stepping on board, because now he had a plan. He could get through the trip by getting in this line over and over again, looking busy and purposeful, avoiding his family, specifically his mother. Her laissez-faire attitude about his college applications when she’d called to tell him about the cruise had proven to be short-lived. She announced to him at the airport, a moment after the plane touched down in Miami, that if he didn’t write his college essay on the boat she was leaving him on it when it returned to shore.
“You’re blocking the chocolate,” came an angry voice a moment later. Darius looked behind him and came face-to-face with an overweight man double-fisting cones. “Move it,” the man said, reaching one of his cones under the dispenser for a top-off.
“Sorry!” Darius jumped to the side. He looked back over the line with a bit more scrutiny. There was a lot of pushing and shoving, as if people were aware of historical evidence that the ice cream machine could shut down from overuse. He saw the exasperated expressions if someone took too long to fill their cone, noticed with shock the use of walkers to box people out. A middle-aged woman wearing a sweatshirt that said I Have No Cruise Control shouted, “Where’s the free pizza? I was told there would be free pizza,” when she reached the front of the line.
The Floating Feldmans Page 13
