Decked

by Decked (lit)

  “Veronica, let’s go over and say hello to Sylvie.”

  “Lovely, dear. Carry on.”

  As they made their way over, the band started to play a version of “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” complete with swishy sounds made by the drummer’s instrument that looked like a miniature broom. Even though most people her age hated this kind of music usually played at weddings, Regan did get a kick out of it. She noticed one couple out on the dance floor as they started their own little two-step, joining hands and twirling, knowing each other’s moves without even looking, gracefully dancing together as they probably had been doing for the past forty years. By the time I celebrate my fortieth anniversary with someone, Regan thought, the only way we’d be able to move around the dance floor together would be if someone wheeled us back and forth out there. A dancer and a waiter both tripped on Veronica’s hoop before they reached Sylvie.

  “Lady Exner.” The woman seated next to Sylvie looked up worshipfully.

  “Yes, Sir Gilbert Exner’s widow.” Veronica seemed delighted that someone finally recognized her status before she had to inform them.

  Introductions were made and Veronica sat down on the chair nearest Violet. Sylvie is glowing, Regan thought as she sat down in the chair opposite Veronica and next to Milton.

  As the room filled, white-gloved waiters passed champagne, the band played on, and the noise level increased to that of a full-blown cocktail party. Chatter and laughter filled the air as people appraised each other’s outfits and finally got the chance, in the convivial atmosphere, to say hello to fellow passengers they had not yet met.

  Cameron Hardwick leaned against a column sipping his champagne and sneaking an occasional glance over at Veronica and Regan. The future flotsam and jetsam, he thought to himself. Hopefully she doesn’t wear that gown to bed Friday night. It would serve as a parachute on the way down the side of the ship. She’d stay afloat for days. He turned away when he saw the old biddy from this afternoon pointing him out to Veronica. I don’t need those two comparing notes, he thought angrily.

  “. . . I just know that that young man waited on us in Greece, over ten years ago,” Violet confided to Veronica. “It was after my dear Bruce died. He insisted this afternoon when I mentioned it to him that he’d never been to Greece, but I know for sure he’s mistaken. It was in August eleven years ago. We had a window table and I ordered stuffed shrimp, but they were out of it. When I couldn’t make up my mind what to order, he got very impatient with me. And to think we were paying top dollar to stay in that hotel,” Violet said haughtily.

  “We were discussing Greece at dinner last night and he told us he’d never been there,” Veronica replied.

  “I’m telling you I know it was he,” Violet harrumphed. “I never forget a face.”

  Veronica smiled. “He’s really quite nice. He took me for a stroll on the deck last night and offered his arm. So protective! Maybe you’d like to query him again on Thursday evening. I’ve decided to have a cocktail party in our suite before dinner. I’m inviting everyone from my table and I would be enchanted if you and your brother would join us. I’d love to show you pictures of Sir Gilbert and Llewellyn Hall.”

  Violet looked as if the boil on her behind had finally burst. “We’d be happy to be your guests.”

  MEANWHILE, BACK AT the ranch, Regan thought as she took her seat at the dinner table. Here we all are to share our experiences of the first full day at sea. It didn’t take too long for the sharing to start.

  “Have any of you ever been wrapped in seaweed?” Immaculata began. “I highly recommend it. It’s a most tingly and refreshing experience.”

  Veronica interjected, “It sounds fascinating. What does it involve?”

  It involves stripping the seven seas of every last trace of plant life to cover the frames of people who are too lazy to exercise, Gavin thought.

  “Well,” Immaculata continued excitedly, “you have to make an appointment at the beauty parlor downstairs. But you better do it soon because they are filling up their appointment book fast.”

  “Regan, we must remember to call first thing in the morning,” Veronica rejoiced as she waved the resurrected cigarette holder.

  “Even though it smells a little fishy,” Immaculata said as she wrinkled her nose, “it’s so worth it. They cover your body from head to toe in a creamy green masque, wrap you in plastic and thermal blankets, and leave you to rest for a half hour while the seaweed flushes the toxins from your pores. After you shower it off, you get a massage while you listen to the music of your choice. I tell you, I feel like a new woman.”

  “I told her that was fine, just as long as she stays, deep down, the same Immaculata Marie I married,” Mario announced as he buttered his roll. “I don’t want you running off with one of the ship’s officers now.”

  Fat chance, Hardwick thought.

  Immaculata patted his back and laughed, “Oh, Mario,” and proceeded to tell about her facial. “The thing that kills me is that they think by insulting your skin they’ll get you to buy all their products. The girl told me I have problems with my capillaries and then did a pitch for a cream that costs seventy-five dollars. Can you believe that?”

  Mario grunted. “Well, you bought it, didn’t you, honey?”

  “How could I resist? They guaranteed my skin would be baby-soft and smooth by the time I used up the tube.”

  It’s not as if you can even return it if it doesn’t work, Regan thought. The ship will be floating around the south seas by the time you figure out your capillary problems are irreversible.

  “Did you know,” Immaculata continued unabated, “that it’s very important to brush your skin every morning with a natural-bristle brush? Our skin should shed over two pounds of flakes a day.”

  “So they sold her one of those brushes that they just happened to have on sale for another thirty-five bucks,” Mario muttered as he examined a sesame-seed breadstick.

  “Oh, Mario,” Immaculata said as she patted his cheek. “Honestly, sloughing our skin is so important. Especially around the rough spots like your elbows, your heels, your knees. That’s why you must exfoliate when you get up in the morning and when you go to bed at night . . .”

  Gavin wondered if the salon played “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” when they brushed their clients.

  “... the girl told me that by the time the average person throws out their mattress, it weighs an extra twenty-five pounds. And that’s from all the dead skin that’s accumulated. It’s like sleeping with a dead body,” Immaculata said emphatically.

  It’d be more exciting than sleeping with my ex-wife, Gavin thought.

  Cameron Hardwick could barely contain himself. He pressed his lips closed.

  “Cameron, dear,” Lady Exner piped up, “I’ve been spreading the word. Thursday night Regan and I will be hosting a cocktail party before dinner in our suite. I hope you will make it. We have a thrilling view that’s to die for . . .”

  I know you do, Hardwick thought darkly. He smiled at her. “Thank you. I’ll be there.” How perfect. The suite across the hall is probably a mirror image, but now I’ll know for sure what to expect Friday night.

  “Lovely,” Veronica cried. “That means that every-one here will be in attendance, along with a few other friends we’ve made today and perhaps a few more we have not yet met. After dinner I’m going straight upstairs to plan which hors d’oeuvres we will serve.”

  “That’s my specialty,” Gavin quivered, like a pot of water the second before it finally boils. “I planned a lot of the celebrity parties my radio station sponsored. As a matter of fact”—he turned and winked at Regan—“one famous author who shall remain nameless adored the scallops and bacon I always ordered for our annual Christmas bash ...”

  I think Nora went to that party once, Regan thought.

  “And of course on board ship I have helped many of our guests plan private soirees. Lady Exner, please allow me to assist you this evening. I’m sure Regan might like the chance to j
oin some of the younger folks down at the disco ...”

  What younger folks? Regan thought.

  Gavin realized his armpits were drenched and he felt light-headed as Veronica agreed heartily. “You are too, too kind,” she cried. “How lucky we are to have been placed at your table. Aren’t we lucky, Regan?”

  “Very lucky.”

  “I’m sure Regan would welcome the opportunity to expand her horizons by socializing in the disco this evening. Wouldn’t you, Regan?”

  “I am always looking to expand my horizons.”

  “Good. It’s settled then. Mr. Gray will make party plans with me and you will go forward and mingle.” Veronica made a sweeping motion with her hands. “Maybe you’ll dance with that young man who smiled at you during bingo.”

  “PIGS IN A blanket have always been a favorite hors d’oeuvre of mine,” Veronica pronounced as she plopped down next to Gavin on the pastel couch, “although I’m afraid some people find them common. Sir Gilbert loved them to excess. I shall never forget the time he popped one in his mouth and his eyes took on a glazed look. I panicked and started pounding on his frail back. This was before the Heimlich Maneuver was invented.”

  Gavin waited expectantly for the final word on Sir Gilbert’s fate.

  Veronica sighed. “Turns out he was fine. Just taking a little snooze with his eyes open. It happens more and more as one gets older. It was very near the end for him and the poor dear’s health was failing rapidly. I was just glad that he had the chance to enjoy one of his favorite treats just days before he departed this planet for points unknown.” Veronica paused, opened the special menu for private parties and smiled to herself. “Happily he enjoyed his favorite treat in the world just moments before he died.”

  Veronica turned to him with a glow in her eyes. “You’re a very attractive man.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  I was afraid it might come to this, Gavin thought fretfully. I’ll have to head her off at the pass. Damn it, I’ll have earned every last penny I get for that bracelet. He spotted a bottle of mineral water on the bar.

  “Speaking of health,” he stammered as he fumbled out of his seat and over to the bar. “I’ll bet you haven’t had your six to eight glasses of water today. Allow me to pour you one.”

  “In a setting such as this I prefer champagne,” Veronica cooed.

  Gavin lunged for glasses, twisted open the dark green bottle of Pellegrino and hurriedly poured its sparkling contents, causing it to bubble up and overflow. Grabbing a cocktail napkin, he mopped it up. “But this has bubbles too and you can drink so much more of it.” He laughed with nervous relief as she beamed and accepted it from him. She had had a couple of whiskey sours, wine, and a cappuccino at dinner, he calculated rapidly. A couple of these should send her scurrying to the loo, and with any luck that dress will take minutes to negotiate around the toilet seat.

  Settling back on the couch, Veronica patted the cushion next to her and motioned to Gavin. “Besides the pigs in a blanket, it’s always good to have a wheel of Brie at a party, don’t you think?”

  Relieved to move through the ship on her own, Regan wandered through the casino, hoping to spot her parents. They were already gone from the dining room when her table got up, and she had phoned them, but as expected they were not in their room. As she walked by the slot machines, a bell rang, followed by the tinny sound of quarters dropping into the tray of the machine that had just lined up the winning combination of three cherries in a row. An expressionless man with a chewed-up cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth scooped up the quarters and dropped them back in his paper cup. No matter how much you win at those one-armed bandits, Regan thought, most people keep playing until they’ve used up all their change. Regan had heard it was best to play the machines near the entrances. The victorious sound of the ringing bells attracts people wandering by, and no doubt the cruise line hopes they’ll respond like Pavlov’s dogs.

  The blackjack tables were full and Regan noticed that Cameron Hardwick was already settled in at one and a waitress was serving him a drink. I don’t want to get involved with him, Regan thought. Fixing her eyes straight in front of her she kept walking, exiting the casino and passing through the corridor with the photo displays, which tomorrow would be filled with the smiling faces of those who attended the Captain’s party tonight. She remembered that Veronica said they must order extra pictures as she was sure her cousins would want a copy as well as Philip and Val. “Val recently dug out some of the old family pictures in the attic,” Veronica had said, “and is having them framed. Except, of course, the pictures of Sir Gilbert’s first wife. She looked like a pleasant enough lady, but I don’t really need to be reminded that there was ever anyone else in Sir Gilbert’s life. Too bad, because there is a striking one of Sir Gilbert as a young man, but she is in it and although I understand she was very good to him right up until the time she died, who needs to look at her?”

  Regan reached the door of the Knights Lounge and looked in. It amazed her the way it took on a whole other aura in the evening. The lights were low, candles flickered on the tables, and the people who had played bingo in this room a few hours ago in their shorts were now all dressed up.

  No wonder romance flourished at night, Regan thought. People look better by candlelight. It certainly was the subject of many songs. “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” Gee, probably not.

  A magician had just finished his routine and thankfully did a disappearing act himself. The band struck up and couples took to the floor as the female singer crooned, “Ohhhhh, did you tell her you lovvvveeee her? . . . andddd that you miss her so badlyyyyyyy ...” Time to go down to the disco, Regan thought, and locate all the “younger folks.” I may as well check out what the bar scene is like in the middle of the Atlantic.

  Grabbing the railing of the back staircase as the ship took a sudden dip to one side, Regan felt oddly relaxed. She enjoyed having a little time to herself to think. Dinner had been long and she didn’t feel like any more conversation for conversation’s sake.

  Regan took a place at one of the tables set back from the dance floor. Strobe lights revolved around and around, making colored circles and dots on the ceiling, floor and walls. As if there isn’t enough movement on this ship to make you seasick, she thought. The music was blasting as it only could at a disco. “So many men, so little time ...” Not the problem here, Regan thought, surveying the room. So few men, so much time. On land she would have hated going into a place like this alone, but there was something about life on board ship that changed all the rules. “We’re all on this journey together, making new friends who we’ll send Christmas cards to for the rest of our lives,” the Captain had said in one of his fireside chats over the public address system. Clearly, the Captain loved the sound of his own voice. They had already been subject to several of his monologues and it was only the second day out. Any excuse and he would grab his microphone. He got on to tell them exactly where they were, how many nautical miles they had traveled, how far away was the closest land, et cetera. When Regan looked out the window, it always looked the same, no matter what information the Captain had shared. What was that saying? . . . “Water, water everywhere, and not a drop—”

  “A drink, ma’am?”

  Regan looked up. Ma’am. I’ll kill him. She ordered a vodka and tonic from the young waiter who sported a crew cut and a handlebar mustache. Opening her purse, she reached for her notebook. Jotting down thoughts that were fresh in her mind had become second nature to her. Now she wrote “Livingston/sympathy note.” Tomorrow she’d ask Livingston for the address of Athena’s parents. She wanted to write to them.

  “Hello.”

  Regan looked up and smiled at Lloyd, the bingo aide-de-camp. He was standing over her, looking tall and boyishly handsome in his whites. Nothing like a man in uniform, Regan thought.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” Regan replied as she slipped her notebook back into her purse.


  My God, she must be a camel, Gavin thought as he poured yet another glass of water for Veronica, who showed no telltale signs of bladder strain. Either that or she’s invested in a box of Depends. A half hour ago he had been practically doubled over in pain and used the facilities himself, but she seemed oblivious to the call of nature.

  Veronica had finished circling her selections from the party menu. “I do hope these hors d’oeuvres are tasty enough. Since I’m not at home with my own secret ingredients, I won’t be able to doctor them up. A true chef knows how to fuss with a dish and make it more interesting. And now, Mr. Gray, we must figure out how many people I’ve invited so we can order accordingly. Do you think we should invite some of the ship’s officers, maybe even the Captain?”

  I don’t care, Gavin thought wildly, his eyes riveted on the closet door. Pee, damn it. PEE!

  Veronica rushed on, “I’d love to finally be at a party where there are more men than women. We’ve already invited everyone at the table, which should be pleasant. I just hope that Cameron Hardwick is in a festive mood. I must remember to tell Regan that Violet Cohn insists she met him in Greece several years ago. Mr. Gray, what are you staring at?”

  Lloyd was a good dancer. Regan realized she was enjoying herself. But when the set ended and he proposed a walk on the deck, she glanced at her watch and said, “I’d better get upstairs. I don’t like to be away from Lady Exner for too long.”

  Harper looked disappointed but said, “I guess you’re right. I saw her almost fall over the side yesterday. And it’s been known to happen.”

  “I think we have everything in order, Mr. Gray. This is going to be such a good show.” Veronica turned as she heard Regan’s key in the door. “Oh, lovely, Regan’s back. I wonder who she’s talking to out there.”

  Another chance shot to hell, Gavin thought with an ever-escalating level of frustration felt inside his pounding head. Glass after glass of the bubbling water had given him a headache.