Shattered at Sea

by Cheryl Hollon

  Danny flipped through her packet and nodded as he looked at each document. “These are all great.” He looked up. “It’s a pleasure to see some organization skills.” He shook his head as he returned her package. “You have no idea the sort of disarray I have to put up with. Anyway, let me get your cruise card.”

  Savannah raised her eyebrows as he rose. He turned back to look at her.

  “Don’t worry, everyone has been as green as you are now and most have not only survived it, but thrived. I’ll show you around after we get all this administrative stuff finished.”

  Savannah filed everything back in her backpack, waited a few minutes, then pulled out her eBook reader. After half an hour, he returned with a badge. “This is your identification, cash card, access badge—everything. Don’t lose it. Let’s go. I’m running late.”

  Warm welcome, buddy—not my fault you’re running late.

  Savannah slung the backpack over her shoulder and grabbed the suitcase handle. They left the terminal building at a trot and headed out a back door. If he had hoped to further intimidate her—he failed. She was a runner with a longer stride than his.

  Out onto the pier, Savannah stopped dead in her tracks and tipped her head back to see the gleaming hulk in front of her. It was sixteen decks high and over a thousand feet long. She tightened her grip on her backpack as she felt like she was going to tip backward.

  “Yes, it’s pretty impressive. One of the biggest. I think it’s the best. Chop! Chop! Keep moving!” Danny snapped.

  They entered the ship through a loading door and Danny took his card out of his pocket. He handed it to a white-shirted security guard who swiped it through a security machine. The machine made a distinctive bloop. He stepped through the small access gate and motioned for Savannah to do the same. Her card made the same strange sound. “You need to swipe in and out each time you leave the ship at any port.”

  Savannah nodded and followed him down a wide, gray monotone corridor that was frantic with activity. Huge luggage cages were being dragged to service elevators. Large skids of food were traveling by forklift to the kitchen larders, and crew members were passing in and out of the security gate. The sound level had to be above a safe decibel level.

  “This way,” shouted Danny over the din. He opened a door to a staircase also painted a uniform gray. Savannah tucked in the handle of her suitcase and carried it up the stairs to deck 2.

  My tai chi classes are again coming to the rescue. Of course, I would collapse in a dead faint rather than ask for help.

  After a long walk down a plain industrial corridor, he stopped in front of a bare door. “Place your card here on the keypad.”

  Savannah did and the cabin door opened in to reveal a compact crew cabin furnished with a single bed and a tiny couch with a desk/vanity/TV across from it. She could see a minuscule bathroom and an open closet—if a school locker was your definition of a closet.

  “Get settled. There’s a phone on the desk. Call your team leader and he’ll take it from here. Good luck.” He left.

  The reality of being a crew member hit her with a fluttery feeling down deep in her belly.

  I’m here. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never felt this nervous about anything related to glass before. Buck up. Start moving.

  Savannah stuffed her suitcase inside the open closet/locker and plopped down on the couch with her backpack still on. She needed a moment to catch her breath after the sprint up the stairs and down the hall. She needed a moment to process everything that had happened in the last few days. She needed a moment to reclaim her self-confidence.

  I’m here and I’m going to do my best. Removing her backpack and placing it on the couch beside her, she dug her paperwork out and dialed the number of her team leader. He said he would stop by as soon as he could.

  Savannah sat on the bed and bounced. It was an excellent bed. She slipped off her shoes and stretched out.

  I’ll close my eyes for just a minute.

  In that minute she fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Sunday afternoon, Barcelona cruise port, Spain

  Savannah was startled out of her nap by a brisk knocking on her cabin door. A tall, sturdy, thirty-something man with thick black hair grinned, revealing a discolored front tooth. He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Eric Barone, your team leader on this ocean adventure.”

  Trying not to stare at the tooth was more than her jet-lagged brain could handle. “I’m Savannah Webb. I’m so excited to work in the Hot Shop.”

  He grinned again, tilting his head so the front tooth was on full display. “It’s okay. I know about the tooth. One of the things about working on a cruise ship is that there’s no easy way to get to your dentist.”

  Savannah could feel the confusion on her face.

  “Yes, there’s a dentist here on the ship for the crew’s routine care and emergency care for the guests, but my problem is merely cosmetic. The overlay came off last week and I won’t be able to get to my specialist dentist until the end of my contract. That’s three weeks from now.” He winked at her.

  “That’s a long time to look that way. I don’t think I could open my mouth.”

  “Management isn’t very happy, but they’re also not willing to send me home at their expense for a tooth. They’re already burning extra budget just to send you out here.”

  “How have you been managing with just the two of you?”

  “It’s difficult because the pieces we create are challenging and typically require at least a two- and sometimes three-person team. The dreadful part is that the commentary is short-changed during the demonstration. That’s what the audience enjoys most. Anyway, let me show you the Hot Shop and get you ready for this evening’s show.”

  “Certainly.” Savannah grabbed her room key, slipped it into her back pocket, and followed Eric to the forward staff elevator. He punched the button for deck 16 and they walked out into the open-air glassblowing studio.

  “We have a little stage door to act as a barrier between us and the audience. The cruise director likes to limit our access to the public so that it makes our public appearances seem special.”

  “Does that work?”

  He stood still and looked up in thought. “I guess it does. Seems silly to me. But the proof is in the results. Our auctions are standing-room only and the pieces sell for thousands.”

  “Auction?”

  “Right. The organization that supports the Hot Shop demonstrations is strictly nonprofit. That means that all artwork must be sold to benefit charitable organizations. It works out beautifully—we get to demonstrate glassblowing and travel the world while earning a substantial salary. It’s a pretty cool gig.”

  He handed her a clipboard with a checklist already in place. “This is what you do beginning thirty minutes before a performance. If you know that the furnaces are already on, you can wait until fifteen minutes, but always check. The audience will get antsy if we take too much time in preparation. They want to see glass being blown.”

  Savannah took the clipboard and held up the Hot Shop logo pen tied to it with a frazzled piece of string. “Really? People steal your pens? Aren’t they in all the cabins?”

  “Well, yes, but those have the generic cruise ship logo. When we came up with our pen a few years ago, sales in the gift shops skyrocketed. That also goes to the nonprofit charity.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Still seems like a paranoid bank teller’s solution.”

  “For us, it’s the convenience. If something goes missing during a demonstration, it’s a pain to get it replaced. You’re going to find that this gig will keep you very busy. Go ahead and get the pre-show checks done.”

  Savannah smiled as she untwirled the pen from its tangled loops. “Busy is good.”

  “When was your training?”

  Savannah wrote in the date and time on the sheet. “Let’s see. That was less than a year ago. I had to drop out at the last minute for personal
reasons.”

  Eric raised his eyebrows.

  “My dad died unexpectedly. I took over the family stained glass shop.”

  She looked at the list of pre-checks and it hadn’t changed much since her training sessions at Crystal Glass Works. “I enjoyed the training and it looks like they have duplicated everything on ship very closely.” She started turning on the equipment, checking the air vents and fans, and making sure all the tools were in place.

  Eric folded his arms and leaned against the stainless-steel table and offered suggestions when she looked for something that had been moved. The whole pre-check took about ten minutes. Then she signed the checklist and handed the clipboard back to Eric.

  “Now don’t get oversensitive. We do this before every performance for everyone’s safety.” He took the checklist and double-checked each setting and action.

  Savannah crossed her arms and leaned against the stainless-steel table—unconsciously mimicking Eric’s exact pose while he had been watching her. She could feel her body temperature raise, and her jaws tensed into gritted teeth.

  Cool down. Like he said this is for everyone’s safety. We’re at sea most of the time. I’ve gotten used to working with cold glass that you can cut and grind with your fingers. This is working with molten glass. It’s for safety, not a personal insult to my work.

  Eric finished and stood in front of her. “Congratulations! You’re the first one I’ve double-checked who has gotten every single task perfect. Well done!”

  Savannah could feel the unwanted tension leave the back of her neck. “Thanks.”

  He wound the string around the pen, then put the clipboard back on a little hook by their stage door. “Now let’s practice your demonstration piece. Since you’re only here for this cruise, I think it best that you should make color variations of the same basic vase. Is that good for you?”

  “Why?” Savannah frowned. “I’ve got experience in more than half a dozen demonstration pieces. Why am I to be restricted?” The tenseness at the back of her neck returned.

  “I know how you feel. On my first cruise contract, I was limited to one style for the first week. It’s because the environment is so different from a land-based hot shop.”

  “But I’ve had the training in the mock-up shop.”

  “Right, but we’re at sea. The ship is moving when we perform. We need to get familiar with your movements, and, more importantly, you need to adjust your performance. A wave can bounce the ship at any time. We have these safety practices in place to protect ourselves. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”

  “Of course.” Savannah pulled a hand through her black curls. “What was I thinking? This setup is so close to the Crystal Glass Works training hot shop, I forgot about that.”

  “No worries, we repeat this lecture for each new gaffer.” Eric smiled. “Now, go ahead and make that fluted vase.”

  Savannah stood in front of the furnace and inhaled deeply. This is my audition. I hope my emergency practice session over at Zen’s Glass Shop was enough. She exhaled and selected a container of bright blue frit and sprinkled it on the stainless-steel table.

  Eric walked over to the rack of blowpipes that were being heated in a separate electric furnace and pulled out one of the smallest and lightweight pipes. “This should be about the size that will be comfortable for you.”

  Should I be safe and make the simplest fluted vase possible? Nope, I’m going to make a stunning fluted vase. If I’m limited to one demonstration piece—each one will be spectacular.

  “Thanks, but I’m going to use one of the larger ones. My student specialty at Pilchuck was large pieces. I’m stronger than I look.”

  She got another container and sprinkled a large quantity of light orange frit on the table along the front edge, and for dramatic effect, she added four groupings of white stringers. She then picked up the second to the largest blowpipe and put it in the glass furnace to gather a small amount of clear glass on the end. She knew she hadn’t had much recent experience, but at one time she had been a Pilchuck star student. There was a reason for that.

  Savannah worked quickly and expertly, building up a large mass of molten glass that she first rolled into the blue frit, added more clear glass, and rolled into the light orange frit. The blowpipe was getting heavy, but she knew she was strong enough to handle the larger piece.

  Working cautiously, but swiftly, she added another layer of clear glass to the vase and rolled it on the white stringers, picking them up into the molten glass in little patterned clusters. She continued to reheat and smooth the piece until all the new glass was incorporated into the work and it was the color mix she wanted.

  She then signaled for Eric to take her place on the work seat. She took a pair of pinch pliers and pulled the glass out a couple of inches. While pulling, she twisted it to the left, creating a swirl effect. She exchanged places with Eric on the bench and used a wet wooden shaping form to round and elongate the vase. Then she picked up a stack of wet newspapers to additionally form and shape the glass.

  The steam rising from the soaked paper made her smile. She reheated the piece, then added the last layer of clear glass and continued to shape the vase. It was now over eighteen inches long. Finally, she flattened the piece with a square wooden paddle with a handle called a battledore. It helped her finish off the bottom of the base.

  “You should start the base now,” said Eric.

  Savannah frowned at the unnecessary direction. Unnecessary in her mind.

  He gathered a glob of glass about the size of a golf ball and exchanged places with Savannah on the bench. Savannah reheated the vase by twirling it slowly in the furnace. They exchanged places again and Eric reheated the foot of the vase. In about ten seconds he moved back to the bench and pressed it into Savannah’s vase.

  Then they rolled the piece in perfect unison until she was sure it was attached. Then she took a metal pincher tool and scored the top of the vase at the place where it joined her blowpipe. Dipping her calipers in water, she let it run into the scored groove. With a nod to Eric, she tapped the blowpipe and the vase detached from her blowpipe, with the vase still attached on Eric’s blowpipe.

  Eric handed his blowpipe to Savannah and she reheated it in the furnace. After spinning it until it was hot enough, she took it to the work seat and formed a hole in the top of the vase. She repeated a series of steps that reheated and formed a deep cavity in the vase. After a final reheating, she snipped several cuts in the lip and stood on a small bench. With a dramatic swirl, the lip of the vase flared into the shape of a tulip.

  She felt her confidence rise at the ease with which she handled the heavy base on the punty. It was one of her concerns that perhaps her shoulder and hand strength had weakened during the time she had been running Webb’s Glass Shop. She hadn’t been able to keep in practice with only a few hours now and then at the nearby McClellan Hot Shop. Her grip felt strong and steady.

  “Well done!” said Eric. “Now let’s go for the last step and get this beauty into the annealing oven.”

  Savannah scored the vase below the foot and again dripped water in the crease. Eric put on a heavy pair of oven gloves that reached his elbows. He placed his hands under the vase and then Savannah hit the blowpipe with a sharp tap. Instead of landing safely into Eric’s gloves, the beautiful vase split above the score line, then took a wild spin. Savannah felt a sudden coldness in her core as the vase fell to the deck and shattered into ruins.

  Chapter 6

  Sunday, departing Barcelona, Spain

  “Can you imagine the shocked look on my face,” Savannah said to Edward and Ian at one of the outdoor tables. She had an iced tea in contrast to hot tea for the Morris men. “I was mortified. I could barely speak above a whisper.”

  “At least it wasn’t at a performance,” said Edward.

  “Right, but Eric waved it off. He says misjudging the temperature of a work in progress is the most common cause for breakage. I can’t think what got
into my head to create such a complex vase.”

  “I’ll bet I know,” said Edward. “Could it have been perhaps a tiny bit of an insult to ask you to stick to a simple piece?” He took a cookie from the plate of assorted treats he had gathered from the dessert station.

  “Hmm.” Savannah twisted her lips to one side. “Busted. That restriction certainly raised my hackles. It was wonderfully kind of him to let me have a practice session without an audience—and then I go and mess it up. It was a terrible mess, by the way. That was a lot of glass to sweep away.”

  Ian took his third slice of chocolate cake and noticed Edward’s raised eyebrows. “What? Look at their size. They’re ridiculously tiny. Look, not even an inch square.” Ian plopped the sweet concoction into his mouth whole. “Barely a mouthful,” he mumbled around the cake.

  Edward turned to Savannah. “When’s your first demonstration? We don’t want to miss it.” He elbowed Ian.

  “Oomph. Too right.”

  Savannah enjoyed being in the middle of the Morris boys’ banter. “It’s right after the sail-away party around the pool.”

  “Nope, I don’t want to miss that.” Ian reached for the last square of chocolate cake. “Not for the world.”

  Savannah smiled and shook her black curls. “The demonstration starts at six o’clock. It will be only about thirty minutes after pulling away from the dock. The seas are expected to be calm, so we should be good to go. I’d better get going. I haven’t met the other gaffer and I’d at least like to say hello before we start swinging around molten glass.” She leaned over to squeeze Edward’s hand.

  He quickly gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Break a leg.”

  She went to her cabin and put on one of the Hot Shop logo shirts and a pair of tan khaki slacks with her new deck shoes with low white socks. She reached the demonstration area a little early and grabbed the clipboard and started performing the checklist. She had nearly completed the list when she heard her name.