‘You aim to?’
Her whole body in that chair was squirming around, side to side – shoulders hunched forward, fingers now not just all around the rim of that glass but darting down into it, too (and when they’d done with tinkling the ice, weren’t they up to her lips, each of them in turn? And did she suck them, one by one? Well did she? You tell me).
Right then, thought David. Right right right. Christ. Didn’t expect this. This little lot I surely did not expect. Whatever was or was not going to happen during this so-damn-crazy Trip of a Lifetime, I can honestly place my hand across my heart and swear to all you good people out there that this one, this thing, did not so much as cross my mind. Admittedly my mind has been more or less out of commission and practically concussed since way before I even so much as stepped aboard – but still … but still: this is, I assure you, a turn-up for the book. And look – how long am I actually going to be on this ship? Hm? Not long – few days. Now this is good and this is bad – but on the whole it’s good, yes it’s good, it’s good this, yes – and I’ll tell you why: One, there’s no time at all for the leisured seduction (and OK, OK – I’m aware, of course I am, that I do not find myself cast here solely or even partially in the role of, uh – seducer, yes OK, all right … but this is for the time being, if you’ll allow me, the way I choose to paint it) … and Two, even if the whole thing proves to be an out-and-out disaster (or even, God help me, if I am totally misreading this whole situation – and it is, is it, a situation of sorts we have here? Maybe just a bit of one?) well then very soon we’re all of us elsewhere, aren’t we? Won’t ever have to think of it or speak of it or see each other again. I can’t tell you how much that one thought warms me (if only life were always like that). Right, then. Right right right.
‘Tell me, um – Suki. Lovely name, by the way … it’s so …’
‘Sexy? You think it’s sexy? Stacy, yeh? She thought it was sexy.’
‘Stacy? Who’s, um – ?’
‘You were out of it. You wouldn’t recall. Go on, David.’
‘Hm? Oh yeh – yeh, what I was going to ask you … and you might, when I, um – ask you, revise your opinion about my politeness – ’
‘Hey – wait up! My name – you were gonna say something – ?’
‘Oh yes. Yes – your name. I think it’s … it’s really very, er – nice.’
Suki beheld him.
‘Nice? It’s nice? Nice is, like – it?’
‘Well more than nice, obviously,’ hurried on David (oh Christ leave your fucking name out of it for just two seconds, can’t you? Your name is fine, it’s fine – it’s not your bloody name I need to talk about).
‘That’s the trouble with you English. You’re all so – understated? If it’s, like – more than nice, then say it, why don’t ya? Just say it. What is it? Sexy? Is it sexy?’
‘It’s … yes, Suki, it’s sexy. Very.’
And Suki nodded. ‘Neat. That’s all you had to do. Now – what you wanna ask?’
‘I want to ask … that is to say …’
‘Jeez, David –!’
‘OK. All right. Suki – do you have a cabin of your own?’
‘Sure. I’m a big girl now. What – you don’t?’
‘No I, uh – don’t, I’m afraid.’
‘Married, right?’
David nodded. He nodded long and hard.
‘Right,’ he said.
‘I kinda figured. So what – you wanna come see it? My cabin?’
David more or less goggled at her.
‘Yes …’ he breathed.
‘Number one-oh-one-oh. A quarter after seven – that good for you? We can have like a cocktail before dinner?’
Still goggling, oh Christ yes (and I think my mouth’s open too, now).
‘That would be … lovely.’
The startled faun would surely have appeared a model of composure if contrasted then with the convulsive nature of David’s reaction as the very cold voice of someone else entirely sliced quite invasively into this blood-hot dream, fallen from heaven (and I’ve just gone and given my shin one hell of a crack on the underside of this table, I don’t mind telling you).
‘Hi,’ said Stacy, briefly. ‘Sorry. Bit late. Let’s go, Suki – yes?’
‘Hi babe!’ called out Suki – apparently (what is it with women?) both thrilled and delighted by this bloody intrusion. ‘What – you don’t want to get a drink? This here is David.’
Stacy nodded. ‘Yes I, uh – remember. No, Suki – let’s go, yes?’
And David’s anguished look to Suki bellowed out as loudly as silence can: No – don’t go. Stay. What’s she want to go for? Stay, Suki, God damn you. Who is this kid anyway? (And why do you call her ‘babe’?).
‘Kay,’ said Suki, brightly. ‘See you, David.’
And bugger me if the two of them weren’t practically out of sight before I could even put my mind to standing up (my leg is bloody killing me). So I just sat there. Tell you, if good old Dwight hadn’t soon hove into view, I would’ve felt not just let down, but pretty put out. Still, though – seven-fifteen, hey? Seven-fifteen. Cabin number … oh Christ – what was it? What was it?
‘Hi there, Dave. How you hanging?’
‘Good to see you, Dwight. Feeling a little tender …?’
‘Too tough to be tender, boy. What made me think I’d find you here, huh?’
‘Ha ha – yeah. What’ll you have? Bourbon, yeah? Listen, Dwight – I’ve just got to tell you – uh, shall we go to the bar? Or are you happy here? OK here? Fine. Hey listen – you will not believe what has happened to me. There’s this girl, right?’
And Dwight’s eyes were already twinkling.
‘You got my whole attention, boy. But hey listen – afore you start up, I gotta say this. I am very aware, Dave, that last evening you picked up the whole of the tab. No – let me finish, here. Now I just wanna say that any liquor we may be putting into us on this day, well – that’s all down to me, Dave. OK? Unnerstan? Good. That’s great. Now – let’s get us in a cuppla beauts, and then you start up. And make it hot, Dave – make it hot. You hear me?’
And so David did just that – cranked it up to boiling point. Because look – Dwight was one of the good guys, the real guys, and Jesus, there don’t appear to be all that many of us left. So Dwight and me, we pulled at our man-sized drinks and I told him all about this fabulous girl.
‘And she’s …’ Dwight was pursing his lips ‘ … young, you’re telling me? Real young?’
‘Young as young, Dwight, Jesus – I wish you could’ve seen her.’
‘You and me both, boy. And you say you’re seeing her tonight? I raise my glass to you, sir. That’s mighty quick work. Sure envy ya, I don’t mind saying. Every day I’m with Charlene I’m thinking what I’m needing, pining for, is one pink slice of lamb – you know what I’m saying? Shame there ain’t two of ’em.’
And then this Stacy came into David’s mind. And then she went right out again. Nah. He knew nothing at all about her, but the look she had given him had been, oh God – more than enough. Whatever game we might be getting up, here, there’s no way that Stacy is a player.
‘Well look …’ said David (and he came in close) ‘ … I mean – all goes well, there’s no reason why, maybe … in a day or two …’
Dwight was rapt.
‘You mean – what, are you saying … this piece of ass might be willing to play ball? Like – play the field?’
‘Seemed the type to me. What’s to lose? I’ll put in a word, shall I? When I’m – you know: done.’
‘Oh sure, sure – unnerstood, Dave – yeah sure, gotcha. Well I reckon that’s mighty neighbourly of you, friend.’
And David beamed. This is all going really terribly well. I’ve got not just this cracking little bird lined up, but also a very good mate to tell all about it. And yes – I mean it: when I’ve had my fill, as it were – well why not? Hey? Dwight’s a buddy – and what are buddies for if not to share with, af
ter all? So yes, like Dwight says – it’s only neighbourly. All I’m doing is the decent thing.
Number one-oh-one-oh: that was it. That was it.
*
‘Jeez!’ laughed Suki, as Stacy hustled her along. ‘Are you ever in a hurry! What am I – under house arrest?’ And then more softly – eyes still bright, though with lowered lids and cast sideways to maybe catch a flash in Stacy’s own (evasive, at the moment, and jumpy). ‘You, like … on fire?’
Stacy heard the words and sensed the way Suki was maybe looking – and then she snortingly smirked, at the same time reducing her pace – which yes, she had only just realized, was ridiculous: I mean God – what am I? On fire …?
‘Sorry,’ she breathed. ‘It’s just that place. Had enough of it. And that man. Why were you talking to him?’
And Suki stopped dead. They were hard by the photo shop, now – screens were littered with shiny coloured shots of eager, grinning passengers, all saying cheese just the afternoon before; the wreath of flowers loomed large in all of them. Suki now thought she might open up her eyes to their very widest (make them both round and inquisitive), cock an eyebrow and let her lower jaw drop down into ironic and unspoken exclamation: the hands on her hips helped along the general tableau which by now, if all was still in synch, should be fully armed and dripping with ‘Excuse me …?!’
‘What is this, Stacy? Jealous?’
And Stacy was amazed to hear the words – she felt them slapping across first one cheek, then cuffing the next; certainly she was warm, now, from the heat of them. Because was I not just on the verge of demanding of myself the very same thing? What am I now? Jealous? Can I really be? This is how it goes, is it? I mean – I haven’t even got round to explaining to myself so much as the tiniest part of whatever all this is, yet – so how come I can suddenly feel in me brewing a sour green stew of unease? Simply because, what – Suki chooses to chat away idly for one or two seconds with some overweight drunk from the night before? Unease. Is that what this is, then? A faint unease, just barely stirring? No – I think the broad flat swipe of Suki’s more or less delighted instinct smacked it hard and came in closer: what I am is jealous. Jesus.
‘Oh God don’t be so silly, Suki. It’s just that … hey! Suki? Are you actually listening to me?’
Suki had turned away and was enthusiastically scanning the racks and racks of photos.
‘I’m trying to, like – find you here, Stace.’
‘I always look awful in pictures. Come on, Suki – let’s … look, all I really wanted to say was that I felt bad last night, OK, when – ’
And now (oh sure, tell me about it!) – now Suki was listening to her, hell she was: she had turned, and her eyes were wider than when she had deliberately cranked them up to the limit.
‘What? What – are you, like, saying? You felt bad – !’
But Stacy’s head was shaking to and fro, repeatedly and with great determination – tightly gripped forearms, closed eyes and flatly compressed lips effectively reinforcing this big denial.
‘No no no – no, Suki, no. I didn’t mean I felt badly about … that … no. I felt so awful about just … leaving you in the corridor like that – and I was only thinking, well – my cabin’s empty at the moment, right? And I just thought … well, if you’d, you know – like to …?’
Suki grinned. ‘My cabin’s always open house. Got some vadka, if you’re innerested …?’
‘No,’ said Stacy, quite thoughtfully. ‘No. I’d like you to be in – my space. If that doesn’t sound … I don’t know – how does that sound, actually? Suki?’
Suki grinned more broadly, leant forward and very fleetingly, whispered a kiss.
‘Sounds … just great! Oh hey, guys – looky here. Here you are, Stace! I found your pitcher. Alongside of … Jennifer, right?’ Yeh, thought Suki: Jennifer. Right.
Stacy studied the snapshot (trying, and failing, to blank out Nobby and Aggie). ‘Horrible. Terrible picture. I’m all teeth and gums. Jennifer looks OK, though. She always comes out well in everything.’
Suki was thoughtful, now. ‘You – uh … you really dig her – right? Yeah? I mean I like get the feeling you’re real – close?’
Stacy went in for a short bout of pink-faced scoffing, as she put her head on one side and made as if she was considering some novel and intriguing idea for the very first time.
‘Yes of course. I mean she’s crazy, oh yes sure. Totally nuts. But yeh – I love her, course I do. Couldn’t not. Always have.’
Suki nodded. ‘Uh-huh. And this, like – cabin idea, yeh? Like – she won’t mind?’
What a terribly, thought Stacy quite dazedly, odd thing to say.
‘No. Mind? Why on earth should she? No of course she won’t mind. Why do you think she would?’ I can’t offhand, thought Stacy, think of anything much that Jennifer minds; well – Nobby and Aggie, fairly obviously.
Suki shrugged. ‘Whatever’s cool,’ she said. And then – as she was suddenly buffeted sideways by this flurry and then whirlwind that had rushed out of nowhere and more or less right into the both of them – ‘Hey hey! Slow up, man! Easy!’ And now she was holding on to the skittering and still fast-moving scatter-limbed girl – if she hadn’t, they all could have collided quite jarringly with the wall-to-wall and sunlit gurning that made up the photograph screens.
‘Oh my God I’m so terribly sorry!’ rushed out an appalled and practically winded Jilly. ‘Oh God I’m right sorry, you two – are you OK? God – so sorry …’ She had the flat of her hand across her chest, and was using the pause to gulp down air. ‘I’m just so terribly late for my shift – at the bar, yeh? And Sammy’ll just kill me. Look – I’ve got to go. I’m really awfully – !’
And Suki and Stacy, alternately and together, collaborated on a series of hissed-out and hushed OK-type noises, while fingers briefly touched forearms in a soft and sisterly show of warm reassurance. But they giggled as Jilly tore away and hurtled onward – and Yes oh sure, thought Jilly (really quite bitterly): it’s all OK for them, isn’t it? Totally fine. All with rich daddies and servants like bloody me to attend to their every sodding desire. God – if they had to spend twelve hours a day pouring out bloody drinks and being nice to people, they’d have a bloody breakdown; Daddy would have to send them to Switzerland or stick them in therapy. Ever I’ve been in trouble – up against it – all my Dad says is Think On, Lass: Aye – Think On.
‘Sammy – Sammy don’t! Don’t be horrible. I’m sorry – OK?’
Sammy had been polishing glasses (it’s one of the things I do, polish glass; but look, way I see it – means to an end, right?). Still couldn’t resist, though, an extra twist of his wrist as he did it (quick look down – not too quick – take in the watch face) – and even, by way of possibly overdoing the thing, a pointedly casual glance over there and up at the clock (tricked out as a sunburst, it was, and ticking with menace and thuddingly at Jilly).
‘It’s OK! …’ said Sammy – with such nonchalance, he nearly – in his laid-back ease – fell over backwards. ‘Oversleep, did you? I would’ve buzzed down, but …’
‘Yeh,’ agreed Jilly, quite eagerly – making a big show now of moving stacks of glasses from where they should be, and equally purposefully back again. She would have twisted slightly the necks of all the neatly ranked bottles of beer, so that their various and colourful labels were facing full-frontally, and precisely aligned – but Sammy, of course, had already seen to all that; it had been he, indeed, who had taught her the habit (Takes no time at all, he said – you can do it in your sleep, but it improves the look no end). ‘Long night,’ she tacked on – immediately wishing she could bite it back: damn, oh bugger – why’d I have to tack on that? ‘What I mean is – early night, had an early night – so shattered – and I think that’s often the way, don’t you? Sometimes you sort of have too much sleep and then it’s even harder, isn’t it? Sammy? You get that ever? To – you know: get yourself going in the morning.’ Don’t let him think –
allow him no moment to ponder all that. ‘So – anyway. I’m here now – so get yourself off, hey? Well-earned rest, yeh?’
Sammy just nodded. Seemed to be thinking, anyway: could be he was even pondering all that. Eventually – after a couple of eternities, it surely seemed to Jilly (I don’t know why – can’t quite pinpoint it – but with Sammy here as well as me I feel exposed, very) – he laid down his glass cloth, and passed both his flat palms down the sides of his trouser legs.
‘OK,’ he said. Easily? Warily? Ask her – she couldn’t tell you, honestly didn’t know. ‘Usual, later? Four-ish?’
Jilly dearly wished she had something to do – some stupid task upon which she could firmly bolt just some of her stray and flapping hands, a point of concentration to which she could bend and apply herself. Why doesn’t anyone want a bloody drink? Usually, this time, they’re all of them clamouring – so why not bloody today?
‘Yeh …’ said Jilly, quite lightly. ‘Well maybe. Probably – yeh. Well – one or things to … but yeh – don’t see why not. Four-ish, yeh. But if I’m a bit late or I don’t, well – you know.’
Why actually, Sammy, don’t you just go now? Hm? Your shift finished way over half an hour ago. Normally you don’t, do you – linger? Hang about? So why are you bloody today? Ah but now, actually, thought Jilly (and some dull weight that had been at once so dense yet impossibly floating somewhere within her – filling her up while maybe mulling over just where and when and how suddenly to drop – was rapidly coming, she knew, to a harsh decision and right now had gone for it) … nothing really matters to me, Sammy – whether you go or whether you stay – because look, Jilly didn’t know how convincing she had been in her lack of conviction that anything here was odd or prickly or out of the way, and nor could she have said how tinny or plangent was the peal of any alarm bells she might have unwittingly tripped – but now as Rollo continued his easy progress towards the bar, the air around all of them was set to thicken, and mists could maybe descend.
S.O.S. Page 19
