S.O.S.

by Joseph Connolly

  Sheez … So I call up David, and nix. So I was gonna grab me a couple drinks – beat up bad on my goddam bowels just one more time – and then I gets to thinking, hey – stead I give the cash to David and he squares it with the Patty broad, maybe I can do myself a bitta good here, huh? Cos I’m telling ya – she’s OK, Patty. No kid, but real usable: you know what I’m sane? Plus – I like a deal. With a deal upfront, you know where you stand. So I get to her cabin, right? And Jesus what a shit-hole – make a cell in San Quentin seem real homey, you know? And what I was expecting to see, I guess, was the kinda cool dame of a cuppla nights back? What it didn’t never strike me is she’d be just about as close to death as one woman can surely get herself without she just goes right on ahead and dies on ya. She was one sick lady. And the smella the cabin I didn’t too much like.

  ‘Hi, Patty. You looking good. What’s cooking?’

  ‘Gah! Urrrrgh … don’t say that – oh God don’t say that, Dwight …!’

  ‘Say what, Patty? What’s cooking …?’

  ‘Gaaaah …!’ is all I get outta her this time around. Next I know I’m a-hollering at her through the bathroom door.

  ‘I sure can pre-shate this is maybe not the greatest time, huh? … But I would like to put to you one proposition, Patty. What I hear, you’re one lady for a deal, honey.’

  Not too sure she spoke some or she didn’t; I’m getting this kinda noise like a moonsick hound dog. So maybe I go on:

  ‘See, Patty – I talked a bit with our amigo David, yeah? We’re kinda – buddies? Seems you want a little pocket money, I didn’t get that wrong. Well could be I can help you out, is all I’m saying. You hear me in there, Patty? You still living? Ain’t no deal if ya gone died on me, girl. Tap on the door, Patty, if you still alive.’

  And some sorta rumble came across (she maybe fall over?) so I figure OK, Dwight my man – wrap this up quick and get your ass outta here.

  ‘So what I’m, like, putting your way, Patty, is I maybe setcha up in a condo in New York. You like the sounda that? Somewhere midtown – real classy. And maybe you wanna do a little shopping, yeh? Well could be I can fix that. What say? Patty? What say? And time to time, I come over – see how you doing … That sound good to you? Or what? It’s time to talk, now, Patty … don’t be holding out on me, now …’

  So I wait around some, and nothing. So OK, is how I’m figuring – if she died, she died: I did all I could. Then boom! The door’s wide open and she’s kinda just hanging on to the side of it and oh yeah sure she looks like hell – hoo boy, big time – but listen up: this wrap she’s wearing – it’s come all loose, you know, and from where I’m standing, the view from the neck down is mighty fine. Yessir ma’am – never give no mind to your face right now, it looks something put out in the trash following one mother of a Halloween: I do not regret one single word I just said to you, lady, on accounta hear me, sweet babe: I sure do like the cut of your titties.

  ‘Dwight …’ she gasped – and then she looked alarmed and deeply uneasy about what just this much effort had kicked off in her insides. ‘I think … that is … just marvellous … if only I can, oh God – live that long? …’

  Dwight grinned broadly, and patted her back encouragingly. Not, as it turned out, the best of moves on his part, he maybe saw now – because Patty looked goggle-eyed and stunned and then quite assailed and then, oh God – so pale grey as she lurched back into the bathroom and just about managed to hurl closed the door.

  ‘You’ll be just fine …!’ a pretty damn pleased Dwight was yelling through the panels. ‘Deal is though, honey – you don’t go talking bout nothing with Nicole. OK?’ As he waited, he heard a horrible noise. ‘You wanna maybe come up and do some of that on the Talent Show, Patty? Could be you wind up Miss Twenny-First Century Barf you know? Naw – just kidding around, Patty honey. I’ll see ya!’

  What a gal. So – what I’m thinking now, just sat up at the bar and fooling with a fresh Jack Daniel’s, is I sure did get me a deal. I been needing this for how long? This way, back home – I get outta the house and I got me someplace to go, you know? Just a shame she’s so wasted tonight, my Patty. On account of if David is bringing along his red-hot momma, we could maybe have made us up a foursome. Which couldda been neat. And where is that boy? By my watch, he’s overdo. And he can say what he likes – that girla his, she don’t like me one leedle bit. A guy gets to know these things. So how the evening’s gonna go down, I couldn’t rightly say.

  That him, way down yonder? I do bleeve so – and Jeez, my eyes ain’t too good, this kinda distance, but it sure looks to me like he’s dragging her in. What gives?

  ‘Come on – come on,’ David was urging – and yes, pretty much dragging her. (Don’t know what’s wrong with the girl: chattering away nineteen to the dozen – Sure, David, sure, I’ll meet with this buddy of yours, why hell not? – and then we turn in here and suddenly she freezes up and starts pulling away from me.) ‘Don’t be shy – you’ll love him, I tell you.’

  And then when Dwight was able to focus just a little bit better, he got right off that stool and strutted off to meet this head-on.

  ‘Dwight – here she is, my gorgeous little girl. Say hello, Suki.’

  ‘Oh Christ …’ moaned Suki. ‘I’m outta here …!’

  But David had a hold of her.

  ‘Don’t be rude, Suki. Say something to my good friend Dwight. Dwight? What’s wrong? Dwight? Why are you – why are you looking at me like that? Dwight?’

  ‘You …’ said Dwight, really deep, and very slowly, ‘ … bastard …!’

  David was frankly amazed.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘What …? What’s wrong with everyone? Speak, someone, will you? Is this some joke I’m not in on, or something?’

  And as Dwight just stood there – rigid and empurpled with an unspeakable rage and beginning to teeter – Suki just rolled up her eyes and cried out OH GEE I’M JUST SO SORRY, DADDY …! I just had no idea …

  David glanced at Dwight – so suddenly that it was as if his face had been slapped round in the direction. He felt his mouth drop open, as icy cold invaded the whole of him. It wasn’t so much the fear of the here and now that had him tight – more he felt quite bloodless at the terrible realization that once again, one more time, a future of sorts that had been dangled before him by the gleeful gods, drunk on cruelty, had now and immediately been jerked right away from him at the very last second. Once again, one more time, he was on the dump. There could be no more.

  And Dwight then knew that he had to right now, punch this guy out good – just as David got wind of it too. He twitched and ducked and ran for cover.

  *

  ‘Not many people, are there …?’ sniffed Jennifer, glancing around the auditorium. ‘Must be, what – how many seats are there here, do you think, Stacy? Four hundred? Less? Three? More? Hell of a lot, anyway. Practically empty …’

  ‘Weather, I expect,’ said Stacy. ‘It’s just an amazing sensation – bucking up and down like this. Don’t you think? Man at the door said it was set to get even worse, later on. I can’t imagine it any worse. We’re not going to sink, are we, Mum? It’s not going to be like the Titanic?’

  ‘Well all I can say is your Auntie Min will be terribly disappointed if we do. I don’t suppose anyone else is going to her silly little wedding.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I like it or I don’t …’ Stacy was musing. ‘The really huge lurches leave your stomach sort of up in the air. Do you get that? But it’s a bit like those fairground horses, in a way. Just more so.’

  ‘All right, everyone?’ chivvied a beaming Stewart, bearing down on them both – face almost neon tonight, and a clipboard jammed under his arm. ‘Everybody happy? Fun fun fun – yes?’

  ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Jennifer. ‘Are we terribly early, or something?’

  ‘Bit of a thin house …’ agreed Stewart, quite ruefully.

  Bit of a thin house my arse: never seen so bloody few people turn out for the Talen
t Show. Bloody storm, I suppose. And more than half my entrants have dropped out too. Mrs Myrtle’s not going to do her Shirley Bassey – can’t guarantee her dinner won’t pop out; John Cummings says he can’t do the conjuring because all the props will be sliding all over the place (fair point – it’s all you can do to stand upright, at the moment). It’s looking like the star of the show is going to be Nobby with his nautical terms and Aggie with her, oh God help us all – Madison. Not forgetting the redoubtable Disco Debbie, of course – she’s still well up for bopping till she drops, poor old sod. Let’s just hope she doesn’t literally drop, that’s all. That really would be the icing on the cake.

  You know what, don’t you? I mean look – I might as well come right out and say it: I am totally fed up. Truly pissed off with just everything, now. I mean – it was my fault, was it, that those bloody little yobs were screwing each other on the floor of the Emperor Suite? That’s down to me, is it? This one they think they can lay quite fairly and squarely at my door? A severe reprimand, I got: it’s on my record. Very nice. That’ll have them all queueing up to get me, won’t it? Ever I’m after another job. But look, I argued – if I’d known there was anyone in there, well then of course I wouldn’t have led in a party of journalists, would I? I’m not stupid. Nonetheless, they went – nonetheless: if it hadn’t been for you, no one would have known. And I was going But listen to me, why can’t you? I didn’t know, did I? How could I? But it was no good. Blue in the face. Made not one jot of difference. And do you know what really did it? When they were writing up my record, they had to ask me my name. I know. Unbelievable, isn’t it? After all these years on this bloody ship – and the only time I get even noticed is when they slap on me an official bloody reprimand and they don’t even know what I’m called …! I’m telling you – it’s all too much, quite frankly. It’s all just getting on top of me.

  Anyway – ten minutes overdue already: can’t delay this bloody show any longer, can I? Perfectly plain no one else is coming. Right, then – let’s just go through the running order … cross out the names of practically everyone … right … now then: got the prizes (chocolates – hah! As if people don’t get enough to stuff themselves with … and cruets and shot glasses with the name of the ship on them: lovely). And I’ve got my flare gun all primed and charged. They love that bit, generally. It’s only a low-voltage thing – mild S.O.S. – but it makes everyone really jump when it goes off – and then this rather pretty cascade of gold sort of stars and circles fizzes right up and then floats down slowly, just like a lit-up fountain: star turn – always do this at the end. Right then – here we go.

  And the very second he stepped on to the stage (Hi, everyone! Greetings and felicitations! – well, you all know me: Stewart, Assistant Cruise Director …) – he had no sooner got the words out of his mouth, and she was doing it, that bloody woman at the front. God Almighty.

  ‘Come on, then!’ shouted Jennifer. ‘Get on with it! Why are we waiting? Why are we way-ay-ting?!’

  ‘Shh, Mum!’ giggled Stacy. ‘Honestly …!’

  ‘Oh shut up, Stacy. This is why I’m here – have a bit of fun. Come on! Come on! Are you the stripper? Get ’em off!’

  Stewart just glowered at her – and very tersely announced the first act: Caroline, from Morecambe, who was going to sing for us that perennial old favourite – Greensleeves.

  Jennifer groaned, and glanced about her in search of any sort of distraction. Oh God – a few seats away it was Nobby and Aggie! Argh! Look the other way, fast. Couple of horrible-looking businessmen on the other side. One of them was speaking quite loudly (maybe not much of a Green-sleeves man).

  ‘See, in the greeting card game, you always wanna be one jump ahead. Now wom sign? Like – we noticed the trend way back – so we don’t print nuffing in ’em, nowadays. You got to listen to what the punters is sighing. So fundamentally, it’s back to bye-sicks. Now wom sign?’

  ‘Oh God, Stacy,’ deplored Jennifer. ‘Shall we get out of here? I thought it would be funnier than this. More of a laugh.’

  ‘Let’s just see what’s up next.’

  Next up was a mother and daughter duo (all the way from Texas! Anyone here tonight from Texas? No? Nobody? No one at all? Well … let’s hear it anyway for Abigail and Trixie … um, what is this? June. No, not June – Jane. Abigail and Trixie-Jane, ladies and and gentlemen! Yay!). Jennifer tolerated the first few bars of Stand By Your Man, and absolutely no more.

  ‘Boo! Boo! What man would stand by either of you? Rubbish! Get off!’

  As Stacy just died of embarrassment and Jennifer continued to hoot with delight, Stewart was off that stage and making for them fast. His mouth was set, and he truly had the aspect of one who was lit up from within.

  ‘Right! That is absolutely the limit!’ he practically spat at Jennifer – and she was shaken, momentarily, by the sheer uncut fury and hatred she saw in his face. But she pulled herself together.

  ‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’ she drawled at him.

  And that, really, was it. Stewart closed his eyes tight, and the muscles in his neck bunched up and bulged hard. Who am I? Who am I? I’ll tell you who I am. I am now, right this second, about to teach everyone – everyone aboard this bloody, bloody ship, a lesson. After tonight, everybody will know my bloody name. No one again will ever have to ask.

  ‘Right …’ he said, quite ominously quietly. ‘You!’ And he pointed an aggressive finger at Jennifer’s face. ‘Up. Right now. You’re coming with me.’ And then he stunned himself by adding: ‘You’re under arrest.’

  Jennifer was shaken, yes, but was rallying round quite quickly.

  ‘Oh just go and fuck yourself, whatever you’re called …’

  Stewart was white, and his forehead glistened. He drew out his flare gun and jabbed it into her ribs. The shock of it made Jennifer half rise – and she waved back a would-be calming hand to Stacy, who had just briefly squealed out her protest.

  ‘Right. Now out. Out of here. If you do not – I will kill you.’

  Stewart was learning the words long after he had formed them, it seemed: an echo from somewhere else, in another time. The ship was pitching so violently, now, that he and Jennifer were quite desperately swaying and clinging on to one another for a sort of support, the black stubby gun still stuck between them. Jennifer began to move as well as she could in the direction he indicated (I mean Jesus I cannot … I am not believing this … but just take one look at him, will you? I think he’s mad – very).

  The two had lumbered out to the perimeter of the room. Several times he had to bark at Stacy to stay exactly where she bloody well was … they were nearly out of there – and now bloody Nobby was hanging on to his arm.

  ‘Stewart? What on earth do you think that you’re doing?’

  ‘Go away, Nobby. This is nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I’m rather afraid, Stewart, it is. No – it’s quite all right, Aggie – I’m perfectly capable of handling this.’

  Stewart staggered back as the entire floor beneath them all bucked – regained his foothold, though, and looked about him in a fast-rising panic, approaching frenzy. He was sweating, and his lips were dry. Abigail and Trixie-Jane had warbled out the last of Stand By Your Man, and both were just hanging about, now, dangling their arms and looking rather lost. Eyes were flickering from all corners in Stewart’s direction, and a growing rumble was discernible: he had to act fast, now, or else he would lose it completely.

  ‘All right then, Nobby – have it your own way. You come too. Out. Keep walking, the both of you. If you do not – I will kill you.’

  ‘Oh please no!’ Jennifer was imploring. ‘Mercy, mercy – please not Nobby too! Kill me now, Christ’s sake …!’

  And all a paralysed Aggie and very appalled Stacy could do was watch these three people – bowed legs so clumping and wide apart, as if astride their phantom horses – lurch, bump and collidingly skitter more or less and then eventually out of there, leaving behind them a bankrupt con
test, and just one clattering door.

  *

  The view from the Bridge was nightmarish, quite frankly – even for a pro. Captain Scar stood peering through the thick and streaming glass – the wipers were simply not close to coping. On each precipitous and roaring descent, the bows momentarily disappeared altogether beneath the rush of the sea, before rising up again, shrugging away rivers of water to washingly obliterate the decks. (We are due later on, he was thinking, to sail within a very few miles of the icebergs that did for the Titanic. I mentioned this to the journalists – they said they terribly wanted to see them. I then told them that the optimum vantage point would be up on the Bridge at around four a.m.… whereupon they terribly didn’t.)

  The Captain turned at the sound of the very discreet, attention-seeking coughlet.

  ‘Oh hullo, Alan. What’re you doing up here?’

  ‘Um – a word, if I may, sir?’

  ‘Of course. Fire away.’

  Alan glanced about him at the officers on the Bridge.

  ‘Maybe in your quarters, sir?’

  Captain Scar was uneasy. Something was wrong. Something else was wrong.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said slowly, following Alan down the stairs – both of them thrown like puppets, and hanging on grimly.

  The Captain sat at his desk with his head in his hands as his Number Two apprised him of everything he knew. When he had finished, the Captain said nothing. And then he said this:

  ‘And he won’t come to the door, you say?’

  ‘Absolutely not, sir. They’re all in there, in his office – we know that much … but no matter how long we’re pounding at the door, well – absolutely no response whatever, sir. Extraordinary business.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Captain Scar. ‘We don’t have a key?’

  ‘Locked and bolted, sir. Take explosive to break it down. Too risky.’

  Captain Scar nodded like one condemned and reached for the telephone.