by Maddy Hunter
“And she just shook the can,” added Helen.
I stabbed my finger at Bernice. “You will not open that can anywhere around here. Understood? We’re going to find a way to accommodate—”
“You tiresome little troll,” Portia flung at Bernice. “Are you vying for the title of most irritating person on the planet? News flash. You’ve won, so go crawl back under your rock. We’ll be able to digest our food much better if we don’t have to look at you.”
Bernice’s face glazed over with justifiable shock. Who would have thought that Portia could sound more like Bernice than Bernice herself?
“Come on, ladies,” I appealed, “we don’t have to resort to name-calling.”
Portia laughed. “Calling her a troll was a compliment.”
Gasps from the Iowans. Silence from the Floridians.
Bernice stood statue-still, looking small and unexpectedly wounded. “You’ll be sorry you said that,” she vowed in a steely voice.
Portia let out a tedious sigh. “I seriously doubt that.”
“There’s a table opening up by the water!” George Farkas yelled. “Run for it!”
They took off like stampeding wildebeest, proving that when it came to priorities, nursing a grudge would always lose out to nursing their appetites.
Click clack click clack click. Jackie’s stilettoes sent up a Gatling gun clatter as she joined us. “Thank goodness that’s over. Isn’t it nice how another table opened up? Some problems are so easy to solve.”
“Yeah, especially if you pass them off to other people.” I narrowed my eyes. “Weren’t you about to die from heat stroke?”
“I’m so much better now that I’m rehydrated.” She touched Portia’s forearm. “When I fly down for my book signing, I’ll have to bring Joleen something special to repay her for her kindness.”
“About your book signing,” Portia demurred. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”
“You want me to come in August instead of July? I can do that. My schedule—”
“Actually, I don’t want you to come at all.”
Jackie looked confused. “Not come? Why not?”
“Because I finished reading that rubbish you gave me last night. You don’t honestly expect people to buy anything so stupid, do you?”
In the blink of an eye, I watched one supremely confident transsexual shrink from six-foot-four to four-foot-six. “You didn’t like it?”
“Where should I begin? With the insult to my intelligence or the cardboard characters? It was poorly written, cartoonish, and perverted. Not only is your mind in the gutter, your overuse of exclamation points and Batman sound effects is positively juvenile. I refuse to have my name connected with either you or your book.”
“But I’ve already contacted my editor. She’s probably placing the book order even as we speak.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It is so your problem. We had an understanding!”
“It was my understanding that your novel was readable. It isn’t.” Portia glanced up and down the table. “Did anyone else make the mistake of opening up her book last night?”
“Vern, Gus, and Reno did,” I piped up. “They loved it.” I encouraged the men with a nod. “Tell everyone what you told me.”
Gus massaged his beard, looking as if he wished he were somewhere else. “I give her an A for effort, but Portia’s right. It’s nothing more than sensationalized tripe.”
“A bad soap opera,” Reno agreed.
“Complete nonsense,” Vern snorted, “and like Portia said, way too many exclamation points. I like periods myself. They’re solid. Manly.”
I stared at them, aghast. “You adored Jackie’s book! You told me yourselves.”
“You obviously misinterpreted what they said,” Portia accused.
“Really? How would you interpret ‘I hope Jackie’s working on a sequel,’ and ‘I’d read the next installment’?”
“I hope you’re not always this naive, Emily. They probably want to have sex with her.”
“I wouldn’t mind starting the book,” said Lauretta Klick, “but finishing could be a big problem. There’s just not enough time left for me to get through the whole thing. I’d be really bummed out if I had to spend Eternity not knowing how the story ends.”
“There she goes again,” June Peabody whined. “Spreading gloom and doom with her end-of-the-world scenario, trying to convince everyone it’s curtains. Listen to me, Lauretta, if you and Curtis ruin another holiday for us, I’ll start a petition to make sure that you’re never allowed to sign up for another one.”
“Knock yourself out,” Curtis shot back. “Maybe you didn’t get the message: there’s never gonna be another one.”
“Hush up,” Portia chided the Klicks. “I’ve told you what would happen if people started popping antidepressants because of you. I’m giving you fair warning: you’re teetering on the brink.”
“You don’t scare us,” Lauretta said defiantly. “Not anymore.”
“She scares me,” cried Jackie. “I’ve never known anyone to enjoy trashing someone else’s work so much—other than New York theater critics. Mean-spirited witch. Didn’t your mother teach you that if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all?” She was six-feet-four again, and cranky. “I want my book back.”
“Sorry. I performed a good deed before I left the hotel this morning. I threw it in the wastebasket to spare the next poor schmuck from having to read it.”
“You threw my book in the trash?”
Portia shrugged. “It’s exactly where it belongs.”
Jackie puffed up with so much hot air that she looked like an inflatable sex toy. “Even with my author’s discount, that book set me back fifteen bucks! Do I look like I’m made of money? You are so going to regret doing that.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me.”
“It’s not a threat.” Jackie’s eyes narrowed to vengeful slits. “It’s a promise.”
“MAN OVERBOARD!” an elderly voice yelled from dockside. “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!”
I shot a look toward the water. “One of yours?” Jackie asked me.
“Not mine,” I said with a surfeit of confidence, unable to see through the crowd. “I conducted a seminar on ocean safety before we left home. My guys aren’t going anywhere near open water unless there’s a guard rail.”
“HURRY! HE CAN’T SWIM!”
“Oh, God, it’s one of mine.” I dodged around market goers and hurdled pools of melted ice cream as I pounded across the cobblestones. “Hold on! I’m coming!”
Clackclackcclackclackclack. “I’ll get this one!” Jackie sped past me on her long legs, hair flying and arms pumping. “I owe you. Out of the way!” she yelled in a gruff baritone. “I’m comin’ through!”
Onlookers leaped out of her path as she barreled toward the end of the quay. Kicking off her stilettoes, she made a spectacular running leap into midair and plunged into the harbor with a resounding—
“Wait! My sweater!”
Splat!
“That was actually quite refreshing,” Jackie said as we hoofed it back to the hotel an hour later.
“I’m glad you thought so,” I said tightly.
“I recognize that tone, Emily, so you might as well come right out and say it. You’re still mad.”
“It was my favorite sweater in all the world, Jack! Now look at it.” The sleeves hung below her hands like sock puppets. The bottom drooped to her thighs. “It’s a plus size minidress.”
“Would you rather I’d let George drown?”
“No! But I could have saved him. And here’s the important part: I’m not wearing cashmere!”
“Well, excuuuse me. Who packs cashmere to go on vacation anyway?”
“We’re going to be traveling above the Arctic Circle. I even threw in a scarf and mittens because…it’s supposed to get cold!”
She stopped in her tracks. “Really?”
“Didn’t you look at the map?�
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“Nah. I’m not good with maps anymore.” She bobbed her head sheepishly. “You know, the girl thing.”
I sighed with resignation. “All these other issues aside, Jack, I really appreciate what you did for George. Thanks.”
“No problem. He should think about getting that artificial leg of his replaced with a lighter material, though. It dragged him down so fast, I had to dive twice to find him.”
“It’s not the leg; it’s the steel-toed boots. What he really needs to replace is his footwear.”
I looked up and down the boulevard and across the street to the shaded lawns of Esplanade park, where an outdoor aerobics class was being conducted for stunning blonds with tanned legs and no body fat. “Do you see a shoe store around here?”
“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind browsing in the one behind you.”
The store was called Aarikka, and the shopfront displayed a unique assortment of Finnish-made necklaces that were strung with wooden beads stained in eye-popping colors.
“Ooo,” Jackie cooed. “See the fuschia-and-plum one? That has my name on it. Or maybe the seafoam and teal.”
“Tell me something, Jack, how did you know I was still ticked off about my sweater? If we were still married and I’d said I wasn’t upset, you’d have believed me.”
“That’s because I’ve learned the secret code. ‘No’ means ‘yes.’ ‘Yes’ means ‘no.’ ‘No, I’m not upset,’ means, ‘Of course I’m upset, you moron.’ It all makes so much sense now. No wonder I acted so dense when I was a guy. I didn’t know there was a code.”
“You wanna go inside?”
She studied her soggy reflection in the plate glass. “They’ll never let me in the door dripping seawater. Tell you what, you stay here and shop for a new sweater on my dime, and I’ll change clothes and meet up with you later.” She reached inside her purse and handed me a fistful of currency. “If that’s not enough, I’ll make up the difference back at the room.”
“You don’t have to do this, Jack. I know you meant well.”
“I ruined your sweater, so I need to pay for it.”
“You’re making me feel guilty.”
She flashed a smile with her blindingly white teeth. “I’m gettin’ good at this female stuff, aren’t I?”
“What time do you want to meet up?”
“Let’s just wing it. I’ll call your cell.” She trotted off, pausing after a few steps to turn back to me. “Did Vern, Gus, and Reno really love my book?”
“I kid you not—three huge thumbs-up.”
“So they lied to Portia.”
“Through their teeth.”
After chewing on that for a moment, she headed off again, the look on her face hinting that she intended to find out why.
“For a city that was founded as a trading post in the sixteenth century, Helsinki has blossomed into one of the most cosmopolitan capitals in the world,” Annika told us as we trooped back to our hotel later that night. “So now that you have seen most of the attractions, what did you like best?”
“I liked the buildings that looked like gigantic pastel butter mints,” said Lucille Rassmuson, obviously feeling the effects of her diet. “They looked good enough to eat.”
“I liked the street performers,” said Grace Stolee. “I thought that couple who were painted gold were actually statues until Emily threw a coin into their bucket and they broke out in a minuet.”
“It’s nice that street people have a way to take your money other than mugging you,” Helen Teig conceded. “Maybe that’ll catch on back home.”
“I liked the electric trams,” said Osmond. “But I can’t figure out if they’re green and yellow because they’re made by John Deere, or because the Finns are Green Bay Packer fans.”
“I liked that Bernice decided not to come with us,” said Dick Teig.
Bernice was so sullen after her run-in with Portia that she’d decided to skip Annika’s walking tour.
“It’s too bad she’s missing this,” I commented as I strolled beside Nana and George. “It’s not every day you get a chance to visit Helsinki. What can she possibly be doing in her hotel room that’s more fun than soaking up local color?”
“Sulkin’,” said Nana.
“Or complaining to the front desk,” added George. “She’s figured out that’s a good way to get an upgrade.”
“Could take her a while to get over her hurt feelin’s,” Nana predicted. “That Portia cut her right to the quick. All’s I hope is that the bad blood between ’em don’t end up causin’ you problems, dear.”
I shuddered at the thought of keeping the two women apart and their tongues in check for the rest of the trip. “How’s your nose?” I asked George to divert my mind.
“Don’t feel a thing.” He fingered the purple bruises beneath his eye sockets and tapped the hard plastic nose guard the medics had given him to strap around his face. “Can’t believe it’s broken.”
Nana gave his hand a squeeze. “Jackie done a crackerjack job pullin’ him outta the harbor.”
It would have been even more crackerjack if she hadn’t broken his nose in the process. “In the interest of self-preservation, George, the next time one of Nana’s Polaroids blows away, would you just let it go?”
He shook his head in disgust. “I woulda been okay if I hadn’t run out of real estate. Another five feet—that’s all I needed.”
“Where is Jackie?” asked Nana. “Wasn’t she supposed to call?”
“That’s what she said.” But I’d shopped all afternoon, dropped my packages off at the hotel, eaten dinner, and taken the walking tour without hearing a peep out of her. I checked my cell. “She hasn’t left a message.”
“Could be she hooked up with some a them Florida folks,” Nana suggested. “They seemed real anxious to suck up to her. None a them is here neither, so maybe she’s off readin’ to ’em somewhere.”
I’d thought it odd that the Floridians hadn’t participated in the walking tour, but I’d attributed it to dinner schedules. Since none of the seniors had to worry about night blindness in Helsinki, they could actually hit a restaurant later than four o’clock.
We huffed and puffed our way up the slight incline to our hotel and pushed through the sparkling glass doors to the lobby. “Check the itinerary board before you head to your rooms,” Annika advised. “It lists all your departure and arrival times for tomorrow.”
As everyone crowded around the whiteboard, I asked the desk clerk for directions to the sauna, which she pronounced “sow-na,” then made a proposal to the group.
“Anyone want to tag along while I check out the sauna? We can’t visit Finland and not indulge in their national pastime.”
“You’re not getting me inside any steam room,” Helen scoffed. “I just had my hair done.”
“I don’t think there’s any steam,” I corrected. “It’s a dry heat.”
The ladies exchanged meaningful looks with each other. “Do we have to strip?” Lucille finally asked. “Because there’s no way us girls are going to sit in a room together without any clothes on.”
“According to what I’ve read, the sauna is traditionally taken in the nude, but—”
“Is it coed or segregated?” asked George.
“In a family sauna, it’s usually coed,” I said, “but hotels might have different rules for—”
“If Emily gets naked, you can count me in!” whooped Dick Teig.
“Me, too,” said Dick Stolee.
“I hope they have towels,” said Osmond.
“I hope they have blindfolds,” said Nana.
“You suppose they allow cameras?” asked Dick Teig. “Damn, I need film.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, here’s the plan: we’ll find the sauna, read the house rules, then decide if the experience is for us. How does that sound?”
Everyone liked the plan, so we exited the lobby down a long corridor lined with fancy boutiques and rode the elevator to sub-level one—a well-lit underground
concourse with passageways shooting off in every direction. “To the right,” I said after reading all the signs.
“Yeah,” said Margi Swanson, “but to the left is that huge shopping complex we passed on the way back to the hotel. We can reach it underground. Is anyone feeling the need to buy a bathing suit?”
“I am,” said Helen.
“So am I,” said Lucille. “Maybe we can find a Lane Bryant outlet.”
“I can buy my film,” said Dick.
“I’m gonna look for dark glasses,” said Nana, “just in case they don’t got blindfolds.”
“Guys!” I called as they all began to scatter. “What about the sauna?”
“Dick and me will meet you back here in ten minutes,” said Dick Stolee, pressing the push-pin of his stopwatch. “Don’t strip down without us.”
“Read the signs if you get lost,” I yelled after them. “Establish landmarks!”
Normally, Iowans don’t get lost, but I didn’t know if their internal directional systems would work underground.
My phone started chirping halfway to the sauna. “Jack?” I said when I connected.
“Hi, Em, can you guess who this is?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. “Mom?”
“That’s right! I’ve never spoken to anyone overseas before, so I wasn’t sure you’d recognize my voice.”
“What’s wrong? Is it Dad? Oh, my God, do you need me? Should I come home?”
“This is an excellent connection, Emily. You sound as if you’re right next door. I bet you’re paying big bucks for mobile service like this.”
“Mom! What about Dad?”
“Your father and I are fine, dear. He’s right here, waving hello.”
“Steve and the boys. Mary Ann. Are they okay?”
“We saw them this morning. They’re fine, too.” She hesitated. “Under the circumstances.”
Eh! Here it was. The phone call you always dread when you’re traveling. “What circumstances?”
“Well, you know how Main Street cuts right through the center of town and passes by the church, the funeral parlor, and Lars Bakke’s grain elevator?”
“I’m familiar with Main Street, Mom.”
