Joanne pulled back and looked at me. “Miss Personality. Thanks a lot. That’s like being the runner-up, I guess. Miss Big Mouth with the nice skin and the great personality.”
If I’d realized I was going to touch such a sensitive area in Joanne’s psyche, I never would have said anything about my hair or our noses or anything. We hadn’t been together for two hours yet, and here we were, back in our old habit of tearing ourselves down in front of the other in high hopes that the other sister would build us back up. Joanne had tossed out the invitation for me to boost her, and I had given her nothing more uplifting than “you have a great personality.” Bad choice.
I didn’t know what to say to elevate the down-turned mood.
Joanne was the one who buoyed up the conversation. “We better scoot along, or they’ll lock the dining room doors on us, like Sandy said.”
“I need to take another shower.” I glanced at my watch. “A quick shower. Then will you rub this lotion on my back?”
I realized the beauty of being sisters meant that we could walk away from a potential pity party with all the telltale streamers suspended in midair and return any time we wanted. It also meant I could ask her to touch my afflicted skin without wondering if she was really grossed out by the thought but willing to do it to be nice.
That’s the beauty of sisterhood. Our relationship didn’t require extra maintenance to ensure that we always would be connected with each other, the way a friendship did. Joanne and I were bonded for life.
So, if that’s true, why haven’t I ever asked her about Russell?
I stepped into the steaming shower and decided tonight would be the ultimate slumber party after dinner. At long last Joanne would tell all.
Or I’d pulverize her with all the extra bath towels.
Twenty-five minutes later, we trotted down the hall to the elevator with Joanne wearing a semiformal, sequined-bodice gown she had borrowed from Sandy, her friend who had cruised the Bahamas and had invested in a proper wardrobe for such a journey.
I tagged behind Joanne looking much less elegant. My white button-up shirt was freshly ironed but untucked, hanging casually over my nicest pair of black pants. The rash had been arrested, but the itch factor was still at large, and I was trying to keep my clothes loose and breezy. I gave up on wearing any jewelry because even the silver necklace I brought felt itchy on the back of my neck.
Entering the large dining room, we were shown to a table in the center area that was set for six people. Four others already were seated. Most of the people in the dining room were dressed casually, I noticed. No one was as dressed up as Joanne.
Joanne turned to me and muttered, “Apparently this short cruise has a different dress code than Sandy’s Bahamian cruise.”
“You look lovely this evening,” the wine steward said diplomatically, as he filled Joanne’s glass with water. “Most of our guests save their formal wear for our dinner on the final evening.”
“Oh, I see.” To her credit, Joanne seemed to shake off the discomfort of being ahead of the rest of the ship on the evening dress code. Instead, she entered into the introductions around the table as warmly as if she were wearing jeans and a T-shirt like the woman on her right. That was the strength of Joanne’s personality. She could flex much better than I could.
The couple on our right was from Montana and celebrating their fifteenth anniversary. The couple across from us was from Newport Beach, California, and said this was their second trip to Mexico on this cruise line.
“We had such a great time, we decided to come again. The food is exceptional.” The friendly man from California was in his late fifties or early sixties with what looked like a burn scar running up the side of his neck and ear. His eyes twinkled as he said, “I can personally recommend every one of their desserts. Especially the ones they serve at the mid-night buffet.”
“One meal at a time, Robert!” his demure wife, Marti, said, as she received the menu being handed to her.
“My sister and I have never been on a cruise before,” Joanne said, nodding to me. “Any advice you have will be greatly appreciated.”
“The evening shows are entertaining,” Marti said, laying aside her menu. “However, the shopping tomorrow in Ensenada isn’t much to speak of, unless you’re in the market for clay pots. I personally enjoy the ice sculptures at the midnight buffets. They are beautifully done.”
The ship seemed to let out a long groan, a sort of wide-mouthed yawn. The floor gave off a low vibration.
“Ahoy!” Robert called out. “We’re on our way out to sea.”
So it wasn’t my imagination; we were moving. The movement was a strangely subtle sensation. I had pictured our departure from the harbor to be something from the movies, complete with streamers and confetti and people on the shore waving to us as we glided out to sea.
Instead, we were seated in a fancy dining room listening to Natalia, our waitress, as she ran through the details of the feast we were about to enjoy. She was darling and sparkly and spoke with a heavy accent.
When she stepped away from the table with the order for our appetizers, Joanne said, “Now I can see why Sandy gained ten pounds on her cruise! They make all the food sound so good you want to try everything.”
“I made sure I tried every dessert offered on our last cruise,” Robert said.
“I have a solution for the weight gain,” Marti interjected. “Don’t take the elevators the entire cruise. Always take the stairs.”
Just then a young man dressed as a pirate came over to our table with a stuffed parrot. A photographer joined him, and before we could pose, the pirate positioned himself between Joanne and me and placed his parrot puppet on my shoulder.
“Arrrgh, maties!” the pirate growled as the camera flashed. “Ye can pick up your photos at the lower level of the lobby after dinner. Arrrgh.”
We laughed as the pirate made his way around the table, and our appetizers were delivered with a flourish. My daring sister had ordered escargot, which was served in rounded pewter dishes with small, sunken pockets for each of the garlic- and butter-saturated curlycues.
“You’re going to share this with me aren’t you?” Joanne asked.
Robert also ordered the escargot, and he dove in with great verbal admiration for the tenderness and quality of the delicacy.
I was having a hard time moving past the thought that these people were putting snails in their mouths, biting into them, and swallowing. Joanne forked one of the tidbits and gave me a sly eyebrows-up glance before putting the bite in her mouth. I watched her carefully.
“Superb,” she said with calm sophistication.
Superb! Ha! I doubted she had ever tried escargot before or had anything to compare it with. I also didn’t particularly enjoy watching her enter into a new experience before me.
Not to be outclassed, I reached for a small fork, knowing that if I didn’t take the challenge, this crazy power balance between us would forever be tipped in Joanne’s favor. I had to eat the snail. I mean, escargot.
Drawing the fork to my mouth, I placed the rubbery morsel on top of my molars instead of on my tongue to avoid contact with my taste buds. With two quick, sufficient chews I swallowed. The garlic taste overpowered my senses. With a polite nod to the observing dinner guests, I borrowed Joanne’s word. “Superb.”
Joanne laughed at me. It was a soft, tender, sisterly laugh and not meant to embarrass or demean.
Two minutes later I excused myself from the table. Trying to walk slowly and appear calm, I made my way to the little girl’s room. Apparently snails don’t enjoy being the only visitor in a stomach that, aside from some pulverized airline peanuts, a smuggled chocolate truffle, and antihive medication, had been vacant since breakfast.
I took the long way back to our table, making sure my stomach was settled. The salad I’d ordered was waiting for me. Poached pear with caramelized walnuts. Thankfully Joanne didn’t begin a medical interrogation. She was in the middle of a conversation wi
th Robert, and as I listened in, I ascertained he was in real estate and knew a few things about land ownership in Mexico.
“The bank in Mexico still holds the trust for our property,” Joanne said.
That’s when I knew that in my absence she had disclosed to our dinner guests that we were owners of beachfront property in Mexico. I wondered how her announcement had gone over.
Robert nodded. “Mexican banks hold 100 percent of the control of all coastal and border lands purchased by foreign investors. Make sure you check your dates on your documents. Most trusts only run for fifty years, but the government is obligated to issue a new permit for another fifty years no matter how much time remains on the original trust.”
“That’s good to know,” Joanne said.
“I shouldn’t have gotten him started on real estate.” Marti leaned over and gave the appearance she was confiding in Joanne and me. “I should know by now to avoid the topics of real estate and golf if I want to stay in the conversation.”
The couple across from us talked about water skiing, and Marti clicked out of the conversation altogether. I felt equally disconnected. What amazed me was how my sister came across so warmly responsive to these people she just met. She appeared comfortable with any topic and any combination of table companions.
I felt ready to have Joanne all to myself after dinner. The first thing she asked, once we were away from everyone else, was if I felt okay. I filled her in on the details.
“Do you think the ship’s movement set you off? We could see about getting you a seasickness patch to put behind your ear.”
“No, it was the snail. I didn’t have lunch, remember? But let’s not talk about the appetizers. The rest of dinner was great. I’m fine now.”
“This hasn’t been a very enjoyable trip for you so far, has it? First the hives and then the nausea.”
“I hope that means everything can only get better.”
“It will,” Joanne said confidently.
“You know what’s strange?” I asked. “All this pampering and fancy food is supposed to be a luxury. We’re supposed to experience a taste of how the other half lives, but to be honest, I’m not impressed yet.”
“This isn’t exactly how the other half lives. Do you know how many millions of people live with barely enough clothing and food to make it through each day?”
I regretted starting my sister on this topic. She was passionate about how clueless people were regarding the conditions the rest of the world lived in. “If even a fraction of the comfortable people in the western world would share just the smallest percentage of their wealth with the rest of the world, so much could be changed,” Joanne said. “I told Sandy I didn’t think I’d be able to relax and enjoy all this lavishness, but she scolded me and said I needed to be thankful that this cruise had been given to me and to learn to receive graciously.”
“It is a gift,” I agreed. “I haven’t been very grateful yet, either. I think it’s hard to receive sometimes when you’re used to being the one who does the giving.”
Joanne nodded.
We strolled side by side in silence through the lobby area and decided to check out the photo gallery on the lower level. The pirate photos weren’t posted yet, but the picture of the two of us in sombreros was adorable—not because we looked so great in goofy, oversize straw hats, but because we looked like us. And we looked young and happy even with our silly pose. Without hesitating, we each ordered a copy. The picture seemed to represent for both of us how to enter into this gift with delight.
Deciding that a stroll on deck would enable us to enter into the joy of the journey, we headed out on the side of the ship where we had gone earlier for the lifeboat drill.
Pausing at the rail, Joanne and I stood close together, peering down many stories below. Subtle glimmers of white-laced waves let us know we were truly at sea, moving south through the calm Pacific waters. I lifted my chin to the bracing wind, drawing in a deep breath. The night air carried with it a mysterious hint of the vast ocean that surrounded us, hidden in the dark cloak of night. Moist droplets of salty air clung to our eyelashes.
Laughter floated our way from the pool area behind us. We turned to see that several people were soaking in the elevated hot tub under a wide canopy. The steam rising from the elaborately designed area made me think of a cartoon scenario where unsuspecting victims were roasting in a cannibal’s stew pot. Only these roasting people looked happy about their predicament.
Below the hot tub the large and brightly lit swimming pool was void of night swimmers for good reason. The water wildly sloshed from side to side, creating a confined tidal wave.
“I think I’m the one who’s about to feel seasick now,” Joanne said with a laugh. “We’d better keep walking.”
Rounding the side of the ship, we spotted Robert walking toward us. He waved and greeted us by name. On a ship filled with nearly two thousand people, it was nice to be recognized.
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Robert called out. “I’m supposed to walk off my desserts before meeting Marti for the Broadway Hits Review at nine o’clock. If you two don’t have plans, you’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks,” Joanne and I said in unison.
“You know, I didn’t mention this at dinner because I knew my wife would kick me under the table if I dominated the conversation with real estate talk, but I have an associate who is developing some property here in Baja. He bought his acreage in the late seventies and just now is turning it into a golf resort. It’s coming along nicely. About eighty acres. If it would help you to have his name and number, I’d be glad to give it to you.”
“I don’t know if we’d have anything specific to ask him,” I said. “I’m sure our property is nowhere near that size.”
“I thought he might help to clarify some of the details on the deed or help you to find a notary you can trust. Do you know if your property is north or south of Ensenada?”
“I’m not sure. It’s in a town called San Felipe.” I realized as I said the name that one of the many tasks on my to-do list had been to locate San Felipe on a map. I couldn’t believe that detail had slipped past me.
“San Felipe?” Robert repeated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, San Felipe.”
“Is that near where your friend is building his resort?” Joanne asked.
“No. Actually, San Felipe is on the east coast of Baja. On the Sea of Cortez.”
“Are you saying San Felipe isn’t close to Ensenada?” My stomach rumbled deeply, and I felt sick all over again.
“It’s on the other side of the Baja Peninsula. My guess is San Felipe is about 150 miles east of where we dock tomorrow.” He tilted his head. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you ladies plan to get there?”
I was lost. I felt as if I’d just failed a geography pop quiz. I had assumed far too much knowledge from my neurotic aunt and her less-than-competent lawyer. This stunning news flattened me.
“We’ll rent a car,” Joanne said optimistically.
“It’s too far,” I sputtered. “Even if we rent a car, the ship only docks in Ensenada for the day. We would have to drive to San Felipe and be back to the ship by five o’clock. We can’t do that.”
“Sounds like you’ll have to adjust your plans,” Robert said.
“We need a map,” I said.
“We need Sven,” Joanne said. “Let’s go to the lobby and see if he can sort this out for us.”
“You know, renting a car isn’t a bad idea.” Robert followed us to the elevators, where I kept pushing the Down button as if my anxiety would hurry up the mechanical contraption.
“You could rent a car in Ensenada tomorrow, drive over to San Felipe, stay a few days at your uncle’s place, sign the papers at the bank, and then drive back to Ensenada.”
“We’d miss the boat,” Joanne said.
I felt like saying we’d already missed the boat in more ways than one, but I kept my lips sealed. I was trying to think.
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“You’ll miss the return trip on this cruise,” Robert said. “But these cruise liners come down here twice a week. Instead of sailing home on Wednesday, you could catch the next big bucket home on Saturday.”
His suggestion had merit. However, the last thing I wanted to do was step into an even more unplanned and unregulated situation.
“You know, Joanne.” I tried to sound as if I’d thought this through. “Maybe we should finish the cruise, go home, and start all over with the San Felipe part. We need to put more time and organization into our plans instead of running headlong into chaos.”
“This isn’t chaos, Melanie. We’re on a free luxury cruise that’s taking us within … what?” She turned to Robert for backup.
“One hundred and fifty miles, roughly.”
“Within one hundred and fifty miles of Uncle Harlan’s beach house. How can we turn around and go home when we’re so close? What would our options be? Wait for the bank to send the documents?”
“You don’t want to do that,” Robert said. “Not after what I saw my friend go through with his paperwork for the golf resort. It takes months. Years sometimes.”
“We know,” Joanne said. “It took the bank in San Felipe three years to notify us that we were the beneficiaries.”
Robert let out a low whistle.
Joanne was on a roll now, and I knew she wasn’t about to let up. “It doesn’t make sense for us to go home and then turn around a month later to fly back to Mexico. Do we even know if San Felipe has an airport? You and I could end up flying back to Ensenada and driving the 150 miles anyhow. We might as well do it now.”
I didn’t want to do it now. I didn’t want to take off in some rental car and drive across Mexico to a fishing village where it was unlikely anyone spoke English. The lure of beachfront property held little appeal to me at the moment. I didn’t want to be away from home for an additional three days. Luxury cruise or not, I didn’t want to be here at all. I was losing the tug-of-war I’d been having all day with the anxiety monster, and my unhappy gut was telling me fear was about to take me down.
Sisterchicks in Sombreros Page 5
