Santa Cruise

by Fern Michaels

  “Good thinking,” Frankie answered.

  They both switched handbags to something more summery and tropical. Rachael had a pink straw bag that matched her pink sundress and pink sandals. Frankie’s midi dress was white, and she opted for a plain natural straw tote and a pair of natural espadrilles. Frankie resisted the urge to tell Rachael that she looked like a Popsicle stick. A cute one, no doubt. Maybe she should say something, especially when Rachael slipped on a matching pair of sunglasses.

  Using one of Rachael’s favorite words, Frankie said, “OK, chica. I think that’s more than enough pink. You’re starting to look like a Popsicle stick.”

  “Too much?” Rachael asked casually. “Good. That was the whole idea.” She gave a little samba dance on the sidewalk.

  Frankie rolled her eyes and laughed. “I should have known.” Within minutes, Rachael was getting catcalls from men driving by. They were also beeping their horns.

  “See? I’m practicing.” Rachael grinned.

  “And you are doing a splendid job.”

  As they passed a little Cuban café, Frankie stopped and said, “Let’s get a Cuban coffee. I haven’t had one in a long time.” She looked at Rachael. “Although I don’t think you need any caffeine.”

  “Oh stop. I’m doing just fine. That is, unless I’m embarrassing you.” Rachael gave her a sideways look.

  “Me? I do well enough on my own, thank you,” Frankie said in a self-deprecating way.

  “Imposible,” Rachael answered in Spanish.

  “I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together over the past ten years, but believe me, I’ve pulled a few whoppers.”

  “Care to share?” Rachael asked sincerely.

  “Oh, there was the time when I didn’t see the ice in front of my building and landed on my ass. In front of my boss.” Frankie took a gulp. “That wouldn’t have been so bad except my wool skirt went up around my waist.”

  “You were wearing underwear, I presume?” Rachael eyed her.

  “Of course I was. Even tights. But it was embarrassing, nonetheless. Who wants to have their boss see you butt-plant yourself on the sidewalk at Rockefeller Center?”

  “Good point.” Rachael mamboed her way between the tightly positioned tables. A young Latino man approached them. “Good afternoon. What may I get you?”

  Rachael was in a feisty mood. “That all depends on what you have to offer.” She gave him a wink.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her. They only let her out of the institution once a month,” Frankie said with a straight face. The man looked perplexed until both women burst out laughing.

  “Sorry. I’m just having some fun.” Rachael calmed the alarmed waiter. “Café Cubano and a pastelito, por favor!”

  Frankie held up two fingers. “¡Dos, por favor!” She stuck out her tongue at Rachael. “See, I can speak Spanish, too.”

  The waiter brought the coffees and pastries a few minutes later as Rachael and Frankie talked about life, where they had started, and where they were now. Both agreed life could be challenging, and it was how you chose to deal with it that mattered. Hanging on to anger and resentment was a waste of time and valuable energy. Frankie was enjoying their conversation. Her interaction with Rachael over the past decade had been minimal. A few lunches every other year. You really couldn’t get into many deep exchanges. It was refreshing. Rachael had turned out to be a very successful, even-tempered woman. Her wild streak was still there, but she had learned to channel it better.

  “So what was up with the boyfriend merry-go-round this year? I mean, we know your penchant for flirtations. Were you still this way when you were with Greg?” Frankie asked, hoping she hadn’t stepped over the line.

  “This year was my year to prove to my mother that there were a lot of frogs out there and finding a good partner wasn’t as easy as one would think. Did people really settle years ago? Or were people different?”

  Frankie thought for a moment. “I think people are more contemplative as to what makes them happy and aren’t willing to settle for something that won’t. Look at your own life. You couldn’t suck it up and pretend everything was ‘happily-ever-after’ anymore. Enough was enough.”

  “You got that right, sister.” Rachael took a bite of her creamy pastelito.

  “Seriously. When you start to look around and see so many unhappy faces, you have to think ‘Wow, is that guy miserable, or what?’ I see it at work all the time. People always say, ‘I can’t wait to retire.’ ” Frankie shrugged. “What’s ironic is that over the past thirty years, thousands of self-help books have been published and millions of copies have been sold. True, many people seemed to have gotten ‘in tune,’ ”—Frankie used air quotes—“but I don’t think that very many people actually did anything about it. Probably made them even more miserable.”

  “¡Exactamente!” Rachael exclaimed. “I was so miserable being married to Greg. But I think part of the problem with people in general is that they settle. They think they’re doing the right and proper thing. Look how many people get married right after high school or even college. I waited a couple of years, but I should have waited longer. I settled because of the pressure I was getting from my family. And you’re right. I couldn’t suck it up anymore.” Rachael looked at Frankie. “What? You have that look.”

  “What look?” Frankie asked.

  “The one where you are pondering the great questions of life.” Rachael winked.

  “I was wondering what percentage of positive outcomes actually came out of all those books. You know, from way back to I’m OK—You’re OK, The Celestine Prophecy, The Power of Letting Go. There are a zillion of them.”

  “And I think I read all of them.” Rachael took another sip of her coffee.

  “Hmmm. Come to think of it, there’s only been one big bestseller. You probably read Girl, Wash Your Face. That was a good one actually.”

  “Yep. Read it. It’s about believing in yourself instead of the lies you’re told. But that’s been a common theme for years. As I said, I’ve read all of them. All right, I am obviously exaggerating, but I’ve actually read well over a hundred.”

  “And look. You are your own woman. You have a successful business, and are on a vacation with some of your favorite gal pals.”

  “Here’s to that and here’s to us.” Rachael clinked her demitasse cup against Frankie’s.

  “Yes. Here’s to us.” Frankie agreed.

  * * *

  Miami International Airport was bustling by late afternoon. Amy checked the overhead monitors and saw that Nina’s flight had already arrived and had a luggage carousel assigned. Amy heaved her large rolling bag off the slow-moving ramp and proceeded to the baggage claim area, where she would meet up with Nina.

  From the crowd, she heard “Doll-face!” and recognized the voice immediately. Amy waved as Nina zigzagged her way through the crowd, trying not to run over anyone’s toes with her suitcase. Nina let go of the bulky bag and gave Amy a big bear hug. “Lovin’ that hair.” She tousled the light pink bob.

  Amy gave her a squeeze. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this. I can’t wait to set sail for the glorious Caribbean.” Amy was all atwitter.

  “Come on. Let’s grab a taxi.” Nina glanced down at Amy’s suitcase. “Is that all you have?”

  “Yes. Believe me, it is packed to the gills. But the woman who helped me pick out the clothes put together a lot of mix-and-match items. I’m so excited!” Amy’s pink cheeks were just a deeper shade than her hair.

  They inched their way through the other passengers who were eager to retrieve their belongings. As soon as the sliding doors opened, Nina exclaimed, “Oh, there goes my hair!” She let out a big guffaw.

  “You have great hair!” Amy reassured her.

  “If you like lots of curls. And, boy, am I gonna have them in a few seconds!” They waited for the light to change in the crosswalk. Nina nodded to the gentleman in the yellow vest who was directing people to different lines and shuttles
. She tilted her head in the direction of the taxi stand. He pointed to a stanchion where several people waited their turn.

  “Whew, it is humid, isn’t it?” Amy started to feel the perspiration trickle down her neck. “I’m not used to this.”

  “Me either! I don’t know how Frankie managed to finish four years of college in this steam bath.”

  After fidgeting for several minutes, it was their turn. “Vie Vay, please,” Nina instructed the driver.

  It was rush hour, and though the traffic was lighter than usual, it was still terribly slow. The cab driver was telling them how much the city had grown in the past several years and how worried he was about future hurricanes. Nina wondered how many times he had recited his soliloquy. The women chatted about what they were planning on eating and drinking and what sites they would visit when the ship docked at each port.

  “I want to do that sting-ray-petting thing,” Amy said whimsically.

  “Ew, I don’t know if I want to pet anything with the name ‘sting’ in it, unless it’s the musician!” She laughed.

  “Oh, it’s supposed to be supersafe,” Amy assured her. “I read all about it.” Amy was the brainiac, and research was her thing.

  “I’ll check the ship’s activity list to see what else is available.”

  “There are other types of snorkeling, horseback riding, charter boats, but who wants to get on another boat after being on one? You know what I mean?” Amy asked innocently. “Anyway, George Town is a tender port, which means the ship doesn’t actually dock at the port. We take a smaller boat to the island.”

  Nina smiled. “Leave it to you to get every detail down.”

  “Nah. Just a few tidbits.”

  The taxi pulled in front of the hotel, and the driver helped the women with their luggage. A bellman approached them.

  “Hi. We’re checking in for the night.” Amy’s enthusiasm was palpable. “We’re meeting our friends and going on a cruise.”

  “Oh yes, I met them earlier today.” He looked at the two suitcases and the carry-ons. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  “Yes,” Nina answered.

  The bellman let out a low chuckle. “You should see what your friends brought.”

  Nina and Amy looked at each other. “Rachael.”

  “Follow me.” The bellman escorted them to the front desk and waited for them to get their keycards.

  Amy could barely contain herself. “I am so excited.”

  “Yes, we can tell.” Nina gave her a wink.

  The three clambered into the elevator, and the bellman wheeled their suitcases to their suite. Loud knocking followed.

  “Let us in.” Squeals of laughter were greeted by Frankie and Rachael.

  “Don’t you have keys?” Rachael asked.

  “Yes. We just wanted to make a scene.” Nina jerked her thumb in Amy’s direction.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” became Amy’s mantra.

  “Me either,” Frankie replied, giving the pink-haired genius a kiss on the cheek.

  The bellman stood patiently as the women hugged each other, all talking at the same time. Finally, Nina realized he had been standing in the hallway waiting for instructions as to where he should unload his cart. “Sorry. We haven’t seen each other in a while.” She dug into her tote bag and pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it over to him.

  Frankie chimed in. “Nina, your stuff goes with mine.” She indicated for the bellman to put Nina’s suitcase in her room. Amy, you’ll go with Rachael. That’s if there’s enough room for your stuff!” She laughed.

  “Ha. Ha,” Rachael retorted.

  “Enjoy your cruise, ladies. I’m off tomorrow, so someone else will help you with your bags.” He noticed they weren’t paying any attention, so he disappeared down the hallway.

  The two-room, two-bathroom suite felt like a rich-girl sorority house. And the giggles and laughter made it even more so.

  Nina wanted to do a quick change before dinner. Amy did the same. Within a few short minutes, the four of them were ready for some Peruvian food.

  The restaurant was within walking distance of the hotel, but they all agreed that the humidity was stifling.

  “How on earth did you survive this sweatbox for four years?” Nina asked.

  “It didn’t seem as bad back then,” Frankie replied.

  “In point of fact, it wasn’t,” Amy chimed in. “Some people, especially some politicians, may deny global warming and climate change, but facts are facts. There are hot spots all over the country where the temperature has risen 1.8 degrees Celsius. In the last ten years, the temperature has climbed faster than it has since the Ice Age.”

  “Great. We’re doomed.” Nina smirked.

  “Just sayin’,” Amy replied with confidence.

  “Sure feels hotter,” Frankie noted.

  “One more factoid. The humidity in Miami has grown to an average of 87 percent a day.”

  “No wonder my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electric socket,” Nina remarked.

  The women laughed and picked up their pace.

  A beautiful Peruvian woman greeted them at the hostess station. “Good evening. Welcome to Pollos and Jarras. Will there be four for dinner?” she asked in an accent Rachael recognized from her brief romance with Paulo. She spoke to the woman in Spanish, telling her how much she had loved visiting Peru.

  “Such a show-off,” Nina muttered jokingly.

  “Huh?” Frankie was distracted by the Christmas decorations. “Check it out. Look at all the owl ornaments. They’re made from gourds.” She pointed to the artificial tree, where over a dozen were hung. “At least it looks like a Christmas tree.” She snickered. “Wow, look at this one.” It was a hand-carved gourd with miniature nativity figurines.

  “Cool. And these dolls.”

  The hostess was pleased that her guests appreciated the traditional décor. “Yes, those are Andean angels.” She gestured toward a table in the corner, where several were displayed on a shelf. “Please.” She motioned for them to sit.

  “Gracias,” Rachael replied. As soon as the woman was no longer in earshot, she continued. “She said this is a special table reserved for particular guests of the owners. So there.” She put on a stubborn expression.

  “We knew you would come in handy.” Frankie clapped Rachael on the shoulder.

  “I may have to charge you guys for translating.” She motioned for the handsome waiter to come over and proceeded to order drinks for everyone in Spanish. A lot of chatting went on between them as Rachael’s three friends chuckled and shook their heads.

  Frankie leaned in. “For real. She is going to come in handy.”

  “Sí, cuatro Pisco Sour! ¡Ceviche, aji de gallina, y lomo saltado! ¡Por favor! ¡Nosotros compartiremos!” She flashed him a dazzling smile.

  “OK. Clue us in.” Nina spoke first.

  Rachael propped her elbow on the table and coyly placed her fingers under her chin. She batted her eyelashes again. Nina was about to blow a gasket. It had been a long day. Sensing Nina’s annoyance, Frankie gave her a slight kick under the table. The kind your mother gave you if you were misbehaving in public. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say, “That’s enough.”

  Nina took an exceptionally long inhale and returned the kick to Frankie.

  Both women were trying not to giggle at this point.

  Rachael began to explain. “The Pisco Sour is the traditional Peruvian drink. It’s made with Pisco, a type of brandy, but it’s a far cry from a well-aged cognac.” She tossed her head back, being completely animated. “Anyway, it’s similar to grappa, but the cocktail itself is made with lime juice, simple syrup, egg whites . . . you even get protein with your drink . . . then it’s finished off with bitters.”

  “Sounds interesting.” Amy pondered the concoction.

  Rachael continued with less flamboyance but still excited. “We’ll start with ceviche, marinated shellfish, and then aji de gallina, a shredded chicken dish in a b
it of a creamy sauce.” She took a breath. “And we’ll have lomo saltado. It’s a stir-fried beef with chilis, tomatoes, and onions, with a dash of soy sauce. It’s served with either potatoes or rice.”

  “Yum. Sounds delicious,” Frankie cooed.

  “Do you think we could get some bread?” Nina asked. “I‘m really hungry. I don’t want to drink that potion on an empty stomach.”

  “Good idea. I’ve hardly eaten all day, myself. Airport food on the run isn’t the best,” Amy concurred.

  Rachael looked over in the waiter’s direction and gave him a nod. He hurried over to the table. “¿Podemos comer pan, por favor?” she asked casually.

  “¡Sí, señora!” He nodded and took two steps backward before he turned to the kitchen.

  Rachael gave the others a wink. “I am handy, ain’t I?”

  The waiter returned immediately with a basket containing a variety of breads. Pan de maíz, made with corn; pan chapla with anise seeds; and pan chapata, similar to Italian ciabatta bread.

  The women dug into the basket as if they hadn’t eaten in days.

  “These are so aromatic,” Nina exclaimed, as she sniffed a piece of the chapla.

  The waiter returned with their Pisco Sours. Everyone clinked glasses. “Here’s to a fabulous voyage.”

  “I’m going to be a blimp by the time this trip is over.” Amy ripped a chunk off the chapata.

  “Now, ladies, we mustn’t think of such things while we are on vacation. Including work.” Frankie was matter-of-fact.

  “Agreed,” Nina said after she swallowed a piece. “Besides, I have no one to talk to anyway.”

  Everyone stopped gabbing and munching. “What do you mean?” Amy asked.

  Frankie was the only person who knew the situation and placed her hand on Nina’s arm to give her moral support. Nina addressed the group. “They canceled the show.”

  “What? Oh no.” Amy gasped.

  “That’s terrible. Did you have any idea it was going to happen?” Rachael asked.

  “There were some hints and signs. Two of the major players wanted to go on to other projects, and the network didn’t think it was worthwhile to try to replace them. Replacing a secondary character, like me for example, is done all the time, but not the stars.”