"Won't Barney be upset?" I asked her as we walked through the cobbled streets to the small sex shop we knew was hiding among the ancient multi-level stone labyrinth. Ibiza was a bizarre place built up over a millennium of war. Where cannonballs were once stored now boomed world-class discos. Ramps once kept clear for rolling cannon up to parapets were now laden with passed out ravers. Many had been up for so long, dancing night and day and night again, courtesy of drugs, they had finally exited to the fresh air and passed out wherever they were.
"He's huge," I continued. "I don't want to make him mad."
"You know how laid back he is about these things," Cosmina answered. "It takes a lot to get him angry. Of course you don't want to be around when you do. Anyway, he knows there's nothing between us. Plus I said I'd pick up something nice."
"Now we're talking!" I teased.
The shop was very small but packed with merchandise. While the walls dripped all manner of sex toys, the center was dominated by bins overflowing with discount porn DVDs. So large were the DVD containers that shoppers were pushed into narrow aisles along the walls. This brought them nose-to-nose with dildos, vibrators, latex masks, and all sorts less mainstream amusements. Anyone uncomfortable about the subject matter got over it real quick, or fled screaming into the night.
"I saw Yoyo here earlier," Cosmina suddenly said.
I looked at her in surprise and said, "You came here earlier? You told me you were too embarrassed to come alone."
"Not exactly true," she admitted with a shrug. "I had just arrived when Yoyo came in. At first I freaked when I saw him. I don't want to even think about what he's buying here. When he saw me he tried to pretend he was all straight and stuff. I don't know why he bothers. It was funny, though. Anyway, as soon as he saw me, I ran as fast as Susie in a French restaurant."
"Nice," I said.
"Oh my God," Cosmina cried, bringing her hands to her mouth. "I recognize something!"
I raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She burst out laughing.
"You have no idea how proud of you I am," I said earnestly. "Please, do tell."
"I saw it in Sex and the City," she replied. She tried to say it flatly, but her wriggling lips gave away her joyous mood. "It's called the Rabbit."
My eyes scanned the multitude of offerings, but spotting a specific toy was like finding a needle in a stack of needles.
"Here," she said, reaching up to pull a box from a peg on the wall.
When she presented the sex toy, my eyes widened in surprise. My needle analogy was sadly insufficient. This thing was, well, humbling in its size. Behold: the Vibratex Rabbit Pearl!
"I've got to get this!" she exclaimed. Then, realizing she said that aloud, she suddenly grew embarrassed. "Oh my God, I can't pay for this. What if someone sees me?"
"Well, I'm looking at you right now," I replied. "In a whole new light, I might add."
"Stop it," she chided. "I'm serious. I can't have any passengers seeing me with this."
"There's nobody here but us," I pointed out. "Look, I'll buy it for you. No biggie."
Though it was obvious Cosmina wanted to purchase the Rabbit, doing so still required much coaxing. In the end I had to buy several German porn DVDs—enough so that she felt I deserved to be more embarrassed than her. With her shiny, new, naughty item tucked safely away in a nondescript shopping bag, I figured the matter was closed. As it turned out, it was just getting started.
"Oh my God!" Cosmina suddenly cried, aghast. She came to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "How will I get this through security on the ship?"
"Why would they mind a vibrator?" I asked, confused.
"They have to scan my bag," Cosmina explained. "That means everyone will see its X-ray on the screen!"
I started chuckling.
"Honestly, I'd like to see that," I admitted. "But can't you request a personal search instead?"
"And have the chief know it was mine? No way! At least if I'm in line there could be confusion over whose bag it is."
"You need to embrace your sexuality," I teased. "I say scan that thing!"
"Everyone else will see it, too," she lamented. Her brow furrowed deeply and she eyed the nearby sea. She was apparently considering chucking the offending item into the drink.
"Fine, fine," I said. "Give it to me. I'll pretend it's mine."
"No," she said slowly. "I'll just board last—very last. That way no guests will see.”
And so it was we boarded the ship very last. Just before placing her bag on the X-ray machine, Cosmina nearly made a run past the guards. At the last moment she composed herself by lighting a cigarette.
"You know you can't light up here," the security guard grunted, surprised.
"Oh, sorry," she said. She dropped her shopping bag on the machine and ran back down the gangway to dispose of her cigarette. Now at a safe distance, better to gauge the guards' reactions, she watched her bag slide into the machine. Instantly the monitor was emblazoned with the brilliant halo of a gargantuan mechanized dildo. It was fascinating, actually. The individual pearls—which I presume spin around inside the shaft—radiated like a tumor.
Creepy analogy aside, the whole situation was quite hilarious. I couldn't stop laughing. Neither could the security guards. Cosmina was so embarrassed that she nearly ran away into the night, forgetting about the ship entirely. Only reluctantly did she set foot back aboard. This time she did run past the guards, forgoing the usual pat-down. They watched her go, laughing even louder.
But the joke was far from over. Because nothing was scanned afterwards, the embarrassing image remained on the monitor all night long. We had assumed security would power off the machine and the image would disappear forever. Alas, they kept it going all night. Whether this was standard operating procedure or sheer malice, I don't know.
Even worse, the image was up half the next day, too, for Wind Surf arrived in port late after twelve o'clock noon. As the passengers queued up to tender out, they had loads of time to regard the X-ray in great, glowing detail. Cosmina led the first batch of tour guests down to security and saw it. She nearly swooned upon recognizing her Rabbit Pearl vibrator.
Oh, it was precious. But the laughing died soon after, when Eddie sent two kids to the hospital with broken skulls.
Alas, falling badly while riding a banana boat happens a lot. In fact, it's part of the fun. But that day just off the shores of Lipari Island, Italy, two young men fell not just badly, but devastatingly so. The teens had been riding the banana boat with their parents. The raft hit a rogue wave and all four were smashed into each other. The timing was just right and the momentum just wrong; the two boys knocked heads.
The younger teen suffered a mild concussion. His older brother appeared to have broken an eardrum. Blood trickled out of his ear. Dr. Faye gave him a full review, but was unable to identify to her satisfaction where the blood was coming from. She insisted both boys have full scans on the shore. A good thing, too: he had a cracked skull and internal brain hemorrhage. Fortunately, having identified the issue early, he was treated and was ultimately just fine.
Late that night I found Eddie in the ship's library. I'd been looking for him for hours, unaware he'd gone ashore to the hospital with the family and Faye. I didn't know what to say, but knew what needed to be said. It wasn't his fault. I knew Eddie well enough to know he'd feel completely responsible for potentially killing that boy. But just because he was driving the boat did not mean he could predict—let alone stop—a rogue wave. The sea had been glassy smooth prior to the accident. Certainly he wasn't driving too fast because the Zodiac boat was old and literally incapable of speeding. No, it was not Eddie's fault in the least. In fact, it had been his cool demeanor under pressure that had gotten both semi-conscious boys safely out of the water and to the doctor. But like all real heroes, he didn't think of himself that way.
The library was small, appropriately bookish, and quiet. Though inside were only Eddie and Susie, the atmosphere was crowded—cr
owded with regret. Eddie was just staring ahead, overwhelmed by it all. It was painful to see him being so hard on himself. It was even worse seeing Susie be selfish in Eddie's moment of need. As I entered the room, she was using his lack of protest as an opportunity to push her agenda.
"This is proof we shouldn't be here," Susie was saying, "Just another reason. One of many."
Eddie ignored her.
"It's a sign from above," she pressed.
Eddie slowly turned to look at her. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was most clear.
"A sign?" he rebuked sharply. "A sign from above? You think God had me nearly kill two boys as a reminder that you wanna go home?"
She leaned back, surprised. She began fussing and said, "Well—"
"Get the fuck out of here!" he seethed.
Susie did as ordered. She ran towards the door, tears streaming down her face. In her effort to escape she collided with me, nearly knocking me off my feet. I watched her run down the corridor, then turned back to look at Eddie. He sat alone among the books, now quiet, now composed. I decided to let him be and closed the door.
Chapter 18. Marrakech, Morocco
1
A week later, a minor miracle occurred. Two, actually, if you count my not going to a Moroccan prison. But the real miracle happened in a place and manner that was most surprising. It involved monkeys. That, in and of itself, is not surprising. Everybody knows a good story must have monkeys.
The passengers had changed, but Eddie still felt haunted by the two injured boys. When with others he was his usual chipper self, but would grow uncharacteristically quiet when he thought others weren't looking. I desperately wanted to cheer him up. It was a rare moment of accord between Susie and myself. Working together, we even succeeded. It happened at Gibraltar.
If you've heard of Gibraltar, you probably know it has a rock. Boy, does it. The Rock of Gibraltar is the stuff of legend. It's impossible to not be impressed by at least one of the many aspects of the Rock. Even Cosmina would get off on that old rock.
The history was staggering. After all, the sole access to all of the Mediterranean to the outside world was through the Strait of Gibraltar. He who ruled a mere seven miles of waterway—from the tip of Morocco to the tip of Spain—ruled the Mediterranean. As if the Strait wasn't easy enough to defend, the north shore was anchored by the famed, impregnable Rock. This natural, solid stone fortress rose a thousand feet high. Well, not solid—it was riddled with no less than 350 miles of tunnels and oodles of caverns.
In fact, the interior of the Rock was more interesting than the exterior. One chamber was so big they made it into a theater. Behind the stage were natural rock formations stunningly lit in several colors. Pavarotti himself sang there. Most amazing of all was the underground lake in the Rock—still five hundred feet above sea level! But, really, it wasn't about the history or the caverns. It's all about the monkeys.
The Rock of Gibraltar is home to Barbary Macaques. They are the only wild population of monkeys in Europe. They were most likely brought over from north Africa by the Moors during their seven hundred year reign. There is considerable debate about how that happened and why. What is undisputed, however, is that they were already a problem when the British took over the area in 1713. Also undisputed is that they are feisty, thieving little bastards.
Several hundred monkeys live on the Rock, divided into five troops that live at the top of the Rock. Once in a while a few might make a brief foray into town at the base of the Rock. This results in a bit of hassle to protect property from theft or damage, but most locals believe the presence of the monkeys is worth the trouble.
Certainly the British monarchy would agree. According to legend, as long as the monkeys are on the Rock the British will own it and keep their monarchy alive. Legend or not, the British take it seriously enough to keep tabs on the monkeys at all times. In 1942 the population dwindled to just seven, and the great British Prime Minister Sir Winston Churchill ordered the numbers of monkeys be replenished immediately from both Morocco and Algeria. The order was enacted in what was surely an efficient, if loud and exasperating, military manner.
In fact, for centuries the entire monkey population was taken care of by the British Army. The military controlled their population and even appointed an officer to supervise their welfare. This included disciplined food allowances of such items as fruit, vegetables and nuts—all included in the monkey budget. Yes, the British military had a monkey budget. The officers recorded the births of the macaques and, in proper military fashion, named every single new infant, usually after some high ranking official or other. Should any macaque fall ill, it was taken to the Royal Naval Hospital. In fact, Gibraltar Monkeys received treatment equal to that of any other enlisted person.
Tourists loved the monkeys, of course. The feeling was quite mutual. How else would the monkeys get their greedy little hands on treats like sandwiches and candy bars? Obesity was the leading cause of death among Gibraltar Monkeys.
Our tour van chugged up the steep road that wound higher, ever higher, to the Upper Rock. Just off the road was a plummet straight down to the sea. Those of us on the passenger side of the van—or driver side, rather, since it was British territory and a British vehicle—tried not to look down. Susie and Aurelia both hunkered down over their tour-provided boxed lunches. Cheetos were safer to contemplate than a vertical cliff of 1,000 feet. Eddie and I, however, strained to see past them and into the great abyss of sky. The driver, a small, middle-aged Englishman in a hat, stared straight ahead at the long, long line of brake lights. There was only one road to the top and everybody was on it.
We heard a thunderous thump. Something large hit the roof of the van. It was so loud that several of us nearly dropped our lunches.
"Stow your food," the driver ordered. "Put it away good."
"What was that?" Susie asked, rather alarmed.
"Him," the driver answered, gesturing a thumb out his window.
There, sitting complacently on the driver's side rearview mirror, was a big monkey. He was a burly animal with cocoa-colored fur covering his entire body. His face was 'clean shaven' and a lighter brown. He had no tail. He seemed quite complacent. Another heavy thump rattled our roof and our nerves, and this time we heard a scrambling. We could follow the sound from the back of the roof all the way to the front. Then the antenna began waving madly. Occasional flashes of a small, hairy paw could be seen playfully batting at it, exactly as a cat would paw a length of string.
We exited the vehicle and oodles of monkeys were immediately all over us. They jumped into our not-so-waiting arms and onto our backs. Susie, being a rather sturdy lass, was the target of a particularly big and ugly varmint. It leaped onto her back and immediately scrambled onto her head. With the living, squirming monkey mask blocking her vision, she began flailing her hands and running around. This would have been hilarious, had she not been several steps from a precipice a thousand feet down. Eddie rushed over and steadied her. Though he tugged on the beast, it refused to budge. It absolutely loved being on Susie's head. Indeed, it even began batting Eddie's hands away as he reached for it.
And then the miracle happened. Susie suddenly composed herself, consciously setting aside her knee-jerk reaction of fear. She stood a little taller. Peering from beneath the protruding, hairy belly of the monkey, she smiled. It was a radiant smile, reflected in her eyes. They'd never looked so pretty.
Eddie smiled, too, and exclaimed, "It's about time!"
All three of my companions were targeted for monkey business, though I was avoided for some reason. But my moment of intimacy came soon enough. A baby monkey leapt up onto Aurelia's back and—no doubt having watched others of his kind—began grooming her sweater. It was adorable. Delicate little fingers poked and prodded through the weave of her sweater. Perhaps he wanted to smooth the patterns into the uniform elegance he found on his family. More likely he wanted to find a bug to snack on. He had yet to grow up into a sugar and fat addicted,
corpulent freeloader like the others. Aurelia thought it was cute, but grew mildly alarmed when he wouldn't stop. Try as she might, she couldn't shoo it off. Finally I held out my hand and the baby monkey took it just like any little kid, and jumped down. The skin on his palm was not rough, as I suspected, but quite soft and supple.
Leaving the van behind—it would catch up, as there was only a single one-way road—we walked to the top of the Rock. The views of dry Spain and even drier Morocco were stunning. Unfortunately, the weather was not dry. The thick clouds above had begun to spit at us. Meanwhile, monkeys bounced all over the place.
Eddie seemed truly happy. He was having a blast and, amazingly, so was Susie. Not all things were perfect, however. When Susie saw Aurelia and I cuddling—Aurelia was a very clingy lover—she tried the same with Eddie. It didn't work.
After a while we'd seen our fill. The van came easing up to us, a monkey sneaking a ride on each side mirror. When we approached the vehicle, they scrambled up onto the roof. I opened the door and suddenly a monkey struck. It was astoundingly fast. In the bat of an eye, the animal swooped into the van, reached deep into the seat back pocket, fished out Aurelia's bag of chips, and leapt back out. The whole maneuver literally took about two seconds. Even if he'd seen the chips in advance, that would have been amazing. Obviously he knew what people did with their uneaten food. I thought it was amazing. Aurelia didn't.
"Hey!" she shouted, leaping half-way out the van after him. She shook her little fist in the air and squeaked furiously, "Those are my Cheetos! You give them back!"
Laughing, Eddie said, "I think he's scared of you, Aurelia."
High Seas Drifter (Cruise Confidential 4) Page 27
