Alice on Board

  Now she reached up and gingerly touched her lips. “It flew off, but … I don’t know … my lips felt funny and my cheek was … beginning to swell, and I had this sort of panicky feeling. I went back to the shoe store to ask if I could sit down, and the woman told me to go to the CVS … and … I’m not sure what happened after that. I think the pharmacist called 911. And then you were there with that thing on your head … I’m sure the ship’s sailed by now, Alice. What are we going to do?”

  I hadn’t got that far yet, but suddenly I realized I had nothing with me but a helmet that wasn’t even mine. No toothbrush, no ID …

  Liz nodded toward her bag. “Check my messages?” she asked.

  I picked up her bag again, set it on my lap, and began rummaging through it. “Can I use your lip gloss and comb if we have to sleep all night on the dock?” I asked.

  “Do I have any tampons?” she asked.

  I fished around some more. “One. Can I have half?”

  “If I get the half with the string,” she said, and we were laughing when the nurse came back.

  “Well, well, that’s a good sign,” she said. “We’re going to get you up and moving, Elizabeth. We won’t release you till we’re absolutely sure you’re going to be okay, but right now I’d bet on it. We’ll give you some epinephrine syringes and Benadryl capsules to take with you.”

  While Liz stood and walked and turned and sat and performed all the other obedience tricks the nurse asked of her, the IV stand rolling along beside, I checked her messages. There was one from Dianne:

  Goodness gracious, Liz! The hospital called with news about

  your allergic reaction. We do hope you’re okay and are

  glad you got immediate help. We’ll be holding the ship for

  a little while to see if you can make it. Check in with the

  harbormaster when you get back.

  “This is forty minutes old,” I said.

  Liz looked pleadingly at the nurse. “I really need to leave,” she said. “Look! I can stand on one foot!” She tried and almost fell over.

  “Or not,” the nurse said. “Sorry, but we’ve got to keep you a while longer. Doctor’s orders. We’ll call a cab to get you to the dock.”

  “I’ve been stung before and this never happened,” Liz told her.

  “She never wore Passion Petal perfume before either,” I commented, and the nurse smiled.

  “Bees love anything that smells floral, but I wouldn’t press my luck. Especially with you out on a cruise ship where you can’t get immediate help. If you’re ever alone when this happens again and have to give yourself an epinephrine injection—and this is only if you experience a breathing problem or facial swelling—you can use your thigh. If someone’s there with you, they can either inject your buttocks or inject you like this.” She squeezed the inside of Elizabeth’s upper arm and made a lump. “Right there,” she said.

  “Then why … ?” Liz asked, and flushed slightly.

  “Why did the ER guys use your fanny? Well, what other excitement would they have on a slow Tuesday?” the nurse said. “Joke! Joke! Seriously, that’s the best place because there’s lots of muscle back there, and it’s less likely to bother you.”

  “Less likely than to have a guy she doesn’t know holding her down with one hand and pulling her pants down with the other?” I said. “No telling what would have happened if I hadn’t been watching. You owe me one, Liz.”

  I nudged her and we laughed.

  “The ER guys are trained to do what they do, and we’re glad to have them,” the nurse said. “But I’m going to give you some towels and cleanser to get all that perfume off before you leave here. And if I were you, I’d shampoo my hair as soon as I was back on the ship.” She unhooked Liz from the IV and pointed the way to a restroom.

  As we went down the hall, Liz said, “I hate needles. I can’t stand the thought of injecting myself.”

  “Not to worry,” I said. “We’ll get one of the guys to help out.”

  When Liz was released at last, we sprang out of the hospital entrance like runners at the sound of the starting gun. I guess people who have to work in linoleum-floored places with antiseptic smells and hallways lined with stretchers concentrate on other things, like flowers in the gift shop and coffee machines and sunrooms and the banter of staff in the elevators.

  But all we wanted to do was get back on board and forget that this ever happened. Liz had stuffed the syringes and capsules in her bag along with her new flip-flops, and at last the taxi pulled up to the docking area. Liz paid the driver and asked for a receipt, and then we bounded down to the waterfront to face … a big empty space.

  There’s nothing quite like staring far out over the Chesapeake Bay at your cruise ship, sailing slowly out of sight.

  10

  STATEROOM 303

  If ever there was a sinking feeling, this was the sinkiest.

  “A-lice!” Liz whimpered. “Should we just jump?”

  But somebody was looking out for us. A guy in a cap that made him look official walked over and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be Elizabeth and Alice, would you?”

  We turned and just stared at him, like he was the angel Gabriel.

  “I’m harbormaster here, and I’m supposed to get you to Yorktown, which isn’t far as the crow flies but sure is a roundabout way by land. And since the Seascape left only ten minutes ago, why don’t you get in my boat and I’ll take you out to your ship? I’ll call and let them know we’re coming.”

  And that’s how we found ourselves skimming across the water in a fancy speedboat with a cabin up front, our hair tossed by the wind in an early-evening sky, grins on our faces. The harbormaster invited us to ride in the cabin with him, but we wanted to experience the whole nine yards, and Liz said no bees would bother her at thirty knots or whatever speed we were moving.

  We were met by a little welcoming committee of Quinton and Curtis and Ken McCoy. The captain had to drop anchor to get us aboard, but we were so grateful that we kissed the harbormaster and he said he was glad to oblige, we were welcome to miss the ship anytime.

  Liz had to sit out her shift that night, but Dianne wanted to keep an eye on her, so she put her to work folding napkins from the laundry. By the time she had recounted her adventure several times over to everyone in the galley, both she and I were sick of hearing it, but it made good material to e-mail home.

  The air was super fresh in Yorktown the next day. Since I’d toured Yorktown the last time we were here, I opted to take a towel and lie out on the beach with Natalie and Lauren and Pam in our bikinis, away from the immediate gaze of passengers, but not so far away that no one could find us. I was mentally composing another e-mail to Patrick.

  I really do wish you were here, I would say. Or that I was there with you. But I would stop just short of saying I miss you, like, if I went any further, it would open a whole universe of yearning. Later I’d tell him my big surprise: I was saving all I earned this summer so I could visit him in Spain at Christmastime.

  The ship headed for Crisfield the following morning, and once again, it didn’t look as though I was going to be able to make the ferry along with the passengers to visit Tangier Island. There were too many dawdlers, and when Dianne told me I’d need to clean four more staterooms on the main deck as well, I knew for certain I wouldn’t make Tangier Island.

  “Is one of the crew sick?” I asked, wiping my forehead with my arm.

  She gave me a woeful, resigned look. “Not exactly. But Shannon’s getting off at Crisfield,” she said.

  Crisfield? No one would get off at Crisfield to stay unless they were fired, I thought. Dianne didn’t stick around to explain, so I kept my questions to myself. All of a sudden I didn’t feel so secure. Shannon had been a good worker, I thought. She didn’t love her job, exactly, but she was polite to the passengers and reasonably friendly with them. Unless she’d done something horrendous, how could I be sure that Dianne wouldn’t tell me or one of my friends to ju
st pack up and get off if we did something inexcusable in her eyes?

  I moved to the next stateroom, determined to do everything by the book.

  “Housekeeping,” I called as I tapped on the door. I glanced at my watch. It was ten. Passengers who were going ashore had already gathered on the main deck near the gangway.

  I picked up my bucket and tapped once more, then turned my key in the lock. “Housekeeping,” I called again as I opened the door.

  As I entered, a man of about forty stepped out of the tiny bathroom buck naked, wiping his armpits with a towel.

  “Oh! Sorry!” I said, and backed out so quickly that my bucket clanged against the door frame and clattered onto the deck.

  I closed the door after me and felt my face burning. Either I hadn’t heard him tell me he was there or he hadn’t heard my knock. Dianne would probably get a complaint before the day was over. I went quickly on to the next room, hoping that if I met that man face-to-face, we wouldn’t recognize each other.

  I did all my other rooms, then went back to number 303. The curtains on the little walkway window were still drawn. I knocked two times and called two times, then opened the door a crack. And when I turned on the light, the room was empty. Only one of two beds had been occupied, so I realized it was a single man traveling alone, probably had to pay extra to occupy the room. I cleaned it hastily and left.

  Back in crew quarters that evening, as we changed for dinner, the chief topic of conversation was why Shannon had left. No one had seen her go. She’d just packed her bag and was out of there.

  “Her smokes,” said Emily. “I think she was fired.”

  “But she could smoke onshore all she wanted,” I said, buttoning my shirt and smoothing out the pocket. We have to share a washing machine with the guys, and if someone finds your stuff in the dryer, they just take it out and drop it, and the wrinkles are up to you.

  “I think she was smoking on the ship too, up on the top deck when she thought no one else was there,” Emily told us.

  “I can’t believe they’d let her go over that,” Gwen said.

  Lauren came in from the bathroom and joined the conversation. “The way I heard it from Josh, Dianne noticed the smell on her breath and thought it pretty offensive. She told Shannon she had the choice of keeping her breath fresh or sticking with housekeeping the whole ten weeks, that she couldn’t wait tables because several passengers had complained. And Shannon said, quote, ‘Enough of this shit, I’m outta here,’ so Dianne told her she was off at Crisfield. Curtis said he didn’t think they’d replace her. Which means the rest of us have to work harder.”

  “But when we divide up the tips at the end of each week, it means we each get a little more,” said Rachel.

  “Yeah, but, man! That was quick,” Yolanda said. “I mean, the work gets you down now and then. Anyone could say something they might be sorry for later. You’re out of your summer job, just like that?”

  “You are when your employer knows that they could replace any one of us overnight if they wanted to. Just put up a notice at Harborplace when we get back, and I’ll bet someone would apply within ten minutes,” Rachel told us. “Even at our wages.”

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll probably be the next to go.” And I told them what had happened that morning in room 303. They thought it was hilarious.

  “Of course he won’t report it,” Emily said. “You can bet he won’t be anywhere in sight when housekeeping comes around tomorrow.”

  There was a light tap on the door. Gwen checked to see that we were all dressed, then opened it. Curtis was standing there holding a peach-colored bra in one hand. “Found this in the dryer along with my stuff,” he said, handing it over.

  “Anybody?” Gwen asked, holding it up.

  “The dryer?” Natalie asked. “It was in the dryer? The way I’m eating, I can’t afford any shrinkage.”

  “Bon appétit,” said Curtis, and went back to men’s quarters at the end of the hall.

  I didn’t really mind missing Oxford the next day, because that was no biggie on my list. But the addition of four extra rooms to clean was a lot. When I came to room 303, I started to knock, thought better of it, and did two more rooms before I returned. The drapes were still closed, as they had been the day before.

  I knocked. Loudly.

  “Housekeeping,” I called.

  No response.

  I knocked again. “Housekeeping!”

  I turned the key and opened the door a couple of inches, calling again.

  When I got inside and turned on the light, the man was lying naked on the bed, hands behind his head, smiling at me strangely.

  I went back out without a word and closed the door, my heart pounding, my cheeks flaming once again. Was he trying to get me fired? What was his problem? What was I supposed to do? But it was his face that bothered me the most. I wouldn’t call it seductive or threatening or anything. More … tentative? Anxious, even.

  I was perspiring all over, and I walked to the fantail at the stern to cool off.

  “What’s the matter?” Yolanda asked me as I passed. She put down her bucket and followed me back. “That guy again?”

  I nodded and told her what happened.

  “Was he, you know? Did he have a hard-on?”

  “I’m not even sure. Believe it or not, I was looking at his face.”

  “You going back there? Want me to go with you?”

  “No! I’ll wait. Last time this happened, he was gone when I got back.” I truly didn’t know what to do. I hated to tell anyone there was something I couldn’t deal with on my own. And, as I’d hoped, when I finally went back to his cabin that afternoon, he was gone. I cleaned it in record time and left. Except for the unmade bed, the room had been neat. There were no suggestive magazines lying around. No condoms. No underwear on the floor.

  But the next morning in Annapolis, as I was finishing up on the lounge deck, Dianne asked if I could help her on the main deck. I still hadn’t knocked on door 303. I decided to level with her, explaining why I had one more room yet to do.

  She listened, her head cocked to one side, then held my arm as we went back to room 303.

  “You call, I’ll go in,” she said.

  I clanked my bucket. “Housekeeping!” I called.

  No response. If he was dressed now and answered the door, would Dianne ever believe me? If a passenger decided to make trouble for you, he could. What if Mrs. Collier had never found her watch? Would Dianne always wonder if I had taken it? What if I reported this guy and then he denied it?

  I knocked again and called louder.

  Nothing.

  Dianne put her key in the lock. “Wait here,” she mouthed, and went inside.

  I didn’t see what she saw, but I heard her say, matter-of-factly, “Good morning, Mr. Jurgis. We’d appreciate it if you’d get dressed so we can clean your room. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She came out, closing the door behind her, and we walked to the stern and waited where we could keep an eye on the door.

  “Was he … ?”

  “Naked as a jaybird,” she said.

  “Is he dangerous?” I asked.

  “Probably not. He likes the shock on women’s faces when he exposes himself. He looked embarrassed, frankly, but I doubt it will happen again. Not on this cruise.”

  “He’s sailed with you before?”

  “Not him, but there have been a few others.” She looked at me, bemused. “He’s just part of the great human swarm, Alice. We all have our eccentricities.”

  We heard the door of room 303 open, and seconds later Mr. Jurgis left, walking briskly, heading for the stairs.

  Later, when I passed him in the lounge, he walked right by me as though he’d never seen me before.

  11

  HOMEBOY

  You don’t see much of the captain on a cruise ship. Whenever we spent evenings docked, Captain Haggerty usually went ashore for dinner. Like most pilots, I suppose, he had friends here and there along his route. B
ut he and Ken McCoy often had lunch together in the pilothouse, and they spelled each other when one of them needed a break.

  For the lowly crew, though, one of our favorite times aboard the ship was dinner, which we ate only after the last passenger had left the dining room. We didn’t have the same menu, of course—no rack of lamb for us. Dormitory stuff all the way, but it was well prepared, and Chef Carlo’s fettuccini was to die for.

  Conversation at dinner depended on who was there. If Quinton or Dianne ate with us, we kept things polite and light. If it was crew only, there was more gossip, more noise.

  One thing I noticed was that we didn’t talk much about our plans beyond the summer. Once in a while someone would mention that he was staying over when the fall cruises began or would be working for another line. We kept to the present—how many staterooms we’d been assigned to clean, where we could cash our checks, which bar might serve without checking your ID. There were a lot of stories about the past—getting stuck on a roller coaster at Kings Dominion or deep-sea fishing off Ocean City. It was understood, I guess, that this was timeout for whatever we might face in the fall.

  At the start of the third week, Pamela and I were among the groggy ones who rose at five thirty to set the tables for breakfast and welcome the passengers, who began arriving at seven.

  Breakfast, we discovered, was the most difficult meal of the day. Not only did people wander in at odd times, but each had her own routine—four prunes, not three; half a Belgian waffle and one strip of bacon, not sausage. At lunch people settled for a club sandwich and a bowl of soup; and at dinner either baked or scalloped potatoes would usually do. But at breakfast our order pads were full of instructions—coffee, no cream; toast, no butter; sunny-side up, not scrambled.

  In the galley on Tuesday, Mitch was swearing under his breath as he fished out seven raisins from a bowl of oatmeal.

  “You’d think they were bugs,” he said. “She couldn’t do this herself?”