Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality

  “What?” Susan said, startled, but trying to remain relaxed.

  “You kick yourself for getting lost. You tell yourself that you don’t look good with short hair. You avoid taking the shortcut. Little things, but they all add up. You don’t trust yourself at all.”

  Susan didn’t know what to say. “I suppose you’re right,” she began. “But …”

  Mary held up her hand. “No buts,” she said firmly. “You need to learn to trust yourself, to trust your abilities. There are so many possibilities for a woman who knows how to use her imagination.” Mary sipped her drink, still considering Susan.

  Susan bit her lip, feeling inadequate. Mary seemed to be taking her on as a sort of project, and Susan wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She leaned back in her chair, wondering how she might distract Mary and take her attention off of Susan’s shortcomings. That was when she spotted the man from the bar, sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant. “It’s Weldon Merrimax,” she said.

  Mary sat up straight. “What?” She followed Susan’s gaze.

  “Don’t stare at him,” Susan said, fighting the urge to look at him again. “Ship’s security is looking for that guy.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s been claiming he's Weldon Merrimax. He cheated someone at poker. And he got in a fight at a poker game with a man named Patrick Murphy. He may have stabbed Patrick. It’s kind of confusing,” Susan said in a rush. “I’ve got to call Tom, the chief security officer.” Mary nodded. She was frowning. Her eyes were dark and unreadable. “You do that,” she said.

  “You stay here. I’ll be right back,” Susan said. She stood up quickly and hurried away, before Mary could ask any more questions.

  It took Susan a few minutes to get the bartender’s attention, and a few more minutes to explain what she needed. “Call Tom Clayton, the security officer. Tell him that the man he’s looking for is right here. All right—I’ll wait while you get him on the line.”

  Susan waited impatiently. Glancing across the room, she saw Mary, standing at the man’s table. What was she doing? Mary was talking to the man, waving her hands angrily. The man was laughing. As Susan watched, he stood up and walked out of the restaurant. Mary followed him, still talking.

  Susan considered taking off after them, but it seemed more important to get in touch with Tom. At last, the bartender placed a phone on the bar in front of her.

  “Tom,” she said. “Its Susan. That man you were looking for—that man with the identification problem—he was here in Penelope’s a minute ago. He just walked out. I’m going to see if I can follow him.”

  “Stay where you are,” Tom said. “I’m on my way.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Susan said quickly and hung up. Mary had told her that she had to trust her abilities, and she figured she would start by following Weldon Merrimax or whoever he was. Besides, she was worried about Mary.

  When Tom didn’t find Susan in Penelope’s, he searched the surrounding area. He finally found her on the observation deck, though it took him a moment to recognize her. She had cut her hair short, a startling change. She looked great.

  “Susan,” he said. “Where is this guy?”

  She looked up as he approached. “He’s gone,” she said. “And so is my friend Mary.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where they went.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  She told him about spotting the man. “I thought I’d better call you right away,” she said. “While I was calling you, Mary went over to talk to him. I don’t know why. Then he left and she followed him. And as soon as I got off the phone with you, I went after them. But they were gone.”

  Tom nodded. “Perhaps your friend Mary can help me out. What’s her last name?”

  Susan shook her head. “I don’t know. I never asked.”

  “Do you know her stateroom number?”

  Susan shook her head again. “We met in Hamilton. Then we ran into each other by the pool. She had an appointment at the salon, and she made an appointment for me to get my hair cut.”

  Tom nodded. The beauty salon would have a record of the appointment. It was a start.

  Tom visited the beauty salon. He felt out of place in the turquoise and pink reception area. The air reeked of floral perfumes—the scents of lotions and conditioners and pomades. Allegedly, the salon catered to both men and women, but the buzz of conversation that came from the open room behind the reception desk was unquestionably female.

  He told the receptionist that he was trying to locate a passenger who had had her hair cut that morning. “Her first name is Mary. I don’t have a last name.”

  “Oh, I remember her,” the receptionist said. “She paid cash. I told her she could put it on her cruise card, but she said she’d rather pay cash.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  The receptionist shrugged. “Every now and then. Sometimes a woman doesn’t want her husband to know exactly what she spent, but Mary didn’t seem like that sort.”

  “What sort did she seem like?”

  “The sort who wouldn’t put up with guff from any man. Oh, don’t get me wrong. She was a very pleasant lady. I just got the feeling she didn’t let people push her around.”

  There was a touch of admiration in the receptionist’s tone. The receptionist, Tom thought, seemed like the sort who did let people push her around.

  “So you didn’t get her cabin number?”

  The receptionist flipped open her appointment book. “No cabin number. But you could look her up. I have her last name. Here she is: Mary Maxwell.”

  Tom stared at Mary Maxwell’s signature in the appointment book. Large, looping letters, like the script on the note that Ian had passed on to him, the one that someone had slipped under the door for Max just that morning.

  Back at the office, he asked Ian to check the passenger list on the computer. There was, of course, no one named “Mary Maxwell” listed.

  FOURTEEN

  “The universe is a much stranger place than you think,” Gitana told Ferris. “Much larger, much stranger, and much less predictable.”

  —from The Twisted Band

  by Max Merriwell

  Susan heard the shower running when she stepped into her stateroom. “Hey, Pat,” she called. “I’m back.”

  The sound of running water stopped and Pat called to her from the bathroom. “Hey, girl. I ran into Ian when I was checking my email in the business center, and we had lunch together. He told me that your pal Max got another note.” Pat stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. “Wow! You look fabulous. What a great haircut!”

  “Oh, thanks,” Susan said. She had almost forgotten about the haircut.

  “Really,” Pat insisted. “You look like a different woman.”

  Susan sat on the edge of the bed, studying her reflection in the mirror on the wall. A stranger’s face looked back at her. The stranger looked puzzled. “Yeah, I do.”

  Pat was toweling her hair dry. “So what’s the problem?” she asked. “Don’t you like it?”

  “The haircut’s fine. I just wish I knew what was going on.” Susan told Pat about going to lunch with Mary, about seeing the man from the bar, about Mary’s disappearance. “I don’t know what could have happened to Mary.”

  “Abducted by aliens,” Pat suggested. She stood by the bed, combing her hair so it stood up in random clumps, her version of a stylish hairdo. “Or else she’s one of those women who will ditch a friend for the first dangerous man who comes along.”

  Susan shook her head. “I can’t believe that. I wish I knew how to get in touch with her. I just want to make sure she’s all right.”

  “So what did you talk about, before she disappeared?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Maybe it would give us a clue about how to find her.”

  “You’ve read too many mysteries,” Susan said.

  “Come on—give it a try.”

>   Susan patiently related all that she could remember of her conversation with Mary—from rickshaws in Katmandu to Flaming Rum Monkeys. “I don’t see how any of that could help,” she said, when she finished.

  “Well, here’s an idea,” Pat said, sitting beside Susan on the bed.

  “You said the waitress recommended Aphrodite’s Alehouse as a place to get that flaming drink?”

  “A Flaming Rum Monkey.” Susan nodded.

  “We’ll go there and wait for Mary. She’s bound to show up sooner or later.”

  Susan frowned. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was better than anything she’d come up with. “I can’t ask you to waste your time sitting around waiting for someone who might not show up.”

  Pat laughed. “Waste my time sitting around in a bar? Oh, twist my arm.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “We can grab some snacks in the bar,” Pat said. “Let’s do it. I’ll give Ian a call and see if he wants to meet us there. It’ll be fun.”

  Susan hesitated in the entrance to Aphrodite’s Alehouse. She surveyed the room, searching for Mary.

  “Do you see her?” Pat asked.

  “I’m looking,” Susan said. A group of women sat at a table by the dance floor, but Mary wasn’t among them. She wasn’t at any of the tables by the fireplace, nor at the bar. “No, no sign of her.” She shook her head. “Should we get a table?”

  “A table? No, we want to talk to the bartender, so let’s grab a seat at the bar.”

  Susan followed Pat reluctantly and perched on a bar stool beside her. She would have been more comfortable at a table. The bar was in the center of the room and sitting there made her feel like she was on display. She reminded herself that she had given up being a good girl, that she was a new woman. It didn’t help much. She still felt awkward.

  The bartender, an older black man, set a beer and three rum swizzlers on a waitress’s tray, then turned to greet them. The name tag on his shirt identified him as Frank.

  “Good evening, ladies. What can I get for you?”

  “A friend of mine was talking about a drink she had in Jamaica,” Pat said. “Something called a Flaming Rum Monkey. Could you make one of those?”

  Susan kicked Pat under the bar, but her friend just kept loo king at Frank innocently.

  Frank looked thoughtful. “You know, you’re the second passenger who’s asked for that drink.”

  “Really?” Pat said.

  “That’s right. A lady asked for a Flaming Rum Monkey earlier today.”

  “What did she look like?” Susan asked.

  “Short, dark hair. Very friendly. I told her I’d see if I could find a recipe for the drink. She said she’d be back tonight.”

  “That sounds like Mary,” Susan said to Pat.

  Pat nodded. “She’s the one who recommended the drink,” Pat told Frank. “So you can make me one?”

  Frank studied her and smiled. Susan thought he had the air of a man who had decided to go along with a joke—but wanted the jokers to know he hadn’t been taken in.

  “After your friend asked, I checked my bartender’s guide, but I couldn’t find a recipe.”

  “That’s too bad,” Pat said, her eyes wide and innocent. “I was really hoping to try one.”

  Susan spoke to Frank. “To be honest, Mary told me that she made the whole thing up. She just likes the name, and wants to know what the drink will taste like.”

  “I can believe that. She seemed like a lady who was fond of a joke.” Frank’s smile grew wider. “It’s slow tonight. I could come up with a drink that you might call a Flaming Rum Monkey. And we could turn the joke around on your friend.”

  “Great idea,” Pat said.

  “She said she thought it would involve coconut,” Susan said. “All right,” Frank said thoughtfully. “Better that than bananas.” Susan watched as Frank began pulling bottles from the shelf.

  Crème de cacao, coconut syrup, dark Jamaican rum, some brown sugar, some spices.

  “Hello, Frank! Hi, ladies.” Ian sat on the stool beside Pat.

  “Ah, Ian. You’re just in time for the first Flaming Rum Monkey.” Frank smiled. “This is my friend Ian,” he told Pat and Susan. “I asked him to search the Internet for a recipe.”

  “I should have known,” Pat said.

  “No luck,” Ian said. “Plenty of flaming drinks, but no Rum Monkeys.”

  “Mary made the name up,” Susan said. “She liked the name and she wanted to know what the drink would taste like.”

  “Mary Maxwell,” Ian said, smiling.

  Susan stared at him, and his smile grew broader.

  “That’s the name she gave at the beauty salon,” Ian said. “Tom had me check, but she’s not on the passenger list.”

  Susan didn’t know what to say.

  “Best to start with a hot drink, I think, since that will be easier to flame,” Frank said. He had been considering his bottles while Ian talked. “So I’ll begin with a hot buttered rum de cacao and go from there.” He spooned some brown sugar into the mug, added cloves and nutmeg, stirred it with a cinnamon stick, then poured in a little boiling water.

  “We’re watching an artist at work,” Ian said to Pat.

  “Absolutely,” Pat agreed.

  While they talked about how underappreciated good bartenders were, Susan watched Frank and wondered about Mary.

  Though he had to interrupt the task a few times to make other orders, Frank eventually completed a drink that included rum, crème de cacao, coconut syrup, and boiling water. Then he poured a splash of 151-proof rum into a ladle, ignited it, and added the flaming rum to the drink. As the blue flames flickered in the dimly lit bar, he handed it to Susan. “Give it a try.”

  Susan blew out the flames and sipped the concoction. It tasted like a Mounds bar, laced with rum. It was warm and sweet and potent. “This is wonderful,” she said.

  “Let me try,” Pat tried a sip and passed it to Ian. “Maybe a touch more coconut,” Ian suggested.

  “I disagree,” said Pat. “I think any more coconut would spoil it.”

  “It’s perfect just as it is,” Susan said.

  Frank had already put another Flaming Rum Monkey in front of Susan. When the flame flickered out, she sipped it carefully. Such a comforting drink.

  “What’s that you’re drinking?” asked a tall man who had come up to the bar.

  “That’s a Flaming Rum Monkey,” Frank said with a note of pride. “Very tasty,” Pat said.

  The tall man ordered one, and Frank made another round for the group. By that time, Susan’s mug was empty.

  “Another Rum Monkey for my friend,” Pat said, and Susan found herself sipping another drink.

  The bar was getting noisier and more crowded. Susan noticed that the tall man with the Flaming Rum Monkey had joined a group of men—all in their thirties and forties—clustered around one of the tables near the fireplace. One of them was lifting his glass in a toast. “What say the brethren?” he called. The others cheered and shouted, “Satisfactory!”

  Susan recognized the ritual question and response from Max’s description of the Clampers in Wild Angel. “That must be a group of Clampers,” Susan said. “E Clampus Vitus.”

  “Yes, I met some of them earlier at the poolside bar,” Ian said.

  “They’re having some sort of reunion and celebrating a noble feat of St. Vitus. Something involving a rescue and an elephant. It wasn’t at all clear.”

  Susan blinked at him, remembering a scene from Wild Angel. The Clampers had created a distraction while members of the circus used an elephant to yank the bars from the window of the jail and free Sarah. Could Max have based this incident on some historical event?

  Or could the Clampers be celebrating their appearance in Wild Angel? “Wait,” she said. “There was a scene like that in Mary Maxwell’s book. I wonder if it was based on some historical incident.”

  “Let’s ask the Clampers,” Pat said. “They’d know. They’re drunken histori
ans after all, not just drunks.”

  Ian stood up to go with Pat. Susan shook her head. “Let me know what they say. I’ll stay here and keep an eye out for Mary.” She watched as a waitress carried a trayful of the flaming drinks to the table of Clampers. Apparently the drink had met with the tall man’s approval and he had ordered a round for the group. Pat and Ian headed over to the table.

  Susan was surprised to realize that she had finished her Rum Monkey. Before she could protest, Frank had made her another. He was just setting it in front of her when he looked over her shoulder. “Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “You’re back. Just in time. Let me get you a Flaming Rum Monkey.”

  Mary slid onto the bar stool beside Susan. “Mary!” Susan said. “I was worried about you. I—”

  Mary wagged a finger at Susan. “Later,” she said. “Now we must give our full attention to the matter at hand.”

  Mary watched as Frank mixed another Flaming Rum Monkey, ignited it, and offered it to her with a flourish. She picked up the mug. The flames danced, then died. Mary took a sip while Susan and Frank watched. “Perfect,” she said. “Just as I imagined it.”

  Frank winked at Susan. “As good as the ones you had in Jamaica?”

  “Better,” Mary said. “As good as I imagine the ones I wish I had had in Jamaica would have been—if I had actually had them.”

  Susan frowned, trying to follow that sentence and failing.

  Mary smiled. “The imagination is a powerful thing,” she said, lifting her glass to Frank. “And the Flaming Rum Monkey lives—thanks to you.”

  A waitress called to Frank from the far end of the bar—an order of Rum Monkeys for the ladies at the table by the stage. The band had started up again. Pat and Ian were surrounded by Clampers who were lifting their Flaming Rum Monkeys in a toast. There was no chance of getting Pat’s attention just now.

  “What happened to you this afternoon?” Susan asked Mary, speaking loudly to be heard over the din.

  “I had a bone to pick with that fellow,” she said. “Sorry I had to rush away like that.”

  “Ian says you signed in at the beauty salon as Mary Maxwell,” Susan went on.