Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality

  Alberta raised her hand, looking skeptical. “How can you believe in something that you know you made up?” she asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Oh, it’s even more difficult than that,” Max said. “Much more difficult. I’d like you to believe in things that you made up that most people think are quite impossible. As for how—well, believing in impossible things takes practice.”

  Susan stared at him, remembering what Mary Maxwell had said in her dream. “Are you saying that you can’t believe in impossible things?” Mary had said. “Maybe you just need a little practice.”

  “To believe in something that’s quite impossible, you have to consider it in great detail,” Max was saying. “You must be very specific. The more unbelievable a situation, the more carefully you have to describe it. If you are writing a story that takes place on a sunny summer day and the sky is blue, that’s easy. But if you are picnicking on Mars and the sky is pink, you need to be more specific in your description. Exactly what shade of pink do you mean—the pink of bubble gum? The pink of a freshly cut watermelon? Or the faintest flush of pink, like the Earth sky at sunrise?

  “To make a story believable, you must create all the details in your imagination. The reality of your story depends on the power of your imagination.” Max gazed around the table. “I want you to think of something unbelievable and make it real. A situation, an event, an object.”

  “What kind of event?” Alberta asked.

  Max regarded her steadily. “Something that you don’t believe in,” he said mildly. “I can’t tell you what it should be, since I don’t know what you believe in.”

  “Like what?” she persisted.

  Max shrugged. “Like a Scrabble tournament at which someone beats you and Bill. Whatever you like, as long as you find it difficult to believe.” He looked around, but no one else had any questions. “Sit back in your chair,” he said. “Close your eyes and think of something unbelievable. If it helps, start by thinking of a familiar place where this unbelievable thing could happen.”

  Susan closed her eyes obediently, wondering what she should imagine. Sleeping with Tom seemed unbelievable, but she didn’t want to write about that. So she started with a place. She imagined standing on the observation deck, looking down on the sundeck at the bow of the Odyssey. What could happen there? She looked into the distance and saw a golden light on the horizon. A UFO, she thought. A flying saucer could land.

  “Before you turn your attention to the unbelievable thing, consider the details of the environment surrounding it,” Max continued.

  Susan thought about the maze of windscreens. The saucer is landing at night, she thought, so the deck chairs had been put away. It was, she thought, a dark and stormy night—that’s when unbelievable things always happened in stories. Rain pounded on the deck. The ocean was rough. She imagined a wave splashing up against the side of the ship, sending an arc of spray over the railing. Lightning flickered in the sky, and thunder rumbled overhead. The ship’s engines were humming, laboring to push the ship through the rough seas.

  “Now think about the unbelievable thing,” Max said. “See it in your imagination.”

  Susan imagined a glimmering golden light, blinking in the distance. Just a pinprick of light at first, like a star gleaming through the clouds. It grew larger—to the size of a grape, the size of her fist. Still it came closer—a glowing golden saucer, hovering over the sundeck. The saucer was shaped like a Frisbee—a little thicker in the middle than the flying toy, but generally Frisbee-shaped. It was about twenty feet across.

  “Think about details now,” Max said. “You’ve got an image of this thing in your mind. Now look at that image carefully.”

  There was a band of paler gold light around the saucer’s center line. Staring at that band, she realized that the saucer was spinning—she could hear a high-pitched humming as it spun. Portholes, set on the saucer’s center line, blurred in her vision as the saucer spun, creating the band of pale gold.

  “Have you got it?” Max said. “Keep picturing your impossible thing for a moment, to get it settled in your mind.”

  In Susan’s mind, the saucer’s spinning slowed, then stopped, as the great ship came down, crushing three windscreens beneath it. The glass shattered, the metal frames crumpled.

  The saucer’s glowing form reflected in the remaining windscreens. Its hum blended with the hum of the ship’s engines.

  “Open your eyes,” Max said.

  Susan blinked at him.

  “Now open your notebook,” he said. “Write down what you imagined,” Max said.

  Susan opened her notebook to a blank page and uncapped her pen, eager to begin.

  The workshop ended at 11:30. By the time they left the library, the waves were slapping the sides of the ship with increased vigor.

  Tom came up behind Susan and Pat as they stepped onto the promenade deck. “Thought I might catch you and warn you,” he said. “The weather satellite says we’re going to be in for some heavy weather. Careful what you have for lunch, if you’re likely to get seasick.”

  Susan shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t been sick so far.”

  He took her hand as he walked beside her. It felt natural to have him there. “How do you feel about carnival rides—the ones that spin you around and around and upside down?”

  “I don’t mind them too much.”

  “You’ll probably be all right then.”

  “We’re heading for lunch now,” Pat said sweetly. “Want to join us?” Tom shook his head. “I’m on duty. Too much to do. Just wanted to say hi.”

  He headed off then, smiling what Pat called a “shit-eating grin.”

  “You made that boy very happy,” Pat told Susan.

  TWENTY-THREE

  A cop once told me that there were only three reasons anyone did anything: money, sex, or power. I told him he was making it too complicated. When you got down to the core of things, there was only one reason: power.

  —from Tell Me No Lies

  by Weldon Merrimax

  All morning long, other officers and members of the crew winked at Tom and nudged him in the ribs, grinning knowingly. Osvaldo had talked to someone and that person had talked to someone else and everyone was enormously entertained. When met with a grin or a wink, Tom just grinned back.

  When Geoffrey asked Tom about his evening, he just said, “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Then he had to defend his status as a gentleman, which Geoffrey was inclined to dispute, but that was all right. Better spend his time defending his own credentials than deflecting questions about Susan.

  The way the evening had progressed had taken him a bit by surprise. He was happy, no question of that, but he felt a little off balance. He was stunned by his good fortune, and he was wondering what might happen next.

  The Odyssey’s departure from Faial went smoothly. No problems with port officials. They left on time and all was well.

  He intercepted Susan and Pat on their way out of Max’s class, then he headed back to his office to fill out all the company paperwork associated with departure from a foreign port. When he stepped in the door, Ian looked up from his computer and greeted Tom cheerily.

  Tom sat down at his desk and tipped his chair back, studying Ian. “I assume your spies have filled you in,” he said.

  Ian grinned. “Absolutely. You’ll be pleased to know that Susan and Pat ate a hearty breakfast, polishing off an entire tray of sweet rolls. By all reports, the young lady appeared to be quite cheerful. No buyer’s remorse. No second thoughts.”

  Tom nodded, smiling. “Your spies are very efficient. But I already know that. I saw her on my way up here.”

  After lunch with Pat, Susan went to the library for story hour. Cindy was looking pale and grim-faced. The ship’s motion was getting to her. She was grateful to see Susan, glad that she was willing to read to the gathered witches, cowboys, and monsters, the kids having already donned their Halloween costumes.

  Susan
read the next few chapters, in which Bailey dove down another wormhole and battled the enormous, metal-eating spiders that lived in the Great Rift Cloud. Then he and his friends were captured by pirates.

  The story was exciting, but it was tough to keep the kids’ attention. The ship was rolling. Every now and again, a wave struck the side of the ship with a hollow boom. Once, right after this sound, spray splashed against the library window, having cleared the railing and crossed the width of the promenade.

  It started raining, a fierce downpour that rattled the windows. The ship’s rolling turned to pitching, as the ship met the long swells head on. She rode up on the waves and slammed down again.

  At about that time, Tom was attending a meeting of the ship’s officers. Geoffrey was explaining that the ship had changed course in an at tempt to avoid the worst of the storm, but they had not managed to dodge the bad weather altogether.

  Gene Culver described Halloween plans. According to Company Policy, cruise activities were not to be canceled on account of weather No matter that the tiles were sliding off the board, Scrabble would be played in the games room at four o’clock Storm or no storm, there would be a big Halloween party in Penelope’s. There would also be dances and other activities in the ship’s other bars and restaurants.

  Tom commented that he would be increasing security during the evening hours. He expected trouble, but the security staff would be prepared for it.

  After story hour, Susan returned to the stateroom to meet Pat, who had gone to a workshop to make a Halloween costume. She had promised to bring some extra costume supplies back for Susan.

  Susan stood at the balcony door for a moment, then slid open the door and stepped out onto the balcony. The wind was cold and it carried drops of water—spray or rain, Susan wasn’t sure which.

  The sky was dark gray overhead, darkening to black at the horizon. A great wave slapped the side of the ship, sending up a fountain of water. Susan retreated into the stateroom, just as Pat came through the door, clutching a shopping bag. “Hey,” she said a little breathlessly. “I got all kinds of stuff. Hardly anyone was there. But I ran into your pal.”

  “My pal?” Susan asked.

  “Weldon Merrimax.” Pat upended the bag, scattering bandannas and patches and pirate hats and plastic daggers on the bed.

  “You met Weldon?” Susan stared at Pat, shocked. “Where? Did you call Tom?”

  Pat shook her head. She was picking through the costume stuff. “He was at the costume workshop.”

  “Weldon Merrimax was at the costume workshop?” Susan frowned, struggling to picture Weldon Merrimax constructing a Halloween costume. She couldn’t quite manage it.

  “I didn’t know he was Weldon Merrimax when I started talking to him,” Pat said. “I thought he was kind of interesting. Then he introduced himself. He has the most intense eyes. Really sexy.”

  Susan stared at her friend. “What are you talking about?” Susan said. “He’s either crazy or dangerous.”

  Pat shrugged, still rummaging through the costume supplies. “Or a very clever joker. I asked him about that business about Patrick Murphy. He said it was just a misunderstanding.” She looked up from the costumes. “Take it easy, Susan. All I did was talk with him.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  Pat shrugged. “Halloween costumes, quantum mechanics, poker—the usual kind of thing. You’re taking this too seriously. Nothing happened.”

  “Why didn’t you call Tom?”

  “I figured Weldon would be gone by the time security got there. That’s what’s happened every time you’ve called Tom. Seemed like time to try another approach.”

  Pat picked a pirate hat and a dagger off the bed and held them out to Susan like a peace offering. “I brought you stuff for a pirate costume,” she said. “You’ll look great as a pirate.”

  Confused and alarmed, Susan allowed Pat to dress her as a pirate, placing the hat on her head, tying a red bandanna around her neck. “I’ve got a hoop earring that will look great with that,” Pat said. “Aren’t you worried about Weldon at all?” Susan asked her.

  Pat sat on the bed, studying Susan. “Doesn’t seem necessary to me,” she said. “After all, he hasn’t really done anything except leave notes for Max, play poker, and make a little trouble. And I’ve never been one to avoid trouble.”

  Susan shook her head.

  “He says he just wants to talk to Max,” Pat said.

  “Max doesn’t want to talk to him,” Susan said. “And I don’t trust him.”

  Pat shrugged again. “He doesn’t seem that bad to me. But then, I’ve had more experience with bad boys than you have.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  My hands ache when the weather is set to change. When I move, I feel a grating pain, as if there's sand in the joints. An old, familiar pain, it reminds me to be careful. Trust no one. Be ready to hurt them before they can hurt you. Because you know that they will. Just as sure as the sun will rise.

  —from Tell Me No Lies

  by Weldon Merrimax

  At dinner that night, there was no sign of Alberta, Bill, Charles, or Lily. Rough weather and seasickness had laid low all but the most stalwart travelers. Tom had managed to arrange his schedule so that he could attend dinner, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to spend any time with Susan that evening.

  Pat had brought a bag of pirate paraphernalia. Tom declined her costume suggestions, saying his uniform was costume enough. But she convinced Max and Ian to accept a few accessories.

  She placed a three-cornered pirate captain’s hat on Max’s head. He made a gentle, world-weary sort of pirate, with tired blue eyes and a wry twist to his mouth.

  Ian wore a black eye patch and a kerchief. He declined both dagger and sword, claiming to be a conscientious objector in the pirate wars. “Besides,” he said, “I’d probably just stab myself.”

  Susan returned Tom’s smile, but he thought she looked a little worried. Buyer’s remorse, Tom wondered, remembering Ian’s phrase. But when he sat down beside her, she took his hand under that table, so that didn’t seem to be it. Maybe just concerned about the storm.

  The half-deserted restaurant was decorated for Halloween, with orange and black paper streamers. In honor of the holiday, Antonio had foregone the usual fruit sculpture. Instead, he had sculpted a jack-o’-lantern from ice. A votive candle burned in the center of the ice sculpture. Light from its flame cast broken, flickering patterns on the bottles of wine that surrounded it.

  While Pat and Ian were exchanging pirate phrases (“Keel haul the rascal!” “Har!” “Avast!” and the like), Tom talked with Susan. “I’ll be on duty until late tonight,” he said. “Unless all the Clampers decide to go to bed early.”

  Susan nodded, looking preoccupied. “Pat and I are going to the party at Penelope’s,” she said. “I think Max and Ian will be joining us.”

  Tom nodded. “I suppose there’ll be some drunken Clampers there.” He grinned at her. “I imagine I’ll have to stop by and keep order.”

  “Har!” Pat interrupted. “The hell with the drunken Clampers, matey. There’ll be drunken pirates there.”

  “Then I’ll definitely have to stop by and arrest any troublemakers,” he said. He grinned at Susan and she smiled back, but her smile seemed uncertain.

  Susan hesitated in the doorway to Penelope’s. The big room was hot and crowded. The Clampers were there in force. Many of them were dressed as pirates and gleefully behaving in character, standing at the bar and demanding grog. The pirates had patched eyes and peg legs and hooks for hands. At a quick glance, Susan guessed there wasn’t a whole man among them.

  Four men on steel drums were playing a lively Calypso tune. Susan could barely hear them over the Clampers.

  She lost Pat and Ian in the crowd by the bar. After the third time a Clamper hailed her with a cheerful cry of “Avast, you saucy wench!” she decided that she might as well go back to the stateroom. It wasn’t a good night for a party, Susan thought. She was
worried about Max—who had declined to join them at Penelope’s, saying he wasn’t in the mood for a party. She was annoyed with Pat for breezily dismissing her worries about Weldon. The party might be fun if Tom were there, but even if he stopped by, it would only be for a few minutes. She would have liked to talk with him—but he was working. She would have liked to go for a walk outside, but rain was pounding the deck and rattling the windows.

  She was heading for the door when the steel drum music changed to a hauntingly familiar tune with an insistent and repetitious beat. Against her will, Susan found herself focusing on the music. Her mind filled in the words:

  Sunbeams

  Moonbeams

  Nothing is the way it seems

  Your dreams, My schemes,

  Dancing through the night.

  She put her hands over her ears and pushed toward the door, hoping to escape before it was too late. But the crowd blocked the way and she could hear the music through her hands. A dozen Clampers had formed a conga line. They were singing loudly.

  One chance to dance

  Don’t leave it to circumstance. A trance,

  A dance,

  Dreaming through the night.

  Even as Susan tried to flee, she could feel her body moving to the rhythm. The conga line snaked out into the rain, passing her. The last person in the line, a smiling Clamper, beckoned her to join them.

  The trouble started early for Tom. Tom’s staff was occupied with drunken pirates and monsters and ghosts and goblins partying in the corridors and generally raising a ruckus. Tom had been heading to Penelope’s when he found three drunken Clampers in a jacuzzi. They were fully clothed and they were singing. “What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor” improvising new verses, and acting them out. “Dunk him in the hot tub ’til he’s sober—early in the morning!”

  The Clamper who had been designated the drunken sailor seemed to be in danger of drowning when Tom stepped in.

  Tom was explaining politely that the jacuzzis were closed which was why the heat was turned off and the water was cold. He was explaining that it was dangerous to be on deck during a lightning storm, which is why the area had been roped off. He was helping the men out of the water, when he heard a distant chorus of drunken voices singing the tune that had started all the trouble a few nights back.