Mr Deal's head rose. The aspiring authoress looked on in amazement.
'He's not all that bad, Jaybird. Got the gestures and facials down pat, and not at all a bad voice.'
I tapped my foot to the rhythm and absent-mindedly swung my handbag.
'Elvis in drag – now I've seen everything. And stop swinging that bag – give him time to get out on deck before he pukes.'
Boner was clutching his stomach again. I grabbed the bag and abruptly stilled it. Boner dived to the ground as if over the handlebars of a bicycle striking an ambushing rock. Frippery helped him to his feet and they staggered in the direction of out.
'…I'm living at the corner of Lonely Street at – Heartbreak Hotel…'
I dropped the bag and heard a thump from out on deck.
'Harry Neptune, you're a nasty man! You're having all the fun – it's my turn next.'
'Voodoo?'
'We do.'
'You do?'
'Yes, voodoo.'
That settled, I trapped the bag between my feet and applauded generously as Mr. Deal reached his big finale.
'…You know I'm so lonely I'm so lonely baby,
I'm so lonely I could die!'
Mr. Deal twitched a lip and bowed.
'Than' yuh verra much!'
He stepped off the low stage and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek from the aspiring authoress. Maybe there was something in Elvis in drag after all.
'Go on, Harry! Give them a torch song!'
'Not without a few more Hermaphrodites. It's been a while since I waggled the tonsils in public. Definitely needs lubrication, and I'm talking about the audience.'
The DJ put on some background reggae and shilled his crowd.
'Come on then, who's next! Who wants our extra special humungous magnificent great big prize! There's lots of talent here tonight – let's hear some of those classics!'
He was about to raise the stakes by actually telling us what the prize was when there was a movement in the doorway beside the stage. The DJ stopped in mid-spiel and forgot to close his mouth.
Dr. Dunnett half minced and half strode onto the stage. He wore a long blonde wig. And purple velvet hot pants and bib over a yellow silk blouse. And boots. Thigh boots. Black.
'Fuck me with a feather duster!'
'Later, Mrs. Neptune. I want to see this. Not sure I want to hear it, though.'
Dunnett handed the DJ a CD and seized the microphone between long-nailed fingers. He tossed his hair and nodded. The first bars of a blast from the past belted out and he launched into his party piece.
'You keep saying you got something for me
Something you call love but confess
You've been a'messin' where you shouldn't 've been a'messin'
And now someone else is getting all your best…'
The accent was a curious mixture of Edinburgh and Galveston. I had not heard anything quite like it outside a speech therapy class.
'…You keep lyin' when you oughta be truthin'
You keep losin' when you oughta not bet
You keep samin' when you oughta be a'changin'
What's right is right but you ain't been right yet…'
Loretta Swat was leaning against the Barbados policeman with a glazed expression on her face. Parrot was impassive, presumably thinking this was the normal fare on cruise ships. He may have been right, though I doubt anything quite like this had been seen on the Caribbean Conch for many a long year.
Swat's impressive frontage was back in place, presumably with the aid of either a cantilever brassiere or a bicycle pump. Jay nudged me.
'I wonder if she kept her top on with him. He looks like a tit man to me – she may have had a battle!'
'Shush, I'm enjoying the concert.'
Jay turned her gaze back to the stage and gave my handbag a nudge with her foot.
'…Well, these boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do.
One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you…'
The bass played its meaningful downward scale and Dunnett sneered out the final two lines.
'…Are you ready, boots?
Start walkin'!'
The music reached its crescendo as Dunnett strutted about the stage glaring at his audience through swinging blonde hair. I had a feeling he had missed out a verse, but I wasn't complaining.
The DJ took out the CD and slipped it into his pocket before leading the applause.
'Your very own Dr. Nancy Sinatra Dunnett! A big hand for the medical profession!' Sotto voce he added behind his hand, 'Is there a doctor in the house…?'
'Bravo! Bravo! Encore!'
Someone threw a bread roll at me as I gave a loud whistle of appreciation. The doctor bowed in my direction and tripped off the stage toward la Swat.
Out of the corner of one eye I saw the Boner-Drippits return to the fray, taking a vacant table near the stage. I couldn't see either of them doing a turn, unless it was to recite an improving verse and give a lecture on the iniquity of eating animal flesh. That didn't mean they should not provide some entertainment for the multitude though…
Out of the corner of my other eye I spotted a small movement under the buffet table.
'Wait here.'
Jay looked at me curiously as I ambled over to the buffet and accidental-done-a-purpose knocked a stray bun to the floor. I bent down to retrieve the bun and reached under the table.
In Antigua they call them mahogany mice, because if you stamp on them you break your foot. It is said that they and sharks are the only creatures which would survive nuclear holocaust.
It was the work of a moment to capture the cockroach and secure it in the coffin. I tied the string tight.
With my best innocent expression I returned to my wife and the pleasure of an evening's entertainment aboard the good ship Caribbean Conch.
Even the DJ looked a mite incredulous at Dunnett's routine, or maybe it was the purple hot pants. I wondered if the good doctor had run them up himself.
'Well! That's what I call a hard act to follow. Come along, ladies and gents, there's a great surprise in store for the lucky winner. I promise you, you won't be disappointed!'
I glanced at Harry. For some reason he was suddenly looking incredibly smug although he still showed no signs of getting up on the stage and doing his party piece. Not drunk enough yet, no doubt. Probably just as well – we'd been asked to leave a number of establishments on account of my beloved's piece de resistance and I really didn't fancy a night in the boiler room or wherever the Captain might stow away delinquent passengers. To my amazement, my ex lover scraped back his chair and stood up, a little unsteadily.
'I don't believe it! Boner is getting up. I thought he despised this kind of thing as immature frivolity.'
'Is he, sweet-cakes?'
Harry had his best enigmatic 'It wasn't me' look on his face. He was definitely up to something. I watched Boner approach the stage. He was really behaving very oddly, taking two steps forward and one to the side, as if practicing some obscure square dancing routine. Frippery was beginning to look rather cross. The DJ obviously presumed the latest star turn had simply had one Hermaphrodite too many and smirked indulgently as he gave
