“Nooo!” I said in my supportive, aghast voice.
“Yep,” she said. “They hate me, always have. Resent the fact that I made their father happy. So, after his kids’ lawsuit got thrown out of court, I booked the big penthouse indefinitely and I plan to cruise until I spend all their daddy’s money. That’ll show ’em.”
“How long’ll that take?” I asked.
“Two hundred years.” She laughed. “My husband, Tex Panthollow—maybe you’ve heard of him—he invented the multiple-fold automated umbrella. You know, you see them everywhere? He left me more than the gross national product of California. I could cruise till eternity and never spend it all.”
“So the kids’ll get the money eventually, huh?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “but not before I put a dent the size of Texas in it.”
I almost asked if she’d like to make a million-dollar donation to the Fashion Museum, but decided to wait until I knew her more than ten minutes. “Would you like to adopt me?” I said instead. I was kidding, of course. Okay, not really.
She laughed warmly. “You’ll have to stand in line behind all the crew on the ship. What about you, darlin’? What brings you here? You’re gonna be the youngest cruiser by a century. Excuse me,” she said, hailing a steward who was offering champagne in Baccarat flutes. “I’ll have one. You?”
“Not for me.”
Carleen took a sip.
“I’m sure I’m not the youngest cruiser,” I demurred.
“Honey, this ship is Jurassic Park at sea. What’s your story? You married?”
“Heavens, no.”
“Lesbian?”
I regarded her with curiosity. Was she asking me out? Couldn’t she see that our age difference would always be a stumbling block?
“I was just going to say this isn’t the right ship for that,” Carleen said. “There are special cruises for that,” she said, making air quotes around the word special. “So what gives? Why’re you here by your little lonesome?”
I shook my head. “You don’t want to know. I’ve had a tough run of luck.” Then I proceeded to spill my guts after securing Carleen’s solemn oath never, never, never to tell a soul, and I meant never ever. I confided how Alessandro was caught in the act with a minor. How he dumped me. How I didn’t get the promotion I so richly deserved. How a city bus destroyed my clothes. How my luggage was lost on the way over. How I was coming on board as a speaker with my father so I could heal my wounds (I made no mention of my ulterior motive—soliciting a donation—lest she think I was some kind of vulture, which I was, but preferred not to publicize).
As the bus pulled into a parking lot, I saw the ocean liner looming ahead.
“Whoa,” I cried, pointing to the lustrous ship that glistened in the Greek sunlight. It was enormous, like a bobbing white skyscraper. “Is that ours?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Carleen said.
She patted my leg. “Don’t feel bad about losing your fiancé like that, darlin’. Something worse happened to me.”
“Not possible,” I said.
She whistled. “Oh, but it is. You ever heard of Haroldson Lafayette Hunt?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Well, H. L. Hunt was one of the richest men in Texas, in the whole country at one time. That man was slicker than snot on a doorknob. When I graduated college, he proposed marriage and naturally I said yes.”
“Was he your first husband?”
“Hay-ell no,” she said. “The night before the rehearsal dinner, he dumped me for my maid of honor’s second cousin, Lyda Bunker from Little Rock.”
“That swine,” I groused on Carleen’s behalf.
“Come, off we go.” Carleen stood and gathered up her pooch and packages. I followed her out of the bus. “The point is, darlin’,” she said, “I made out much better, although it didn’t seem like it at the time. For ten long years, I felt like the biggest loser in the Lone Star State. He and Lyda had kids and lived the good life. Spent their summers at Lake McQueenie. H. L. was so loaded, he’d buy a new boat every time his other one got wet. I was green with envy. But then H. L. married Fran something-or-other without even divorcing my poor cousin. Can you imagine? He had a second family with kids and pets and everything. I couldn’t put up with that kind of bigamy bullshit, not me. So you see, in the end, what seemed like a tragedy turned out to be a blessing. Ten years later, I met my Tex, and I fell for him like an egg from a tall chicken. Same thing’ll happen to you. Be patient.”
“I hope you’re right, but somehow I doubt it.”
Carleen pointed to a small tent where two men in crisp white uniforms sat behind a table.
“Welcome to the Tiffany Star,” an officer cheerfully piped. I gave my ticket to the one with the most ribbons on his pin, turned in my passport, had my picture taken for an ID card, and rinsed my hands with disinfectant gel. Apparently that was to stave off gastrointestinal outbreaks that plague so many cruise ships. Just before we started up the gangway, a photographer asked Carleen and I to smile for the camera. “Oh, I hate seeing pictures of myself,” I said. “I’ve barely slept in two days. I must look a sight…”
“You’re nothin’ short of gorgeous, darlin’,” Carleen said.
We stood under a huppahlike structure, posing in front of a fake ocean backdrop and a Bon Voyage sign while the photographer got off a few shots. Suddenly I felt very appreciative of this old woman who was taking me under her wing for no reason at all. I turned and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Carleen. You’re the first good thing that’s happened to me in two days.”
She smiled brightly. “Well, your life will get better from here on out, I promise you that. And if you need to borrow some clothes until they find your suitcase, just ask me.” She looked me up and down. “Lordy, you’re just a pair of
