“How so?” Denis asked as he typed an e-mail.
“Well…Oh! Did you know that King George II died while straining to relieve his constipation?” Arrrrgh.
“Fascinating,” Denis said, shutting off his BlackBerry. “Excuse me. I’m going to join Annie at the scavenger hunt.”
“Denis, wait!” I blurted. “I’m sorry I called you Penis King.”
“Forget it,” he said, averting his eyes.
“I can’t. It was unforgivable. Especially in front of Annie.”
Denis glared at me. “It’s been years since anyone called me that.”
“You mean I wasn’t the first?”
“I was a chubby kid,” he said, “with a name just begging to be made fun of.”
“Ouch,” I said. “So why didn’t you go by your middle name?”
“My middle name is Evelyn.”
You can’t be serious, I thought.
“Like Evelyn Waugh, who wrote Brideshead Revisited,” Denis said. “It’s a family name.”
“I’m sorry.” I said. “About what I did, I mean, not your middle name.”
“I should go look for Annie,” he said, dismissing me.
“May I walk with you?”
“I suppose,” Denis said. “Unless of course you want to…”
“Have breakfast with you in the Bistro? Yes, I’d love to.”
“I was going to say, unless you wanted to let the activity director know how your talk went,” he said.
“Why ever would I want to do that? Breakfast with you sounds much more pleasant.”
Denis sighed. “Okay. Sure, why not?” The wall was coming down.
We strolled down the hall toward the small restaurant, passing a group of passengers looking at the photos that had been taken at the gangplank the day before. They were posted along the wall behind clear plastic holders.
“Excuse me,” said a squat, gray-haired grandpa decked out in dark green Ralph Lauren shorts, shirt, and matching socks. He looked like an avocado. “How do you tell which picture is yours?”
“Oh, it’s easy. You look for the one you’re in,” I said.
“Of course, thanks,” he said thoughtfully.
Denis let out a laugh when we were out of the man’s range. His eyes had softened.
The Bistro was a small restaurant full of shiny brass fixtures and frosted glass windows. It offered a buffet of bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese, Danish, muffins, and fresh fruit. The air in the room was warm and thick with the scent of freshly baked bread. We each fixed a plate and took a seat. Denis’ BlackBerry vibrated and he checked the message, then turned it off.
“Listen, don’t feel bad that you didn’t get a crowd,” he said. “They offer so much on sea days, it’s hard to choose.”
“You’re right,” I said. “There’s a lot going on. It’s just that I want to do a good job so they’ll ask me back. Plus, if I can rustle up a few donations, Tanya says she’ll promote me to curator.” I looked at Denis expectantly.
“Good luck with that,” he said noncommittally.
“Do you like my outfit? It’s your mom’s.”
“I do. You look very pretty. So what’s your next speech about?”
“The style of Audrey Hepburn,” I said. “It’s based on our last exhibit.”
“I don’t know, after the showing this morning, you may need to spice up the topic to generate excitement,” he said. “Add some sex appeal, why don’t you?”
I dropped my bagel. “Denis! How can you say that? Talking about sex in the same breath as Audrey Hepburn. That’s sacrilege. It insults her memory. The woman was a saint. Not only is the idea repugnant, but it devalues my entire fashion history education, which my ex-fiancé is still paying for, by the way.”
“Hepburn was a real person,” Denis said. “She smoked, she drank…”
“Oh…well…in that case, why not just call the talk Audrey Hepburn and the…the Thirty-Minute Orgasm for Seniors!” I proclaimed, waving my arms in the air.
“Good idea,” he said with a chuckle. “But why not just call it The Thirty-Minute Orgasm for Seniors?”
“No. Whatever I talk about has to have a fashion angle,” I said. “Gosh, I can’t believe I just used the word ‘orgasm’ in the same sentence as ‘Audrey Hepburn.’ Anyway, I can’t give that speech because what do I know about thirty-minute orgasms, even if they’re physically possible.”
“Especially among the elderly,” Denis said.
“Exactly. And how would I make the connection between Audrey Hepburn and orgasms? She played a nun, for heaven’s sake. You’re right about one thing, though. To draw a crowd, I need to come up with a different topic, something more provocative than what I’d planned.”
Denis smiled at me. “You know what you remind me of?”
“What?”
“Spring,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re a breath of fresh air.”
I Get a Kick Out of You
A BREATH OF FRESH AIR! That was the nicest thing anyone had ever called me. I flashed my most adorable smile, in a modest and demure way.
Denis signaled for the waiter, who came right over. “More coffee?”
I nodded. “Thanks. With cream. So where are your peeps?”
“Syd’s exercising. She works ungodly hours. That’s her one release. And Annie’s at the scavenger hunt with Manny.”
I giggled. “Annie and Manny. Cute.”
“Yes, they’re a pair,” he said. “Annie’s mother got her a manny to take my place.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “No one can take a father’s place in a child’s mind.”
“That was the idea, anyway,” Denis said. “One of the reasons I wanted to take this cruise was to spend time with Annie. She lives with my ex-wife during the school year. But Manny dotes on her. ’Course, that’s fine with Sydney. She’s not into children. And it gives me more time for Mother. She’s been depressed.”
“I heard.”
“You did?”
“Oh, sure. There are no secrets on this ship. Her favorite dance host died doing the mattress mambo with her.”
“No, it was the horizontal hora,” he said with a wry smile.
“Your wedding will cheer her up,” I said. “I hear you’re getting married in Rome.”
Denis nodded slowly. “Mother can die happy now. She and my father began orchestrating this match when my first marriage imploded. After Dad and Bunny’s husband died, those two yentas made this union their life’s mission. The Basses have the largest real estate portfolio in the city; we’re
