“I can’t,” I told her. “He’s marrying Sydney.”
“Yeah, the queen of the pig people.” Annie pushed the tip of her nose up and snorted a few times.
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“It’s obvious,” Annie said. “Dad’s got a daughter complex. He doesn’t see enough of me, so he has to marry a daughter substitute. That’s what Mom says.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’ll let you in on something. Men don’t need daughter complexes to marry younger women. They do it because, well, it’s a reluctance to grow old. A young woman gives a man the illusion that youth is still his.”
“You think?” Annie said. “C’mon, let’s tell them it’s time to leave. I want to go swimming.”
When we stepped inside the shop, a man was serving our companions hot apple tea in clear mugs. Lucille and Carleen had bargained for rugs they would have shipped home. Denis and Sydney were choosing between six intricate silk pieces of varying size, no doubt for their new love nest.
“Let’s just take them all,” Sydney said. “I’m sure we can find a place for them at one of our homes, or on the yacht, maybe the jet.”
Denis shrugged and handed over his black American Express card.
I was amazed at how expensive they were, especially the multicolored silks. A bathmat-size rug cost about ten thousand dollars.
The leather seat burned my leg when we got into the limo.
“Can we get some air back here?” Carleen said. “I’m hotter than a popcorn fart.”
Annie snickered at that expression.
As we drove, Carleen surprised Pops by telling him that she would be giving him the intricate silk rug she had purchased for forty thousand dollars.
Lucille gasped. “But I was going to give you the rug I bought for fifty thousand dollars,” she said.
Oh, dear. It was one thing for Pops to take ten-and twenty-dollar tips from Muttropolis customers convinced their dogs were getting special treatment, but taking forty-and fifty-thousand-dollar rugs from these lovely women who believed Pops liked them best was playing with fire.
“Mom,” Denis said, “isn’t that awfully extravagant? You’ve only just met.”
“It’s my money,” she said, “and I want Sven to have something special to remember me by.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Pops said, blowing each woman a kiss. “Thank you. These will look wonderful in my home, and I’ll think of both of you every time I sleep, er, step on them.”
I wondered how easily dog poop stains came out of Persian rugs.
“Ah ah ah—ohmigod!” Sydney was screaming and flicking her hand wildly. An errant silkworm went flying into Lucille’s lap.
“Aaaaaaaa!” Lucille shouted. “Get that off of me.” She flung it toward Carleen, who ducked.
Sydney turned her purse upside down and shook the contents out on the floor. “Denis, there are worms in my bag.” She took off her seat belt and bolted to the other side of the limo.
“You little fiend,” Sydney said, pointing her finger in Annie’s face. “You did this, didn’t you?”
“Why would I do that?” Annie said. “Daddy, she’s unfairly accusing me.”
“Denis, punish her,” Sydney cried.
The car was just pulling up to the dock. Perfect timing for my exit.
I jumped out, removing myself from the fracas taking place in the limo. To be safe, I ducked into a carpet store in the strip mall across from the ship. I wanted to be sure there were no police cars or suspicious officials lurking around, but I didn’t see anything. It seemed safe to get on board. Then, as soon as I flashed my ID and slipped through the metal detector, two Filipino security guys asked me to come with them. Apparently, the cops were waiting for me in the captain’s office. I was about to be busted in the worst place possible—Turkey.
High Hopes
MY FEET FELT LIKE they were encased in concrete loafers as I trailed the security guards to the Lido Deck. We lumbered past the pool toward the stairs leading to the bridge where Captain Paul had his office. There was a knot in the pit of my stomach and my mouth was as dry as a silk cocoon. As we trudged past the guests who were lazing by the pool, soaking in the Jacuzzi, drinking frozen margaritas, and dancing to “Hot, Hot, Hot” (could someone please teach this band another song?), I wished I could turn back time. Why had I borrowed those dresses? Here I was on the ship doing just fine without them. What made me think I’d magically inherit Audrey’s grace or luck by wearing knockoffs of her gowns? They were fabric and buttons and beads, nothing more.
Please God, don’t let them drag me to some Midnight Express jail. I could see it now. The cops would carry me off the ship kicking and flailing. The band would finally play a different tune: Holl-y, Holl-y, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
Captain Paul stood politely when I entered his office. He flashed a wide smile, which gave me hope. In front of his desk were two cops sitting in visitor chairs. “Ah, Miss Ross,” Captain said. “There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding. These officers insist that you’re traveling with stolen costumes from a museum. Do you know what they’re talking about?”
Breathe, breathe, I told myself. Act innocent. “What? I have no idea!” My eyes widened in feigned disbelief.
One of the officers, short, dark skinned with a massive, hairy cheek mole opened a manila folder. In it were photographs of twelve Givenchy gowns from our exhibit. “These dresses have gone missing.”
I studied his face (well, mostly his mole). God help me if I end up going to prison in this dermatologically backward country. Then, perusing the photos, I took my time before speaking. “They’re from a show we did at work. What happened to them?”
The officer paused and mopped his brow with a kerchief. “They are stolen and we have information that links them to you,” he said in broken English.
I resented the
