“No, no, no,” John said, shaking his finger as though insulted. “Pleasing you is what pleases me.”
“Well, you’re my hero,” I said. “You have delighted and astonished me.”
As soon as John left, I remembered that my bras and panties had been thrown in the trunk at the last minute. I wondered, would it be too much to ask him to get those for me so I could be liberated from the underpants-for-two I’d been wearing? I decided to leave well enough alone. Surely I could pick up new panties in Santorini, our next port.
I celebrated the safe return of the Audrey costumes with a Pilates class, followed by a Lomi Lomi massage and then an antiaging facial (where they dipped my hands and feet in paraffin just for good measure). The spa was practically empty, since most people were touring Istanbul.
After lunch, I went to see the Whirling Dervishes of Rumi, who were performing on board for the passengers who hadn’t gotten off the ship. For some odd reason, I had always thought whirling dervishes were twirling birds. But no, they were men who took vows of poverty and danced as a way of worshipping God. Wearing dramatic, flowy white robes and tall black hats, they raised their arms, with one palm facing heaven, one facing earth, and spun counterclockwise so fast and furiously that you couldn’t believe they didn’t fall over when they were done, and yet they did not. The costumes were beautiful and the music hypnotic, but I finally left because I was feeling dizzy. As I exited the theater, I caught Frank Flannagan’s eye and he smiled. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he touring with everyone else?
I spent the rest of the afternoon lolling by the pool in the sizzling heat enjoying Annie, the lone swimmer. She was going down the slide over and over again, laughing and giggling with delight each time. It looked like so much fun that I finally joined her. It was a saltwater pool, which the facialist told me was great for the skin.
After a cool dip, I returned to the chaise lounge, from where I could see that Manny was drinking a Bloody Mary across the pool. I gave him a friendly wave, but he avoided my gaze. Thinking about him and Sydney last night, I wondered why smart, educated people behave like guests on The Jerry Springer Show. Here Sydney had this great fiancé and amazing future ahead of her and she risked it all for what? Manny the manny. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a manny. It’s as respectable as being an airline steward or a male nurse. But Denis King is a five-star catch. I’ve done some pretty dumb things in my life, but playing with the affections of a man as attractive as Denis was something I would never do.
“May I sit?”
I looked up, using my hand to block the sun. There was Denis dressed for a day at the office.
“Of course,” I said.
“Da-deee!” Annie yelled, jumping into his lap, thoroughly soaking him with salt water. “Ha-ha, I got your suit all wet.”
Denis laughed. “That’s all right. It’s drip-dry.”
“Daddy, will you swim with me?”
“Sure,” he said, “but you have to run back to the cabin and get my trunks. Here, take the key.”
“Why’re you so dressed up?” I asked, as Annie skipped off.
“Sydney and I went to Athens today. Her family owns a ten-acre parcel downtown that I’m going to develop. We met with some government ministers.”
“How synergistic,” I muttered, as the horn from the ship sounded. From below, the vague thrumming of engines could be felt.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said. “So you didn’t get to tour Istanbul?”
“Not this time,” he said. “We’ll have to come back.”
The ship started to move and the voice of Louis Armstrong came over the loudspeaker.
I see trees of green…red roses too…
They always played “It’s a Wonderful World” when we pulled out of a port. It was a lovely ship tradition.
“How’d you get to Athens?”
“My jet. I keep it close by in case I need to get somewhere fast.”
“That’s handy,” I said.
“Waiter,” Denis said. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Lemonade, thanks,” I said.
“Two lemonades,” he said.
“Did you enjoy Istanbul?” Denis asked.
“Loved it,” I lied. “Especially the Topkapi Palace.”
“Here, Dad,” Annie said, holding up a blue swimsuit.
“I’ll go change,” Denis said, standing. “Want to join us?”
“Sure. But where’s Sydney? Doesn’t she like to swim?”
“She’s having a massage. The negotiations in Athens left her all tense.”
That and the fact that seven people saw her screwing Manny the manny last night, I thought.
Peel Me a Grape
ON READING THAT EVENING’STiffany Tattler, I saw that the competition would be fierce among tomorrow’s eleven o’clock activities. Besides attending my provocatively titled lecture, A Peek Inside Panties from Past to Present, passengers could partake in a talent show, cha-cha lessons, a Chagall auction, outdoor yoga, a lecture on Santorini and the Legend of Atlantis, a submarine ride (limit ten), and a cooking class with Enrico Derflingher. I realized I needed to hustle to avoid a repeat of my ill-attended first talk.
In the computer room, the Apple expert slash deckhand slash waiter helped me create a flyer advertising my program. I thought I’d post them throughout the ship, but that seemed lame. I decided to chuck the flyers and make a more dramatic appeal that night.
As passengers enjoyed their dinner, I arrived in the kitchen wearing nothing but my Frette robe. In the rear of the stainless-steel series of rooms, pastry chef Guy Saint Martin gestured for me to make myself comfortable on a silver platter the size of a bathmat. Shedding the robe, I lay on the cold tray, positioning my nude self on its side in as voluptuous a pose as I could.
“Fold your knee over your crotch,” Guy said. “Our dining room is rated G.” With the precision and artistry for which he was widely admired, Guy painted my body
