Getting Old is the Best Revenge (27 page)

"Now let's try it to the side. Step to the right. One-two-three-hold, now step to the left and onetwo-three-hold, now cross over and do it again."

I'm tripping over my feet. I haven't a clue what to do or where to do it.

This seems to go on endlessly. Whatever he's doing, I'm not. Finally, thankfully, he stops.

The women are all puffing. That was a workout.

"Very good," says Roberto. "Now I need a volunteer. After all, this is the second most important thing you'll ever do with a partner." He smirks, letting us guess what the first might be. Ha-ha.

He walks directly to Ida and me. He grins at me and I grin back. I feel like my face will crack from all this smiling and grinning.

I slouch like a little kid in class who doesn't know the answers and doesn't want to be called on.

He reaches out for Ida's hand.

And there they go, our Ida quick-quick-slowing with him every step of the way. Ida, gracefully letting her swirly skirt swirl.

Ida, dipping and bending when he dips and bends. Her head snapping back when he snaps. I wish I had a camera. She's adorable. Who knew?

We're about to leave, when Roberto calls me back. He'd like to give me a few personal pointers. Ida and I look at one another. I shrug. She nods and leaves with the other women.

Roberto puts on another tape. This is a slow rumba. He pulls me to him.

"I'm really not good at this," I say.

"Don't worry. I'll lead you."

And he is a very good leader.

He pulls me even tighter to him. This is not good. His aftershave is overwhelming. It's making me want to sneeze. Why did I let Ida leave?

He whispers. His mouth is so close to my ear, I can feel his breath, and I shiver. "I've been watching you, Mrs. Gold. You are a very smart lady."

"Thanks." I am desperately trying to create space between our two bodies, listen to what he is saying and hear what he really means, and think fast, all at the same time.

"But it's not a good idea to get involved in other people's business." His fingers dig a little too deeply into my neck as his other arm tightens even more around my lower back. I am feeling body parts I haven't felt in a very long time. His. Not mine.

I giggle nervously. "My mother used to tell me the same thing." He twirls me around. I nearly fall on him as he spins me back. "But I never listened."

"Listen now. A ship can be a dangerous place for an elderly woman like yourself. Accidents can happen. A slippery deck. A broken railing. Steep metal steps."

Oh, how I'm dying to tell him, he doesn't need to kill Amy or even me anymore. The jig's up.

Enough. Time for an accident of my own. I "accidentally" step hard on his right foot and, at the same time, my allergy to his aftershave makes me sneeze hard, right into his face.

"Clumsy . . ." He pulls away, wiping his face in disgust.

I move to the door, fast. "I can't agree with you more. An old person better be careful. Thanks for the lesson."

And I am running down the hallway. I don't know if I'm running for my life or for my shower. For a very cold shower.

Whoa! Talk about sex and violence.

And cheap thrills.

45

The Captain, the Killer,

and the Private Eye

W
e arrive at the captain's office promptly at

five. The Sicilianos are already there. "Don't ask," I told the girls when they asked about my dance with Roberto. "You don't want to know."

Angelina asks about Amy. I checked with the infirmary. She was still asleep.

The door opens and we are invited in. It is your ordinary conference room. A large gray table with matching chairs around it. Even the walls are gray. We all take seats. My group looks to me.

I introduce everyone to the captain and he introduces us to his three top men.

"Speak," says Captain Standish.

I jump right in. "We have a murderer on board. His name is Robert Martinson, aka Roberto, who teaches your Latin dance class, and you should grab him fast."

"Start from the beginning, Mrs. Gold, and then I shall determine what course of action I shall take."

Okay, we know who's in control here, don't we?

I start. Nonstop. With no interruption.

I don't know how long I've been talking, but my voice feels raspy and I don't dare sneak a look at my watch.

I am aware of an occasional squeak of chairs, a cough now and then, and an intermittent need to hold on to the table since the ship is rocking quite a bit.

And once or twice I can see Angelina, clutching at a handkerchief and crying.

I can also tell my girls are dying to jump in and contribute but are awed into silence by the very intimidating captain.

Finally I wind down. "So, Captain Standish, what do we do now?" Notice the "we"--he's my partner now.

We tell him where Amy is and her condition. For a moment there is silence. He addresses the Sicilianos. "I can only guess how difficult this situation is for you. Please know I shall do whatever I can to help you. I will, of course, inform all the necessary authorities. And until we can take Mr. Martinson into custody, you will be accompanied at all times by my men, and a guard will be posted outside the infirmary."

"Gladdy was threatened, too," Sophie pipes, then quickly shuts up.

He nods to his second-in-command, who goes to the wall phone and speaks softly and quickly.

The first mate hangs up the phone. "They're searching for him right now. I told them not to do anything other than to locate him."

"Good," says the captain.

Captain Standish looks at me. I wish I could know what he's thinking. What does that glint in his eye mean? Then he says, "I might mention that at your suggestion, Mrs. Gold, I contacted Detective Morgan Langford and retired detective Jack Langford. I was warned by them that you were a force unto yourself. And I should take you very seriously."

I smile. There is a muttering of agreement among my group.

I say nervously, "I made a big mistake trying to outsmart Martinson by going to his dance class. There's no doubt he's on to us."

Our group gets up, ready to leave, when the phone rings again. The first mate answers, listens, hangs up.

"They haven't been able to locate him as of now, sir. He missed his four-thirty class."

My heart sinks. I think of slippery steps and broken railings.

The captain turns to his men. "Find him. Be as inconspicuous as you can. I don't want to alarm the passengers."

Bella can't stand it anymore. She blurts, "But what if he has a gun?"

Sophie joins in. "What if he runs for it?"

Evvie can't resist a famous movie line: " 'He can run, but he can't hide.' "

There is a smattering of nervous laughter.

"We're out on the ocean, ladies," the captain reassures us. "He can't go far."

"I want to have a turn at him when you catch him," growls Elio.

"What if he grabs a hostage?" Ida adds.

The captain dryly asks us if we watch a lot of movies.

Yes, and a good thing, too. I want to say it but I resist the temptation.

He walks us to the door.

I stop. "Captain, sir, may I make a suggestion?"

"Can I stop you?"

"I think I have an idea of how to search for him while keeping the passengers out of harm's way."

"I'm listening," he says. Boy, is he scary. This is the second time today I feel like a child. Afraid of this very big teacher standing there with a very large ruler in his hand.

Here goes nothing. "Maybe you should call a fire drill. Then everybody will be gathered together in controlled areas, and with the ship emptied out, he should be easier to spot."

For a long moment the captain stares at me. Then he shakes his head as if in disbelief. And there's that twinkle in his eye again.

"Mrs. Gold," he says, "who
are
you?"

I could tell him I'm from the planet
Meshugeneh,
but I think I've overstayed my welcome.

To his men he says, "Prepare to sound the alarm."

46

Who's Rockin' the Boat?

I
t's six-thirty p.m. and here comes the captain's promised run-for-your-life-jackets mambo. If the runners and dashers passing us knew that I'm the one who's interrupted French Gourmet Night in the dining room, I'd be skewered on a rotisserie for sure.

The ship is rocking from side to side. Then up and down. Then round and round. At least it feels like that. Winds are gusting hard and we are holding on to the outside rails as tightly as we can as we reach our Muster Station on the upper Starlight deck. Wearing that clumsy orange life jacket doesn't help. I feel like I'm choking, and I can hardly see over the top of it as we run.

The girls are mad at me. Even Evvie, who is usually my steadfast ally, screams over the deafening alarm blasts, "You and your big ideas. You had to give the captain the suggestion to call a fire drill at dinnertime?"

"But--I didn't say when--"

"Yeah," says Bella, cutting me off. "We hardly had breakfast and didn't eat more than a crumb after."

Sophie gets on the bandwagon. "And we missed lunch because you made us hide in the room."

Ida's turn. "You think those stale peanuts satisfied anybody?"

Evvie's big finish: "And now we're missing pate de foie gras! I'll bet we're the first people who ever starved on a cruise ship."

What a bunch of ingrates! If I ever started getting a swelled head for my efforts, this group would know how to deflate it.

We weave from side to side, grabbing at whatever we can for handholds, at our station. Many other passengers are already there holding on to poles and guardrails and anything else bolted down that will keep them steady. The wind is whipping even stronger now. As frightening as the gusts are, the noise they make is worse. The earsplitting blasts add to the feeling of chaos and discomfort.

I wonder where the Sicilianos are. And I hope Amy isn't frightened. Last I saw of Angelina and Elio, they were being accompanied by armed guards.

A nervous woman calls shrilly, "Is this for real? Are we in a hurricane?"

I want to reassure her, Hey, this is a false alarm. But is it anymore?

The ship's getting even rockier. So much for stabilizers. The waves look ominous and high. My girls are wide-eyed and I'm beginning to really worry.

"Oh, no!" Evvie lets go of my arm and stumbles to the outer rail, hanging on for dear life, and throws up. Thank goodness the wind is blowing away from us. She leans her head weakly on one of the lifeboats latched to the outer rail.

Seeing Evvie is all it takes for Sophie to have her turn zigzagging her way to the rail and tossing what's left in her stomach over the side.

And Bella, moaning, follows right after her. I am barely able to keep from being sick myself. I look at Ida, standing next to me, her head high, arms stretched out wide, letting the breeze caress her face. Her eyes are closed. Her smile is beatific.

I can't believe it. This is the real thing, not just sloshing soup! "Ida. Are you feeling all right?"

She opens her eyes. "What?"

"Everybody's seasick."

Ida looks at our gang hanging their heads over the rail. "Not me. I guess I finally got my sea legs." She closes her eyes blissfully.

I hear Evvie at the rail say, "Now I'm glad we didn't get much to eat today."

Just then the ship tips and people start to topple into each other. Someone is yelling, "Oh, my God. Look at that!" So I do, and I see a fearful sight. A massive wave. Coming right at us. Huge. Terrifying.

Someone yells, "Hang on!" as the boat tilts the other way, like something is pulling the sea right out from under us. There's no way we can make it to the inside and away from it.

Panic hits. People grip each other, stricken, whimpering or screaming. I hear a woman shout plaintively, "Murray! We'll never see the grandchildren again."

Her husband, I assume, answers her, "Shirley. They're a pain in the neck and they treat you like dirt."

I hear Bella, still at the rail, moaning, "We're gonna die, we're gonna die."

I keep waiting for my life to pass before my eyes, but it doesn't. I think of death and I think of my Jack's death. Am I now going to join him? I think of my Emily and my beautiful grandchildren. And the thought that I may never see them again. All I can do is stare at that black mass relentlessly coming toward us. It's like a tsunami. Larger than life. Mother Nature at her worst. I close my eyes.