Ada, equally confounded urges Anna to think twice. “No, you should go on. Really, I can’t but you can. I’d never feel safe. I know it’s hard to understand. But it’s like 9/11 all over again. You were not here when they hit the Towers. I can still smell the rancid smoke that drifted over the river to us.” Ada gets teary.
Gemma bursts in “Those bastards, they never have to bomb another thing here. A bomb anywhere is a bomb here. It’s the blitz all over again in our minds.”
The three overwhelmed by the meeting of hearts after so many years apart and overwrought by the terror, huddle in a circle and whisper a pray “Hail Mary…”
Ada urges Anna, “Just do it. It’s a shame to let an opportunity like this pass by.”
Anna agrees on the spot. Gemma seals the deal with a hug, “You were always the brave one.”
Ada grabs her aunt’s arm, “We’ve got to get out of here while we still can!”
Gemma hugs Anna one last time, “Promise me you will come back and stay over for the Christmas. Gigi’s making her specialty sweet potatoes and baccala. And Ada here is making the turkey. And I am making baked rigatoni with meatballs.”
Anna’s eyes tear up as she kisses her sweet aunt and says, “who could say no to the best cooks this side of Naples?”
In less than five minutes, the hellos and goodbyes are history. Ada and Gemma move quickly toward a park car. Gemma, with tears in her doe eyes, cries, “You still have that gypsy in you. Send me a postcard and one of those Beefeaters.”
In a mix of overriding bittersweet emotions, Ada adds, “Sorry we can’t see you off. We got to go now before they start closing the bridges and tunnels. We got to get across the river now. Be Safe.”
Anna scrambles to catch up with them. “Hey, where is this boat? I can’t find the berth.”
Ada points, “See it’s right there, The Annabelle.”
“What the Arab Elle? I’m not going on that.” Anna begins to suspect this is a joke after all.
“No you cabbage head. Do you need bifocals? It’s not the ARABELLA. It’s the ANNABELLE. Get it?” Ada bellows.
Anna and Ada laugh out loud as they both remember their father’s favorite rebuke to all three siblings, ‘cabbage heads.’
Anna’s eyes scan the massive stacks for the ship’s name. Ada pulls the car out into the passageway and shrieks, “Right in front of your eyes, over there between the Seabourn and the Silversea.”
“Oh yeah, got it. Ciao inamorata. Get home safely. Are you sure I should go? It doesn’t feel right.” Anna shouts out to the fast departing Hummer. The sweet rose water essence of Ada and Gemma anoints Anna’s senses.
Coast guard helicopters hover over the entire length and breath of the world’s busiest harbor. Walking the gangplank, Anna’s guts churn, ‘turn back now!’ Common sense chimes in ‘you are exhausted. You are off-balance. You are disoriented. You are emotionally overwhelmed. This is the perfect recipe for disaster. It’s been good till now. Take heed, the winds have turned south. Abandon Ship. ’
Anna jumps a foot in the air as the steam liner booms its farewell. The loading platform rises. On deck, she searches the dock for the hummvie. Dark blue figures armed to the teeth standing in single file formation block the view.
“Maybe this is the safest place to be right now.” Anna focuses on the ship.
Tugboat horns boom as they guide the cruise ship out to sea. Soon a seafarer’s symphony erupts. The Annabelle’s tall stacks bellow a deep base retort to the tugs. On board, a brass band joins in the clamor. A boisterous National Anthem turns all heads. God Save the Queen follows. The captain takes the microphone.
“Welcome aboard mystery sailors. We apologize for the slight bump in the departure. At ease, mates. By the time you catch your first glimpse of Dover, it will all be over. Our Scotland Yard lads and lasses will have the culprits in irons. We inspected the whole ship and the entire luggage area. You have our full assurance that you are quite safe. The first order of the day is high tea at 1600 hours in the Albert Campion lounge. Magersfontein Lugg will be serving.”
With that three bells ring and the passengers search out the ship’s directory. The passengers banter like barnyard hens.
“I, for one, am glad we are here. I do feel safer aboard the ship than on the sidewalks of New York.”
“Cecil, can you make out the location of our state room? We are in the Tommy and Tuppence suite.”
Anna proceeds with caution. A matronly woman in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy Dress Whites directs the anxious passengers to their staterooms. As the initial rush subsides, Anna looks closely for the first time at her boarding pass.
“What’s this? Get out! I don’t believe it. There must be some mistake! This cannot be the right ship.
This really is a joke! When that brat of a sister said that this was a mystery adventure, I never took it literally. Phooey! I hope this isn’t one of those goofy mystery who-dun-it events, where someone fakes a murder and the others act out their fantasies as sleuths to discover the imaginary killer. I’m going to kill Ada. I betcha she and JB are bent over laughing at me now, alone, stranded at sea in the Pink Panther cabin.”
With great foreboding, she opens the door to the Pink Panther cabin.
“My soul just as I thought, everything is furry and pink. Heaven help me! What have I gotten myself into? Phooey I say. Oh no I sound like Nero Wolfe now. Yikes I think I’ve got the dang nasty mystery sleuth flu. I wonder if Advil will help. You don’t think that they expect us to stay in character for the whole voyage? It looks like rough seas ahead for me.”
Anna eyes the tight squeeze compartment. With only one bag, unpacking takes but a few minutes. Ready to settle down for a long ocean voyage, she senses the four walls closing in.
“I feel like Charlie the Tuna in this can. If I ‘ain’t’ in the soup again! I’m jumping the line on that High Tea thing. I‘ve got to get some air.” Anna laughs at the lame attempt at a lower eastside accent.
High tea preparations glitter brightly under a small forest of dewdrop crystal chandeliers. Silver tea services illuminated by the light above grace all the tables. And as the captain warned, a bald, roly-poly maitre de, dressed in Lugg’s uniform, greets all the early travelers at the door.
Anna assumes an air of privileged familiarity. She hopes to convey that cruising is just one of her many favorite past time. She likes what she sees a real tea party complete with sweet rolls, cucumber, ham, fish paste and cheese finger sandwiches, Indian & China tea. She selects a cucumber sandwich and a cup of Indian tea with milk and sugar. Scanning the layout of the room, she proceeds to the farthest table, hoping to observe the antics of the very gregarious would-be detectives.
Within seconds, a trim imposter with not an ounce of fat on him approaches. Anna pretends to be absorbed in eating but is carefully eyeing the gent. He is decked out in a powder blue suit, dark blue shirt, and white tie with the purple polka dots, matching handkerchief, brown brogues and polka dot purple socks and a designer’s newsboy cap. And of all things he sports a silver moustache. And just as she feared, he clocks in at her table.
In a lower east side New York accent he asks, “This free?”
In totally uncharacteristic fashion, she says nothing but kicks out the opposite chair. She wonders who he is supposed to be. She reckons Dick Tracy.
Reading her mind, the slick dick answers, “Philip Marlowe,”
A bit ruffled, she offers, “Doc B. And if you will excuse my nosy mind but I don’t remember Philip Marlowe with a moustache.”
Marlowe raises his curious eyebrows and brushes his moustache. He replies, “Maybe I’m the Thin Man then. Does it really matter?”
Not wanting to dwell on the fine point of lip hair, Marlowe suggests doubt about Anna’s character.
“Umm, Doc B never heard of ya!” He manages to contain a wry smile.
Anna ignores the implied question and refocuses on the matter at hand, the food.
Marlowe, in character, remarks, �
��Would you get a load of this food court! It could house a troop of Indian elephants,”
Anna looks about the ballroom again and has to agree. But she is not ready to engage this man. She merely nods yes and fusses with her tea.
Marlowe goes on trying to engage her in casual conversation. “You reckon this High Tea affair is appetizers? I could eat my spare tire and rim.”
Again Marlowe has to stifle a smile. He sees that Doc is not familiar with the repartee of the pulp fiction character Marlowe. Nevertheless he is not discouraged.
“You know what I want to know?”
She looks up with anticipation. His sparkling green eyes capture her attention now. He goes on, “Who ever invented these dolly sandwiches?” He holds up a ham sandwich. “One bite wonders is what I call them.”
Anna has to smile. She adds, “Really! They are more like a hint of sandwich.”
Marlowe is pleased with himself. He got her to talk. He offers her a suggestion, “After the toy food, Doc, you gotta check out the clam diggers shake down in the Nero Wolfe Banquet hall.”
Anna’s eyes grow big. She seizes on this bit of information as the perfect excuse to walk away, “You don’t say! I think I’ll check it out. I know for a fact that it’s really bad luck to pass Poseidon’s table at sea. It’s worse than breaking a mirror. See you around Marlowe.”
“I never heard that one before. See ya round, Doc.” Marlowe says as he stands and salutes her.
Keeping in the nautical tradition, Anna returns Marlowe’s salute.
The Nero Wolfe banquet is but a few steps away. This banquet hall also glistens brightly under chandeliers made up of tiny white lights. The air is thick with the scent of a thousand orchids. In this scenario, Archie, Mr. Wolfe’s man on the outside, escorts the crime investigators through the various tables. Lots of lobsters laden with lemon sage butter help Anna endure the chitchat of the mystery aficionados seated around the table. There is a lot of hoop-la about the pending who-dun-it. Speculation runs wild about the time and venue of the staged murder.
Eventually, Anna chimes in, “All this talk about murder turns a body off eating.”
“Au contraire, mon amie,” answers an egg shaped man with chrome dome decked out in a gray striped morning suit, fancy dress white shirt, stiff starched white collar, diamond studs for buttons, bowtie made of silk the color of mauve with white specks and for a touch of the absurd, a decorative art deco silver stickpin.
He continues. “A good murder mystery enhances the appetite. N’est pas?”
“Oh don’t tell me, you are, umm let me guess, Inspector Clouseau, right?” Anna teases.
The affronted man, short in stature, wide in girth, rises up and bows politely, “Pardonne, Hercule Poirot, myself in person,”
“Oh a thousand apologies,” Anna offers.
“Oh Mr. Poirot, fancy thinking an important man like you a bumbling inspector... These artists and writers are very unbalanced, no sense of proportion, you must excuse them,” says the woman next to Poirot. She is dressed in an appropriate long shinny black evening gown. She wears her hair in an extreme bob layered in neat rows of waves.
“Yes, Miss Lemon, quite!” Recovering from the mistaken identity affront, he turns back to Anna and asks,
“Tell me, if you please, you are?”
“Doc B, a votre service, monsieur.” Anna responds hoping to erase any offence.
The penguin of a man pauses. From his waistcoat he produces a gilded pocket watch and exquisite gold chain. He proceeds to place a small round monocle attached on a black rope upon his eye, thereby revealing his mouse eye. Content with the time, he fiddles with his ruby pinky ring. Next, he fastidiously grooms his waxed moustache. With his personal details in order, he turns his attention to the place setting before him. He rearranges the cutlery, plate and glasses.
Anna makes a mental note, ‘Oh lord, a dandy and an obsessive compulsive. What a combo?’
Satisfied with the now neat and exact arrangements, M. Faux Poirot retorts,
“Doc B? If you please to excuse me, but the name does not register with the little gray cells. Perhaps you are one of those, how do you say, American dicks?”
“Pas de tout, monsieur, I’m with MH 5.” Anna tries to make a discreet exit. As soon as she begins to make up stories it is time to split. She knows only too well the truth about how little white lies grow.
A dame obviously from Maine, wearing a 1950’s black taffeta dress with cinched waist and empire collar bedecked with a gaudy rhinestone brooch, sitting opposite Anna, apologetically interjects,
“Don’t you mean MI 5? Oh, to think a real spy at our table. I’ve had the occasion of working with one of your esteemed members. Please excuse our parochial ignorance. Don’t run off on our account. We are just getting in character for the main event. We want to know more about your character, Doc B. Oh yes, and my name is Jessica Fletcher from Cabot Cove.”
Anna doesn’t correct the intended subversion. “I am very happy to meet you all. But I must make my excuses this evening, perhaps another time? Now I must run. I have an important call coming in the next half hour, you will excuse me.”
Anna makes for the nearest exit.
She escapes to the grand concourse. The night air, down from the arctic, stings. In the vastness of darkness, she searches for earthly moorings. Surrounded on all sides by the immenseness of the sea, Anna’s spirit diminishes. Beyond the string of low lights that outline the multi-layered decks of the ship there is only darkness. Finally Anna’s head lifts towards the sky. ‘Wow! There is a heaven, Virginia.’ A gazillion stars afford her company all through the night.
Back in her tiny compartment, Anna desires nothing more than a long hot shower. However after eyeing the size of the shower box, she has second thoughts.
“Yikes, is this for real? One has to be a contortionist to use this thing. I’m too whacked to tackle this contact sport. If this is a stateroom, I must be in Rhode Island.’
Suddenly sleep captures her fully attention. She plops down on the cot size bed. She wipes her brow, “what a relief to get away from that ditzy detective bunch! I almost blew it back there. Leave it to me to create an imaginary mystery character for an equally absurd mystery cruise, of all things. Ada would love this stuff. She would have to be Miss Marple, I’m sure.
I hope they got back safely. I really wonder what I’m sailing into. It’s kind of strange that no one is talking about it. No one is questioning. Everyone is some place else and someone else. Geez is this the Twilight Zone? Now I’m freaking myself out.”
She throws the covers over head. With the last yawn of the day, Anna admits, “I’m sleuth out but you know these characters are very amusing. I wonder whose going to get axed?”
Upon waking the next morning Anna’s first thought is that the first breakfast buffet service begins at 5:30 AM. Even though she thinks that this is an ungodly hour to be showing oneself to others she gets up, scratching, stretching and tugging.
Gathering up a change of clothes she announces with zeal, “First a shower!” One look at the shower in daylight suggests that this may very well be a trial by water.
“Shower? Now that’s a stretch of the imagination. This is a converted broom closet. It’s going to be tight. Oh what the hell! Three days on the train, Lord knows I need a good hosing down.”
Comparing the width of the shower with the girth of her hips, Anna decides the best approach is sideways. Her bum squeaks against the modular shower wall. She panics slightly, “What if I get stuck in here and can’t get out till the vessel docks? Lord knows that I won’t be missed.”
An instant blast of hot steam from the showerhead begins to remove the grim of three days on the rails. Lavender essences slowly bring down her anxiety level. Turning in the shower, however, proves to be problematic. “This must be Houdini’s shower.”
Anna exits the shower, turns around and gets back in so as to get all parts clean. Toweling off she reconsiders the tasks before her,
Refreshed and dressed, she hit’s the deck at the very moment the sun’s head lifts above the horizon. The sky above goes from charcoal gray to a diffused gray to mellow pink to a new blue. The air, properly salted, crisp and clear fills Anna’s sluggish lungs.
“Just another Tequila sunrise,” brushes softly against Anna’s ears.
Startled, Anna pivots swiftly one eighty. “Marlowe!”
Marlowe replies, “You were expecting Bogart, maybe?”
The absurdity of Marlowe’s retort vanquishes her initial urge to deck the imposter. Instead she says nothing and takes in the sunrise. Marlowe, seeing that Doc is a bit jumpy, whispers the song’s refrain, “Take another shot of courage.”
Anna turns towards the man who is now dressed in the high fashion of the 40’s, a gray sharkskin Zoot suit complete with black linen shirt and broad white tie with purple polka dots of course.
“What brings you topside so early, Marlowe?” she asks.
Marlowe relaxes a tad seeing that she is going to talk to him after all. “Same as you I suppose, a bit of an insomniac and I don’t take to crowds.”
Turning back to the sunrise service, Anna answers, “Ditto!”
Marlowe stands still and silent. Anna notices and approves. Staying put and keeping one’s lips from flapping are next to impossible for Anna. She takes out her ship’s map to find the best route to the breakfast hall. Marlowe gestures to follow him. Anna cringes upon seeing the gang of sleuths in line already. Marlowe laughs, “Foiled again.”
The two take up position in the line. There is constant buzz among the sleuths.
Anna turns to Marlowe, “What’s all the hubbub, bud?”
Marlowe, “The murder no doubt...!”
She pales, “Murder? A board ship...? No! Really? Get out of here? Are you sure? Who? When?”
The Christmas Pudding Lie Page 5