Cruise to Mayhem

by David P. Remy

  With Breath fussing over placing Sam’s table napkin on his lap, Led said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Breath made a good faith effort to verbalize her appreciation as Led was already rushing away. He was heading back to the maitre d’s podium. When he got there, the line wasn’t as long anymore. When it came his turn, Led requested one seat at table…you guessed it…#477.

  While Led was busying himself with locking in his place at the table of his desire, Mr. & Mrs. Fitzgerald arrived. They introduced themselves to Sam and Breath and chose their seats at the table elegantly set for six.

  A few minutes later, Led arrived at his table destination. If luck had anything to do with it, this would be the destiny offering him his hoped for shipboard love. As he seated himself across from Breath Olsen at the table, he looked up to see the couple who had recently joined the table while he was manipulating the maitre d’ and beheld none other than…

  “Well, looky here, Joyce. It’s one of those two guys we sat with when we got aboard yesterday. You remember”…Charlie Fitzgerald announced to the table with a wink…“the couple.”

  Charlie looked at Joyce, picked up the menu and declared, “I’m starving.”

  Joyce looked at Sam who looked at Led.

  Led looked at Breath and swallowed…hard.

  ****

  All the while that the early dinner was taking place, down on deck 4 a busy bunch was setting up the massive amount of artwork which would be available for auction. The art auctioneer, Kris, short for Kristolf, Sanders, all the way from the UK, was organizing the dozen or so artists on canvass for presentation at the art seminar the next morning. The art program offered to the guests was an off shoot enterprise stemming from the treasury of permanent art aboard all RDC ships. Kris had worked for the company over five years and was well versed, ala Tim Marlow, the art historian lecturer for the BBC television network.

  “Let’s try to file the larger pieces behind the smaller ones on the trolley. We’ll need to transport them to the Aquarium lounge on deck 13 by 9 am tomorrow.” The assistants nodded in unison. Nothing new to them. Most had been with Kris more than a year, so they knew the drill. His senior assistant, Maggie, short for Magdalena, Cortez, had become more than a working colleague. She had graduated to fiancee a few months ago. There must be something about adding the magic of ship cruising to a man and a woman for creating romantic relationships.

  “Kris, did you have time to deliver the Van Gogh to the Chief Engineer’s suite?” Maggie was checking over her inventory of newly boarded artworks.

  “As a matter of fact, I did that first thing. I wasn’t keen on having that get lost in the shuffle. The CE is one of the ship’s ruling class and I sure didn’t want to earn his wrath right off,” Kris shot back.

  “It still intrigues me how old Stydd got that piece past the customs officials. There wasn’t any customs ‘pass’ sticker on it,” Maggie offhandedly commented.

  “This was his home port and he most likely knows every official on the dock. You know, went to school with them or played together on the same sport teams. Getting a Van Gogh copy overlooked shouldn’t be that big a deal. It’s a quality print, but nothing worth any custom officer’s worry, especially if said officer is a buddy.” Kris winked.

  Staring at her computer screen of inventory, Maggie mumbled, “I wish it were that easy to process all these auction pieces. We could slip in a few we bought ourselves and then auction them off with the proceeds wrapped as a wedding present from the company.”

  “What? Listen to you. I’ve got a darling little smuggler on my hands. I might have to reassess this relationship.”

  “Really, now. Well, maybe I’ll have to do the same.” Maggie unconsciously patted down her skirt.

  Kris wouldn’t dream of reassessing this relationship and Maggie wouldn’t smuggle any art work onto the ship in a thousand years.

  With no stretch of the mind, not everyone among the present ship’s company had thought along those lines.

  ****

  A cruise ship has many moving parts…most of them not mechanical. A myriad of minor dramas is a constant verification of life in progress. “Life is just one damn thing after another until we die” is a well worn adage. Surely, no one includes a serious plan for dying when planning their cruise, though there are several insurance companies who would treasure your business. The starkness of reality is that reality never takes a holiday. A cruise, yes, but not a vacation from doing what it does best…presenting us mere mortals with life and death.

  Double that notion when you are enjoying a transatlantic cruise on the high seas seemingly protected by the ornate furnishings of a luxury cruise liner. Wined and dined; waited upon shamelessly; spoiled rotten in every manner from the moment you board until de-embarkation. As close as anyone could hope to experience heaven this side of that veiled curtain.

  In the mindset of every merry making cruiser there is no entree given to this question---could death ever be a factor on the vacation of our lifetime? A little known factoid which will surprise the vast majority of cruisers: there is a fully staffed medical facility with a morgue aboard every modern cruise ship. And, the documented numbers prove that they are used…especially on any cruise destined to a far off port filled with mayhem.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The stateroom phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Lucky’s arm had fallen asleep and was painfully prickly as he slid it out from under the warm covers like a snake ready to strike. He begrudgingly dragged the receiver to his ear. “Hell…”

  Before he could add the second syllable the robot operator squawked: “This is your wake up call. It is 7 am.” The robot began to loop the announcement over and over as he clumsily returned the phone to its cradle, squashing his habitually spoken ‘thank you’. Lucky rolled back the covers and sat on the bedside. It was almost as dark in the room as it would be on the earth during an eclipse of the moon. A couple of greenish LED lights from the smoke detector and the thermostat pierced the blackness like laser beams. As his eyes cleared, he noticed a bulk like a wrapped mummy in the bed next to his…Led…totally entombed in his cocoon made from the comforter.

  Lucky made his way to the bathroom, adequate in size for persons under five feet and 70 pounds, both of which he had surpassed several years ago. Lucky began the morning ablutions reminiscing how he had met Led one Tuesday afternoon at the airport. He could be so precise because Tuesday was his volunteer day with the local branch of the USO, the United Service Organization. The USO will forever be associated with the comedian Bob Hope and hundreds of Hollywood, Nashville and Broadway stars who entertained our military troops stationed overseas. Even to this day, they remain the premier organization that offers the thousands of traveling uniformed persons a home away from home.

  Led, holding one of his myriad of odd jobs, was working his way through college…and struggling to find a direction to take in his life. Employed by a local travel company specializing in travel assistance, he pushed the empty wheelchair back to the Delta airlines gate. He would routinely wave to Lucky, at that time, an unknown USO volunteer in the information booth. He’d flash his trademark smile.

  Lucky, sitting behind the airport information desk, was graced with Led’s professional performance. He couldn’t help but notice the warm and friendly manner in which he assisted the wheelchair bound traveler to their gate. Lucky also received a short autobiographical update every Tuesday for months. Then, on one of those afternoons, Led mentioned out of the blue that he was quitting his “red cap” position and starting up his own handyman operation. He gave Lucky a computer generated business card along with a personal thirty second commercial for why Lucky should hire him. Thus began chapter two of Lucky’s relationship with Led.

  “Good morning.” The sound rumbled out from under the covers. Not to be mistaken for Led being fully awake or getting out of bed, Led always managed a modicum of joy with his greeting. “Get me up when you finish service and you get back, OK? I’ll need so
me breakfast by then.” He tee-heed.

  “Sure, lazybones. I’ll do my best to roust you out of your den of hibernation.”

  “I know you like the room guy to clean up, so just make me get up.” This came from a Led who had learned his lesson after having been chastised by Lucky on occasion for being responsible that the room attendant skipped cleaning up the cabin.

  “Count on it. And count me gone.” Lucky headed to the deck 6 lounge where the daily service was scheduled for 8 am each morning.

  First, though, he took the elevator to deck 11 for a cup of coffee to overcome his wake up doldrums. As he rounded the corner having exited the elevator he spotted the couple whom he and Led had as company at their table on embarkation day. They were already enjoying wake up cups of java. Grabbing two paper cups, doubled to protect his hand from the scorching hot coffee, he waved to them.

  “Hey, Joyce, looky here…the other guy we met that first day. Led’s friend.” By now, Charlie knew a fuller truth about Led and Lucky.

  “Good morning…should I say…Reverend?” Charlie croaked.

  “Yes, good morning, “Joyce echoed with a pleasant happy day smile.

  “Good morning. So, my cover is blown.” Lucky reached out to shake hands. “I usually only enjoy, at most, a day of anonymity. Please, call me Lucky.”

  “I’d say we’re lucky…to coin a phrase…to have met you guys.” Charlie was pleased with his attempt at humor even though, grammatically, it was a word he coined, not a phrase.

  Joyce jumped in, “your friend, Led, is sitting at the same table with us. The five of us had a delightful time for our first meal together. There’s an empty chair just your size. You are most welcome to join us, anytime, Lucky.” Joyce comes across sweet as honey due to her Saddlesore upbringing.

  Since Lucky hadn’t received the usual update from Led about last evening, he felt a bit of unease appearing that he didn’t know anything about this. As already noted, Lucky and Led’s waking moments don’t often jive. There was no way to fake it, so he decided not to feign unprocessed knowledge.

  “Well, isn’t that quite a coincidence…if one believes in coincidences? I hit the sack early since I set the alarm early to roust me out of bed for my daily service in the lounge.” Lucky’s face notched into a shade of blush. “We call it our chapel during the time we use it for the service,” he explained defensively.

  “No problem, there,” Charlie chimed in. “I’m retired Navy, myself. We had services on the ship in about as many places as there was room enough for the guys. Knew a lot of chaplains during my time, too. Liked ’em all. Well, there was this one guy, but I won’t go there, as they say.”

  “Wow, another coincidence. I’m retired Navy, also. We’ll have to share a sea story or two, sometime. Now, sorry, I really need to push along. Need to meet my activities program assistant and help get the service set up. Catch you later, Joyce and Charlie.”

  Filling his doubled cup, he pulled his carry on size roller suitcase, filled with the necessary accoutrements for the service and took the elevator down to the “chapel” on deck 6.

  Back on deck 11, Charlie took Joyce by the arm, holding the coffee cup with his free hand, and headed to the dining room. “We’ll skip church today, Cuddles. I’m starving.”

  ****

  Led couldn’t force himself sleep a minute longer. Actually, strange as it may sound, if he had his way, he’d abolish sleep. He considered it a thorough waste of time and his life. Led’s philosophy was that he had two life times of stuff to accomplish and only one life in which to stuff it. His young body, no surprise, had an opposing point of view and won the sleep debate almost daily. But, this morning, his heart pumped with blood energized with that divinely enriching additive…puppy love.

  He hurriedly cleaned up and rumpled through his suitcase for his swimming trunks and one of his favorite themed T shirts: firefighting. Led, the handy man, was also a volunteer fire fighter. Macho man all the way. Slipping on the suitable attire for water sports’ fun, he headed to the aft of the ship where the sirens of his life were singing…the water jets which powered the surf rider

  The greatest motivation of all lain in that he had told Breath that he’d be there and dreamed all night that she would show up. Led liked to show off his manly talents…especially to a fine damsel like Breath. He hummed, “Every Breath You Take,” from the oldie smash hit by Police, as he bounced along the breakfast buffet line, procuring a half dozen hand sized pastries. He needed the carb fix and a sugar high.

  ****

  Beyond all the on board guest activities to tend to, there was the minor matter of ship handling and assuring safety. When the Master was engaged elsewhere, like almost all the time, the ship was in the trusted hands of the Staff Captain. Little known, or thought about by any of the passengers, the person holding this position commandeered the ongoing sailing of the ship during the vast majority of time. Similar to a military executive officer, commonly called the “XO”, the staff captain handled the hour by hour ship handling work load while the Master of the ship took the bows. And, Becker being well versed in naval tradition knew, when it came to mistakes, that the Master also took the blows.

  Staff Captain Jan Becker, like every person second in command, kept one eye on the ship and the other eye on the Master. Bifurcating your attention came along with the job. There was no taking it away from Captain Norse Andersen. Suave and skill made the man. But, and that was with a capital “B”, there was something about his “paved with gold” road to promotion that raised a hackle or two with Becker. Andersen was extremely well liked by RDC hierarchy. Any cause for his downfall would required the most dire and dynamic element attached to it. Becker felt confident that his downfall was definitely in the making, if she had anything to do with it. Make no mistake, she did. She already had set up the trigger to shoot him down once and for all.

  Becker ruminated, “Sure, the Master takes all the bows, deserved or undeserved. I’m the one who’s given him the most to bow over. I’ll also give him the reason to take the blows. One day soon I’ll place that one straw onto him which will break even Captain Camel’s back.

  As Jan reflected over the recent act of smuggling the Van Gogh print aboard, she spoke to smiled to herself, “I can already see the title captain replaced with ‘Master’ in my future.” She visualized looking at herself in a mirror with her uniform pinned with the Master’s insignia.

  Vincent Van Gogh never realized that his genius put to pallet would be used to sink the career of The Royal Danish cruise line’s Master of the North Star.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You are the breath of my life.” Sam sung the praise to his nurse caretaker, Breath Olsen. Old people think young people have never heard the clichés of life and will credit using them as original.

  “Oh, Sam, you’re just saying that because it’s true,” Breath clichéd back. They had both enjoyed the room service delivered hotcakes with maple syrup, scrambled eggs and turkey sausages. Turkey, Breath had explained to Sam, was much healthier for them than the pork sausages. Breath began clearing away the mid-morning breakfast dishes from Sam’s tray. She called room service to alert the attendant that he could return and remove the dirty dishes. No dishes for Nurse Breath to wash up. Very cool.

  “My appetite isn’t what it used to be when I was a younger man. What I ate for breakfast today would only have been an appetizer.” He grunted as he dabbed his lips with the napkin. “So, Breath, what is on your busy schedule today? A beautiful young lady always has her dance card filled early in the evening, as they say.”

  “It’s such a nice bright morning; I might take the opportunity to find the pool deck and so some sun worship. I think our ancestors failed to worship the sun in the old days, so that’s why the sun hides so much in our country.” Breath smiled as she straightened up Sam’s cabin.

  Chuckling, “that could be true. In the olden days, we folks didn’t have much leisure time to lie around. Those were difficult times for us
, especially during the war. Terrible times for us.” Sam closed his eyes in an attempt to close out the memories…those nightmarish memories…that plagued him without mercy. Old demon guilt will have its way.

  “I noticed at dinner last night that you and that lad hit it off quite well. What was his name? I’m afraid my short term memory is failing me.” I wish my long term memory would do the same, he silently mouthed.

  “You mean, Led. I guess he’s OK. He seemed like he could be a lot of fun. He’s invited me to watch him doing the surf rider. Typical man. Thinks every woman will fall over in ecstasy at their brute strength.” Breath rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, I think they do, young lady. Nature built our genders to attract each other. The male supplies the toughness and the female furnishes the tenderizer. Seems to work up a fairly good stew resulting in what we call the family.” Sam winked at a blushing Breath.

  “Sam, sometimes you are too much even for all my training. You treat me more like your daughter than your nurse.”

  “The privilege of old age, my dear. What are you going to do to me? Take away my gummy bears?”

  Breath settled Sam into his cabin. She drew back the drapery covering the sliding glass doors of the balcony just enough to allow a bit of the sunshine into the cabin. She made sure that the TV remote was close at hand for Sam. He wanted to watch the TV channel that featured the Cruise Director’s daily show on Channel ten. That helped keep him connected even though Sam didn’t have the energy to participate in most of the strenuous activities…like the belly flop contest…though he still secretly wanted to be part of the men’s sexy legs contest.

  Breath crossed over to her cabin through the connecting inside door. She was freshly minted as a nurse and wanted so badly to do a highly professional job.

  The cruise had been a rather sudden change in her life. She had just graduated a couple of weeks before and was hoping for a little personal R & R before she applied for a position. She didn’t even know what type of position that she would want. The nursing field in gerontology was exploding with all sorts of sub specialties. She had thought about quite a few of them, so there were years of further learning ahead for her to possess the right to add additional academic credentials behind her name.