by Mary McHugh
Everybody but Gini laughed. “It’ll be bad enough,” she said.
“It’s OK, honey,” Mary Louise said. “We forgive you. And I have some Oreos in my suitcase. You can have one.”
“Gee, can you spare it?” I said. “What I really want is to move my body. I feel sluggish. Think I’ll change and take a couple of laps around the deck. Anybody else want to come?”
“It’ll just make me hungrier,” Janice said. “I’m going somewhere quiet and read.”
My other three pals waved good-bye. “Have fun, Tina.”
I moved into an easy run, breathing in the clear crisp air, the stillness. We were gliding through a tree-lined section of the river as the sun sent slanting rays through the leaves. My brisk pace quieted all the nagging thoughts about where my life was going without Bill, about our performance coming up tonight, about being alone. I started around the deck for my second lap, increasing my speed, the endorphins kicking in to give me a euphoric joy in this day, this adventure, this feeling that right now everything was perfect.
As I rounded the corner on the deck, I saw a figure who hadn’t been there before. Chef Kenneth Allgood was leaning on the rail, smoking and watching me as I approached. As I passed by him, he reached out and grabbed my arm.
“I want to talk to you, Yank,” he said.
I tried to pull away, but he pushed me against the rail and put an arm on either side of me, pinning me in. He leaned close, his breath stinking of beer, his face bristly with the stubble of his beard.
“Get out of my way,” I said.
“What’s the matter, don’t you like younger men?” he said, grinning at me.
“I just don’t like you,” I said, struggling to get away from him. “Move.”
I tried to push him away, but he pressed his body against me and brought his face closer to mine.
“If you and your friends say anything else bad about my cooking, you’re not going to be doing much more running. I could lose my job because of you whining to Heidi like that. So shut up.”
I tried to wrench free, but he was too strong for me. He tightened his grip on my arms and brought his face even closer to mine.
I was about to bring my knee up hard between his legs when two strong arms grabbed him and knocked him to the deck.
“If you ever touch her again, I’ll break both your arms,” Barry said.
The chef glared at him.
“I mean it,” Barry said, leaning over him. Allgood rolled away from him and stood up, rubbing his arm and limping toward the door, looking back at Barry and me as if he could kill us.
“Are you OK, Tina?” Barry said.
“Oh, Barry. I’m so glad to see you. Could you walk me back to my cabin? I can’t stop shaking.”
He put his arm around me and supported me down the stairs and through the corridor. I was grateful for his strength because I was really having trouble walking.
When we got to my room, I leaned against the door.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Barry asked. “You don’t look all right.”
“I’ll be OK as soon as I have a shower,” I said. “I feel dirty all over.”
“I’ll be back to check on you later,” Barry said. “I’m going to tell Heidi to fire Allgood.”
I looked at my rescuer and gave him a weak smile. “Thanks again, Barry.”
When I opened the door, Mary Louise took one look at me and grabbed me to help me sit on the bed. “What happened to you? Tina, you look terrible! What’s the matter?”
I told her about my unpleasant encounter with Chef Allgood, my voice shaking.
“He can’t get away with that,” Mary Louise said. “We have to tell Heidi.”
“Barry’s telling her now,” I said, struggling to get to my feet and then sitting down again. “I need a shower.”
“Just sit still for a few minutes,” Mary Louise said. “Relax, hon, if you can.”
When I regained my composure, I stepped into the shower, fumbling with the faucet to hang it on the hook on the wall, wrapping the shower curtain around the drainage hole in the floor and turning on the water.
Cold water dribbled out of the faucet and left me shivering. I kept adjusting the taps. Occasionally, a spurt of hot water made me yelp. I did my best to get clean in this excuse for a shower, and then reached for a towel on the shelf above the toilet. My hand touched only a wire rack. I floundered around trying to find something to dry myself with, but there was nothing.
“Mary Louise,” I yelled. “We have no towels. Can you run and get some from the desk person or anyone who looks like they might know where the towels are? Please?”
“Be right back, Tina.” I heard her close the door as she left.
Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t come back. I was wet and cold and mad.
When the door finally opened, I said, “Where have you been?”
“Here, take this, Tina,” she said, handing me a cloth the size of a dish rag. “I’m sorry, but when I told the Russian girl at the desk what I wanted, she said, ‘Oh, did you want towels in your room?’ I didn’t kill her. I said, ‘Yes, I have a very wet, very cold, very angry person in my cabin who will strangle you if you don’t produce two towels this minute.’ It took her forever to round up these miserable things. She probably took them from some other cabin.”
“Thanks, Mary Louise. I didn’t mean to yell. We’ll get Heidi to do something about this. I think in the cruise industry, no hot water and no towels is punishable by death.”
“I’d like to think so.”
I dried myself as best I could with the thin little scrap of terrycloth Mary Louise had given me. I had the uneasy feeling that this cruise was not going to be the carefree, fun-filled trip we had thought it would be.
Tina’s Travel Tip: You should probably ask what’s in a drink before you order it on a Russian cruise.
Chapter 4
Can I Buy You A Drink?
That night after dinner, every seat in the Skylight Bar was filled, and people were standing along the sides. They started to clap as soon as Heidi announced, “The Happy Hoofers are here to entertain you tonight. Please give them a warm welcome.”
The audience cheered us as we danced out from behind the bar in our very short, pink, filmy baby-doll nighties, with sheer sleeves and V necks. We wore flesh-toned tights and pink tap shoes.
“Good mornin’,” we sang in our best Debbie Reynolds voices and danced out onto the floor, arms linked, high-kicking, dipping, lunging, grapevining, time stepping, flapping, shuffling off to Buffalo, to say nothing of ball changes, and just having a blast. Ending with our arms held out to the audience, low bows and a thank you, we tapped backward behind our screen to put on our clown wigs, while Stacy and Andrea bounded out in their polka-dot pajamas and clown makeup. Their high-powered, teen-aged energy could have provided enough electricity to light up the whole ship.
Cart-wheeling, bumping into each other, somersaulting, blowing kisses to the audience, making silly faces—they were a huge hit. The entire audience rose to its feet and cheered them on. One last blare of their noisemakers and they tumbled out of the room as we tapped in and continued the clown act, dipping and circling and step-hopping, flap doodling, and scuff heeling, all while wearing outrageous bright-colored wigs.
The crotchety old man in the front row, who we’d seen earlier, had turned into one of our biggest fans. He kept yelling, “Go, hookers, go,” while his wife kept hissing, “Hoofers! Hoofers!”
We ran back behind the screen again as Stacy and Andrea reappeared. They tumbled down the aisle and onto the dance floor, rolling around and turning their backs on the audience. As a finale, they looked up and pretended it had started to rain, covering their heads and running for cover.
Out we came, in thigh-topping, bright yellow rain slickers over our flesh-colored tights and pink tap shoes, tapping to Gene Kelly’s voice rendition of “Singin’ in the Rain.” We opened our yellow parasols and twirled them as we danced in the i
maginary downpour, stepping off the edge of the dance floor and back up again as if we were stepping on and off the curb the way Gene does in the movie. We swung around the light poles, time-stepped, Irish-hopped, and shuffled our way to a big finish while Stacy and Andreaa showered us with silver confetti.
The audience went wild. Caroline was clapping so hard she had to sit down. After we took our bows and blew kisses to the audience, we ran into the crowd to hug her and tell her how terrific her granddaughters were.
“You’ve started them on a life of drugs and delinquency,” she said to us, laughing.
“They’re wonderful, Caroline. You must be so proud of them,” I said.
“I am,” she said. “Until tonight, of course, they were planning to become lawyers and go into politics and run for the Senate. Now they tell me they’re going to tap dance on Broadway. You have a lot to answer for, Hoofers.”
“Somehow, I know those girls will be just fine,” Mary Louise said. “I doubt very much if they’ll be dancers. Whatever they do, they’ll have a great time doing it.”
“That’s what it’s all about,” Caroline said. “I’ve tried to teach them that.”
“Come on out on deck with us,” Gini said. “It’s still bright as day out there. These White Nights are incredible, aren’t they?”
“Think I’ll turn in, Hoofers. I’m slowing down a bit these days.”
“Not so anyone can tell,” I said. We gave her a good-night hug and watched her wind her way out of the Skylight Bar, stopping to talk to people all along the way.
After changing into a blue silk top and white jeans, I headed back to the deck with Janice. As we passed the small barroom next to the Skylight Bar, Janice grabbed my arm and pointed at the two men seated there talking intently, not noticing anything else going on. I knew right away it was Brad and Ken, and I saw the worried look on Janice’s face.
“Don’t worry, Jan. Brad will be all right.”
She sighed. “Oh, I hope so,” she said. “He’s a nice kid.”
Out on deck, we stretched and breathed in the clear night air. The sky was as bright as noon. It was so different from home. I felt like I had never breathed really clean air before.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” asked an attractive woman with short blond hair in a white sweater and pants. I hadn’t noticed her standing next to me at the railing.
“My mother loved tap dancing. She took me for lessons when I was little,” I said. “I’ll always be grateful to her because, as I got older, I realized what great exercise it is. We’ve had so much fun since we started this troupe.”
“I could tell that from watching you,” she said. “Hi. My name is Sue. My husband thinks you’re great.”
A tall, distinguished-looking balding man standing next to Sue said, “I’m Mark. You’re really good. Great legs too, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I never mind hearing that,” I said. “Thanks. Where are you two from?”
“Colorado,” Sue said. “I’m a painter and my husband is a publisher. We’re celebrating our fortieth anniversary and we wanted something really different. We certainly found it. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but now I’m glad we came.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “Are you happy with everything?”
“The food could stand a little improvement,” Mark said. “That chef is so bad you’d think he was British.”
“He is,” I said, laughing. “Heidi said they hired him to cook American versions of Russian food. Not a good idea. Weren’t you in the dining room this morning when Heidi introduced him?”
“No, we came in later and saw him for the first time when he yelled at you,” Mark said.
“We complained about the food and he almost killed us,” I said, deciding not to mention my meeting with him on deck.
“We thought maybe the food was so bad because it was his first meal on the cruise,” Sue said. “Let’s hope it gets better.”
“It couldn’t get any worse,” said a sandy-haired, good-looking, late-fortyish man joining us. “Someone should do something about that chef so we can have some real Russian cooking, which is excellent.”
“How do you know so much about Russian cooking?” I asked.
“I live here,” he said. “I’ve had some of the best meals of my life in Russia. And wait until you get to St. Petersburg—it’s like eating in Paris.”
“What do you do here?” I asked, surprised by his American accent.
“I work for The New York Times,” he said. “Head of the news bureau here. My name is Alex Boyer. I really like your dancing. Not exactly the Bolshoi, but the best tapping I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Hi, Alex,” I said. “I’m Tina Powell. I’ll tell the others that you liked our act. Maybe you could use your influence to get a new chef for the rest of the trip. We’d all be grateful.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Alex said.
He looked at Gini. “Taking pictures to show the folks at home?” he asked her.
Gini shot him a withering glance. “Yeah. I’m having a slide show for all the neighbors as soon as we get back.” She moved farther down the rail and focused on the cloud formation.
“Gini’s a documentary film-maker,” I said softly. “She’s won awards for her films.”
“Really? What’s her name?”
“Gini Miller.”
“No kidding! We did a story on her when she won an award for her coverage of Hurricane Katrina in Louisiana. It was a brilliant film.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Alex,” I said, “what are you doing on this cruise? I would think you’d seen all of this many times.”
“I have—but I’m working on a feature story about tourism in Russia, and I wanted to interview some people taking this cruise for my article.”
“If you’re interested in my opinion,” I said, “I think they have a long way to go.”
“Especially in the food department,” Alex said. “Real Russian food is so much better than this, Tina. Delicate, light. Their produce, eggs, bread, everything is better, fresher, than in lots of restaurants in the States. Don’t judge their food by the Russian restaurants in New York or by the chef on this cruise.”
He turned to watch Gini again. When she lowered her camera, he said, “Ms. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were the person who made that extraordinary documentary on Hurricane Katrina.” He held out his hand. “I’m Alex. Alex Boyer. How did you find the people you talked to in that film? How did you get them to talk about their lives the way you did?” His words came out in a rush. I could tell that Gini was impressed. She took his hand and the expression on her face changed from wary to friendly.
“Many of them are just natural-born storytellers,” she said. “I wanted to do a series of oral histories on people who had lost their homes and had nowhere to go and no money to start all over again. They were black and white, old and young, hopeful and despairing. I just turned my camera on and they started talking and didn’t stop until I had to leave.”
“Your film is so vivid,” Alex said. You could tell he was reliving the documentary. “I’ll never forget that woman who lived on her roof in the punishing rain and somehow pulled a rowboat up to put over her head like a little shelter. I’d really like to see more of your work. Are you doing a film about this trip?”
Gini shook her head. “No,” she said. “But I keep my camera with me all the time because I never know what will turn up next. It’s so different here. Such colors and shapes. Oh look, what’s that?” She pointed to the reflection of a lone belfry in the clear water near the shore.
“It was once part of a church built in the seventeenth century that was washed away in a flood, leaving the tower standing alone,” Alex said. “We’re just passing the town of Uglich.” He pronounced it Oog-litch.
We could see the onion domes of churches and cathedrals gleaming against the cloudless sky above the trees. They were red and blue and gold.
; “Look at those blue domes on that red church,” Gini said. “What is that?”
Alex was obviously enjoying his role as guide to such an enthusiastic traveler, who seemed genuinely excited by the beauty and strangeness of the skyline.
“It’s called the Church of Dmitri on the Blood. The young son of Ivan the Terrible, whose name was Dmitri, moved to Uglich with his mother in 1584 and was murdered seven years later, probably by order of Boris Gudunov. His body was supposedly found on the spot where they built that cathedral.”
Gini leaned toward him. “How come you know so much about this town? You don’t sound like your average tourist. What do you do?”
“I work for The New York Times in Moscow.”
“My favorite paper. Do you like living in Russia?”
“I love it. I never know what’s going to happen when I wake up in the morning. I’ve lived in Paris and Hong Kong and Buenos Aires, but this place is the most fascinating by far.”
I could tell by the way they looked at each other that something interesting was going on here.
“Does your wife like Moscow?” Gini said, getting straight to the point in true Gini fashion.
“I’m divorced. My wife loved redecorating our house every year and never wanted to travel farther than the mall. I want to see the whole world before I’m through.” Alex paused. “What about you? Are you married?”
Gini looked at him, not sure if she was ready to share personal information with this stranger, then said, “I was. My husband thought my job was to make sure the house was spotless every day. He would have loved your wife.”
“Maybe we should introduce them,” Alex said, and they laughed.
“It was just that I kept thinking of all the things you could do if you weren’t cleaning,” Gini said.
“Like what?” Alex asked. “Tell me. What would you do?”
Gini looked out at the water, the clear sky, the villages on shore. “I’d learn to paint, go for a bike ride in the springtime, meet a friend for lunch, make love in the ocean, fly a kite on the beach on Cape Cod,” she said, all in one big rush of words. “I used to spray Lemon Pledge in the air and run out the door to roller-skate. I wanted to move to Japan, where there’s no furniture to clean, no rugs to vacuum, no beds to make, and only a few rice bowls to wash. My husband worked and watched football. Period. I wanted to see the monasteries in Tibet.”