Dead Man Docking

by Mary Daheim

  “I know she’s tired,” Joe said, conscious of the serious note in Renie’s words. “But I’ve been so damned busy, what with the case I’m on right now and the trial coming up next week. Yeah, it sounds lame, but there it is. I’m not as young as I used to be, either.”

  “Who is?” Renie sounded sympathetic. “Think about poor Bill, stuck with that nutcase up at Bayview Hospital. I almost canceled when he told me he couldn’t go, but I was afraid I’d lose the Cruz account. I’m sorry you don’t want her to go. The decision is yours.”

  Guilt. “You learned this from your mother, didn’t you?”

  “What?” Renie sounded puzzled.

  “The guilt-trip thing. Aunt Deb invented it, didn’t she? Or if not, honed it to a fine art.”

  “You bet,” Renie retorted. “And think of all the crap I’m going to put up with because I’ll be gone for two weeks. It’s almost not worth it. But,” she went on, “that’s a separate issue. I firmly believe that your wife’s health is precarious.”

  Joe was silent for a few moments. He’d been caught off guard by Renie’s solemn attitude. She’d managed to scare him 28

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  about Judith’s health. And, he grudgingly admitted to himself, the decision was his wife’s, not his. “Okay, she can go.”

  “Good,” said Renie. “I’ll return her in a much improved condition.” She hung up.

  Judith returned to the kitchen as Joe placed the phone back in its cradle. “Were you talking to Renie?” she asked in a despondent voice.

  “Wow!” Joe cried. “Your hair looks terrific! This is the first chance I’ve had to see it in the light. By the time I got up, you were already scurrying around the house.”

  Judith was skeptical. “Thanks.” She started loading the dishwasher with the tableware she’d brought in from the dining room.

  “Let me do that,” Joe said, nudging her out of the way. “In fact, let me take over for the day. You could use some time to yourself.”

  Judith wasn’t just skeptical, she was suspicious. Maybe this was Joe’s way of making up for vetoing the cruise.

  “How come?” she asked.

  Joe put the last of the teaspoons in the silverware compartment. “Because,” he said, putting his hands on Judith’s sagging shoulders, “you have to pack. May I be the first to wish you bon voyage?”

  THREE

  JUDITH SPENT THE rest of Wednesday in a frenzy of sorting clothes, going through the old trunk and some other boxes in the basement, and filling her suitcases. In the basement, nostalgia had overcome her. Four generations of Grovers had stored items there: Grandma and Grandpa’s first string of Christmas tree lights; Uncle Cliff’s fishing-tackle box; her father’s business-skills teaching texts; Auntie Vance’s movie posters, including King Kong, The Thin Man, and The Wizard of Oz; photos of Uncle Al taken in the winner’s circle at various West Coast and Florida racetracks; Uncle Corky’s World War II army cap with its twin silver bars denoting his captain’s rank; Aunt Ellen’s high school yearbooks; Mike’s handprint in plaster from his kindergarten days; the white-and-gold sari Judith had worn for her first wedding. She’d been sorry, all right, for nineteen years.

  Judith also exchanged a half-dozen phone calls with Renie, checking on details and schedules. She not only wasn’t tired, she couldn’t remember when she’d been so excited. Even breaking the news to Gertrude went better than she’d expected.

  “You have been looking peaked lately,” her mother al-30 Mary Daheim

  lowed. “Though I don’t know why you need to go off on a boat to a bunch of islands where they probably have cannibals who’ll make you into a stew. Not that you’ve got much meat on your bones.”

  “I’ve looked up the Cook Islands,” Judith replied.

  “They’re in the heart of Polynesia and belong to New Zealand. The islands sound lovely—and safe.”

  “If you say so,” Gertrude said, then brightened. “With Arlene and Carl taking over, we’ll play pinochle and I’ll get to eat food I really like.”

  The Rankerses were fond of the old girl and indulged her every whim. Besides, Judith knew that Arlene and Carl would keep Gertrude from bedeviling Joe while he tried to focus on the upcoming trial.

  That night Judith went to bed right after locking up the B&B at ten. The airport shuttle was due to pick up the cousins at 4 A.M. for their six-twenty flight to San Francisco. Renie had chosen the early time because she reasoned that she wouldn’t be awake until after their arrival, and thus wouldn’t be so terrified of flying. A couple of stiff shots of Wild Turkey would also help calm her nerves. In fact, when Judith got into the shuttle after bidding her husband and her mother farewell, she realized that Renie was drunk as a skunk.

  “Hiya, coz!” Renie said in a cheerful voice. “Whazzup?”

  “Oh, good grief!” Judith exclaimed under her breath. Swiftly, she scanned the three other passengers: a young couple holding hands in the row behind the cousins and a silver-haired woman sitting ramrod straight next to the driver. They were all avoiding any glances at Renie. Judith fastened her seat belt. “Just keep your mouth shut,” she whispered to Renie. “And don’t pass out. I can’t carry you.”

  “S’a fine,” Renie said, keeping her voice down. “S’a dark.”

  “Of course it’s dark,” Judith replied, again whispering.

  “It’s March, it’s four in the morning.”

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  “Ni-ni,” Renie said, and put her head on Judith’s shoulder. Judith didn’t know whether she should kick Renie—or herself. Bill had told horror stories about air travel with his inebriated wife, including a flight from Vegas during which she’d spotted a former Olympic decathlon champion and jumped in his lap. It was hard to tell who was more embarrassed—Bill or the decathlete. It certainly hadn’t bothered Renie.

  The trip to the airport took less than twenty minutes in such light traffic. When the shuttle stopped, Renie jumped up like a jack-in-the-box, hitting her head on the vehicle’s roof.

  “Ouch!” she cried. “ ’S building’s na’ verra tall.”

  “Holy Mother.” Somehow—artificial hip and all—Judith managed to haul her cousin out of the van. “Take deep breaths,” she ordered Renie. “Try to stand up straight while we check our luggage.”

  Judith had one suitcase and a carry-on bag. Renie had three suitcases, including a fold-over, and a train case. She communicated with the baggage attendant by nodding or shaking her head.

  Security was the next hurdle. Judith was thankful that the line hadn’t yet grown to the long, snaking proportions that it would later in the day. There was no problem for either cousin. Renie marched through like an automaton. Judith suspected that airport employees were used to the frightened flyers who drank, took tranquilizers, and even used selfhypnosis to survive their ordeal. Indeed, Judith wasn’t fond of airplanes, either.

  The cousins had more than an hour to wait until their flight boarded. Renie seemed steadier on her feet, and was leading the way to the correct terminal. But halfway there, she stopped.

  “Where’s the bar?” she inquired, gazing all around her.

  “They aren’t open this early,” Judith replied.

  “Yes,” Renie said in a certain voice. “At least one bar should be open. Passengers who’ve just flown in from Singapore or Barcelona don’t care what time it is here.”

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  “Why don’t we sit so you can go back to sleep?” Judith suggested.

  “I need another hit,” Renie declared.

  “No, you don’t,” Judith shot back as she grabbed Renie’s arm. “Slow down. I can’t keep up with you.”

  “You’re as bad as Bill,” Renie grumbled. “Okay, we’ll sit. But first, let’s get some Moonbeam’s coffee. There’s a kiosk right over there.”

  That sounded harmless to Judith, especially since she could use a caffeine jolt. It should also sober up Renie—

  except that m
ight not be a good idea.

  Renie, however, chose a decaf blend. After stopping at a news shop to pick up a couple of magazines, the cousins proceeded to their designated waiting area. As usual, Judith found the people who were gathering around them more interesting than the magazine articles: a mother coping with twins who were just beginning to walk; a Greek Orthodox priest with a beard as fine as angel hair; an unhappy teenage couple who apparently were going to go separate ways; and a burly man who looked like a lumberjack but was reading Bon Appétit. It wasn’t until almost half an hour had passed that Judith noticed Renie humming to herself and sliding around in her chair.

  “You haven’t finished your coffee,” Judith pointed out as Renie took another sip.

  “Sure have,” Renie replied happily.

  Judith peered into the paper cup and sniffed. “That’s booze!” she snarled at her wayward cousin. “You put booze in your coffee!”

  Renie tapped the train case at her side. “Backup,” she murmured. “For spoilsports like you and Bill. Hmm-mmhmm . . .”

  Judith surrendered. “You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sick on the flight.”

  “So? I won’t care,” Renie replied.

  “It’s illegal to bring liquor aboard a plane,” Judith pointed out.

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  “I’ll finish it before we board,” Renie countered. “Then I’ll buy more when the beverage cart comes by.”

  “No, you won’t.” Judith reached down and snatched Renie’s wallet out of her big black purse.

  “Hey!” Renie cried. “Put that back!”

  “No.” Judith put the wallet in her own handbag and zipped it shut. “If you don’t stop being a jackass, I’m going to turn in my ticket and go home. I mean it. This is no way to start a vacation.”

  Renie focused her eyes and stared at her cousin. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  Renie continued staring at Judith. Finally she sighed.

  “Okay. I’ll be good. But I’ll be terrified.”

  “So will I,” Judith said.

  “I wonder how Bill and Joe will like being widowers.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Maybe we should take out that insurance they sell to passengers.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Maybe I should buy more gum. My ears really pop, especially on landing. If we land.”

  “Shut up.”

  At last, Renie did. She didn’t say another word until the boarding call was announced. It was Judith who broke the silence after they got on the plane and were searching for their seats.

  “You have the one by the window,” Judith said. “Do you want me to sit there so you don’t have to look out?”

  “I like to,” Renie replied. “Then I know where I’m crashing.”

  “Fine.”

  Renie sat down and immediately delved into her purse. Not more booze, Judith thought in dread. But her cousin pulled out her rosary and began to murmur prayers. She’d finished the last bead by the time they reached cruising altitude. For the rest of the flight, Renie gazed out the window 34

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  in silence. She didn’t speak again until they landed on the tarmac at San Francisco.

  “We made it!” she exclaimed in an awed voice.

  “No kidding,” Judith replied.

  “Maybe we can take the train back,” Renie suggested. Judith, who felt like a nervous wreck, said nothing. It wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever heard. Whatever good the cruise might do her, it could be undone by another airline flight with Renie.

  The rest of the itinerary went smoothly. A limo sent courtesy of Magglio Cruz transported them from the airport to the St. Francis Hotel on Union Square. Judith immediately felt the thrill of the city by the bay. She and Renie and Cousin Sue had visited San Francisco for the first time over forty years earlier. From the Barbary Coast to the Top of the Mark, they’d sensed history, mystery, sin, and sophistication. They had hills at home, but not like San Francisco’s, with handsome old houses built side by side, or views of the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay with Alcatraz Prison as its centerpiece. It was the beatnik era of Jack Kerouac and the City Lights bookstore; the Purple Onion and the Hungry i; Lenny Bruce and Mort Sahl; the Kingston Trio and North Beach; Vesuvio’s and Lefty O’Doul’s. The three cousins had lapped it up like so much spiked cream.

  Now, after having visited San Francisco in the intervening years, Judith realized that she and the city had both aged. There was still beauty and glamour on its steep hills and abrupt coastline, but the contrast between now and then made her think of a happy hooker who had turned into an almost respectable dowager. Despite the change, Judith still loved the place. Although the official check-in time wasn’t until three in the afternoon, Mr. Cruz had seen to it that the cousins could immediately settle into their suite, where a bucket of champagne and various other amenities awaited them. They were invited to attend the VIP cocktail party buffet aboard the San Rafael that evening at six o’clock. Another limo would pick them up at five-forty. Thirties wear was requested.

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  Judith couldn’t help but be impressed. “Is all this due to Bub or did you make some of your own threats?”

  “I let Bub handle it,” Renie said, gazing out the window at the San Francisco skyline. “We can actually see the city. There’s no fog this morning. Let’s order lunch.”

  “It’s only ten o’clock. How about breakfast?”

  “Sure. Any meal will do.” Renie picked up a room-service menu that was encased in a leatherette cover. “Pancakes with ham and eggs and fruit and juice—”

  “Don’t tell me, tell whoever takes food orders,” Judith said. “I want cereal and a slice of fruit.”

  “Coz!” Renie was scowling. “How many times have I told you to stop trying to lose weight? I swear I could slip you into an envelope and mail you home. I’ll bet you don’t weigh ten pounds more than I do, and you’re five inches taller.”

  “Less weight is easier on my artificial hip,” Judith contended. “Unlike me, you’ve never had to worry about what you eat.”

  “Again, I’m a freak of nature,” Renie said, still with a frown. “I’m going to order for you.”

  And she did, requesting waffles, pork sausages, eggs, fruit, juice, coffee—and extra butter. Judith cleaned her plate. “Maybe I was hungry,” she admitted. An afternoon of leisure lay before them. The cousins decided to play tourists. During the next four hours, they visited Fisherman’s Wharf, Ghirardelli Square, the Old Cathedral of St. Mary, and finally Chinatown, where they enjoyed a late Dungeness-crab lunch at the R&G Lounge. There was a breeze, scattering the pigeons and swaying the palm trees in Union Square, but not enough to unfurl more than the smallest of whitecaps out in the busy bay. Judith had balked at riding the cable car, insisting that the hurried starts and stops could imperil her hip and Renie’s shoulder. Luckily, some kindly San Franciscans—or other tourists—helped them get on and get off. During the ride, they heard a barrage of languages, just as they had done when walking the streets or standing on corners. French, 36

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  Japanese, Russian, German, Chinese—San Francisco was a far more cosmopolitan city than their hometown. By the time they finished sightseeing, the cousins were both tired. Renie had a headache from drinking so much; Judith had a headache from dealing with Renie. It was a little after three. Back in their suite, they each took a nap. When the alarm woke them at four-thirty, Judith noticed that a sleek black folder with gold lettering had been slipped under their door. The attached note bore Renie’s name.

  “Here,” Judith said, kicking the folder toward Renie, who was sitting on the brocade sofa sorting her cosmetics. “It’s probably the notification of our checkout tomorrow. The ship sails at ten, right?”

  “Right,” Renie replied, bending over to pick up the folder.

  “This isn’t for checkout, though,” she went on, looking inside. “I
t’s the guest list for the party tonight.”

  “Oh.” Judith sat down to Renie. “Anybody you know?”

  “Not really, except for Magglio Cruz and his assistant, Paul Tanaka. I’ve never met Mrs. Cruz.” Renie handed the list to her cousin.

  Judith scanned the names:

  Magglio and Consuela Cruz

  Paul Tanaka

  Captain Randolph J. Swafford

  May Belle Beales

  Émile Grenier

  Erma Giddon

  Anemone Giddon

  James Brooks

  Ambrose Everhart

  Horace Pankhurst

  Carole Cecile Orr

  Richard and Rhoda St. George

  Serena Jones

  Judith Flynn

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  Judith looked up from the folder. “Are we supposed to be impressed?”

  Renie shrugged. “I’m guessing that only a select few from the passenger manifest have been invited to this function. It sounds like some of the ship’s crew, a couple of people from the cruise line, and maybe two or three investors. We certainly wouldn’t be on it if it weren’t for Bub. Almost two thousand people are taking this maiden voyage.”

  “Then I am impressed,” Judith said. “We’re not just getting first-class treatment, presumably we’re VIPs.”

  Retrieving the folder, Renie looked askance. “Not really. San Francisco high society is as snobbish as New York’s. I figure the two Giddon women are mother and daughter or sisters. Captain Swafford is probably our skipper. And May Belle Beales—I know the name . . . Ah! She’s better known as Dixie and is a cruise director for the line. But other than that, I’m guessing.”

  “St. George,” Judith murmured. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t think why. What about you?”

  Renie shook her head. “Nothing comes to mind.” She stood up. “We’d better get ready. We’re time-traveling back to the thirties.”

  The old clothes Judith had found in the basement were long on practicality if short on glamour. But Gertrude’s wedding dress was perfect. She had been tall and relatively slim in those days. The simplicity of the white satin lines suited her daughter.