Princess Charming

by Jane Heller

  He nodded, just glad to be in her arms.

  “I love you, have always loved you,” she went on, “but we have a lot to work out. We can’t just snap our fingers and have everything be back the way it was. I don’t think either of us really wants everything to be back the way it was. There have to be changes on both our parts.”

  “I know,” he murmured, suddenly bawling like a baby. God, men cried at the drop of a hat these days. “But we can make a start, can’t we?”

  “We’ll make a start. That’s exactly what we’ll do,” Pat determined. “We’ll spend the afternoon together. At Graycliff. And then, when the ship leaves Nassau at five-thirty, I’ll be on it, Bill.”

  He broke away from her. “You won’t stay here with me for the whole four days?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Let’s go slowly,” she suggested. “That’s what I want.”

  I almost applauded. Pat had actually said the words: “I want.” She really had changed. She had stuck up for herself, for her needs. And she’d gotten her man back in the bargain.

  “I love you, Patsy,” said Bill.

  “I know,” she said, the picture of total bliss.

  They started to walk away, hand in hand, when Pat hobbled over to me and whispered, “You see? I always said he would come back. I just didn’t know it would be today!”

  I hugged her. “Have a lovely afternoon,” I said.

  “You too,” she said and hurried over to Bill.

  As they walked off together, I heard him ask her about the cane and the limp and the still-scabby bruises on her chin and arm. She told him about her fall, and he launched into a lecture on strains versus sprains and contusions versus abrasions.

  “See you back on the ship,” she called, waving in our direction. “Don’t let the Princess Charming leave without me.”

  “We won’t,” I called back, wiping away my own tears. I was overcome with feeling. Two feelings, actually. On one hand, I was ecstatically happy for Pat. On the other, I was absolutely terrified for Jackie and me. If Pat’s ex-husband didn’t want to murder her, then it had to be one of ours who wanted to murder one of us. A good-news/bad-news joke if ever there was one.

  “I suppose I’ll take solace in my dancing flamingos,” said Albert, who was sulking.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Pat,” I offered.

  “Now you know why I invest so much emotion in birds,” he said. “They don’t run off with men to whom they were once married.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Believe me.”

  Albert was about to leave us when Simon stopped him.

  “I forgot to return this to you,” he said, handing Albert his Swiss Army Knife.

  Albert nodded.

  “Just one question before you go,” Simon said to him. “Why did you disconnect your phones in New York and Connecticut when you were only going to be away for a week?”

  “So no one would rob me,” Albert explained. “People are forever getting robbed when they take vacations. But not I. If a thief calls one of my numbers to check and see whether or not I’m home, he gets a recording saying that the number’s been disconnected. He, therefore, assumes that the residence has no occupants. Hence, no jewelry or television sets to steal.”

  “That’s brilliant, Albert,” I said. “Very innovative. Thanks for sharing.”

  “Not at all,” he said and left Simon and me to each other.

  We had a leisurely lunch at the Shoal, browsed the shops, and hiked over to the Queen’s Staircase, a famous Nassau landmark, according to Simon. Built out of a coral limestone cliff by slaves in the eighteenth century, its sixty-six steps were intended to provide a route between Nassau’s downtown area and Fort Fincastle, an actual fort shaped like the bow of a ship.

  “If we climb the sixty-six steps to the fort and then another two hundred or so to the Water Tower, we’ll get a fantastic view of New Providence Island,” Simon suggested.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, exhausted by the very idea.

  “Or we can take the elevator,” he said. “The view will be just as fantastic.”

  We took the elevator, rising over two hundred feet above sea level to the highest point on the island.

  “Wow. This is gorgeous,” I said as we stood together, holding hands, looking out over the most spectacular canvas of blues and greens and violets I’d ever seen. “I feel as if I’m on top of the world, literally.”

  Simon lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. “So do I,” he said. “So do I.”

  We held each other for several minutes, savoring our time together, unsure of the turn our lives would take next.

  As we were making our way back to the ship, we ran into Jackie and Dr. Johansson on the wharf.

  “Well, if it isn’t Elaine and Sam,” Jackie said cheerfully. “Did you guys have fun today?”

  “It was interesting,” I said wryly. “We were with Pat and Albert and you’ll never guess who showed up.”

  “Albert’s mother,” she quipped.

  “Not even close,” I said.

  “How about: Albert’s long-lost ex-wife?” she tried again.

  “Much closer,” I said. “It was Pat’s long-lost ex-husband.”

  “Bill? Here?” Jackie said with amazement. She turned to Dr. Johansson and gave him a very brief history of Bill and Pat’s marriage, so he wouldn’t feel left out.

  “Yup. He flew all the way down here to surprise Pat,” I explained. “He wants them to reconcile.”

  “Son of a gun. She always swore he’d come crawling back,” Jackie said, slapping her thigh. “She must be in heaven.”

  “Fortunately, she’s not,” I said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Jackie.

  “Never mind,” I said. “The important thing is that Bill and Pat are together now, at a romantic inn up the street. He had wanted her to spend a few days there, but she told him she wanted them to take things slowly. She’s sailing home with us.” I checked my watch. It was nearly five o’clock. Almost time to ship out. “She may even be back in her cabin already.”

  Jackie shook her head. “I can’t believe Bill actually came around,” she mused. “Miracles do happen.”

  I gazed adoringly at Simon. “They do,” I said.

  “I hate to interrupt, but I think ve should get you into some varm clothes,” Dr. Johansson said, nodding at Jackie, who was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. “You only got out of da hospital a couple of days ago. Let’s not push our luck, okay?”

  “You’re the boss, Doc,” she said.

  “Did the two of you go beachcombing?” Simon asked. Both Per and Jackie had sand all over their legs and feet.

  “Ve vent just around da corner to da beach at Vestern Esplanade, near da British Colonial Hotel,” said Per. “I arranged for da ship to prepare us a picnic lunch. Ve ate and valked and had a delightful afternoon.”

  Just then, there was a loud, insistent whistle from the Princess Charming, letting us know we would be departing Nassau within the half-hour.

  “Another cruise coming to an end. Right, Per?” Jackie said, trying to sound carefree. I knew better. The look in her eyes told me that she didn’t want the cruise to end; that, after being sick for most of her vacation, she had finally begun to enjoy herself; that the idea of going back to work with Peter wasn’t especially thrilling.

  “Yes, another cruise is coming to an end,” Per confirmed. “Vonce ve leave da harbor here, ve’ll be on our final leg of da trip. By tomorrow morning ve’ll be docked in Miami and all da passengers vill be going home.”

  Maybe not all, I thought grimly.

  25

  The ship’s farewell dinner was black tie. Jackie, Pat, and I convened in Jackie’s cabin to admire each other’s finery before taking the elevator down to the Palace Dining Room. Pat looked positively radiant, her afternoon with Bill a resounding success. She didn’t go into details about their meeting, but she indicated that they had spent pa
rt of the time talking about solutions to their problems.

  “What about the other part?” Jackie asked, winking at me.

  Pat blushed. “We spent it…cuddling.”

  “Cuddling,” Jackie nodded skeptically. “And did you practice ‘safe cuddling’?”

  Pat told Jackie to mind our own business.

  “What about you, Jackie?” I asked her. “How was your day with Dr. Johansson?”

  “Great,” she said. “I was sorry it went so fast. Per’s ‘tour of duty,’ or whatever you call it when you work on a ship, is up in May and he’s planning a trip to New York. He said he’d call me, but you never know with men. Their ‘I’ll call you’ is about as reliable as their ‘I’ll pull out.’”

  I laughed, loving Jackie’s coarseness, loving the fact that she was feeling so much better, hoping against all hope that Peter hadn’t arranged to have her murdered.

  It was weird, now that it had come down to the two of us. I didn’t want her to die and I didn’t want me to die, and the suspense of which of us might die was killing me. It was worse than watching the last five minutes of the Miss America Pageant where the two finalists are crying and holding hands and wondering which of them will win the title and go on to fame and fortune and which of them will end up on the unemployment line.

  “You know what I’d like to do before dinner?” I said to my friends. “I’d like us to have our picture taken together by the ship’s photographer—a formal portrait in our formal attire.”

  “Oh, yes!” Pat said enthusiastically. “I could have my copy framed. It would make a wonderful souvenir.”

  Jackie approved of the plan too, so we headed down to the atrium. When we got to the elevator, who should be standing there but Skip Jamison. He was wearing one of those oh-so-hip tuxedos—the kind that make men look like ministers instead of head waiters.

  “Hey, it’s Elaine,” he said, “and her two best buds.”

  “Hi, Skip,” I said. He pumped my hand and, after being introduced to Pat and Jackie, pumped theirs too. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since San Juan. How’d it go with the Crubanno Rum people?”

  “Cool,” he said. “We really bonded. Good chemistry all around.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. The elevator arrived. It was packed with a large group of women in sequins, but the four of us managed to squeeze in anyway.

  “I can’t believe we’re outta here tomorrow morning,” Skip said, shaking his head. “It seems like we just left Miami, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” I said with complete candor. “It seems like we left Miami a lifetime ago.”

  “Yeah? Which lifetime?” Skip asked.

  I laughed. “This one,” I said. “I’m not a big believer in reincarnation.”

  “I am,” Skip said. “I was a croupier at a gambling casino in a past life.”

  “How interesting,” I said.

  Skip got off the elevator on Deck 5, where the casino was located.

  “If I don’t see you again before we scatter tomorrow morning, have a cool life,” he said, and waved.

  “You too,” I waved back, trying to imagine how I could ever have suspected Skip of being the hit man. He really was a mellow guy. Too mellow for murder.

  When we reached the atrium level, the three of us got on line for the photographer.

  “I guess we weren’t the only ones with this idea,” said Jackie, observing the half-dozen or so people in front of us, all couples. “Take a look at the twosome saying ‘Cheese’ as we speak.”

  Pat and I glanced toward the head of the line, where Henry and Ingrid were posing for the photographer, their bodies locked in a tight embrace.

  “I wonder if they’ll see each other once the cruise is over,” I said. “She’s from Sweden. He’s from Altoona. That’s a tough commute.”

  “And think of all the money they’ll have to spend on airmail stamps,” Pat added.

  “People don’t write letters anymore, Pat,” said Jackie. “They make long-distance phone calls. I bet Henry’s already signed Ingrid up for that MCI Friends and Family thing.”

  I nodded, thinking how foolish I’d been to suspect Henry Prichard of being the hit man. He wasn’t any more menacing than Skip. He was just a Chevy salesman from Pennsylvania who, since meeting Ingrid, probably had fantasies of moving to Sweden and selling Volvos.

  Before long, it was our turn to have our picture taken. We climbed up on the little platform and stood together, holding each other around the waist and bracing ourselves for the flashbulb.

  “Wait,” said the photographer, lowering his camera suddenly. He was not the Australian we’d met the first day, but an American. “I’m gonna have to do a vertical. The tall one’s screwing up the shot.” He walked over and rearranged us so that I was standing in the middle, between my two friends. “There we go,” he said, satisfied with our positions. “Smile, girls.”

  We smiled. He took the picture. I was pleased. No matter who the hit man ended up hitting, now there would be a record of the Three Blonde Mice on the Princess Charming, alive and well and dressed to the nines.

  “You can pick up your copies after seven-thirty tomorrow morning,” said the photographer.

  “Thanks very much,” I said, handing the guy a dollar tip.

  “Elaine, I’m shocked,” Jackie said, arching an eyebrow at me as we made our way to the dining room. “You were the one who didn’t want photographers near us that first day of the cruise, remember?”

  “Yes, but now it’s our last day,” I replied. “Might as well live it up while we still can.”

  Simon was late for dinner as usual, but I saved a seat for him next to me. Pat took the chair to my left, and Jackie sat to Pat’s left, next to Kenneth.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked her, chomping on his cigar/pacifier while Gayle buttered her sourdough roll. He was resplendent in Armani once again, but it was Gayle who was the real show-stopper. Her dress was magnificent—a white silk sarong—and she wore a diamond pendant the size of Rhode Island.

  “Physically, I feel fine,” said Jackie. “Emotionally, I feel cheated. I’m finally ready to party and we’re almost home.”

  “Almost but not quite,” Kenneth pointed out. “You have the entire evening to party.” He summoned Manfred, the wine steward, and said something in the man’s ear.

  “Of course, sir,” Manfred bowed, then disappeared.

  Just then, Simon arrived, looking so debonair in his tux. I wondered if my heart would always skip a beat whenever he entered the room or whether the thrill of seeing him would wear off in time, the way it had with Paul McCartney.

  He said hello to everyone and sat down.

  “You okay?” he whispered as he squeezed my hand under the table.

  “So far,” I whispered back.

  Manfred returned with a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon and one fluted champagne glass. He placed the glass in front of Jackie, filled it, and rested the bottle in a nearby ice bucket.

  “What’s all this?” she asked Manfred. “I didn’t order any champagne.”

  “Compliments of Mr. Cone,” Manfred replied and bowed once again.

  “You said you were ready to party,” Kenneth explained to Jackie. “I thought I’d lend a hand.”

  Jackie seemed absolutely stunned by Kenneth’s generous gesture. We all were.

  “I guess the rich really are different,” I whispered to Simon. “They throw their money around as if it’s nothing.”

  “It is nothing. A bottle of Dom Perignon is chump change to people like the Cones,” Simon said.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Jackie told Kenneth.

  “No thank-you’s. Just drink up,” he chuckled. “D.P. is too expensive to waste.”

  “You mean this whole bottle is for me?” she said.

  “That was the general idea,” he replied.

  Jackie looked around the table. “Anybody else want some?” she asked us. None of us did. The consensus was that Jackie should celebrate t
o the max after what she’d been through. She shrugged, picking up the glass. “Well, in that case, here’s looking at you, kids.” She swallowed her first sip of the champagne and grinned, savoring the taste of the bubbly liquid. Then she took another sip. And another. Kenneth refilled her glass as she began chatting animatedly about her day in Nassau with Per Johansson.

  I turned to Dorothy, who was sitting to Simon’s right. “How are you tonight, Dorothy?” I asked. She and Lloyd were wearing paper party hats, along with their formal clothes. They looked very New Year’s Eve.

  “A little sad,” she confided. “Lloyd and I have really enjoyed the cruise. At our age, it could be our final voyage.”

  I identified. “What was the highlight of the trip, as far as you’re concerned?” I asked Dorothy. “Isle de Swan? Puerto Rico? One of the lectures?”

  She shook her head. “The highlight was just being with Lloyd for seven straight days,” she said. “At home, there are always distractions. The children. The grandchildren. The doctors’ appointments. The grocery shopping. But once we stepped onto the ship, all that faded into the background. For a solid week, it’s been nothing but sex, sex, sex.”

  “What did you say, Dorothy?” asked Lloyd.

  “I said that this cruise has it all over the Love Boat,” she told her husband.

  He patted her hand. She leaned over Simon and said to me, very pointedly, “When it’s right, it’s right.”

  I smiled, assuming she was talking yet again about her sex life.

  “You’re not following me, Elaine.” She nodded her head at the two other wives at the table. Brianna was barely speaking to Rick, and Gayle was so bored she was picking lint off the tablecloth. “I’m talking about you,” she said. “About your feelings for Sam. When it’s right, it’s right.” She winked. “I’ve seen the way you two are, all that secret hand-holding under the table. I’m old but I’m not stupid.”

  “What did you say, Dorothy?” Lloyd asked her.

  “I’ll tell you later, dear,” she said, as Ismet came along to announce the evening’s specials.