Bon Bon Voyage (4 page)

“Get your hands off my bag,” snapped Luz, and brought her cane down on the wrist of a burly fellow in a white sailor suit with periwinkle decorations on the hat and blouse. He yelped and staggered back while I pulled my suitcase closer lest someone try to steal it, too.

“Madam,” cried the greeter, “this is Luis, who will take your suitcase to the ship's baggage disposal room, from which it will be delivered to your stateroom.”

“I can take care of my own baggage,” Luz snarled.

“Passengers on the
Bountiful Feast
never, never take care of their own baggages,” said the greeter, horrified. “We are do everythings possible for the comforts of our guests.”

I could see that her English, so perfect to begin with, was deteriorating rapidly under the stress of this unusual situation.

“Madam—ah—Blue, please show your companion what is proper to do by giving your baggages to Luis. Is his job to carry them away.”

Actually, I didn't want to give him my carry-on. It had my computer, a change of underwear, a nightgown, a mini- cosmetic case, and my jewelry. What if these two weren't really from the cruise line? That hadn't occurred to me before Luz raised the specter by attacking Luis, if that was his real name.

A tall, wrinkled lady in an olive green pantsuit pushed between Luz and me and ordered us to stop being silly. “You, Luis, those are my bags.” She pointed to a set of three bags that matched her clothing. “Take them away. My name is Gross,” she announced to the greeter. “R. L. Gross. Check me off your list and show me the way to the van.”

“Of course, Madam Gross.” The greeter was all smiles again. “Welcome to Lisbon. Only a few moments. The van will—”

“Young lady,” interrupted Mrs. Gross, her facial wrinkles deepening as her mouth turned grim, “I know what
a few moments
means, and I won't put up with it. If I'm not taken to the ship immediately, I shall complain to your superior.” Before the greeter could say a thing, Mrs. Gross had turned to Luz. “Don't be an ass, woman. Give your bag to the boy. You, too,” she said to me. “Only an idiot would suspect people wearing such silly uniforms of being luggage thieves.”

Not a very charming lady, but what could we do? She was probably right. Luis collected her three bags, my huge one, my carry-on, over which we had a brief tug-of-war, and Luz's suitcase. “That better turn up in my room,” Luz muttered.

“Qué?”
Luis evidently didn't understand English, but Luz shouted something in Spanish as he staggered away, and he broke into a trot, the luggage bouncing along with him.

Under the grim instructions of Mrs. Gross, the greeter left her post, reluctantly, and escorted us toward the doors, where she turned us over with great relief to a man in a chauffeur's hat. He took us to his double-parked van and settled us into comfy seats. Luz was still looking for Luis and the bags, but he was nowhere in sight. I was looking for a Portuguese landmark I'd read about on the plane so I could point it out to Luz.

“Oh look, Luz, I think that castle up on the hill might be St. George's.” I longed to see it, but I wasn't going to get to because Luz had absolutely refused to come two days early for a tour of Lisbon.

“As if I care,” she snapped. “I feel like shit, and some foreign thief just ran off with my suitcase. It could be the Vatican up there on the hill, and I wouldn't give a rat's ass.”

A woman behind us gasped. Unfortunately, I was going to have to talk to Luz about her language, and I knew from experience that she wouldn't take it well. Then the male companion of the woman behind us said, “It isn't St. George.”

After that the van pulled out, and we dozed off, so I never did get to see anything of Lisbon but the airport and the harbor.

5

I was hoping to enter the suite first since I'd have some explaining to do, but Luz barged in ahead of me in search of her suitcase. “Well, it's not in the frigging living room, if that's what this is,” she snarled.

I was about to follow her in, but another uniformed person came bouncing down the hall, saying, “Is me, Herkule Pipa. The steward of you.”

“
Your
bag is here,” said Luz from inside. “I knew it. Mine's lost. That's just frigging great! I'll have to wear these jeans for the next two weeks.”

“Look in the bedroom,” I called through the open door. “I'm Carolyn Blue,” I said to the steward, a funny little man about my height, which is to say five-six. He had a round, rosy face topped by sparse black hair that lay in silky strands on his forehead, the tops of his ears, and, presumably, around the back of his head. There was a bald spot like a monk's tonsure above the strands. His body was as thin as his face was round, and his smile was as welcoming as if I were already his favorite passenger. “It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Pipa.”

“Herkule,” he corrected. “Is me, Herkule. You think is comical name? Yes? Is Albania name. I am Albania. Handsome country, but very famished. Now I have steward employment with copious dollars and numerous food. Very fine for me.”

“That's—ah—lovely.” His English was peculiar, to say the least.

“Who are you?” demanded my mother-in-law from inside the suite.

Oh, dear. I had meant to be there when Luz and Vera discovered that they were sharing the suite with me. The cruise line knew and had agreed to the additional passenger when I explained my problem, but I had neglected to explain the situation to my mother-in-law and my friend. “I'm needed inside, Mr.—Herkule.”

“No, no,” he cried.

“I'm one of the occupants of this suite,” said Luz. “And you're not the other one, so would you get out of the way so I can see if my bag is in that room?”

“Oh, dear, if you'll excuse me, Mr.—Herkule—”

“No Mr. Is Herkule.”

“The other occupant is Carolyn Blue,” said my mother-in-law. “You're in the wrong suite.”

“Very well. Herkule,” I agreed in order to pacify the steward. “And now I really need to intervene—”

“Intervene? New word!” exclaimed Herkule. “I put on roster for tomorrow. Ten new words every day. Is my end to become mistress of English.”

“Master,” I corrected. “Very commendable.”

“Carolyn Blue is
my
roommate,” snapped Luz.

I shut the door in Herkule's face and cried cheerfully, “Well, I see you two have met—more or less. Vera, this is my friend, Luz Vallejo. Luz, my mother-in-law, Vera Blue.” They both frowned at me.

“There's plenty of room,” I assured them. “You and I can share the room with twin beds, Luz, and Vera can have the one with—whatever it has.”

“I haven't shared a room since I got divorced,” said Luz. “No way you want to sleep in a room with me. I groan when my meds wear off.”

“You're not getting my room that way,” said Vera. “I snore, and I'd like to know how this happened, Carolyn. Jason didn't say anything about there being three of us.”

My mother-in-law was enveloped in a huge terry robe that dragged on the floor and wrapped all the way around her. She'd bundled it together with the belt and looked like a small, angry polar bear.

“And I didn't even want to come on this frigging cruise,” said Luz. “You talked me into it, Caro, by telling me Jason didn't want you to go by yourself.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Jason invited his mother the same day I invited you, Luz, so I just called the cruise line to see if a third person could come. What was I supposed to do? Tell one of you you were disinvited?”

“Since we haven't sailed, I'll just make them find my bag so I can go home,” said Luz.

“Don't be ridiculous, young woman,” Vera retorted. “Just because my son is an idiot, as most men are, and invited me without consulting his wife, that shouldn't keep you from enjoying the cruise.” Then my mother-in-law turned toward the door, at which someone had been knocking during most of the discussion, and shouted, “Come in.”

The steward popped his head in, beamed at us, and said, “Is me, Herkule Pipa, with the baggages for Mrs. Blue.”

“It's about time,” said Vera. “I need a nap, and I'm not going to get it wearing this gigantic robe.”

“And where's
my
bag?” Luz demanded.

“Not to agonize, towering lady,” said Herkule. “Baggages always materialize within hour. Can Herkule convey appetizing small foods, feathery towels—”

“A suitcase of clothes for Luz Vallejo,” she reminded him.

“Bar has many intoxicating beverages. No cost. See?” He bustled over to a small refrigerator that became accessible when he flipped up one side of a table with three chairs. “Have calming cocktail while wait for baggages.”

“Go away,” said Luz, “and don't come back until you have my bag.”

“Instantly I go,” said the steward, and went.

“You shouldn't be mean to him, Luz. He's trying to be helpful,” I admonished.

“Bosh,” said Vera. “He's looking for a big tip.”

“Tips are part of the price of this cruise,” I corrected.

“Which we're not paying for, so he probably expects a chunk of money at the end.”

Since there's no winning an argument with my mother-in-law, I didn't try. Instead I looked in the bar, poured out a glass of red wine from a one-serving bottle, opened a bag of cashews, and, feeling very decadent to be drinking before noon, took a look around the suite. First, the room Luz and I would be sharing: The twin beds had cream-colored, fitted spreads piped in what was evidently the line's color, periwinkle. The ship itself, which was white, had periwinkle stripes and was quite pretty, as was our room with its periwinkle carpet and drapes and its built-in drawers, not to mention its blond nightstands, doors, desk, and desk chair, and its small flowered easy chairs.

The bathroom—well, the colors were pleasant, cream tiles, some with flowers, but it was very small—a miniature sink beside the toilet with the paper roll fastened to the side of the sink cabinet, shower on the other side with an outward opening door that barely cleared the sink and would require a stout person to edge in sideways. Evidently Vera had the bathtub.

6

I
e
dged out of the bathroom in time to hear knocking at our door and a shaky voice calling, “Is me, Herkule Pipa.”

“My suitcase,” Luz cried. She had begun to undress but quickly zipped up her jeans and dashed into our sitting room with me close behind to protect poor Herkule in case he wasn't bringing her suitcase. My guess was better than hers. When she flung the door open, our steward stood cowering in the hall, holding two boxes elaborately wrapped in silver paper with gauzy periwinkle bows.

“Offerings,” he quavered, backing up hastily. “For—”

“You idiot,” she snarled. “No gift is going to replace my luggage, and don't come back until you've damn well found that suitcase.”

“For ladies Blue,” he finished hopefully, now standing with his back to the wall across from our door and his hands quivering so violently that his grip on the packages was slipping.

“Gifts!” I exclaimed. “How lovely!” I pushed Luz aside and rescued them from his custody. “Thank you, Herkule.”

“Herkule thank
you,
merciful madam,” he replied over his shoulder as he escaped around the nearest corner.

While I was examining the tiny envelopes on the packages, Vera came out of her room and demanded to know what the ruckus was about. She was rewrapped in her giant robe, her white hair already sleep-ravaged from the few minutes she'd managed to catch.

“Herkule delivered two gifts, one for you and one for me,” I replied, holding them up.

“Wouldn't you know? The line gives the two of you presents and loses my luggage,” Luz muttered.

Vera seized the gift I extended to her, ignored the pretty wrappings and the card, ripped her way into the box below, and eyed the contents askance. “What the devil are those?”

“Bonbons,” I replied. “At least I think that's what they are.”

“Bonbons?”
With about as much enthusiasm as she might have accorded a box of miniature hand grenades, my mother-in-law stared at the candies with their variegated colors and coatings.

Assuming that my box contained the same thing, I set it on an end table and opened the envelope. If the bonbons— and any sane person would have preferred truffles—were a present from the line, why hadn't Luz been given a box, as well? If not from the cruise line, then who would be sending me bonbons and, even more puzzling, sending them to my mother-in-law?

Luz had tramped over to the refrigerator, yanked it open, and removed a small bottle of tequila, which she immediately opened and drained. Vera said, “What a stupid gift,” and handed the box to Luz. “Try one. You'll probably hate it, but if not, they're yours.” Luz popped a mint green confection into her mouth; it must have tasted awful after the straight tequila she'd just gulped down, but maybe she was thinking
margarita.
Margaritas are green.

Meanwhile, I was taking the card from the envelope. It read:

“Mine are from Jason,” I said to Vera. “Yours probably are, too.” I picked the card up off the floor where Vera had tossed it with the torn silver paper and fancy bow.