Ride the Titanic! (40 page)

Joe remains calm. ‘Still keep that Oscar for Best Song on the shelf in your family room?

‘Please don’t start with. . .’

‘Nice spot for it, I always thought. All gold and shiny and wonderful.’

She flushes slightly and her cold cream drizzles even more. She slowly wipes it off to reveal a fresh, sweet and open face. ‘Don’t do this to me. It’s not fair.’

‘Who says anything about fair? This is a favor I’m asking. Like the one I did for you way back when.’

She smiles and shakes her head and her mane of hair slowly follows suit. ‘That song. . .oh, that song.’ She falters. ‘It made all the difference. After that, the doors never closed again.’

She and Peabo Bryson’s
Beauty and the Beast
from the Disney movie went double platinum. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out like a fan-boy, ‘I loved the way you and Peabo sang that song in the video.’

‘
Merci,
Mr. Sullivan.’ Her French-Canadian accent gives me chills. Her face softens in memory. ‘Such a moment.’

She turns back to Joe and touches his arm. ‘My dearest Joseph. I can never thank you enough for what you did for me.’

He flushes with pleasure. ‘Hey, you were the Beauty, I was just the Beast who twisted a few arms,’

A tiny frown. ‘Including mine right now.’

‘Look, Cee-cee.’ Joe puts his arm around her. ‘Just show up, okay? Smile. Sing your
Titanic
song when the time comes, and then get the hell out of Dodge. Still remember the words?’

Melodious laughter. ‘How could I forget?’ She clutches her chest and rolls her eyes melodramatically;
My Heart Will Go On
.’

‘I will too until you say yes.’

Celine’s answer is captured by the news crews and photographers, who crowd the main entrance as she gracefully exits from her SUV with an ‘I’m-so-happy-to-be-here’ smile on her face. She glides toward the lobby. As she passes us, she blows Joe a kiss and rolls her eyes.

I silently mouth, ‘
Merci
.’

Joe nudges me. ‘Who the hell are those folks over there?’

I have no clue who the next celebrity couple is. Their SUV is the last one in the convoy, and as they disembark, their massive
Dolce Gabana
sunglasses make their identity impossible. But whoever they are triggers a feeding frenzy with the press and PR people, who track them into the hotel like sharks following blood.

I turn to leave but Joe makes me turn back when he says, ‘
La famiglia finalmente!’

My heart skips a beat when my favorite legs peek out from behind the limo door, followed by the rest of Geena, followed by Fiona and Adam, squinting in the bright sunlight like awakened vampires. To reward the kid for making Eagle Scout at the tender age of 15, I asked his folks if he could go to Vegas with our family for the ride launch.

As I move to greet them, Joe whispers, ‘Romeo and Juliet.’

‘Geena and me?’

‘Fiona and her flyboy.’

‘But he’s an Eagle Scout.’

‘With claws.’

Geena’s kiss is quick and polite, my hug is for real, but hers feels somewhat obligatory.

‘How was the flight?’

‘Great.’

‘Long,’ Fiona groans.

‘Fantastic,’ Adam says. ‘CAVU from wheels up to touchdown.’

Joe frowned. ‘No speeka-da-English, kid.’

‘Sorry, Mr. Corelli. Stands for Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited. We had it from takeoff to landing. Awesome flight.’

‘How’s your dad?’

‘Out on a trip, as usual. Says if he can swap out he’ll deadhead – I mean, catch a non-rev – I mean, if there’s an empty seat on a flight from SLC to LAS – I mean. . .’

‘Don’t tell me. Salt Lake City to Las Vegas, right?’

‘Affirmative, sir.’

Joe turns to Fiona, ‘The life of an airline pilot. See what you’re in for when junior here gets his wings?’

‘Maybe I’ll fly with him, gran’pa.’

‘You’d make a beautiful stewardess.’

Fiona gives him such a look, and Geena intervenes. ‘Fiona’s taking flying lessons.’

‘Since when?’ I say.

‘Since two months ago, dad.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She shrugs. ‘You were busy. . .with all this.’

‘EN-ee-way, Michael. . . .’ Geena’s voice is bright and empty. Her way of letting me know the case is closed; time to move on whether I like it or not. ‘Can we get to our rooms? As ladies used to say long ago when I was young, I need to freshen up.’

‘You look great to me.’

She pecks me on the cheek. ‘Bet you say that to all the girls – c’mon kids, let’s roll.’

And she’s off, walking briskly toward the lobby, chatting happily with the valet who carries their luggage, while Fiona and Adam skitter along behind like happy ducklings.

Joe and I hang back for a moment to watch the papal procession. Geena looks terrific. Something about her shoulders. . . straighter somehow, her chin higher, her hair even shorter and even more sexy.

Joe finally says, ‘What the hell’s going on between you two?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s the problem, right?’

‘Correct. Absolutely nothing.’

He claps his stonemason-thick arm around my shoulders. ‘If you’re looking for advice,
paisan
, I ain’t your guy. Marianna and me never could get the work and play thing straightened out.’

‘But you’re still together.’

‘When Geena was coming up – like Fiona is now. Marianna and I had names for each other. I was Mount Aetna, she was Mount Vesuvius. Like clockwork we’d go at it. . . BOOM.’

‘I’m not the ‘boom’ type.’

‘Everybody is. Just depends how deep your lava is. Sooner or later it blows. The trick is to let some of it out without losing the whole damn mountain.’

‘I don’t want that for us.’

‘Neither do the people who live down in the valley.’

‘Fiona and the twins?’

‘Me and Marianna too.’

The crowded hotel lobby is organized, but excited chaos; the precise atmosphere Xia wants for the kind of opening weekend we’re planning for our VIPs, Press, and the general public. In 1912 steamship travel terms, these are our first class, second class and steerage passengers now ‘boarding’ the
Titanic
by way of a registration desk that looks – thanks to Wu’s genius – like it belongs on the
Titanic
, as does everything else in the hotel to reinforce the illusion of not just being on board an ocean liner, but on board the very same one that still sails in our collective memory.

While Geena and the kids register, I head over to a small forest of potted palm trees, where Mr. Wu, still dressed as ‘Mr. Tong,’ stands watch over the proceedings.

‘How we doing?’ I say.

‘When I can become me for good?’

‘Another twenty-four hours and you can take off those glasses.’

‘Ray-Bans I like very much.’

‘They’re yours, compliments of the house.’

‘Thank you. But acting I hate.’

‘Keeps the wolves at bay, doesn’t it?’

‘But maybe now they hide with the sheep.’

The swirling crowd does resemble sheep in an odd way. Groups of four and five cluster together to regard a wall treatment, and then move away to search out another bit of history. At least a third of our
Maiden Voyage
guests are cosplay characters wearing period costumes. I count at least four ‘John Astors’ and five ‘Molly Browns’ posing, posturing and pretending along with their counterparts.

‘Seen any Captain Smiths?’ I say.

‘Just ours.’

Wu nods in the direction of the massive,
Grand Staircase
leading from the hotel lobby down into the depths where the retail stores and casinos await. Similar in style and ornateness to the staircase the passengers will encounter in the ride, but twice as wide and long, the intricately carved oak and mahogany masterpiece houses a double-wide escalator in place of steps. At the top, an elderly-looking gentleman wearing the four-striped uniform of a
White Star Lines
captain stands ramrod straight as he nods benevolently to the crowd of people streaming past. Some stop to take photos, others gape, some salute, while others pale slightly and avert their eyes.

‘Here comes some fun,’ I say.

A cosplay version of ‘Captain Smith’ materializes out of the crowd. Shorter, more slender and with beautiful hips imperfectly hidden by her
White Star
uniform, she is clearly a woman, who, like many of her female cos-players, prefers dressing as a male character like Spiderman, Batman, Al Capone – you name it – but this looks like a first.

‘Our’ Captain Smith silently regards his
doppelgänger
for a long moment, and then solemnly raises his hand in a perfect British Navy salute, to which his counterpart returns with equal solemnity, steps onto the escalator and descends into the depths.

I leave Wu to his monitoring duties and join the crowd, a mixture of conventionally-dressed people in shorts, halter tops, open sport shirts mingling with cosplay gentlemen in silk top hats and formal morning dress, walking arm in arm with ladies sporting broad hats and ‘Gibson-Girl’ hairdos.

When I near Captain Smith I nod at him to join me outside the flow of foot traffic. He ‘sails’ in my direction with perfect gravity and benign forbearance for the foibles of mere mortals. I salute him upon his arrival and say, ‘Knocking them dead, Tom. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.’

‘How many Captain Smiths does that make so far?’

‘Four and counting.’

‘Bet she was the best looking one.’

‘Indeed. I shall very much enjoy having her join me on my bridge later for a spot of tea.’

‘Tut, tut, my good captain. Remember, you go down with the ship, not with the ladies.’

A flicker of amusement touches his cool grey eyes. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

The escalator steps are tinted mahogany to simulate wood, and squeak relentlessly. I mentally beg Xia for forgiveness for meddling with her masterpiece as I text the maintenance department to lubricate the damn things. When I get to the bottom I come to a dead halt in sheer amazement at the masterpiece of retail design that Mr. Wu and Herbie Gottschalk have created.

Unlike
Bellagio
with its underground ‘Venice’ as the setting for their shops and restaurants, we want our guests to feel like they’re strolling along the Boat Deck of the
Titanic,
with a blue sky overhead, cool ocean breezes and a slight sensation of rising and falling on a gentle sea.

A high, curved ceiling with HD video projections of passing clouds, combined with subtle sound effects and scent generators create an illusion so convincing that even someone like me who knows exactly how our special effects magicians are pulling the ‘rabbit’ out of the hat still “buys” me into the illusion. So much so that I don’t hear Joe’s voice at first because of the gentle, rushing hiss of the water along the ship’s imaginary ‘hull,’ out of sight but not out of sound.

‘Paisan
, you going deaf or just trying to ignore us old timers?

Joe stands there with his Disney cronies, Herbie and Scooter. Handshakes, hugs, grins, kidding, walking and laughing, the four of us reunite. Herbie and Scooter were key to the success of my dream and I haven’t seen them for almost a year. Age continues taking its toll on their faces, but their beaming smiles magically erase the ravages of time.

We stroll along the ‘Boat Deck’ taking in for real what, back in Orlando, began as pencil sketches, water colors, and Bristol Board models, each, at the end of the day, generously christened with tumblers of bourbon and scotch, with the occasional gin and tonic that Herbie prefers. And just as British as a gin and tonic, has Herbie’s vision of an Edwardian England come to life as we pass retail shops and small eateries with facades that cleverly blend into his ‘on-board-ship’ nautical theme – a theme that Mr. Wu took and magnified a hundredfold by doubling the square footage of the retail stores.

Herbie says, ‘Bloody-big ass ship Mikey ended up building. Think she’s really unsinkable?’

Scooter says, ‘If she isn’t, we’re in trouble.’

I let them have a good cackle over that before saying, ‘Let’s not jinx our project, gentleman.’

Joe says, ‘If Walt could see us now, he’d be kicking himself saying, “Why didn’t I think of this?’’

‘I miss that son-of-a-bitch,’ Scooter says.

‘Don’t worry boys,’ Herbie says, ‘We’ll all be meeting him soon enough. Some of us even sooner.’

‘Speak for yourself, you old fart.’ Joe says.

Back and forth they banter as we walk along; three old guys minus their mouse ears, plus a younger one who didn’t get to wear his long enough.

‘Show of hands,’ Herbie says. ‘Who wants to check out the casinos?’

I reluctantly add mine to the other hands that shoot up in the air.

Herbie’s “triple-casino” design rationale is sheer simplicity; include all the bells and whistles of a traditional casino; roulette, blackjack, craps, poker, but then add modern day games like
Pai Gow
. Then, instead of tricking out the space like a Vegas hooker with neon trim and pumping EDM into your aching ears, like every other casino on the strip, make it look and feel like a place where glamorous, Gilded Age members of high society would want to gamble and win big, while sailing inside the world’s most beautiful ocean liner.