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Aboard the Aqua Meridian
What’s Going On
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GOOD MORNING, THIS is your captain. I’m pleased to announce that we’ve left the rain behind as we sail into the Psychedelic Sixties. Expect all your funkadelic favorites in the lounges and at pool side. Groove to the beat of the Beach Boys, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones. As a special treat we’ve scheduled a Happening in the Grand Foyer at nine o’clock this evening featuring fondue fountains that are out of sight. Twist the night away to the captivating voice of Lauren Wyland, the Barbara Streisand of the seas. So, get down and get funky. This is your captain wishing you another magical day on the Aqua Meridian. Peace out.
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My God, I feel good. I can’t remember the last time I bounced out of bed without an ache or pain ravenous for breakfast. Could lack of stress and a hearty dose of fresh air make such a difference? I brush my teeth, marveling at the dashing fellow who looks back at me. He isn’t quite as young as I’d first imagined, but good looking none the less. I shave with the razor and one of the fresh blades from the medicine cabinet then smooth down my hair with an Aqua Meridian comb fresh from its plastic wrapper. My youthful appearance is a mystery, but no longer a surprise. Could poor eyesight have led me to believe I looked older than I do? Doubtful, but then what? I flirt a bit with my image in the mirror. It’s unmanly, but I’m besotted with the young fellow who winks back at me, an old love I never thought I’d see again.
I wander down to breakfast freshly showered and wearing one of the sport shirts housekeeping provided. I’m not sure if the shirt is a gift, on loan, or if I’ll eventually receive a bill, but it doesn’t matter. I’m glad for the change and delighted by how well it fits. The smell of hotcakes, bacon, and eggs greets me as soon as the elevator door slides open. The jovial chatter and clatter of diners already at their breakfasts makes me smile. This is going to be a very good morning. I approach the hostess at reception and ask if Mr. Charles Dawson has been seated yet.
She consults a printed seating chart and a small handwritten list then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have no record of a Mr. Dawson. Perhaps you’ll find him in the first-class dining room.”
“No, I’m quite certain he said to meet him here. We’re both traveling tourist class. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, people do come and go from tourist class. He may have disembarked. You could check with customer relations at the information desk. I’m sure that they could help you.”
“Yes, I see.” I thank the woman but make no move to leave. This makes no sense. Dawson wouldn’t have made plans to meet me if he were going to disembark. Disembark where? Had we pulled into a port in the middle of the night? I stare at the hostess with suspicion. “Are you sure? Would you mind checking one more time?”
She obligingly goes through the motion of rescanning her list before shaking her head in defeat. “I’d suggest you try the first-class dining room. If he’s not there, the information desk is in the Grand Foyer. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you.”
My good mood dissolves into anxiety and confusion. What the deuce is going on? First class is just one deck up, so I race up the stairs, hoping to find Dawson polishing off a plate of eggs Benedict with truffled something or other, whatever people in first class eat, but I’m stopped by a large man in an odd uniform.
“Your ticket, please.” He smiles agreeably as he holds out his hand. He isn’t going to let me pass. His hair is cut in a long, incongruously feminine bob that’s jarring on someone with such a burly frame. His trousers flare at the ankle in a style I haven’t seen in years. I hand over my ticket and wait for the verdict.
“The tourist class dining room is one deck down.” He hands me my ticket back with a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid the Marlin Deck is first class only.”
“Yes, I know, but I was sent up here to look for a Mr. Dawson, a Mr. Charles Dawson. The hostess downstairs thought he might be having breakfast in this dining room.”
“No problem, I’ll be happy to check for you. Would you mind waiting here for just a minute? I’ll be right back. Mr. Charles Dawson, is that right?”
He returns with the news that there is no Mr. Dawson in first class. “He may be at poolside or in one of the lounges. It’s easy to lose someone on such a big ship. Of course, tourist class passengers do sometimes disembark. I’d try customer relations.”
“Yes, thank you. Maybe someone at the information desk can help me.” I wander back down the stairs totally flummoxed and less enchanted with the Aqua Meridian than I was half an hour earlier. I pass a schedule of onboard activities decorated with large flowers that look as though they were drawn by a child. I’m intrigued by how much there is to do. Most of it is silly cruise fare: bingo, a twist contest, cooking with gelatin, learn the Watusi and the Mashed Potato, that sort of thing. But there’s a lecture on northern shore birds I might attend, especially if Dawson will go with me.
The woman at customer relations is the same one who gave me my key last night. I recognize her even though she’s poufed up her hair with so much hairspray that the smell makes my eyes sting. She smiles when she sees me. Apparently, she recognizes me as well. Good, maybe I’ll finally get some answers.
“Excuse me, I need some help finding a passenger, a Mr. Charles Dawson. You may remember him. He was the gentleman who was with me when I checked in yesterday.”
“Yes, of course I remember you both. Are you enjoying the cruise? Is your cabin comfortable?”
At last, someone who knows her business. “Yes, everything is perfect, better than I’d expected, except that I don’t know how to locate Mr. Dawson. We were supposed to meet for breakfast, but the dining room doesn’t have any record of him.”
“Was he traveling first class?”
“No, no I’m quite certain he was tourist class, same as me. We had dinner together last night in a tourist class lounge.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t tell us anything. Tourist class passengers aren’t allowed in first class, but first-class passengers have the run of the ship. They can eat wherever they like, but I’m sure I can track him down in the guest register.” There’s a large credenza against the wall that holds a leather-bound journal. She turns and peruses its pages. A moment later she looks up smiling triumphantly. “Ah, there he is. He disembarked unexpectedly due to a medical emergency, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. These things happen.”
“Disembark? Where? Where are we anyway?”
“Well, we’re not in any port at the moment, but I promise we’re right on schedule. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
This evasiveness annoys me and I’m about to question her further when I notice the woman in green from last night, the woman who looks like Bess, only now she’s wearing a sundress that strikes me as too short for such a distinguished woman. I stare at her hard, waiting for her to transform into a stranger, but she doesn’t. She remains Bess as she leans against the railing one deck above me, staring down into the Grand Foyer.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ve just seen someone.” I don’t wait for the elevator but race up the grand staircase two steps at a time, but I’m not fast enough. By the time I reach the top she’s gone. I feel ridiculous chasing after a strange woman and walk back to the tourist dining room embarrassed, panting and out of breath. All the joy of the early morning is gone, and I feel despondent and out of sorts. The fact is, I was looking forward to breakfast with Dawson. I’ve only just met him, but we had so much in common. I feel as though I’ve lost a friend and the cruise has lost much of its allure.
I return to the dining room where I sit alone sipping a cup of coffee while I wait for my breakfast. The coffee revives me and by the time I finish a plate of scrambled eggs, toasted bagel, and bacon the world’s come right again. I’m just settling back to enjoy a second cup of coffee when Samuel Rabinowitz slides into the chair across from me.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. I was afraid you’d disappeared.”
“No, I’m right here, but a friend of mine has gone missing. He was taken off the ship last night due to some sort of medical emergency. I was running around trying to find him while you were looking for me.”
“What sort of medical emergency?”
I shake my head irritably. “I have no idea. I didn’t even know we’d dropped anchor last night. This whole cruise is a mystery to me. You’re going to think I’m addled, but honestly, I thought I was going on a harbor cruise. Now it seems we’re sailing to Kingdom Come. I don’t even know how long this thing lasts.”
Dr. Rabinowitz looks at me with satisfying concern. He’s a nice boy. “Well, that depends on your ticket. What sort of ticket do you have?”
I shrug, embarrassed that I can’t answer such a simple, straightforward question. “A clown with a balloon just handed it to me. It was a gift or a prize or something. No one ever explained the rules.” I know I sound unpleasant and ungrateful, so I try again. “Actually, it was a much bigger prize than I realized. This ship is much larger and more luxurious than it seemed when I saw it at the dock, but still they should have given me some instructions, some time to prepare.”
“No kidding. That’s where the Aqua Meridian totally misses the boat, no orientation. The same thing happened to me, but if you show your ticket to someone in customer relations I’m sure they’ll explain everything.”
An uncomfortable thought crosses my mind. “This is a round trip cruise, isn’t it? They won’t just drop me off in some strange city?”
“Oh, they’d never do a thing like that. The Aqua Meridian has an excellent reputation.”
My ear isn’t that good for accents, but the young Dr. Rabinowitz doesn’t sound quite Canadian. “Excuse me, Dr. Rabinowitz, I don’t mean to pry, but where’s home for you? Did you board with me in Toronto?” It dawns on me that the inaugural cruise of the Aqua Meridian didn’t necessarily originate in Toronto.
“Please, call me Sam. I’m from Cleveland, but I moved to Chicago to attend medical school. That’s where I came on board, which reminds me, I really need that book you saved for me.”
My God, Chicago? If this ship can navigate the St. Lawrence Seaway we could be anywhere. I may not be imagining salt air.
“You do still have my book, don’t you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, yes, your book, of course. It’s in my cabin. Wait here while I run down to get it.”
“Don’t make a special trip.” He reaches into the breadbasket and helps himself to a bagel. “Do you mind? I never got breakfast.” He tears the bagel in half and stuffs a piece in his mouth. “I’ll be in the library later. We could meet there. Let’s say . . .” He looks at his watch then frowns. “This thing’s useless, it keeps losing time. Anyway, how about two o’clock?”
“Very good, I’ll meet you in the library at two o’clock, assuming they don’t kick me off the ship before then. To be honest, I hope my ticket’s good for another day or two. I’d like to take a dip in the pool and there’s a lecture that interests me. I might even attend the party this evening.”
“The Happening? I don’t normally attend the theme-night parties, but the food’s always good and the music’s first rate. Personally, I think they overdo the costumes and decorations.”
“Well, then, I’m going. As long as I’m here I may as well enjoy the ride. In fact, I’m going to learn the Mashed Potato and the what? The Whatsit?”
“The Watusi?”
“Yes, I’m going to learn the Watusi. Why don’t you come? Don’t be such a wall flower.”
“I’m not a wall flower, more of a nerd actually. They’re different. Maybe if I had a girlfriend or someone to dance with, but I’d feel stupid dancing by myself.”
“Come on, we’ll just eat fondue and listen to the music. You don’t have to dance.”
“Sure, why not? It’s a Happening. Maybe something will happen.”