"Now, most blessed pair, what shall it be? An Ecocruise? A Botanic Cruise? A Historic Monuments Cruise? A Health and Fitness Cruise? A Find the Lord Cruise? A Find Yourselves through Abstinence and Exercise Cruise? A Literary Cruise? A…"
"Literary!" I said hurriedly before he got to a Psychotherapy and Acupuncture Cruise. Literary sounded the most likely to be compatible with a Booze Cruise. A book would come in handy to put over my face at afternoon siesta time.
"Literary it is, you lucky people! Now, time's awastin'. Your boat leaves in four hours and you ain't in Florida yet! Hurry, hurry, hurry, and send up your thanks to the Lord as you go!"
I sketchily crossed myself as we were hustled into a huge white limo that swept off to the airport. Half an hour later we were airborne with Fly By Night once again, sinking the first glass of bubbly, and looking at the Caribbean Conch tickets as we tried to catch up with ourselves.
Our third cocktails arrived. A cooling breeze swept over the bow of the ship. I settled more comfortably in the steamer chair, closed my eyes, gave a contented sigh, and reached for my bride's hand.
"Coo-ee!!!"
"You did that without moving your lips!"
"Huh?"
Somewhat sleepily, I peered across at Harry's semi-slumbering form. He opened one eye and squinted back at me, then shrugged and reverted to snooze mode. I gave his stained and lurid shirt a disparaging glance. We really had to visit the ship's store and pick up some much-needed-on-voyage stuff. Like sun hats. And sun dresses. And sarongs. Not to mention sunscreen for my delicate Old Country complexion. Hastily, I moved my chair back into the shade. Lobster is not a becoming skin tone. I had just settled myself for the second time when the strange sound issued again, this time much closer than the first.
"Coo-ee!!!"
"What is that, Harry?"
My better half grunted.
"Ship's whistle. Mating call of the Blue Footed Booby. At ease, Mrs. Neptune. There are many strange sights and sounds afloat. Haven't you ever cruised before?"
"Only on dry land."
"Ho ho. Well, you'll soon get the hang of it. Basically, you sit in a deckchair and get pissed. Then you eat too much. Then you get pissed again (if you've sobered up from earlier on, that is). Oh, if you absolutely must have some culture, we can go and get lectured. Bloody hell, what was THAT?"
Something short, round, bright pink and rather wobbly thundered past our chairs, rather astonishingly leapt into the air and deftly caught a flying quoit.
"Didn't think little Gigi would catch that one, did you, Raoul? Oh! Oh! This is so much fun! I simply adore a cruise!"
Whatever it was, it was dripping with gold trinkets, like a smallish, fattish Christmas tree. Like a mobile window display at Harry Winston's, it tinkled as it bounced about, the bright Florida sunshine glinting from its clinking chains. Harry whistled. The glittering prize paused in mid bounce, peered into our shadowy lair and giggled like the proverbial giddy schoolgirl.
"Oh! Oh! You are a naughty man to whistle at little Gigi! I can see I'm going to have to watch my back on this voyage!"
Harry shrank back into his chair in horror. I stifled a giggle of my own. The creature advanced. It was a middle-aged woman dressed all in pink. Pink top, pink shorts with a pink belt, pink canvas deck shoes, pink sun visor. Anything which wasn't pink was gold, including her artfully curled and frosted hair. Her lips were suspiciously plump and pouty, no doubt from serial collagen injections. In short, she resembled a plastic baby doll. One almost expected to find a string and ring pull on her back. Instead of bleating "Mama!", the creature exclaimed:
"Don't I know you? Oh! Oh! It is Dirk Staunchly, isn't it? Oh, Mr. Staunchly, I'm just one of your biggest fans! I didn't know you were on the lecture list. What a wonderful surprise!"
Harry and I looked at each other, then at the thing in pink. Finally, I found some words in my emergency cache:
"I'm afraid you've made a mistake. This is my husband, Harry Neptune. I am, um, Mrs. Harry Neptune. Or Jay Neptune. Or something like that, anyway. Haven't decided yet. We're just married."
The pink blob clapped her hands together with glee.
"Newlyweds! Oh! Oh! How totally romantic! I am Mrs. Gloria Goldfinkel (of the Happachappabunket Goldfinkels). But you can call me Gigi. Everyone does. Oh! Oh! This is going to be so much fun! You really are the spitting image of Dirk Staunchly, Mr. Neptune. Quite uncanny. May I call you Harry? I'm sure dear Jay won't mind. After all, you're safely stashed in her safety deposit box now, aren't you?"
Mrs. Goldfinkel's tinkling voice adopted a coyly flirtatious tone underpinned with a disconcertingly steely nuance and Harry blanched then muttered something unintelligible. I patted his sturdy thigh in a proprietorial manner.
"It's been lovely meeting you, Mrs. Goldfinkel. I'm afraid it's time for Harry's rest now. Too much excitement flares up his Old Trouble something nasty."
Harry sighed heavily and did a lovely theatrical wince. Gigi frowned.
"Oh dear! Men are such flimsy things, aren't they? If only we could have them made like cars and order a Rolls or a Bentley. You know, something comfy and reliable. Oh well! See you at dinner!"
The creature bounced off, clasping the errant quoit. Harry groaned.
"I knew there would be a catch somewhere! Why, oh why, do women find me irresistible? I wonder if there's something I can spray on myself to repel them…"
I opened my mouth to make a standard witty response but no sound emerged. It was my turn to see something scary and unexpected. My eyes opened wide. My heart skipped a beat. Finally, I flushed scarlet and whispered:
"Boner."
Harry examined the front of his shorts.
"Don't be ridiculous. Horace went into hiding when that Goldfrink was on the offensive. I'll probably have to send a search party up the Orinoco to locate him and bring him back."
I moaned softly.
"Darling, it's Will Boner. My ex. The horror writer."
Boner? Yes, I remembered the name. Long thin streak of misery with a keep-fit bent and no idea of how to treat a lady. He was wearing Nike everything, which went oddly with the gray hair, wire-rimmed spectacles and sour expression.
"Mr. Neptune, Mr. Boner. Mr. Boner, Mr. Neptune." My bride introduced us reluctantly.
"What ho, Boner!" I cried from the recumbent without extending a hand. "Looks like you're carrying a bit more weight round the middle than the mem related."
Boner felt for his fatless waist and frowned. No love handles there, but from what I had heard he didn't have much use for them anyway. One up to Neptune. I could see he would spend an extra hour on the treadmill tonight. Me, I would head for the Turkish bath with a glass of Gordon's, except that I didn't really care about my profile. A few more pounds and they'll call me 'stately' in the police blotter.
"So how have you been, Jaylene?" asked my wife's former lover.
Jaylene? I would pursue that. Was it yet another of her many aliases?
"Up and down, Wilberforce, up and down. Did you ever get your latest book published?" she asked sweetly.
Boner scowled.
"I will by the time I get off this boat. Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted Publishers is aboard. I particularly asked for the cabin next to his so I can engineer a social meeting, arrange an appointment, present my manuscript, and negotiate a contract."
"Why don't you just get him pissed and shove the MS in his pocket?" I suggested helpfully.
Boner glared this time.
"Because, you… what was it you said? 'The mem?' The memsahib? Surely not even someone with your reputation would stoop so low…"
"Watch it, Boondongle. That's my bride of less than twenty-four hours you are thinking of insulting. Take your aspersions back the one-holer you got them out of. And wash your hands."