“Me neither,” Keith said.
“I like Bob Dylan, though,” Annie said.
“Me too,” Keith said. He looked down at his clothes. “I must have left my hair somewhere.”
“Oh, I hate it when that happens,” Annie said. She looked at his face, his mouth, his eyes. “What else do you like? To listen to, I mean.”
Keith gave a little half smile, and Annie realized that most of the people on the boat could rattle off a list of whatever he was about to say. “Lots of stuff,” Keith said. “As long as it has heart.”
“Do you ever listen to any opera?”
Keith’s eyebrows went up. “That’s not what I expected you to say.” He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled a thin plume of smoke over the waves. “My mother loved opera. The Italians. Puccini, Rossini. I don’t know much, but I know that opera makes me think about my parents’ kitchen table.”
“I love that,” Annie said. “There’s really nothing like the kitchen table, is there? Mine was more like Barry Manilow.”
“Barry Manilow had some great songs,” Keith said, and smiled.
Maira came barreling up and threw her arms around Annie’s waist. “Awooga!” she said. “Hi, Keith.”
He nodded at her and took a drag of his cigarette.
“I thought you quit!” Maira said.
Keith shrugged. “I did.” He stubbed his cigarette out on the bottomof his shoe and tossed it into the giant concrete ashtray affixed to the side of the ship. “See you,” he said to both of them.
“Oh,shit,” Maira said when he was gone. “We got the fucking unicorn. All we need now is to get Corey West doing some coke off somebody’s belly button, and it’ll be perfect.”
Annie watched Keith disappear through the swingingdoors.
Day Three
Saturday
Sunrise / Sunset:
7:07 a.M. / 6:39 p.M.
High / Low:
82°f / 71°f
Today’s Hi-Lites:
Beach Games, 12 p.m.—American Cay
Karaoke Contest, 3 p.m.—American Cay
Solo Corey, 8 p.m.—Broadway Theater, 3, 4, 5 Fwd
Deck Party:
Pajama Night, 10:30 p.m.—Lido 9 Aft
Daily Deal:
BOGO Snorkels—American Gift Emporium, 5Mid
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