“Okay, okay, y’all. Who’s ready?” A voice came from above. “Pancake bingo in the house!”
Annie wondered if DJ Pancake was getting enough sleep. It seemed like punishing work, all of it. He started to call out numbers, and they flashed on the giant screen over his head.G23. G23. B7. B7.
Several women were playing bingo in the pool. It had certainly been cleaned in the hours between the lido deck parties and the actual morning, but still, Annie wasn’t sure she’d get in. Every night, so many people were in their shoes, even sneakers, standing in the pool for hours because the shallow edge of the pool was the closest they could get to the stage, and to Boy Talk, and it was worth it to sacrifice a pair of Keds. It seemed like some sort of bacterial infection waiting to happen, the whole thing, a gym shower on steroids. The women in the pool seemed happy enough, though. One was wearing an enormous pink visor, and her friend was wearing an identical one in yellow. They looked like nice women. One of them had a book sitting just outside the pool, a book Annie had read that wasn’t about dragons but real people. Annie wished she were reading a book about real people, too. She took another bite of her roast beef and then set the plate off to the side and stretched her legs out in front of her.
Annie heard Greg before she saw him. He was dressed like himself, not that she knew who that was, but it was nice to see him not in costume. Blue shorts, a white T-shirt, sunglasses. He was surrounded by women, and they were all laughing. It was a multiethnic, good-looking bunch, like a brunch table in a psoriasis medication commercial. He didn’t seem to notice her, but it wouldn’t have made a difference if he had, Annie realized. They were all stuck together until theAmerican Fantasypulled back into Miami, and if he’d slept with half as many people as Maira said, this was not a new experience for him.
Just as before she had come, when Annie had struggled to think of how to explain what she was doing, she also wasn’t sure what to say when she got back. It was an escape from everything but her ownbrain, and even that seemed to be on the fritz. There were things she understood better: The Talkers were terrifying in the same way that moms who packed sandwiches that had been cut into cute shapes were terrifying. They were too good at this, too devoted. What was missing in their lives that they could do this? Annie knew what was missing in her own life. Companionship. Sex. A job! Anyone who needed her on a daily basis. Estrogen. Her parents. The good parts of her marriage. Claudia’s childhood. Her body as it had been in previous decades. Annie wanted to come home and have things be different. She didn’t want to be some sad piece of driftwood. The divorce had felt like a relief once it was over. Maybe there were other things to shed.
DJ Pancake kept calling out numbers, and Annie kept marking them down. The women in the pool splashed each other amicably when one of them was close to winning.O17. O17.There was a row of red dots straight down the middle of Annie’s sheet.
“Bingo!” she shouted. “Bingo!” It felt like yellingfirein a crowded room; everyone turned to look. AnAmerican Fantasyemployee in a large sun hat and zinc oxide on their nose came over to check her sheet, nodded, and then pointed up the staircase toward the DJ booth.
“Really?” Annie said. She smoothed her hair with her hands.
There was nothing special about the stairs, not during the day. Anyone could walk up or down. But these were the stairs the guys used at night, and Annie felt like she was doing something transgressive by walking up them, like Boy Talk would be waiting when she got to the top. She took the stairs slowly, one at a time, gripping tightly to the handrail, just in case.
At the top of the stairs, in the shade, there was a slight man wearing a bucket hat. He was not as young as Claudia, but he was very, very young. Anyone under thirty now seemed very, very young. His chest was concave, and his enormous T-shirt billowed around him like a sail.
“Hello,” Annie said. She held her bingo card out in front of her. “I was told to bring this to you.”
“Nice, nice,” said the man. “Let me see your room key?” He took both the bingo card and her key card. Annie stood and watched. When he was finished, he handed both things back, his eyes barely visible under his hat.
“So, what do I win?” Annie asked. “Mr. Pancake.”
“A thousand dollars!” he said, and blushed. “And Mr. Pancake is my father.”
“Wow, oh gosh,” Annie said. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Well, shit!”
“It’s on your account now! Go crazy!” Pancake waved his hands in the air. His DJ booth was just a folding table. It seemed so dangerous to have it all out in the open. Even though there was a roof over their heads, they were still outside.
“Thank you,” Annie said. “And you’re doing a good job. Thank you. Everyone is having a wonderful time.”
Pancake smiled, genuinely. “Appreciate that.”
“Do you mind?” Annie said. She pointed to the edge of the balcony on the far side of his DJ equipment. The space in front of the folding table was where the guys stood every night. It was right there.
“Go for it,” Pancake said, and gestured for Annie to walk around to the other side, where she would overlook the pool and everything below. Pancake then turned his attention back to the DJ table, where he pressed a button, and Pink Floyd’s “Money” began to play.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he said into the microphone. “Round two! Who’s ready?” A smallwoowent up down below. Annie stepped up to the railing and looked out over the deck. She saw Greg and his friends, a bucket of beer at his feet. Who could blame him for seeing an opportunity and taking it? She didn’t want to know that he lived with his parents. She didn’t want to know anything other than that he hadwanted to kiss her. The women in the pool bobbed up and down, their visors like lotus flowers in the blue water. She saw the length of the ship and where she and Greg had kissed and, around all of it, the ocean. If Annie had been in Boy Talk, she would have stayed up there as long as she could have. She might never have come down.
37
Sunday, 5:53 p.m.
Deck 7
Sarah was ready to get back on dry land. She shouldn’t have stayed on board for Boy Talk, not that she really had a choice. Who was going to be in charge, Tyler? He couldn’t manage to take a piss without asking someone else how to do it first. Also, it didn’t actually make her feel better. Let this be a lesson! More work does not make sadness go away. More work does not fix heartbreak! The good news about the cruise was also the bad news about the cruise: It was easy to pretend the rest of the world did not exist. That’s why people came—both staff and guests—but the spell only lasted for so long before it evaporated and you were left with whatever problems you had before. Lexie had been posting dreamy portraits of Plum walking through dappled sunshine. The first blush of love was so disgusting. Sarah was trying not to pay attention, but it was hard.
Everyone was backstage at the theater except for Corey, and somehow it was her job to get him, even though she had a whole staff of people with walkie-talkies and legs. Fine. The costume contest started at six, which was supposed to leave enough time for everyone to eat and nap and change and pack and do whatever else they had to dobefore Prom. The next JackRabbit cruise, Jerry’s Jammers, wasn’t for a month, which meant she’d have time at home, or time to adopt her own pet, some sad creature with one eye or three legs, or time to go on vacation, a real vacation, a vacation forher. Sarah was going to do all of that and start looking for another job. If the internet were more reliable, she would have started right now.
Sarah knocked on Corey’s door, and he swung it wide open right away. His tuxedo for Prom Night—orange, with a paler orange ruffled shirt to match—was hanging in the open closet. Corey stood naked to the waist and put a hand on his hip.
“Sorry,” Sarah said. “Need a minute?” She didn’t want to cover her eyes with her hands like a prude. They hadallseen him with less on than he was wearing now—in his art house movie days, he’d done full frontal, which must have sent nuclear shock waves through these women—but she did politely look toward the ceiling.
“Nah, I’m coming,” Corey said, stepping aside to let her in. Sarah let the door close behind her and scooted through to the other side of the closet. Corey opened a drawer, pulled out a T-shirt, and slung it over his shoulder like a dishrag.
“ ’Kay.” Sarah crossed her arms. “Want me to wait in the hallway? Everyone’s getting a little itchy, that’s all.”
