One early evening, the waitress at Le Zinc approached their table with a bottle of absinthe on a silver tray. She placed a sugar cube on a slotted spoon and poured the green liqueur. She raised her eyebrows, setting the glass in front of Charlotte. In Charlotte’s memory (though this could not be true), the room went dark, and a spotlight shone upon her.
“It’s from him,” said the waitress in a reverent voice, tilting her head. They all turned. In the corner of the café, a balding, gnarled man (he was almost eighty!) sat surrounded by an entourage.
The old man was bright-eyed, wearing a green scarf, staring straight at Charlotte. She encircled the absinthe with her fingers.
“For the love of God,” said Winston. “Charlotte, do you know who that is?”
Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to meet the man’s gaze. She shook her head.
Winston spoke the man’s name, looking concerned, impressed, scared.
“Oh,” said Charlotte. “I believe I’ve heard of him.” She raised the absinthe, met the stranger’s gaze, and drank.
“Be careful, Charlotte,” said Winston, putting his arm around her possessively.
“Who, me?” said Charlotte, breaking free.
A DUTIFUL CATHOLIC SINCEchildhood, Charlotte attended mass every morning and had been worried about missing mass while cruising. Some cruise lines gave a free room to a Catholic priest who could perform services, but Charlotte had heard from her Bible Study group that these “rent-a-priests” were not always in good standing. Charlotte had consulted Father Thomas, who agreed that missing mass because of winning the Become a Jetsetter contest was a reasonable exception. She could enjoy the cruise, return home, go to confession, and Father Thomas would give her penance. She would be absolved and could receive Holy Communion again.
Still, Charlotte took a framed photo of Jesus and set it on top of the television in her stateroom. She unpacked her toiletries in the bathroom, which was no better or worse than the one at home. One of her church friends had sent Charlotte a link to an article called “After You Flush—Waste Disposal at Sea Is a Complicated Business,” but Charlotte had declined to click on the link. Some things didn’t need to be known and how cruise ships disposed of human effluvium was one of them.
There were plenty of clean (if thin) towels, and a cord could be stretched from one side of the bathroom to the other if one chose to wash their unmentionables in the sink. Charlotte hoped that her prize package included laundry, for Pete’s sake.
A radio next to her bed was already switched on, and Frank Sinatra sang, “Fly me to the moon! Let me play among the stars.”
Charlotte hummed as she unpacked. Although the absolutelyfirst thingCharlotte’s mother always did was empty her suitcases (or have them emptied: Louisa had never folded a cardigan in her life), Charlotte could feel her energy as a limited resource, and she wanted to sip some champagne. She quickly changed into a Talbots shift dress (Kelly green) and matching shoes; clipped on faux-gold, Ralph Lauren lion earrings; and applied lipstick, smoke-colored eye shadow, and a bit of mascara. A brush through her hair and a few pumps of hairspray (how she missed her clouds of Aqua Net, but one had to do what was right for the planet, not to mention those poor Australian children with a hole in their ozone layer) and Charlotte was ready to go.
She opened her cabin door and found herself face-to-face with a handsome man in uniform. “Oh!” said Charlotte, her hand flying to her chest.
“Good evening, madame,” said the man. He was about Charlotte’s age, with thick gray hair and a big smile. “I am Paros, your porter. I’m sorry to frighten you.”
Charlotte wasn’t the least bit frightened. She could smell Paros’s manly, soapy smell. A longing welled inside her. She wanted to touch this man, to be touched.
“Please let me know if I can be of assistance,” said Paros, sweeping his arm up, as if presenting her with the narrow hallway.
“Oh,my,” said Charlotte.
Paros looked at her, not past her, not above her head. His smile was kind and a bit sad. His face was leathered by years in the sun. His teeth were not the best. Still, Charlotte felt her heart quickening. Had she met this person before? She felt as if she should know him, as if shedidknow him.
“The night is yours, madame,” said Paros.
“DON’T GET ON THE SHIP,”said Cord’s sponsor, Handy.
“I know,” said Cord, clutching his phone to his ear and staring at the gargantuanSplendido Marvelosomoored in the Aegean Sea. He’d meant to go to the airport—he had! But something had made him tell the Uber guy to drive him away from Athens International and toward his inescapable, exhausting family. “What am I doing?” he said.
“You need to protect your sobriety,” said Handy, his voice strong and certain, even bullying. “Get on a plane and come home. You’re allowed to walk away. You don’t have to take care of anyone but yourself. You’re not alone, man. I’m here. Talk to me.”
“Right,” said Cord. “You’re right.” He could picture Handy, who had been famous as a child. Once in a while, as they sat with their Big Books open before them, sipping coffee, Cord caught a glimpse of the prepubescent star Handy had been, singing his catchphrase,It’ll all come out in the wash!Handy wasn’t exactly wise, and he was full of words that could be needlepointed on a pillow, but as far as Cord could tell, “working the program” meant listening, staying sober, and keeping your thoughts to yourself. Every other avenue had led to self-hatred and despair, so he was trying, he really was trying.
“Okay, so you’re getting in a taxi? You need me to find you a flight?” said Handy. “You need me to meet you at JFK?”
“I’m not getting on the ship,” said Cord. Yet he walked toward it, pulled by some mysterious force. A man in a white jumpsuit waved to him, beckoning Cord to hurry. There was a banner saying,WELCOME TO FUN!
“I’m not getting on the ship,” repeated Cord, marching toward the banner. He couldn’t just ditch his mother. How could he ruin Charlotte’s last adventure?
“Good decision,” said Handy. “You’re doing the right thing. You need me to stay on the phone, man?”
“I’m good,” said Cord.
