Friday, December 11: Fun at Sea

Today’s prime event was a ceremony on deck to initiate into the Brotherhood of Shellbacks those crossing the equator for the first time. All Pollywogs were encouraged to come forward before King Neptune for this ceremony, which involved ladling out spaghetti sauce over their heads, then rinsing them off in the pool shower, fully clothed, and throwing them into the ship’s pool. Despite a light rain, a huge crowd had gathered and the deck was awash in flash bulbs, recording this humiliation for the amusement of friends back home. I was very surprised at the number of guests – and the variety of types – willing to kneel and undergo this mild but messy servitude. It represented a true cross section of the ship’s guests and crew. To make cleanup easier, the area of the deck where the rites took place had been covered in plastic but I’m sure the deckhands still had a real job to get up the mess. I could imagine how spaghetti might clog the drains. But then, I’m sure the ship has its own plumber, not one of those back home who charges us $80.00 per call to wipe the sludge of whiskers and shaving cream out of our bathroom sink. Ugh!
Before and after this colorful display, I worked my usual gig, consulting the daily schedule I receive just before going to bed each night for the proper time and place. I mingled with the guests, especially Solos, in the area called the Coffee Connection, where Monica told me the little lady who had to be airlifted to Rio was still in the hospital there and, although stable, was now suffering from a hospital-borne infection. For our dance lesson, Sasha and Elena selected the tango, which made no sense to me. The tango is a swooping dance with long steps intermingled with short ones and to do it properly takes lots of floor space. Seven couples trying to remember and perform Elena’s routine on a moving dance floor was truly chaotic. Of course, any time we made a mistake, we could blame it on the ship.
Have I told you about the heat? Unlike some of my friends, I’ve never loved hot weather and some as yet undiscovered malady makes me sweat profusely. After all, we are in the tropics so I expect to be hot outside. But inside, even in air conditioning, and especially after concentration on the tango on a heaving dance floor, I have to go back to my suite (read stateroom [read cabin]) to change into a fresh shirt. Deciding to buy and bring a wardrobe of dark blue, dark green and black Polo shirts was a great idea. I can just throw all of them into the washer at the same time. Of course, my underwear is slowly darkening. But who cares? Do men have hot flashes?
The early show was a cabaret act by Marilyn Maye, a singer who appeared on the Tonight Show more than 70 times, and an age she will never see again. But she was done up in black, with silver spangles and she started to sing backstage so we heard her voice before we saw her condition. Although she’s lost her figure and now has at least two chins, she still can sing, in a powerful voice that reminded me of Ethel Merman. And she really knows how to deliver a song. At one point, a huge screen came down on the stage to show clips of her performances on the Tonight Show. Sometimes she sang with her former self and a couple of times, she just gave a dismissive wave of her hand and said, “Oh, just let her do it!” She used a music stand that I’m sure held the proper cues and some of her songs had such complicated lyrics, she stood by the stand to get it right. But what a trooper! The audience gave her a standing ovation. And why not? Still going strong, even over the hill, has resonance with this crowd.
My relationship with Heinz has settled into the DMZ. He likes to be right about everything, often saying, “Of course,” but then just as often being wrong. Each time he tells me where I should be, I think, “Oh, no,” and check the schedule just to be sure. Despite his inordinate dedication to organization – a trait often associated with Germans – he loses things and has intimated twice that I had “somehow” mixed up my shirts with his. No way. “And vat dit you doo vit ze Regent brochoure dat shoos my next cruis?” Nothing, Heinz; I haven’t seen either your shirt or the brochure. But I sense that he doesn’t believe me. Despite all this, he’s very good with the Solos and does love to dance, moving from one lonely woman to the next. I now understand why Sunny married Klaus von Bulow.
Shirley had invited me to join her group for dinner at Prime 7 and this time, she got Elsa’s permission for me to go. I got stuck between Margot (with a T), who seems to go everywhere, and Brenda, the retired private banking manager from Stamford, who likes to gamble. (Is that a contradiction? Or just an oxymoron?). Terry, the bookie from London, was the other man at the table and he’s very good company, helping me to carry the load. Still, it was very heavy lifting. The most interesting part of the evening was giving Margot (with the T) the floor so she could recount a story about her shipboard romance of many years ago. It seems she met a man on a short Christmas cruise a long time ago and they had a relationship – here, Margot (with the T) moved her hand from side to side over her plate, indicating that she wouldn’t go into the details of that “relationship.” He invited her to join him on another, 100 day cruise, but a couple of days before she was to meet his ship, he got sick and she flew to his side and returned him to his condo in Delray Beach. They went to the Mayo clinic and after a complete workup (for which the clinic is renowned), the clinic declared him hale and fit. But he suffered a massive heart attack two days later and died. He’d left Margot (with the T) his condo and enough money so that she didn’t have to go back to her job in San Diego running computer programs for the marines. His nephews contested the Will and Margot (with the T) described some close calls – and her lawyer’s exorbitant fees - but in the end, she won. So now, Margot (with the T) travels extensively, pushing her way through the world, her criticism out in front like a snow plow.
At breakfast, and under the category of “Small World,” I saw a woman I was sure Rhea and I had met on our cruise to Australia and New Zealand some years ago. (Was that 2002?) She stood out then because she was so beautiful, and was always beautifully dressed, almost regal in understated grays, which matched her lovely gray hair. (She also wore memorable diamonds.) Although obviously older now, she is still beautiful, and still wearing the diamonds. I approached her and her husband at their table and she confirmed that, yes, they had been on that cruise. Wasn’t Milford Sound gorgeous? And what a surprise to meet me here. They are Pam and Bryan, from London. She said we should get together and “catch up,” as though we lived next door. How does one “catch up” with a perfect stranger?
I’ve grown very fond of another couple from London: Timothy and Beverly, with the unruly red curls. I photographed them at the ceremony on deck and Beverly insisted I take enough pictures so that I could capture his soigné personality and her sexiness. It was easy. I met them again after dinner and enjoyed a Kaluha on the rocks, only my second cocktail, with them out on deck before going to bed. Since there was no formal dancing, I could retire early (if 11:00 PM is early). But I didn’t want Heinz to storm into the suite (read cabin) later and say I wasn’t carrying my load. Fortunately, I ran into Elsa on my way and she wished me a good night, which amounted to tacit permission to retire. I received an email yesterday from the editor of Style magazine who has apparently been following my blog with interest. She wants to discuss with me the possibility of a story about my experiences for their April/May issue and asked me to contact her as soon as I’m home. I’ll begin to collect some facts that might be interesting to readers. Can you believe the guests consume 2000 bottles of wine every day? And that the wine steward has to buy it four months in advance? It makes me wonder about the eggs. And the cantaloupes.
My sunburn is gone, leaving only a small patch of tan on each cheekbone, the only place I still have melanin in my facial skin. I feel a little like a clown. Stay tuned.