Monday, November 30: Still at Sea

As I feared might happen, today my Bavarian roommate became a Nazi. It was okay that he took all the wooden hangers and left me only the skirt ones, with metal bars that crease my pants. It was okay that he takes all the bottles of water as soon as they appear in our suite and relegates them to “his” area. It was okay for him to treat me like a child, telling what to do and when to do it. I could deal with all of that. But this morning he asked me to do him a favor. “Feel,” he said, “cude you do me a fafor?”
“Sure, Heinz. How can I help you?”
He took me into the bathroom and said, “Ven you pee, seet down plese to do your beesnes so you don’t pee on zee flor. Last nite you peed on zee flor and I don’t vant to step in eet so I haf to cleen eet up.”
I assured him that I didn’t pee on the floor. As a matter of fact, due to complications from radiation therapy for my cancer, I’ve been “seeeting” down to do my “beesnus” for years. If I’d peed on the floor, I would have had to pee on my pants down around my ankles first. Whatever was on the floor had to have been his “beesnus” or because I’ve been very careful to clean up any water after my shave or shower, it was leftover from him. But an argument at this stage and in this close proximity would not be helpful to our relationship. I simply apologized and said I’d “seet” down from now on. I felt like saying, “Ya, mein herr.”
Later in the day, in dance class, he jumped on me again. There weren’t enough Solo Ladies for both him and me to have partners. Sasha was teaching us the tango, a sensual dance I’ve done for years. Heinz was watching from a nearby seat. Sasha taught us a complicated turn where the lady goes first on one side and then the other. Even though I’d never done it, I got it immediately. Heinz jumped up from his seat to correct me. I said I’d gotten it but he insisted on demonstrating with poor Anne, who had been dancing with me. He didn’t do it properly and she almost fell. (Whenever that happens, we simply blame it on the movement of the ship.) But he insisted that his way was correct. When the lesson was over and we were moving on to the next thing, he walked out with me and said, “Feel, vat iss wrong vith you? Didn’t you haf a dance audition before you came here?” I assured him that I had but that all the information I received said there were only standard dances I was required to be proficient in. And on this cruise, they were teaching salsa, meringue, Brazilian samba and tango, none of which was required. But I thought I was doing okay, learning the patterns quickly and helping the Solo ladies in the process. “No,” he said. “You shoot hav known zem all!” It pissed me off but I decided to let it all pass. Pursuing it would only have been counterproductive.
So, I have become obsequious, not a natural posture for me. But then, it’s only for a couple more weeks. And so long as I let him be the expert, compliment him on his tie selection and gif heem room to be his Bavarian self, everything will be just fine. And I’m very careful now not to leef any vater on the floor.
At coffee corner this morning, I met Joel and Monica. She was wearing a maroon T shirt with yellow letters across it that said something like “Socialism - Getting all it can from the people.” Above the letters was a row of heads that included Marx and Lenin and Stalin. At the near end of the row was a Obama. Many people congratulated her on it. Needless to say, I had a hard time “mingling” with them.
Some time during the day, Elsa left me a phone message saying she was so glad I had joined the ship and congratulating me on being so good with the Solos. She really appreciated it. And I appreciated her appreciating it. Doing what I’m doing (as was forecast by a friend at a dinner party just before I left) is not easy. And I haf to be so carephool about what I say and how I react to what others say, that I’m constantly on guard.
Today, around all the activities where my presence was required, I was able to do some laundry. There’s a launderette on each deck for the convenience of guests (read passengers) but in order to find a slot among the women who seem to monopolize the machines, I had to do the laundry part on one deck and the drying part on another. Neither of these was my deck. And I’m so glad that most of my washable things are dark. There would be no way in the rotation to get more than one machine.
The captain comes on the PA system at noon every day to tell us about where we are, how far we’ve traveled since the last port, how far we still have to travel to the next one and provide a weather report. We have one more day at sea but it’s expected to be stormy and rough. (As it turns out, so far – and it’s now 6:30 in the morning – it’s bright and sunny. I should have been up for the sunrise.)
Even though the dress code for this evening was informal, I dressed more carefully than usual, wearing my double breasted suit and a white shirt and expensive tie. I wanted to be sure I didn’t embarrass Gabrielle who had invited me to dine with her and two other couples in Signatures, one of the two upscale restaurants on board. All the necessary permissions had been granted to me for this and Elsa, my boss, had seemed pleased that Gabrielle had found me up to her standards. I didn’t want to disappoint. The evening turned out to be very interesting. One of the other couples was Mel (read the wife) and John, who are the Bridge experts and teachers on the ship. They were both bright and interesting. She wore big glasses and a mauve outfit with tiny horizontal ruffles all down the top. It looked a little like a ruffled tuxedo shirt worn sideways. Her hair was a desultory blonde squashed down unbecomingly on her head as though she were wearing an expensive mop. John was handsome, with huge hands, a deep voice and a plastic smile I’m sure he’s perfected though many cruises with Regent. He had a vague air of decadence about him, mostly around the eyes, and he balanced a martini like an expert. Like me, he uses some standard questions to keep the conversation going - when did you join the ship, is this your first cruise with Regent, where do you come from – and then he loses interest and moves on to the next person, asking the same questions. The other couple was Giselle and Cal, from Montreal. She’d had a really good face lift. Despite my hidden observations, I couldn’t see any scars but her eyes were always wide open (as though they had no choice) and smiling was not among the facial muscles options. Her husband, Cal, was rather ordinary looking, with a shaved head (so popular now with balding men). Giselle was wearing white pants and a black and white top scattered with sparkles that glittered as she moved. Her graduated pearls were black and white, with gold spacers between the largest ones. My hostess, Gabrielle, looked great in watermelon silk with understated jewelry. So, my double breasted suit fit right in.
At cocktails, some guest walked by and indicated to John that it was time for him and his wife to go to dinner. There were two men dancing together on the dance floor, he said, and he didn’t want any part of that. Giselle asked me if that was possible and I said, yes; there was a gay couple on the ship (at least one) who came to dance class and always danced together. She thought about that for a moment and then said she thought that was nice. “Why not?” she asked. Mel also came to the couple’s defense, saying she believed in gay marriage. “How can the marriage of two men who love each other hurt my marriage?” she asked. “And besides. It’s legal in Canada.” Gabrielle refused to be snagged by this conversation and suggested we go in to dinner.
The staff of the gourmet restaurant made a big fuss over our party and yet managed to ignore me completely. The social levels are very clearly defined and my tag, which I have to wear when working, telegraphs my status. I don’t really mind. It gives me a certain air of distance and when I’m feeling neglected or inferior, I remind myself that I headed and sold a $30 MM company with business all over the world. Gabrielle seated us so that the couples were separated and I was placed between Mel and Giselle. Mel was easy. I learned almost immediately that she loves to cook so we hit it off right away. She wants my recipe for Ina Garten’s pumpkin banana mousse tart. Giselle was a little more difficult. Being essentially French, she speaks English with an accent quite different from that of my Nazi roommate (whom I can understand all too well) and it took a little getting used to. But John, on her other side, occupied most of her time, at least until his martinis got to him and he dissolved into relative silence. Cal spoke mostly to Gabrielle so I didn’t get much further with him than that he sold a company involved with data processing. The food was good. The conversation was okay. I paid my dues.
After dinner, I thanked Gabrielle for including me and promised to help her with her photograph editing if she would bring her laptop down to coffee corner. I’m not allowed to go into any suite but my own.
In the lounge, Robert, of the dancing-together-gay-couple, pumped me for information on my gig, a subject I’m not allowed to discuss. I just told him my contract prevented me from disclosing much information. He danced with Manny, his partner and I danced once with Nayara, the other half of Fernando & Nayara, learning that they have been married eight years and make their living by teaching dancing and giving exhibitions of their skills at weddings, receptions, parties and from their dance class business. There were no Solos to dance with so I went to bed. Heinz, who hides behind our drawn curtains when he’s dressing (I guess so that I won’t see his who-who) came shortly behind me. I vas very karfool to do my beesnus sitting down. Stay tuned.