Tuesday, December 8: At Sea

Heinz was dressing when I went back to our suite after breakfast. I had decided that in order to keep the peace, I should just take his blame so we could move on. Over scrambled eggs and the best bacon ever, I figured out what I wanted to say and how to say it. “Heinz,” I started, “I’ve thought about what you said last night and I want to apologize.” He wanted to interrupt me. “No,” Heinz. “Let me finish.” But he wouldn’t. He started with the accusations all over again. “No, Heinz. I just want to put this behind us.”
He started again. “No. Heinz. I don’t want to debate this.”
“I’m not debating,” he said. “I joost vant you to know how I veel.”
“I know how you feel, Heinz. You made that perfectly clear to me last night. You’re angry. And rightly so. I…”
He interrupted me. “Vill you let me vinish?”
“No, Heinz.”
“I VILL FINISH!” He was yelling now.
“Okay,” I said. “Finish.”
So he berated me all over again about my performance on the ship and ended with, “On any ozer sheep, you vouldn’t last fife minutes.”
“Okay, Heinz. Maybe so. But I don’t want hard feelings between us for the rest of the trip. I apologize for my behavior. And I promise to carry my share of the load from now on.”
“Vell…” And he started all over again.
Finally, I just let him run out of steam and repeated my apology and desire to be finished with any residual, and mutual, animosity about all this. In the end, he wasn’t placated and I could see he was going to hang onto his anger. But I’d done what I set out to do and so far as I was concerned, the issue was now behind us. I would treat him from now on as though there were no problem. But he didn’t want it to be finished. At the Solo breakfast table, he acted as though I weren’t there, even interrupting my conversation with others several times. I just let it go. Terry, the bookie from London – yes, that is his legitimate job – who is always pleasant and joking, talked to first me, then Heinz. I asked Libby, the talent manager from New York, about her job and the people she manages. Her reply was interesting and so as to give her, a paying guest, the stage, Heinz was finally silent. Libby told us that several of her clients are to be on “Law & Order” tonight. She hates Dr. Phil, believing he does real harm on his show. And she can’t stand Oprah, whom she finds really pushy and insincere. No kidding. But underneath her professional veneer, Libby is funny, with a great sense of humor. She didn’t like the singer who performed last night, saying that she may once have been something but age had caught up with her. And she told us that the Spanks she was wearing to squeeze her figure together telegraphed through her gown. “She should get a better gown,” Libby said. “Or another agent.” Thankfully that changed the mood at breakfast. Heinz stomped away and wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the day.
During the rest of the day, we had two dance classes, both in the slow waltz, a beautiful and rather stylized dance with swooping steps and dramatic turns. The dance floor is so small that we had to practice one couple at a time. I danced with Anne, from South Africa, the woman with the slightly raised chin who, by looking through the bottoms of her glasses, appears to breathe superior air. I like her for her icy reserve. But she should eat less garlic, if you get my drift.
After lunch and out in my hiding place on Deck 5, I greeted a woman who said, “Oh. You’ve been to Machu Picchu.” (I was wearing my PeruRail baseball cap.) Beverly and I enjoyed a really interesting conversation about places she and I had both visited. Her husband, Timothy, soon joined us and the conversation continued. They’re from London and, oddly, they’d had dinner the night before with Stephen and Lynn but couldn’t remember their names, which I happily provided. It turned out that they, too, know David Green, the man to whom I sold Larsen. Small world.
After the scheduled activities for the afternoon were almost over, Gabriele appeared with her laptop and asked me to help her with her Picasa program (Google’s answer to organizing and editing photographs). She had used it quite successfully but wanted to know more about its possibilities. I showed her the sharpening tool and provided some hints on how to use it. She fell in love with the tool – it really does improve photographs – and said she was going back to her suite to work with it. She dismissed me with, “You’re a genius,” which helped my mood.
Dinner was much the same. Libby asked to be at my table. “You have a sense of humor,” she said, “and so many on this ship do not. I want to be with you.” The others were Anne, Terry, Shirley (who only likes to sit at tables of four but condescended to join us anyway) and Brenda, who had lost over $500 at the casino the night before. Once an executive with The Bank of New York, she appears to be addicted to her slot machines, a preoccupation I thought oddly out of place for a former banker.
I made sure that at the cocktail hour and during “dancing after dinner” I was on the dance floor as much as Heinz. I voudn’t vant to gif heem more ammunition for his anger. The French ladies, Claudine #1 and Claudine #2, although chicly dressed, are very hard to steer. No matter which dance they are enjoying, they desperately want to lead, twist on each foot, and hang onto me as though we were coming in for a crash landing. Are we having fun?
On my way to bed, soaking wet from the samba and fast step, I ran into Elsa, who fawned all over me, saying I was doing a wonderful job. So long as she’s happy, I’m happy. Heinz will just have to get over it. Or not.
Today, Wednesday, we will dock at Forteleza, our last port in Brazil, for a four hour stop. Then it’s on to Bar – bad – doss, where I will chaperone a bus load on the shore excursion labeled, “The Photo Tour of Barbados.” Be sure to bring your camera. Stay tuned.