keep your options open. Margaret herself may be a handful, but the rest of the women at the table aren’t that bad.”
“That was why I asked to talk to you later when I saw you in the dining room. What do you think about Margaret, Beau? I mean, it seemed like she really liked me. You strike me as a man who’s been around. Do you think she was just putting on an act, or do you think she’s truly interested in me?”
The poor sap. She’s interested, all right. That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. “If you want advice to the lovelorn, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I told him. “Ask Dear Abby. Ask Ann Landers. But don’t ask me. As far as Margaret Featherman is concerned, I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.”
5
S OMETIME DURING THE AFTERNOON, the wind died down, the clouds rolled away, and the sea turned relatively calm. Late in the afternoon, shortly after we turned into Chatham Strait, an announcement came over the intercom that a pod of whales had been sighted off the port bow.
Ralph Ames, my attorney and good friend, is an experienced cruiser. He had insisted that I invest in a tux for the cruise. While I was dressing for that night’s formal-night dinner, I realized that the ship wasn’t rolling nearly as much anymore, and it gave me hope that we were in for some smooth sailing.
This was my first cruise, and I was starting to learn that I’m not much good at doing nothing. Considering the efforts cruise directors make to keep people occupied, I’d guess my fellow passengers weren’t any better at it than I was. In the course of that first seemingly endless at-sea day, in addition to dodging seasickness, I had also managed to avoid the art auction in the Promenade Deck Sea Breeze lobby bar.
Ralph, who is as much an old hand at purchasing original art as he as at cruising, had advised me in advance that cruise art auctions are seldom a good idea. On my own, I had opted out of entering the Trivia Tournament or trying my hand on the golf simulator. But I knew better than to think I’d be able to dodge that evening’s formal dinner. Bored as I was, by the time evening rolled around, dressing for dinner almost seemed like a good idea. Based on the way people looked that night, most of the other folks apparently felt the same way. Other than getting all gussied up, there wasn’t much else to do.
Cruise ships are a world unto themselves. I had quickly picked up on the prevailing photo-op mentality. Ship’s photographers were all over the place. Pictures were posed and snapped at various set times — coming on board in Seattle, for example, or being attacked by pirates or drinking champagne at the Captain’s Welcome Aboard party. The photos are then displayed (for sale, of course) in a long interior gallery on one side of the Promenade Deck. Figuring Lars would balk at the idea of actually purchasing any of the pictures with more of his “hard-earned cash,” I went down to the gallery prior to the first dinner seating. I wanted to locate Lars and Beverly’s “Welcome Aboard” photos. I was also hoping that I’d catch sight of the two of them dolled up in their evening-dress finery. I figured the once-in-a-lifetime chance of seeing Lars Jenssen decked out in a tuxedo was worth the price of admission.
There were lots and lots of photos — hundreds of them, in fact — arranged in row after neat row. It took a while for me to locate the specific ones I was searching for. In the process I came across one of Harrison Featherman. The good doctor was part of a trio, the other members of which were two young women. I recognized his daughter, Chloe, at once. The other was an olive-skinned woman whose almond-eyed beauty stood in stark contrast to Chloe’s blond good looks. I estimated both young women to be in their early thirties. They stood on either side of Harrison, posed on a hokey set that had
“That was why I asked to talk to you later when I saw you in the dining room. What do you think about Margaret, Beau? I mean, it seemed like she really liked me. You strike me as a man who’s been around. Do you think she was just putting on an act, or do you think she’s truly interested in me?”
The poor sap. She’s interested, all right. That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. “If you want advice to the lovelorn, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I told him. “Ask Dear Abby. Ask Ann Landers. But don’t ask me. As far as Margaret Featherman is concerned, I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.”
5
S OMETIME DURING THE AFTERNOON, the wind died down, the clouds rolled away, and the sea turned relatively calm. Late in the afternoon, shortly after we turned into Chatham Strait, an announcement came over the intercom that a pod of whales had been sighted off the port bow.
Ralph Ames, my attorney and good friend, is an experienced cruiser. He had insisted that I invest in a tux for the cruise. While I was dressing for that night’s formal-night dinner, I realized that the ship wasn’t rolling nearly as much anymore, and it gave me hope that we were in for some smooth sailing.
This was my first cruise, and I was starting to learn that I’m not much good at doing nothing. Considering the efforts cruise directors make to keep people occupied, I’d guess my fellow passengers weren’t any better at it than I was. In the course of that first seemingly endless at-sea day, in addition to dodging seasickness, I had also managed to avoid the art auction in the Promenade Deck Sea Breeze lobby bar.
Ralph, who is as much an old hand at purchasing original art as he as at cruising, had advised me in advance that cruise art auctions are seldom a good idea. On my own, I had opted out of entering the Trivia Tournament or trying my hand on the golf simulator. But I knew better than to think I’d be able to dodge that evening’s formal dinner. Bored as I was, by the time evening rolled around, dressing for dinner almost seemed like a good idea. Based on the way people looked that night, most of the other folks apparently felt the same way. Other than getting all gussied up, there wasn’t much else to do.
Cruise ships are a world unto themselves. I had quickly picked up on the prevailing photo-op mentality. Ship’s photographers were all over the place. Pictures were posed and snapped at various set times — coming on board in Seattle, for example, or being attacked by pirates or drinking champagne at the Captain’s Welcome Aboard party. The photos are then displayed (for sale, of course) in a long interior gallery on one side of the Promenade Deck. Figuring Lars would balk at the idea of actually purchasing any of the pictures with more of his “hard-earned cash,” I went down to the gallery prior to the first dinner seating. I wanted to locate Lars and Beverly’s “Welcome Aboard” photos. I was also hoping that I’d catch sight of the two of them dolled up in their evening-dress finery. I figured the once-in-a-lifetime chance of seeing Lars Jenssen decked out in a tuxedo was worth the price of admission.
There were lots and lots of photos — hundreds of them, in fact — arranged in row after neat row. It took a while for me to locate the specific ones I was searching for. In the process I came across one of Harrison Featherman. The good doctor was part of a trio, the other members of which were two young women. I recognized his daughter, Chloe, at once. The other was an olive-skinned woman whose almond-eyed beauty stood in stark contrast to Chloe’s blond good looks. I estimated both young women to be in their early thirties. They stood on either side of Harrison, posed on a hokey set that had
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