Read Online Tapas on the Ramblas by Anthony Bidulka - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Bidulka
Tags: Suspense
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our faces when an announcement informed us that it was time to don our life jackets and proceed to our assigned muster station. What followed was a rather light-hearted (but with serious intent) demonstration of what to do in an alarming number of disaster-movie-of-the-week scenarios. They showed us the location of the lifeboats, which looked a little puny to me. Someone asked if the old maritime rule of women and children first still applied on a gay cruise.
People made jokes about it, like how there'd be a sudden proliferation of drag queens as soon as the boat showed signs of sinking, or how the lesbians would be too busy trying to fix the leak to save themselves, leaving the guys free to first decorate and then sail off in all the lifeboats. I didn't think it was a laughing matter. Sure, The Dorothy was a spiffy-looking vessel and I was impressed with the free booze and nice towels, but I was still a bit jittery. Once the drill was over, they mushed us into the Munchkin Land Auditorium, the three-hundred-plus seat arena, along with the passengers from all the other muster stations throughout the ship.
As Errall and I searched for two seats together, I noticed the absence of Charity, Flora and Dottie. And that wasn't easy to do. With all of us still bound up in our identical puffy orange life jackets, we were a room full of trick-or-treaters wearing the same Hallowe'en costume. For the next fifteen minutes, we looked and listened and learned as various members of the crew were introduced and then proceeded to give us the lowdown on their particular area of expertise. There was Thera, the glamorous casino manager, Cynthia who ran the boutique where guests could purchase any of the items they found in their cabins, and Danny and Danae, the "gentleman" and "lady" on-board hosts whose responsibilities seemed to revolve around "entertaining" single travellers. The most important part of our presentation, we were told, was a full demonstration of the various hoots and toots and alarms, unique to The Dorothy, used to inform passengers of various events. These ranged from the common to the unlikely, from approaching port of call to setting sail to man overboard.
Although feeling a bit frazzled from the day's flurry of activity, our second wind now little more than a weak puff of air, we deposited our life jackets in our cabin and proceeded to the Pool Deck for the Departure Party. By the time we arrived, the area around the pool, gussied up with streamers and patio lanterns, was crawling with serving staff and ebullient guests.
"I guess this wasn't a personal invitation," Errall correctly surmised as she skillfully led us directly to a buffet table laden with a multitude of hot and cold tapas.
"Sure it was," I reasoned, "Just Judy and four hundred of her closest friends.. .this week."
We accepted champagne from a passing waiter and heaped a selection of food onto one plate for sharing.
"I don't think everybody here was at the life jacket drill," I wryly observed, comparing my scraggly shorts and T-shirt to the well-pressed, fresh-looking attire of many of the assembled. "Can you believe it?
While we were learning survival skills and how to book a bikini wax, they were taking showers and getting ready for this party!" I was mock-shocked. "We look like Tom Hanks in Cast Away and they look like Tom Hanks at the premiere."
Errall finished chewing on a cracker topped with gherkin slices and peach-coloured mousse. "But just think, Russell, in case of emergency, you'll be first in line for a good seat on a lifeboat while they'll still be busy shaping their eyebrows and loosening herbal wraps."
I chortled. "And speaking of people who didn't attend the drill, I still don't see my client anywhere. Do you?"
Errall groaned. "Oh why would you want to?"
I gave her a surprised look. "What do you mean?"
"She's horrid, Russell. Charity Wiser is a horrid woman. The way she treated the staff at that restaurant on the Ramblas last night.
People made jokes about it, like how there'd be a sudden proliferation of drag queens as soon as the boat showed signs of sinking, or how the lesbians would be too busy trying to fix the leak to save themselves, leaving the guys free to first decorate and then sail off in all the lifeboats. I didn't think it was a laughing matter. Sure, The Dorothy was a spiffy-looking vessel and I was impressed with the free booze and nice towels, but I was still a bit jittery. Once the drill was over, they mushed us into the Munchkin Land Auditorium, the three-hundred-plus seat arena, along with the passengers from all the other muster stations throughout the ship.
As Errall and I searched for two seats together, I noticed the absence of Charity, Flora and Dottie. And that wasn't easy to do. With all of us still bound up in our identical puffy orange life jackets, we were a room full of trick-or-treaters wearing the same Hallowe'en costume. For the next fifteen minutes, we looked and listened and learned as various members of the crew were introduced and then proceeded to give us the lowdown on their particular area of expertise. There was Thera, the glamorous casino manager, Cynthia who ran the boutique where guests could purchase any of the items they found in their cabins, and Danny and Danae, the "gentleman" and "lady" on-board hosts whose responsibilities seemed to revolve around "entertaining" single travellers. The most important part of our presentation, we were told, was a full demonstration of the various hoots and toots and alarms, unique to The Dorothy, used to inform passengers of various events. These ranged from the common to the unlikely, from approaching port of call to setting sail to man overboard.
Although feeling a bit frazzled from the day's flurry of activity, our second wind now little more than a weak puff of air, we deposited our life jackets in our cabin and proceeded to the Pool Deck for the Departure Party. By the time we arrived, the area around the pool, gussied up with streamers and patio lanterns, was crawling with serving staff and ebullient guests.
"I guess this wasn't a personal invitation," Errall correctly surmised as she skillfully led us directly to a buffet table laden with a multitude of hot and cold tapas.
"Sure it was," I reasoned, "Just Judy and four hundred of her closest friends.. .this week."
We accepted champagne from a passing waiter and heaped a selection of food onto one plate for sharing.
"I don't think everybody here was at the life jacket drill," I wryly observed, comparing my scraggly shorts and T-shirt to the well-pressed, fresh-looking attire of many of the assembled. "Can you believe it?
While we were learning survival skills and how to book a bikini wax, they were taking showers and getting ready for this party!" I was mock-shocked. "We look like Tom Hanks in Cast Away and they look like Tom Hanks at the premiere."
Errall finished chewing on a cracker topped with gherkin slices and peach-coloured mousse. "But just think, Russell, in case of emergency, you'll be first in line for a good seat on a lifeboat while they'll still be busy shaping their eyebrows and loosening herbal wraps."
I chortled. "And speaking of people who didn't attend the drill, I still don't see my client anywhere. Do you?"
Errall groaned. "Oh why would you want to?"
I gave her a surprised look. "What do you mean?"
"She's horrid, Russell. Charity Wiser is a horrid woman. The way she treated the staff at that restaurant on the Ramblas last night.
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