S.O.S. (17 page)

We were sitting in this Zip sort of cocktail place, as I say – quite nice there, I suppose. Rather good Steinway, though no one seemed remotely inclined to actually
play
the thing, which rather surprised me. I mean – first night at sea, you'd think they'd be all out to make some sort of
impression
, no? The place is just a teeny weeny bit of a
corridor
, though, I have to say. I mean, however tucked away one imagined oneself to be, there always seemed to be this stream of people passing
through
 – all of them, I rather later divined, in quest of the loos, which were just around the corner, rather unhappily. I know this because after my second glass of champagne (when in Rome!) I felt the need myself, somewhat shamemakingly. I just
hate
it – do you? – when I have to leave someone like that because you just know, don't you, that your back is being watched, studied; worse, of course – far worse – when there's more than one of them because then they're going to
talk
, aren't they? About you. And no doubt I was walking with steely-eyed purpose, as we women tend to, don't we, when the loo is in question (quite unlike men – have you ever noticed? They wander about and beat at their jacket pockets, some reason, and tend to look up at the
ceiling
, helpless dolts). Anyway.

The first thing Charlene had to say … sounds so like one of those frightful whiney
songs
, doesn't it, ‘Charlene'? By someone like that singer with the white hair and beard, what was he? Or one of those terribly bosomy women that men seem to like (for one reason or another). Now what was I …? Oh yes. Charlene. First thing she told me was that whenever she was in England, the thing she liked best of all was
card
. Well I mean honestly – what on earth is one supposed to
say
?

‘Really?' I said.

‘Oh absa-
lootly
. Dwight and me, we always make a point of having a bidder card in badder, y'know? So
Briddish
! We
get a side order of fries on account of we don't go too big on potato chips? And then we get tripped up again because when the chips do come they, like,
are
fries, y'know? It's kinda confusing. Tell me, Nicole – you know the Apple, or what?'

‘I don't think I, er – how do you mean
know
, exactly? I mean I know what they
are
…'

‘I'm talking New York, honey. You done the sights? You, like, know what's on the corner of 25th and 3rd?'

‘Oh God don't ask me anything at all like
that
. I'm just hopeless at mental arithmetic, always was. Is this anything to do with hypotenuses and all that sort of thing? Pi, is it?'

‘Pie? No sir, lady. I'm talking Big Apple, here.'

‘Oh right I
see
. Well yes I know it's terribly traditional with you, isn't it? ‘Mom's homemade apple pie' and so on. I must say I'm terribly partial to Tarte Tatin, but it's hardly ever authentic, these days, is it?'

‘Oh
yeah
 – I think my Suki had one of those, good while back. They those kinda comic books with that little French guy and his dog and the sea captain and all …?'

‘I don't quite think I … what did you think of him? Our Captain?'

‘Pussycat.'

‘
We
used to have a cat. Well it was Marianne – she insisted. But I don't think it's
fair
, do you? I
mean
 – pets
die
, don't they? And then where are you? It was the same with Rollo's gerbil.'

‘Ain't that a toob of your English candy? Rollo? Sump'n like that.'

‘Rollo is my
son
. Seventeen, now. Time flies.'

‘Tell me, sister. Same with Earl.
Mores
, I like.'

‘Mores? Oh
Morse
, yes – good, isn't it? Do you get them over there, then?'

‘Mores Bores? Sure. Also I'm a sucker for Snickers. Dwight, he ain't allowed nothing. All the time I gotta think of his bowels. You like that?'

‘Well no, I – I mean obviously from time to time they cross one's
mind
, David's bowels, yes of course they do. But I wouldn't say one
dwelt
, exactly …' (A sucker for Morse's
knickers
, did she say?)

‘Yeh well – with me, Dwight's bowels are a kinda fulltime
jab
, you know what I'm saying? Also, right now – I hope our two boys are behaving themselves because also he gotta go light on the
soss
.'

‘Soss, really? What –
sausages
, do you mean?'

‘
Soss
, honey. I mean, Dwight – I don't want him downing baddle after baddle of the
soss
, you get me? With
his
bowels, it's crazy.'

‘Oh
sauce
, yes I see. Well yes of course I can well understand that lots of bottles of sauce could be extremely irritating, in the long term. Particularly – ha ha – if it's
Worcester
…'

‘Your War-sister-shire soss I
like
. With Tuh-mayto. I'm a virgin – Dwight's always bloody. You see the problem.'

‘Well yes I
do
. Well well. God – it's never
easy
, is it?'

‘Tell me, sister. So let's just hope our two guys are being two good boys, huh?'

Yes, thought Nicole now, as she shifted herself on to the side of the bed that was usually best for starting the night – let us hope so indeed (where can David have got to?). God – do you know, I've entirely forgotten – in this ridiculously short time I've actually managed to totally forget what I – ! Was it … Because it makes number one birds super
bouncy
? Wasn't that, was it? It was better than that – it was … I know! It was … no, no, can't get it. Lost it. Damn. Should've written it down. It's always like that – if you don't write it down the minute you … yes yes yes, well I
know
that, don't I? Bitter experience. It's just that my pen is still in my
bag
and … oh God, I simply can't move.

Tired, yes – but I don't know if I'll sleep. Don't think I'll read, though. Too tired, quite frankly.

*

‘I guess in the States, now – New York for sure,' Dwight was opining, ‘we got just these two sortsa guys. You getting ice with that, or what?' was the next thing he threw over, one thick finger jabbing at David's large Jack Daniel's.

David shook his head. ‘Tiny splash of water, maybe.'

‘Yeh – I noticed that. You English guys ain't so big on booze on the rocks. For me, iffin it don't clink, it ain't a drink – know what I'm saying?' Dwight now shifted with care a lot of his weight – tried to settle himself on to this bar stool so that most of his quite compendious buttocks were no longer pretty much bunched up but still hanging off the side of it, plenty, and heaving him away (didn't work too good). ‘So yeah anyways – like I says, two sortsa guys is I reckon all we got. You got the little shits on Madison Avenue who just don't drink …' (Dwight let his lips absorb cold Bourbon) ‘ … and then you got the regular guys, the good ole boys – sorta guys I hang with. Who just don't stop. You, Dave – call you Dave? You, Dave – I like.'

‘Dave's fine,' smiled David – at first, yes, not too sure it really was, actually, that fine – not too wild about ‘Dave' – but then he thought Oh Christ what the hell: how long am I in fact going to know this man? All we're doing is passing through. Ships in the night, right? And look – people I've seen on board so far, Dwight is the best around by a long, long way. I like him.

‘I know what you mean,' continued David. ‘It's like that in London too. Not so bad as it was in the Nineties, but still it's, well – pretty awful. And
units
 – they go on about all that sort of stuff in America? All this talk about units?'

Dwight rigidly shook his bullish neck, his bilberry cheeks going along with that.

‘Units I don't know.'

‘Let's get in another couple of these, yes? Christ – it's
bloody quiet in here, isn't it? Do people just go to bed early on this thing, or what do they do?'

‘You're asking me? How long I been aboard her now? Three munce? Three years? Me, I don't care too much
what
people wanna do. Don't pay 'em too much mind. Me, most nights I sit here. Yeh, I thank you, Dave – and loadsa ice, kay?
Pre
-shate it.'

‘Yeh but these
units
, right? They say, God – about twenty or twenty-five or something is about right, they reckon. That's maybe eight, ten large whiskies.'

‘Waaall … guess that ain't too bad.'

‘No, Dwight – I don't think you get it. This is in a
week
.'

Dwight held on to his glass and just looked at the man.

‘You got to be
kidding
me. No bullshit? A goddam
week
? What're they –
nuts
?'

‘That's what I'm telling you. And you're dead right about the way people – and Christ, these days it's the women who – they can be the worst. But you're absolutely spot-on there, Dwight – people either don't drink, or else they don't
stop
. Same with fags.'

‘Oh
yeah
,' chortled Dwight. ‘First time I heard you English come out with that, I'm going Ex
cuse
me?! Cigarettes, right? Me, I was a Camel man – sheez, how many packs I get through? Then I quit. Wanna know why I quit? Ask Charlene why I quit. Fact, boy – any time at all you wanna hunker down and get with all the juice on good old Dwight's fuckin'
entrails
, then Charlene's the doll you wanna call. Sometimes I get a stogy, you know? I got this guy who can get hold of
Cuban
? Tell Charlene, she kill me.'

‘Mm. I used to smoke those small cigars – Hamlet: don't suppose they exist in the States. But I packed them in.'

Yes I did, thought David: I packed them in. Some mornings, I could barely speak – and all my clothes, they smelt like they belonged to men who had days ago died. One reason why, I distinctly seem to recall, in the course of that punishing bender (all of, Jesus, twenty-four hours ago!) I
decided to sell my jacket (for not very much). Plus, during my increasingly frequent broker phases, I just simply couldn't
run
to them: sixty and up a day – it wasn't peanuts.

‘So tell me, Dwight – '

‘You go one more of these?'

‘Sure, sure. Why not? So listen, Dwight – what's your field? What is it you do, Dwight?'

Dwight exhaled quite heavily as he poured the not much Jack Daniel's into the fresh and brimming and could be triple new one.

‘These days, it kinda does for itself, you know? Which is how I come to be taking this mother of all vacations. Till lately, I don't rightly recall when in hell I last took off anyplace at all. Charlene and the kids I sent. Just kept on working. Kinda miss it. It's what I was good at. Real estate, mostly – downtown New York, some in New Jersey. Cuppla spreads out west. Retail – not too much. Wall Street – smalltime. Some oil. You, Dave?'

‘Ah!' gasped David – mugging quite happily, but still a bit smacked in the mouth by this very softly delivered and tempting assortment of just one or two dabblings in the life of Dwight. ‘Me, I, uh – well, not very much of anything at all, really. To tell you the God's honest truth, Dwight – ' (and why, I am dimly wondering now, am I on the strength of maybe one hour's acquaintance and three or four drinks, about to confess to this American plutocrat something from which I constantly shy away? Stowing the ice-packed truth in hard-to-reach places) … ‘Well – the fact of the matter is, I'm actually pretty hopeless with, um –
money
. All round. Can't ever seem to keep
track
… which I know one isn't ever meant to say, or anything. Bit like driving, isn't it? Or sex. If you're no damn good at either, well … you're just not meant to say …'

‘Mebby,' considered Dwight, ‘you wanna think about changing what it is you do, you know? Ewe Ess of Ay: whole noo ball game. Mebby, just mebby, you wanna think about that. Could be I can help you out, some. So what is it, Dave, that you're actually, uh – engaged to do?'

And David's face was white with shock, as if it had newly occurred to him (or, more accurately, as if the news he was about to impart he had just this second learned). He turned to Dwight – and moon-eyed, he told him with no preamble:

‘I'm a corporate financial adviser …!'

Dwight held his gaze, and then a slow grin was twisting – tugging hard now at the side of his mouth, and dragging the whole thing all over his face – just as David's eyes too were lit up by all the fun of the fair (the sheer and utter foolishness of just everything we do).

Dwight was wheezing with a rasped-out and reined-in sort of deep and throat-stopped gurgle, now – and he dabbed with his knuckles at eyes lost first in folds, and then these soft and fleshy creases.

‘Dave – you kill me: you know that? Really break me up.'

And David accepted with a true and liberating delight the heavy clump of camaraderie across his shoulders – and now Dwight's big and somehow very comforting great paw seemed content to rest there, as the two clinked glasses and drink slopped out.

‘I know what you mean,' laughed David. ‘Sometimes, heh – I kill me too.'

Really, yeh – break me up …

*

‘Those two seem to be enjoying themselves,' smiled Stacy – one elbow nudging at an ashtray on the bar as the hand beyond it idled around the Coke in her glass.

Sammy continued to buff up a jug as he nodded with eagerness.