encircled in his arm and her male escort, if any, stood beside them looking awkward. After the introductory handshake, Luz snuggled up against him for the picture while he smiled down at her cleavage. Then she whispered to him, loudly enough for me to hear, âIf you people donât find my luggage, Iâm going to sue your asses off.â
I groaned and helped myself to a third glass of champagne. The captain stared at her in astonishment. âNo luggage?â he asked.
âYou lost it,â she replied.
âGet Patek!â he roared. Crewmembers scrambled, and in no time at all, a slender man with dark hair and skin and an officerâs uniform, but with less decoration than the captainâs, presented himself. âThis lovely lady says she has no luggage,â the captain growled. âYou lost it.â
âI am aware one passengerââ
âWhat do you intend to do about it?â demanded the captain.
âI have already been in touch with Lisbon, Captain.â
âNot good enough,â snapped Gennaro. âPassengers on my ship do not sail without their luggage.â He turned to Luz. âMy most lovely signora, tomorrow morning the shipâs boutique will outfit you for your passage. With our compliments. Choose what you will, and accept my apologies. Even without your clothes, you look beautiful.â He scanned her cleavage and belly button. âMost enchanting.â
âGee, thanks,â said Luz.
I was up next, horribly embarrassed. My hand was perspiring when he shook it. At a loss for conversation while the photographer was aiming at us, I asked the captain if he came from Naples. âHoly Blessed Virgin!â he exclaimed with delight as he embraced me with both arms and asked how I knew.
âSan Gennaro, the-the patron saint of Naples,â I stammered.
âYou have been there?â he asked. When I nodded, he kissed me on both cheeks, and the photographer took our picture. I wouldnât be able to take that one home to Jason. On second thought, maybe I should.
When the last of the two hundred passengers had been embraced and photographedâno one else got kissedâthe captain introduced his staff to the crowd: Martin Froder, shipâs engineer, a wiry fellow with short blond hair and a sour expression coupled with a German accent; Bruce Hartwig, chief security officer, American, burly, ugly, and sort of scary looking, although he had a nice smile and aimed it at the guests; the shipâs doctor, Beaufort E. Lee, whose gray hair hung in untidy curls on his forehead; Umar Patek, the chief steward, who seemed unruffled after his brief tongue-lashing from the captain; Chef Demetrios Kostas el Greco, round, flushed, and sporting a two-foot, cylindrical chef âs hat set slightly askew; and Hanna Fredriksen, the blonde, Amazonian hotel manager, who gave the captain a killing look when he asked us to note what a luscious figure she had. Although the woman was standing, like a good soldier, straight with shoulders back, feet braced apart, and hands behind her back, I think the captain tried to pat her on the fanny.
âHa!â said my mother-in-law. âThat woman needs to be told she doesnât have to put up with sexual harassment even if he is the captain. And why was he kissing you , Carolyn? Obviously, Iâm going to have to keep an eye on you.â
I tried to rush Vera and Luz toward the dining room before Vera could make a feminist scene, but we were waylaid by a couple who could have been brother and sister with their light brown hair, suntanned faces, and matching greenish suits. âKev Crossways,â said the man, and offered me his right hand to shake and, in his left hand, a small tray of fried cheese balls speared with toothpicks. He must have snatched them from a waiter.
âBev Crossways,â said the woman, shaking all our hands before tossing back a flute of champagne, unadulterated with any