Bon Bon Voyage by Nancy Fairbanks Read Free Book Online

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, “If you people don’t find my luggage, I’m going to sue your asses off.”
    I groaned and helped myself to a third glass of champagne. The captain stared at her in astonishment. “No luggage?” he asked.
    â€œYou lost it,” she replied.
    â€œGet Patek!” he roared. Crewmembers scrambled, and in no time at all, a slender man with dark hair and skin and an officer’s uniform, but with less decoration than the captain’s, presented himself. “This lovely lady says she has no luggage,” the captain growled. “You lost it.”
    â€œI am aware one passenger—”
    â€œWhat do you intend to do about it?” demanded the captain.
    â€œI have already been in touch with Lisbon, Captain.”
    â€œNot good enough,” snapped Gennaro. “Passengers on my ship do not sail without their luggage.” He turned to Luz. “My most lovely signora, tomorrow morning the ship’s 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.” He scanned her cleavage and belly button. “Most enchanting.”
    â€œGee, thanks,” 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. “Holy Blessed Virgin!” he exclaimed with delight as he embraced me with both arms and asked how I knew.
    â€œSan Gennaro, the-the patron saint of Naples,” I stammered.
    â€œYou have been there?” he asked. When I nodded, he kissed me on both cheeks, and the photographer took our picture. I wouldn’t 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 photographed—no one else got kissed—the captain introduced his staff to the crowd: Martin Froder, ship’s 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 ship’s 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 ’s 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.
    â€œHa!” said my mother-in-law. “That woman needs to be told she doesn’t have to put up with sexual harassment even if he is the captain. And why was he kissing you , Carolyn? Obviously, I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”
    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. “Kev Crossways,” 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.
    â€œBev Crossways,” said the woman, shaking all our hands before tossing back a flute of champagne, unadulterated with any