Sisterchicks in Sombreros by Robin Jones Gunn Read Free Book Online

gave me a pill. That’s all I know. It helped, but I didn’t get a massage, and they’re still going to charge me. Half price. As if that’s going to help.”
    “No.” The receptionist held up her hand. “I heard them discussing you. I told them you both wanted a pedicure. What Shannon was supposed to say was that there was no charge forthe wrap, but if you wanted to try one of the other treatments, such as a pedicure, we’d offer it to you for half price.”
    “Oh.”
    All the fire went from my belly. My skin continued to smolder.
    “You really need to hurry to make it on deck for the drill,” the receptionist said. “I’ll be happy to schedule you for another treatment, if you come back later.”
    Joanne turned to go, but I called out to her to wait a moment. I dashed down the hallway and found Shannon with a mound of towels in her arms.
    “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I didn’t understand what you were saying about the half price being applied to a different treatment.”
    With professional calm, and I’m sure a pinch of Irish wit, she said, “Well, then. I’ll need to be improving my skills with the English language, won’t I?”
    “And I’ll select a different treatment that doesn’t involve fruit next time.”
    She grinned, and I couldn’t help but think she probably viewed me as the real “fruit” in this fiasco.
    The whistle for the drill sounded before Joanne and I entered the elevator to take us to our deck. We opted for the stairs, moving like two salmon going downstream while swarms of better-prepared salmon were moving upstream. All of them were wearing their bright orange life jackets around their necks.
    Joanne fiddled with her room key in the unreceptive door slot while I fished for mine in my purse. More groups of prepared passengers streamed past us in the narrow hallway.
    One large man said, “You can’t hide in your room. They’ll come find you and drag you out for the drill.”
    We ignored him and tried our best to comply with the ship’s regulations.
    By the time Joanne and I unlocked our door, donned the jackets, and literally ran to our assigned station, we were tardy.
    Breezing out onto the deck, my sister and I had to pass in front of hundreds of standing passengers lined up two deep all the way down the deck. We hurried past them with our heads down, trying to make it to our places at the end of the line, all the while aware of the many eyes that followed us. In the evening air I was aware that my hair was still wet, uncombed, and most certainly sticking out in every direction.
    A crewman stepped in front of us just as we sighted the end of the line where we needed to stand. “Madame,” he said with a French accent. “Your vest is not right.”
    He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and gave a short
tweet
on the silver whistle hung around his neck. Speaking loudly enough to gain the interest of the entire viewing audience, he said, “Attention, please. You will see now how to properly attach your life vest.”
    He proceeded to remove my life jacket, turn it around, and place it back over my head in the correct position. My sister and the rest of our thoroughly entertained deck mates tooknote. He then put both his arms around my middle and cinched the straps at the waist.
    I let out another peep. This one sounded more like a bird that had fallen head first into an iced-over birdbath. The last thing my skin needed was more agitation.
    “Too tight?” He worked with the straps in the back, loosening them.
    I caught my sister’s eye where she stood with obnoxiously straight posture at the end of the line. Her lips were pressed together, and she looked like the perpetually good student who snuck past the truant officer unnoticed. I knew she was dying to let that huge laugh of hers come rolling down the deck and knock me over like a bowling pin.
    The ship’s captain came on the loudspeaker and gave a few instructions before sounding the all clear. I stood to the side