"I'm... a party person," I muttered to no one.
Innumerable old people passed by, limped through miles of corridors, slowly lifted themselves up dozens of broad staircases, the lost wandered the decks pretending they weren't, the ship sailed on.
13
The second night of the voyage I had another boring dinner in the Queen's Grill. The sommelier I'd befriended by ordering a $200 bottle of semi-decent red wine asked if I wanted to join the Mashioki family at the captain's table instead of sitting alone and I told Bernard that I simply couldn't, hinting at an indiscretion I'd committed with the Mashiokis' eldest daughter, a fat, dour teenager who was always wandering near the ship's kennels wearing an UP WITH LIFE T-shirt, visiting her "cat." The sommelier nodded gravely, brought me another small tin of Beluga, recommended the foie gras, went back to the business of his life while I slipped into my noncommittal dining mode. Afterwards, I dropped another grand of Palakon's at the 21 table and found the cinematographer, Felix, at the Captain's Bar, hunched over a giant snifter of brandy and chain-smoking Gauloises. I sidled up next to him and we had the obligatory "ominous" conversation.
"What's the story?" I asked, after ordering a split of champagne, maybe my tenth on that particular evening. "You're the guy shooting this, right?"
"You could say that," Felix said in a thick, not-quite-traceable accent.
"I just did," I pointed out. "How's it going? I just want your professional opinion."
"It is going better than the last one I did," Felix muttered.
"Which one was that?"
"A picture called Shh! The Octopus." He paused. "It was the third part of a soon to be completed quartet funded by Ted Turner that began with Beware! The Octopus, which was followed by Watch Out! The Octopus. The fourth part is called, tentatively, Get the Hell Away from That Octopus." Felix sighed again, distracted, and stared into his snifter. "The third one had a good cast. A very bitter Kristin Scott Thomas, an equally bitter Alan Alda, and Al Sharpton had signed on to play Whitney Houston's extremely bitter father-the bitter harpoonist." Felix paused. "David Hasselhoff is the first victim of the octopus." Pause. "Isn't it ironic, huh?"
A long pause occurred while I tried to process this information. Confused, I broke it hesitantly. "So-o-o... the octopus's name was... Shh?"
Felix glared at me, then finally sighed, waved to the bartender for another, even though he hadn't finished the brandy sitting in front of him.