"I have to leave," she says, starting to get up.
"I'm coming too," I say, holding on to her arm. "I'll pretend I'm sick."
"No, that's not possible," she says. "Let go."
"Baby, come on-"
"It's imperative that you call me immediately after dinner," she says, pulling away from the table. "Do you know what 'imperative' means?"
"That I"-I squint up at her-"that I... have to call you after dinner?"
"Okay," she says, semi-relieved.
"Baby, what's happening?"
"There's no time to go into it now."
The Wallaces start heading back along with most of the other passengers, murmurs of disappointment floating around the dining room about what-that they didn't catch a glimpse of a diabetic seaman? I am so lost.
"Baby," I start. "I'm not comprehending this-"
"Tell them good night for me," Marina says, walking quickly out of the restaurant.
I watch as she disappears down a corridor, then notice a nearby waiter who takes in the expression on my face and shrugs sadly, sympathizing with me.
"Too bloody foggy," Stephen says, pulling Lorrie's chair out.
"Where did your friend go?" Lorrie asks, sitting down.
"I don't know," I sigh. "She's freaking out about something."
"I hope we didn't upset her," Lorrie says.
"Darling, eat your caviar," Stephen says.
Later the Wallaces insist I join them at a karaoke party in Club Lido but I'm drunk and the details surrounding me are swimming out of focus in front of my eyes and before I bolt for my cabin the camera moves in on dessert: a gold-rimmed plate, raspberries, blueberries, two scoops of vanilla mousse bordering a chocolate bonsai tree.
Chapter Eleven
Back in my room pretty much totally sloshed I dial Marina Gibson's cabin but there's no answer. When I ask the operator to make sure she's ringing the right room, she pitches a snotty reply and I hang up on her and then scrounge around the minibar for a split of champagne, drinking it out of the bottle, foam cascading out of the head all over my hands which I wipe off on my complimentary QE2 bathrobe. I look for a copy of the script, can't find it, give up, tumble around the room, light cigarettes, the view from the prow of the ship on the TV screen almost totally obscured by fog. The phone rings.
"Victor?" Marina sounds as if she's been crying.
"Hey baby," I say soothingly. "Did like Gavin call? What's the story? You sound bummed."
"We have to talk."
"Great," I say, sitting up. "How about my room?"
"No."
"Okay, okay," I say, then, guessing, "How about... your room?"
"I don't think it's safe," she whispers.
I pause, considering this. "Marina," I say softly. "I have condoms."
She hangs up.
I immediately dial her room back.
She picks up midway through the first ring.
"Hey baby, it's me," I say.
"This isn't going to work," she mutters to herself, sounding vaguely panicked.
"What do you mean?" I'm asking. "Do... you have condoms?"
"That isn't what I'm talking about!" she shouts.
"Whoa, baby," I start, holding the phone away, then bringing it back to my ear. "What isn't?"
"Victor, something's happening that needs to be explained to you."
"Listen, I'm sorry I'm rushing things," I apologize. "I'll read the rest of the script, we'll get to know each other, whatever."
"You're in f**king danger, Victor," she cries.
"Now don't go psycho on me, baby-"
"Victor, did anyone give you something to bring with you to London?" she asks breathlessly.
"What do you mean, baby?" I'm checking my hair in the mirror above the dressing table.
"Did anyone tell you to bring something-a package, an envelope, anything-to London?" she asks again, straining to calm down.
"Like what?"
"I don't know," she moans. "A gift or something. Something to bring someone."
"Oh yeah, right," I say, as if it's slowly dawning on me.
"What? What was it?" she asks in a rush.
I pause before giggling. "Just my beautiful self, baby."
"Damnit, Victor," Marina shouts. "Are you sure? Think carefully."