Does This Island Go To The Bottom?. Eric H. Pasley

all, the french maid house cleaning girls were on the opposite side just a few doors down.

      The first night of the cruise, Pretty Boy and I had a special duty. A task of utmost importance. We were given cruise ship credit cards loaded with money and instructed to dress in our suits and ties. Our task was to mingle with the passengers in the ball room and buy them drinks on our cards. Of course whenever we would buy a drink for a passenger we’d buy ourselves a drink as well. Jean advised us to use the cards when buying drinks for our own personal consumption in moderation. Moderation is a stupid word. If someone hands me a booze card and says, “Your job is to drink with the tourists,” then that’s what I am going to do. I got hammered and so did Pretty Boy Damon.

      “You have to let me buy you a drink now,” said a tall blond American sitting next to me on the posh, red velvet sofa. I had bought her and her husband several rounds already.

      “OK,” I said, “I can handle that.”

      “Do you want another beer?” she asked with a ruby red lip smile. Her name was Rhonda and she was attractive in a plain way. She wore little make up other than her lips and had just enough tiny crows feet on the corner of her eyes to indicate wisdom and strength in her character.

      “No, I think I’ll have a Jack Daniels on the rocks with no ice.”

      She laughed. “So you want it straight up?”

      “Of course. The rocks and ice just get in the way.” I was torqued.

      “You don’t want to mix it with anything, like Coke?” she asked pushing her blond hair around he ear.

      “Mixed drinks are for pussy’s.” Oh damn, did I just say that? “Besides, it makes the Coke taste like hell.”

      The smile on Rhonda’s face changed. Her ruby lips now stretched from ear to ear. Her husband who was sitting beside her began to chuckle. “Alright then, two more glasses of wine and one Jack straight up,” she said at the same time flagging down a cute German server.

      “Make it a double,” I yelled. My eyes were no wider than a Chinaman’s from the alcohol sloshing in my brain. “So I gave you my story, now tell me about yourselves.”

      “We are from Massachusetts and my husband Steve is an engineer,” Rhonda said.

      “Oh really?” I said leaning forward a bit to look at Steve. He was the typical looking engineer type; scrawny with eyes like a bug. I bet he had a slide ruler stashed in his tuxedo somewhere, just waiting to crunch some numbers. “I use to be a computer drafter working in the mechanical engineering field.” Steve and I talked for a while about the business. I looked around to see where Pretty Boy was. He wasn’t schmoozing with the passengers anymore, he was drinking with the cruise ships entertainment people, the singers and dancers. Pretty Boy saw me and raised his beer and nodded. He looked no better off than me. I held up my Jack Daniels and then downed the rest of it. I slammed the glass down on the table and leaned back looking at Rhonda. “And what do you do?”

      “I’m a lawyer,” she said.

      I almost spat up thinking about that lawyer landing butt first in that batch of fire coral back on St. Thomas. “Good for you.” I couldn’t think of any other response. My mind was breaking apart, coming unglued from all the beer and liquor.

      “Are you OK, Eric?” Rhonda asked. There must have been a long pause in the conversation.

      “Perfectly fine,” I said. “Well it was a pleasure talking with both of you.” I looked at my watch I wasn’t wearing. “It’s getting late and I have a lot to do tomorrow.” I stood up, my legs felt like lead.

      “We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Rhonda said. Her and Steve also stood up.

      I looked at her puzzled.

      “You are doing the scuba demo in the morning aren’t you?”

      “Oh yes,” I said, “at the salt water pool on deck 10.” I shook their hands. “And if you like it, sign up for the full certification course Damon and I will be teaching.”