Land Sakes (24 page)

“I don't know, Mrs. Winchester. Since you've finished your brandy, maybe you want to say good-bye.”

“Ah, yes... Yes. Gentlemen... I take my leave of you... Good-bye, good-bye...”

She was weaving sideways and still waving the glass; I reached for it and handed it to the steward.

“Here, may I help you?” he asked.

“You take her other arm,” I told him and together we managed to steer her, wobbling, toward the door.

Just outside the lounge, Mrs. Bailey was waiting, either to listen at the door or to witness our exit. She whispered to me, “Did she smoke a cigar?” I ignored her. “Brandy—did she drink brandy?”

Mrs. Winchester called a halt. “Mrs. Bailey,” she said, “I would thank you... thank you to get out of my way...” She gave a horselaugh. “And take your mouth with you.”

“Please excuse us,” I said.

I was worrying that in the state she was in we would never get her back to the penthouse. The steward was looking at me questioningly as much as to ask,
What are we going to do with her
?

“The show,” Mrs. Winchester said. “I want to see the show.”

I looked at the steward, silently telling him,
You don't argue with a drunk
, and told him, “There's nothing to do but try to take her to the theater.”

Mrs. Bailey was following right on our heels. I felt like spitting in her eye.

Mrs. Winchester stopped, turned around, got right up in Mrs. Bailey's face, put her finger to her lips, and said, “Shhhh!”

Chances were that little gesture would only fan the flame of that wagging tongue. The news of this episode would spread like wildfire all over the ship. Of course, knowing Mrs. Winchester, nothing would please her more.

It was an ordeal getting her to that theater, but the steward was a most obliging young man. Without his help I could not have done it. Fortunately, only a few people were there, and we were able to get seats near the front. Mrs. Winchester sat down heavily and started fanning her face with a tissue. “It's too hot in here.”

It wasn't the room that was too hot—it was all that booze steaming her up. For the first time on this trip, I felt disgusted with Mrs. Winchester.

24

The music was nice, from the fifties, I guessed, and as they were playing, Lionel Listrom and Mildred Peterson came in and sat nearby. I smiled to myself.
When they were dancing, I wonder if he dipped her. That would have made her heart flutter
. From the way it looked to me, I wouldn't have to show her a good time; Lionel was taking care of that.

I don't think we had been sitting there more than ten or fifteen minutes when Mrs. Winchester's chin dropped down on her chest. I sure hoped she wouldn't fall fast asleep, because her snoring could wake the dead.

Well, the show started with a bang, but Mrs. Winchester slept right through it. They brought on the first act, a row of skimpily clad women in a chorus line, singing and kicking up their legs. I tell you, none of them had the figure to be showing so much skin. They'd of looked a lot better in muumuus.

Mrs. Winchester was leaning forward and would have fallen out of her seat if I hadn't caught her and pushed
her back. I decided that it would be better if she leaned against me, but at about that time she roused up and looked all around, probably wondering where she was. “The show's started,” I told her.

The second performer was a man who impersonated the singing of Elvis, Neil Diamond, Andy Williams, and a few other crooners. He was good and sang songs I was familiar with. The crowd was mostly senior citizens, so they liked him too.

Mrs. Winchester was looking for a waiter to bring her another drink.
Oh no, not another one
! The waiter didn't see her and left before she could get his attention. I breathed a sigh of relief. Given more time, maybe later she'd be in better shape for me to get her back to the penthouse.

After the impersonator finished, Katarina Zigova, a gypsy girl, came on, dancing barefooted and shaking a tambourine. Dressed in a skirt that reached the floor and wearing a dark red blouse with baubles around her neck and bangles jangling on her arms and ankles, she danced down off the stage, whirled around on the floor, singing and flouncing her long shiny hair to wild applause, hand clapping, and whistling.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was a real gypsy. Gypsies used to come through Live Oaks and camp out at the clay pit. They would steal chickens and clothes left overnight on a clothesline. Everybody locked their doors when the gypsies were in town, and children were warned not to go outside because gypsies would steal them. Even so, we kids used to sneak out near the clay pit and lie in the tall grass to watch what
they were doing around their campfire and to hear them making music.

Sometimes, during the day, a gypsy man would go around to the farms and shoe horses. Another one was a tinker who would repair holes in kitchen pots.

One day a gypsy woman came in the variety store where Beatrice and I worked. Beatrice was trembling from head to foot, so I waited on the woman. She bought the brightest-colored rayon and broadcloth piece goods we had, as well as needles and thread, some grosgrain ribbon and buttons.

Another time one of the gypsy children got sick and had to go to the hospital. The whole tribe descended on the hospital and would not leave until the child was discharged.

The only time they bothered me was one night when they put a dent in a door of my Chevy. I didn't hear them until it was too late, but I saw them running away. The next morning here come two gypsy men offering to fix that dent for cheap, but I didn't fall for that. I gave them a Gospel of John and told them they needed to get right with the Lord.

When Katarina finished her act and went backstage, I saw the steward again making the rounds with drinks, so I decided I better try to get Mrs. Winchester upstairs before she could get another drink. I stood up. “It's time to go,” I said firmly.

“Oh?”

I took her arm and helped her out of the chair. Far from steady on her feet, she leaned against me, and I'll tell you, she felt like a bale of cotton. Lionel came to my
rescue—took her other arm and had her lean on him. Over his shoulder, he told Miss Peterson, “Wait for me, Mildred, I'll be right back.”

We made it out of the theater and to the elevator okay. Lionel held up Mrs. Winchester while I punched the button. Zooming upward, we didn't have to stop for people getting on and off, so we went straight up to the navigation deck. I got out the key and unlocked the door, and together we got Mrs. Winchester to the bed. I pulled down the spread before we rolled her onto the middle of the bed. I thanked Lionel and saw him to the door. I also thanked the Lord, who must have been looking out for me when Lionel came to help.

I removed Mrs. Winchester's sunglasses, hat, and shoes, but I didn't try to undress her. I straightened that beautiful mauve gown as best I could, hoping it wouldn't get too wrinkled, and pulled the spread up over her. She was mumbling about something, but she was half asleep. Once she was dead to the world maybe she would sleep it off before morning.

I went in my room, undressed, and took a bath. Later, as I was getting ready for bed, I could hear her snoring loud as a foghorn. This had been the worst day I had spent with Mrs. Winchester, and it looked like I was not making any headway with helping her. I had a lot to pray about, so I read a while and also poured out my heart to the Lord.

I don't know how long I prayed, but before I settled in for the night, I looked in on her to make sure she was all right. She hadn't moved an inch, and judging by the
way she was snoring, I'd have to put a pillow over my head if I expected to get any sleep myself.

I fell sound asleep. Then—it must have been the middle of the night—the bed started rocking. I woke up and lay there wondering what was going on. Whatever it was, I hoped it wouldn't wake up Mrs. Winchester. I listened, and her snoring was keeping time like a buzz saw. The rocking motion went on for some time, and I kept listening to hear if something would fall off a shelf or something, but nothing did. I was tired and figured it was nothing to worry about. I turned over and went back to sleep.

The next morning at breakfast, everybody was talking about the rough sailing. Some of the passengers had got sick from it, but Mrs. Winchester and I had no complaints. An officer told us we traveled rough seas when we were crossing ocean water, but now the ship was back in the Inside Passage and there would be no more of that.

We traveled all day on the Inside Passage, and the scenery was like one calendar picture after another. To avoid the crowds on deck, Mrs. Winchester and I went up to the Crow's Nest, which was a bar that was almost deserted during the morning hours. As we glided along we passed forests that reached down to the water's edge with waterfalls a mile high and with eagles in treetops or soaring high in the sky. From where we were seated, the fishing boats on their way to the sea or anchored in the channel looked like chips floating in the water. Pret
tiest of all were the snow-capped mountains with the morning sun shining on their slopes. Traveling this way was like watching a moving picture changing from one scene to another. I kept looking, hoping to see wildlife, but without binoculars I didn't spot any.

Lo and behold, about lunchtime, Mrs. Bailey found us. “Oh, there you are!” she said and sat down beside Mrs. Winchester. “I've been looking for you! This is a wonderful view. It's lovely from up here.”

“We were just leaving,” Mrs. Winchester said and got up.

With that we took the elevator down to the main dining room, the Rotterdam. “Do you think she'll follow us?” I asked.

“If she does, we'll lose her—we'll go up to the penthouse and order lunch.”

That Rotterdam Restaurant was like nothing I had ever seen before. Everything looked so expensive—the linens, the delicate stemware, and the china. No one came in that we knew except Mildred Peterson, and since it didn't look like Mrs. Bailey was following us, we sat down.

Seeing us, Miss Peterson came over, and I asked her to join us. I tell you, she had stars in her eyes! She was so excited she lit right into telling us. “I've decided to go with Lionel tomorrow on that backcountry trip. He seems to be such a nice man.”

The way she said it, I think she wanted our approval, but neither of us said anything.

“I didn't say I'd go right away, but last night we had such a good time, I decided to go.”

“You went dancing?”

“Oh yes, but that's not all. Last night, Lionel took me backstage to meet Katarina Zigova, the gypsy, and guess what? She asked me if I would like to have a personal consultation! Of course, I jumped at the chance, and she asked me to meet her backstage this afternoon at 2:00.”

“What for?” I asked.

“I don't know yet. Maybe she'll read my palm, tell my fortune. I can't wait!”

I didn't say anything, but I figured that gypsy knew a sucker when she saw one.

After our soup and salad, Mrs. Winchester wanted to go up to the penthouse. “I've called for a hairdresser and manicurist,” she told me. “After that a masseuse is coming to give me a massage. I'll be busy all afternoon, so feel free.”

I decided to sit by the pool a while. I saw that foulmouthed woman with some other women walking toward me. They were all looking amused. “Hi,” she said. “We just heard about Mrs. Win
chus
ter drinking brandy and smoking a cigar with the men. Is it true?”

“Where'd you hear that?” I asked.

“Mrs. Bailey. Mrs. Bailey told us.”

“Excuse me,” I said and got up. I left them laughing.

After that I ducked in one of those duty-free shops and lost them. I didn't buy anything except some cards. Then I saw that a movie was about to begin, so I went to the theater.

It was just what I needed. The movie was a Debbie Reynolds film, and it was funny—I got some good laughs.