"At this point I don't think I can."
"Victor, please, you've got to sober up."
"I'm coming over to your room," I tell her. "You sound stressed. You need a massage. Let me administer my famous stress-reducing-"
"Just meet me in Club Lido-now."
"Baby, why not your room?" I whine, disappointed.
"Because it isn't safe," she says. "Because we have to meet where there are other people around."
"Hey baby-"
She hangs up. I'm supposed to look at the phone and shrug, which I do.
6
Cold water splashed on my face doesn't really hasten my sobriety so I just try not to lurch my way to Club Lido, which is actually close enough to my cabin that I'm able to get there without any passing out or major tripping going down. And Club Lido isn't crowded since the karaoke party the Wallaces mentioned has moved on to Mr. Kusoboshi's cabin, the bartender tells me when I take a seat and restrain myself from ordering a martini, sipping a light beer instead, occasionally staring out the large window that looks over the fog-shrouded deck and a small, shallow pool where steam rising from the lit water mixes in with all that fog. A crew member, exasperated, points out someone standing by the railing, the fog sometimes swirling around but mostly just a heavy wall of vaguely transparent granite sitting there, the figure lost within. I sloppily sign a bill for the beer then head outside.
On deck it's quiet, the sounds of the dry-ice machines churning out huge enveloping clouds of fog the only real noise, and the boat seems to be moving more slowly than usual. Marina's back is to me and she's wearing a very cool oversized hooded Prada wool jacket and when I touch her shoulder she automatically stiffens', still looking away, and I'm shivering and damp and she seems even taller and I try to bend down to check if she's wearing heels but oddly enough she has Nikes on her feet, which also look larger, though since I don't really remember ever seeing her feet what the hell am I talking about?
"Marina?" I'm asking. "Marina-is that you?"
There's a pause, then the hood nods.
"Hey, are you okay?" I squint, uselessly waving bad-smelling fake fog away. "What's the story? Did Gavin call you? What happened?"
"You can't go to Paris with me," she whispers, her voice raspy, as if she's been crying. "You have to go to London."
"Hey baby, why the change of heart?" I say, gripping her shoulder. "Hey, look at me."
The hood shakes its head.
"Victor," she says, pulling away, her back still to me. "You're drunk." "How can you tell if you won't look at me?" I plead.
"I can smell it," the voice coughs.
"Hey baby, get closer," I murmur, leaning in. "I wanna come to Paris with you."
"Victor, you're drunk," the voice protests, moving away.
"I need a better excuse," I say. "You could at least-ahem-do me the honor of a more intelligent excuse." This is followed by an enormous belch, which I follow with an apology. I keep trying to get her to face me but she keeps pulling away, tightening the hooded jacket around her.
"Just go," she coughs, then mumbles something else.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say.
"Victor, please-"
"You wanted to talk to me," I point out. "I'm here. I'm ready. I'm in a fairly responsive mood."
"I just wanted to tell you that you can't come to Paris -
"Hey baby, please look at me," I tell her. "Let's go into the bar and I'll order some coffee, a nice cappuccino, huh?"
Reaching around, she grabs my hand without turning to face me and whispers something about my room.
"What? What did you say, baby?" I whisper back, leaning into her, suddenly woozy with the prospect of sex, all the champagne, the smells coming off the Prada overcoat.
"Let's go to your room." She breathes in, her voice husky and thick.
"Baby," I start. "That is such a good - "
Still holding my hand, she turns and walks away, cutting a path through the fog along the deck, and it's hard to keep up with the long, wide strides she's taking and I'm mumbling "Baby, baby, slow down" but I just let her pull me along, rushing toward my cabin.
Once at my door, giggling and out of breath, I pull a key out of my pocket and drop it-laughing "You're taxing my mind-eye coordination, baby"-and I reach down, fumbling for the key, but she grabs it first and I try to grab her hand but when I finally stand up straight, gasping, she has already pushed the door open and is walking into the ' room, dragging me along and switching off all the lights, her back still to me. I fall onto the bed, reaching out for her leg as she walks by.
