chapter seventeen #2
“Shock is an understatement. But to be honest, I’m enjoying the company.”
He holds the elevator doors open for me, so I step in, craning my neck to find Riley crammed in at the back, the poor thing paler than he was a minute ago. I wince, hoping Hugo’s continuous rambling provides the distraction Riley needs.
“Welcome to the Behind-the-Scenes tour, folks. My name is Gabriella, one of your Guest Services staff, and I’ll be your guide today.
Our first stop on the tour will be Deck Two, where we’ll find the i95, also known as the crew passage, which is a large laneway from one end of the ship to the other.
It allows the crew to move about quickly and freely.
It’s also where the crew quarters, medical facility, laundry, and food stores are.
From there, we’ll head to the engine room and desalination plant before visiting the galleys and then the bridge.
Video recording and photography are strictly prohibited, but please feel free to ask as many questions as you like. ”
“This is exciting,” I whisper to Manny as the doors open again and we funnel out.
Stepping aside, we wait for Hugo and Riley, Riley’s shoulders relaxing as they both join us.
“You okay?” I murmur to him.
He playfully coos. “Naww, you really do care about me, don’t you?”
Drawing in perhaps my one-hundredth frustrated breath for the morning, I huff it back out again. “I’m reconsidering.”
“You are not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Gather around,” Gabriella instructs, ushering us closer. “Don’t be shy; we’re all friends here.”
We bunch together like a bouquet.
“As you can see, to my right is the medical facility, which staffs two nurses and one physician. It’s equipped to treat minor non-emergency conditions as well as stabilize patients with life-threatening illnesses.
It has an ICU, testing lab, pharmacy, and yes…
a morgue. For obvious reasons, we cannot go through the center, but you’d be wise to avoid this amazing place anyway.
A visit here could set you back hundreds to thousands of dollars. ”
A few people whistle their astonishment, and guilt once again washes over me for having a hand in Brittany paying a visit… and a price.
“Don’t,” Riley hisses.
I side-eye him. “Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
Annoyed he can so easily read me, I frown and move forward, following Gabriella along the i95, which is roughly ten-feet wide with many safety protocol posters on the walls and doors lining the sempiternal passage.
One has a list of emergency codes, some phonetic and others with colors, so I pause for a moment to study it.
“Let’s pray we don’t hear Code Kilo announced,” I say to Riley. “If we do, according to this, it means we’re going to be evacuated.” I scroll down the list. “Or Code Bravo. Oh my God! Could you imagine if there was a fire on board?”
My body shudders.
“I’m more worried about that one,” he says, pointing to Code PVI.
I read the description and laugh. “You’re more concerned over someone vomiting in a public area than the ship going up in flames?”
“Yep. I don’t do puke.”
I shake my head at him.
“As we head toward the stern to the laundry,” Gabriella calls out, “please stay to your right, and watch your step. The laundry is one of the ship’s busiest hives of activity, and you’ll soon see why.”
We huddle along, past the crew quarters, until we stop in front of a room with many metal-caged carts that are stacked with freshly cleaned linen lined up along the passageway, crewmembers greeting us in their various dialects as they edge past.
“Before we enter, please note it may be hard to breathe from the steam. If any of you are uncomfortable, let me know, and I’ll escort you out.” Gabriella opens a door, and we file in behind her. “Let me just see if I can find our Chief Housekeeper. I swear she never leaves this room.”
A musty, sharp ammonia scent hits my nose, the room humid and noisy, several industrial machines working relentlessly.
White linen as far as the eye can see is bunched on benches, piled in large plastic tubs on wheels, and is neatly folded and stacked in at least a dozen caged carts.
Crew members hustle about, sorting and folding, and I watch in awe at the sheer volume of fabric being laundered and at how diligently they go about it.
Guilt once again washes over me, this time for using my towels once before placing them on the floor for our cabin steward to collect. These incredible worker bees have enough labor to do without me unnecessarily adding to it.
“Thank you for waiting,” Gabriella says, returning with a vivacious older woman. “This is Sophia, our Chief Housekeeper. The cleanest lady on the ship.”
Sophia chuckles at her colleague, then holds her arm out. “Welcome to the laundry. We are very busy, eh?”
One of the women on our tour points to a machine folding sheets. “Oh, I need one of those.”
“Ah, yes. My favorite,” Sophia says, lovingly patting the stainless-steel contraption. “Folds into perfect squares. So clever, eh?”
The women nod, the men less enthused.
“The laundry is most important. Without it and my crew, the ship would not function. The restaurants would not have clean napkins, and you… no clean towels and sheets.” Sofia gives us a “blergh” face.
“How many towels do you clean per day?” the same woman from before asks.
“Ah, sometimes we launder ten thousand towels a day.”
“Wow!” I whisper.
“And twenty thousand napkins.”
Twenty thousand? Holy shit!
“But as you see, we don’t do it all by hand, thank goodness. We have many machines to wash, steam, and fold the linen for us, as well as a hard-working staff to collect, sort, and deliver them.” She straightens her shoulders, proud. “Impressive, eh?”
Most of us nod, and after a few minutes of watching the laundering process, we’re escorted back out into the passageway, the fresher, cooler air most welcome.
I lift my hair from the back of my neck. “That was eye-opening.”
Riley murmurs, “Hmm.”
“I think we should use our towels more than once from now on.”
“Say what?”
“I’m serious. Look at all that laundry. It’s the least we can do.”
“It’s what we pay good coin for,” he says, mimicking Ohio Oscar’s voice yet again.
I release my hair and facetiously elbow him in the ribs.
“Now, just up ahead are the food stores,” Gabriella says, glancing back over her shoulder as she strides forward. “One of the most popular Behind-the-Scenes tour places to visit.” She stops in front of another door and asks us to wait while she enters in search of the Food and Beverage Director.
My stomach rumbles.
Riley smirks. “Hungry, are we?”
“Do you blame me? All this talk of food stores will do that to a person.”
“Not me.” He rubs his belly. “I had a substantial breakfast.”
“Shut up,” I grouch just as Gabriella returns and ushers us inside, boxes of bottled oils, canned goods, and various pantry items stacked to the ceiling.
“I’d like to introduce you to Leon, our Food and Beverage Director, who has one of the most difficult and vital roles on board.”
Leon steps forward, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Thank you, Gabriella. Welcome, everyone, to the ship’s treasure trove.
In here, you’ll find many food stores, each dedicated to different food groups.
As you can see, this is one of our pantries.
To your right, through that steel door, is one of our meat freezers, and beyond that is another freezer—my personal favorite, dedicated solely to ice cream. ” He waggles his eyebrows.
“It’s my favorite too,” Gabriella adds.
“Why do you have a freezer just for ice cream?” Hugo asks.
“Mostly to prevent cross-contamination. We must follow strict Vessel Sanitation Program criteria, as well as health and safety guidelines, for your protection and for ours. We don’t want an outbreak of food poisoning on board just as much as you don’t.” Leon lifts his chin. “Any other questions?”
Most of us shake our heads.
“Very well. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you one of our fridges.”
We shadow him along a hallway into another large room, again stacked almost to the brim with boxes of pantry items, several steel doors circling it.
“In those two fridges, there are fruits and vegetables. In the fridge over there is where we thaw our proteins. And in here,” he says, opening the door, “is where we keep our dairy and eggs.” Leon gestures for us to enter, a few at a time, and I almost stop in my tracks at the mountain of egg cartons.
“Wow! How many eggs do you order for a single cruise?” I ask.
“We can go through ten to fifteen thousand eggs a day.”
“Jesus,” Riley murmurs.
Leon chuckles. “Eggsactly!”
I giggle. “Do you ever run out?”
“Never. I’m too good at my job.” He winks. “And if I ever did run out of eggs, Executive Chef Bruno would have my head on one of his fancy silver platters.”
He draws his finger across his neck and then escorts us to the alcohol storeroom.
“Oh, praise the Lord,” Hugo says, eyes wide. “That’s a lot of wine.” He turns in a circle, admiring the hundreds of cases. “Manny, darling, you can just leave me here. I’ll be fine for a few hours.”
“Here is the last place I would leave you,” Manny says, taking hold of his husband’s hand. “I’d never see you again.”
Hugo sighs. “This is true.”
Smiling wistfully at how in love the two of them are, I allow my eyes to lock with Riley’s when he steps into my line of vision, leans in close, and whispers, “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”
My wistful smile dissolves faster than an ice cube on a frying pan. “No!”
“Don’t even think about stealing my wine,” Leon jokes, pointing at Riley. “I have a black belt in Jui Jitsu.” He presses his feet together, slaps his hands by his sides, and bows.
Riley raises his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
After the food stores, we thank Leon and say farewell to him, then make our way down a flight of precariously narrow steel stairs to the engine room and desalination plant.
And although hot, pungent, and uncomfortably noisy, I find it interesting learning how the ship uses four enormous generators to produce enough electricity to power and drive the ship, as well as the process involved in desalinating sea water and treating human waste—all thirty-thousand gallons of it.
We head back above sea level to one of the galleys, where an army of chefs prep food for this evening’s dining sessions, some of them artfully sculpting flowers from carrots.
“Last stop on the tour,” Gabriella announces, “is the bridge, where you’re all lucky enough to meet Captain Katarina, who I’m told is currently there. Please keep noise to a minimum. And I know it goes without saying, but no touching the instruments.”
We enter the bridge through glass sliding doors, a panoramic view of the ocean glistening in the sunlight as far as the eye can see.
Navigation and communications systems are stationed throughout the spacious room, together with several officers in uniform, all of them acknowledging our arrival with friendly greetings and nods.
Hugo fans his face. “On second thought, dear husband, leave me here.”
“Over my dead body,” Manny quips.
I giggle.
“Welcome to the bridge,” Gabriella says in a hushed voice.
“This is, of course, where the captain and her officers drive the ship and monitor weather conditions to ensure a safe journey from port to port.” She glances over at the captain, who holds up one finger, Gabriella nodding before continuing, “At night, the bridge is pitch-black except for the illuminated controls. This allows the captain and her officers to easily see other vessels by using binoculars. Each officer can only be on shift at night for a maximum of four hours to avoid fatigue, so while you all sleep, rest assured you’re in very capable hands.
And speaking of very capable hands, please say hello to Captain Katarina, my boss. The best captain on the seas.”
We all murmur, “Hello,” and for some reason, I feel a little starstruck.
Perhaps it’s the tailored white uniform, naval hat, and the stripes on her shoulders.
Or perhaps it’s because she’s a woman in a “man’s” world.
Regardless, I feel the need to stand to attention and salute. Which I do, sans the salute.
“Hello. Welcome to the bridge,” she says. “Have you enjoyed the tour?”
We all nod, some of us saying, “Yes,” me included.
“Excellent. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Katarina lovingly rests her hand on a station. “Now, who would like to steer the ship?”
My hand shoots up of its own accord, and I mentally try to wrestle it back down again. I can’t even steer a shopping cart.
She points to me. “You, yes?”
Peanut freaking butter.
Tentatively stepping forward, I’m encouraged by Captain Katarina to join her behind the smallest wheel I’ve ever seen.
Shocked, I ask, “This steers the whole ship?”
“Yes.”
I place my hands on the wheel, excited but nervous.
“Just don’t crash, okay?”
“Crash?” I look directly ahead at the vast ocean. “What is there to crash into?”
She gestures toward the horizon. “Icebergs.”
“What?” I immediately let go of the steering wheel. “Where?”
“Don’t let go!” she shouts.
Shrieking, I grasp the wheel again, almost releasing a little scaredy pee into my panties.
Captain Katarina clutches her abdomen and then pats my shoulder. “I’m joking. You’re not steering the ship.”
“I’m not?”
“No. Do you think I’m crazy?” She points to one of her officers at a different station. “Second Officer Franco is navigating. This little wheel here is just for show… and to play tricks on my passengers during the tour.”
Haha… ha… ha.
“You got me,” I say as everyone laughs at my expense, Riley included.
Winking, she pats my shoulder again, then instigates a sympathetic round of applause as I trudge back to my spot, mortification burning my cheeks.
“I like her,” Riley murmurs. “She’s… funny.”
Grumbling, I cross my arms over my chest.
“Ease up, Ri—”
“Don’t,” I grouch.
He chuckles. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”
“If you say that one more time—” I grit my teeth. “—you’ll be kissing my knuckles.”
Riley turns to face me, lifts my hand, and inspects it. “They look like nice knuckles.”
I go to snatch my hand back, but I’m not given the chance when he leans forward and places a soft kiss against my skin, his eyes not leaving mine. “Is this what you had in mind?”
“I….” I try to speak, but no words form, my knuckles tingling, my hand as immobile as my tongue.
Damn you and your magical lips.