"What school?"

"I guess you'd call it 'photo-realism.' The stuff he did was uncanny. It looked so real you'd swear it was a photograph. And the illusion would maintain its integrity until you got right up close and saw his brush strokes. His secret, he said, was in thinning the paint to the right degree and using small brushes, sometimes as fine as one hair.

"Anyway, he saw me staring at one of his paintings and introduced himself. He said I looked intelligent, that I could sense the underlying truth of things. I told him he was full of s.h.i.t." Jenny smiled. "He laughed, and asked me if I would pose for him. Nude, of course.

"I see the question in your eyes. Yes, I did pose for him, and it turned out to be one of the very best things he'd ever done. In a way, he'd made me look better than I did in real life. In the process, we fell in love and were married two months later, a big Catholic ceremony with all of his family in attendance. Mine were no shows, of course. You see, Jehovah's Witnesses don't believe in celebrating any holidays or special occasions, not even birthdays.

"The first month was heaven, and then things fell apart. He began seeing other women almost at once, and he didn't even try to hide it. I think he considered it his right as a man, or some such crock. The day I caught him in bed with twins I moved out. I hocked the engagement ring, which gave me enough to move to L.A. and start again. I got a job in a bank and worked my way up to Vice President. By the time I was thirty-five, I was making a good living. But I was lonely. I don't know, maybe being a workaholic was my way of avoiding the Paolos of the world, but I finally realized I was punishing myself, not him. So, I decided to do something about it."

"And what was that?" I said, more and more intrigued with her story.

"My friends set me up with blind dates. And G.o.d, were those disasters. All of them were either preening self-absorbed types who felt they were doing you a favor, or crushing bores who talked ceaselessly about their careers. I also tried the video dating thing and various singles organizations. But they were the proverbial meat markets. I finally gave up, deciding to quit while I was behind. You know that old saying: You'll find what you're looking for when you stop looking for it? Well, it's true.

"I got a flyer in the mail about a poetry reading at the library. I still get goose b.u.mps when I think about this because I really feel fate took a hand, somehow. Instead of throwing it out, I read it and decided to go, as a lark. It certainly wasn't what I expected, to say the least. It turned out to be a lesbian poetry reading, and when I realized it, I waited for an opportunity to leave. And then, Nina got up to read and my whole world turned upside-down.

"I'd never been attracted to women before, at least not on a conscious level, but her poetry spoke to my heart in ways Paolo never could. After the reading, I made my way up to her, stomach all twisted up in knots. She was surrounded by all these butch types, and she was like this feminine flower, all aglow. I was so nervous I could barely speak, but when our eyes met, I knew-I just knew my search was over...and so was hers.

"You asked me why I wanted to sail on the t.i.tanic. Well, a part of the reason probably won't surprise you. On our first date we went to see a re-release of the director's cut, the one with the extra twenty minutes. We'd both loved the film ever since we'd first seen it as kids.

"My parents thought it was an abomination, of course. Anyway, you remember the line Rose says to Jack at the end when the ship's about to sink: 'You jump, I jump, right?' Well, that was Nina and me to a tee.

"We moved in together a few days later and spent seven beautiful years together...." Jenny's eyes welled up with tears, and I handed her my handkerchief. "Thank you," she said, dabbing her eyes.

I waited until she had regained her composure, then pressed on.

"So, what happened with you and Nina?"

"Not what you think. We were happy. Oh, we had our moments, fights over the usual stupid things couples argue about, and some serious things, too. Like taking me to meet her parents, you know."

I nodded, rea.s.suring.

"Nina was a wonderful person, but so d.a.m.ned insecure. One thing she always said was that she never wanted to live without me. I was touched by that, at first, but it got to be a little weird, too. And then, last year, it all came crashing down. That was when I was diagnosed with with low-grade lymphoma. Nina went off the deep end, started talking about a suicide pact. She even bought these pills from some survivalist wacko, said they were cyanide, and kept them locked in her jewelry case.

"Well, I forgot about them, didn't really believe her, anyway. Besides, I was fighting for my life. I wanted to live. I went through the chemo and the radiation and, except for a few glitches, I was in remission. But, for Nina the eternal pessimist, remission wasn't enough."

Jenny hesitated, her eyes flooding with tears.

"I found her in the apartment on a lazy Friday afternoon a little over a year ago. She was supposed to meet me at our favorite little bistro. I'd waited for over an hour before my alarm bells compelled me to go home. She was lying on the bed, perfectly composed, the note lying next to her head. My vision was so blurred with tears and my hands shook so much I could barely read it. It said: 'I couldn't wait any longer, lover. I jump, you jump, right? See you soon.' That was it! See you soon. As if we were due to have lunch next week. Oh, G.o.d!"

Jenny broke down at that point and I took her in my arms and held her while she sobbed against me. And I'm not ashamed to say I cried, too. Her story touched the very core of me. After five minutes, she calmed down and pulled away.

"I'm okay," she said, wiping her eyes.

"One thing I want to know," I said. "And I'm sorry if this comes off sounding callous and cold: but did she leave a pill for you?"

"Yes. It was right next to her on the bed resting on a little satin pillow, like something out of a dainty magazine ad."

"What did you do with it?"

"I still have it, though I don't think I could ever use it. Not that I'm afraid, you understand, it's just that every time I look at it, I see her lying there, the tiniest of smiles on her face. I wanted her to live with me, dammit! Instead, she chose to abandon me."

"And you can't forgive her for that?"

"I can, and I have," she said, meeting my gaze. "I just can't forgive myself."

"For what?"

"For not seeing she didn't have the strength to fight the disease with me or believe I'd beaten it. It's ironic, isn't it? I get sick and she dies." Jenny fell silent for a moment. "Can we stop now? I'm feeling a bit scattered."

"Sure, no problem. You've been very kind to speak with me."

"Am I going to be in your book?"

"Only if you want to be."

"I do." Jenny nodded, her expression one of firm resolve. "Maybe I can help someone else. I mean, there might be an afterlife, and I'd like to think I'll see Nina again, but a part of me resists that. I guess I'm still rebelling against my parents, huh? Anyway, if I could tell the world one thing it would be to enjoy what you've got before it slips away and all you're left with are your regrets...."

11.

After I was sure she would be all right, I left Jenny on the Boat Deck, and proceeded to the Marconi Room. Sammy was on duty, and he smiled and waved to me with one hand, while the other busily scribbled the translation of an incoming message. A few minutes later, he put down his pencil ripped the message off his pad and placed it into his "out" box, then tore off his headphones with a sigh.

"b.l.o.o.d.y long one that," he said, rubbing his ears, fiery red from having to wear the headset for hours at a stretch.

"Anything good?" My question was meant to be facetious; Sammy took it at face value.

"Someone's idea of a joke, sending me an ice warning from the b.l.o.o.d.y Baltic. Aside from the fact that particular ship hasn't existed for ninety years, icebergs are a lot fewer and farther between than they used to be. Talk was last year they were even going to disband the I.I.P."

He was talking about the International Ice Patrol, organized by England and the United States in the wake of the t.i.tanic disaster.

"Of course it's all satellite-based now, so there's not much else to do but look at a bloomin' computer screen." He then shook his head and shrugged. "Anyway, I suppose you've got another one of your dispatches?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, mate. It'll be right enjoyable compared to what I've been doing. Have a seat."

I'd culled some of what was now the book's first chapter and I dictated it to Sammy. I watched his face as he keyed the words, and his normally placid expression became animated. When we finished, he turned to me.

"That from your book?"

I nodded, putting away my notes. "Part of the first chapter."

"Well, if the rest of it's as good as that, you'll have a right best-seller."

"Thanks. I'll send you an autographed copy."

"You don't have to do that," he said, suddenly distracted.

"Maybe not, but I want to."

Sammy nodded, adjusting his headphones. "Send it round to me Mum. She'll be wanting one, for sure."

"My pleasure."

The Marconi began clicking, signaling that another message was arriving, and I took this as my cue to leave. I was wrung out from Jenny's story and from my less than restful sleep the night before. Still, I was troubled by what had happened with Maddy and I wanted to confront her and find out what had caused such an emotional about-face, maybe help her get past it, if possible. Of course, my motives were not entirely unselfish. I wanted to be in the safe haven of her arms once more.

My first stop was the Purser's Office, situated amidship on C-deck. I came up to the window and spotted the Purser seated at his tiny desk poring over a ledger. He looked up at me, his hawkish face registering surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir," he said, unfolding his tall, lanky frame out of his chair. "I didn't see you. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could help me locate a fellow pa.s.senger. She's in steerage somewhere, and forgot to tell me which room she's in."

The Purser smiled and pulled a clipboard off a hook on the wall.

"Certainly, sir. What is the lady's name?"

"Madeleine Regehr."

He ran his long index finger down the page, his brow furrowed in thought. I noticed most of his knuckles were swollen with arthritis.

"Ahh, here it is," he said, turning the clipboard, so I could read it.

"Right here."

It was a berth number located somewhere on E-deck in the forecastle. The man was kind enough to point it out on a floor plan mounted to the wall behind him. I thanked him and headed off.

Even with his clear, concise directions, it took me far longer to find her room than it should have. Third cla.s.s reminded me of a topiary maze I'd gotten lost in as a child: corridors branching off into more corridors, all of them looking alike. I'd circled back to the same point twice before taking the correct turn that brought me to her door.

I felt giddy, lightheaded, and b.u.t.terflies chased each other inside my intestinal tract. I swallowed my fear and knocked.

Silence.

"Maddy, are you there?"

Again, nothing.

I was annoyed, imagining her sitting there deliberately ignoring me, and I was so wrapped up in my emotional turmoil it didn't occur to me that she might simply be out.

I pounded on the door, harder, the sound echoing down the lonely corridor.

"Maddy, I'm sorry for what happened, please open up."

The door to the room next to hers swung open and a bleary-eyed man with thick black stubble on his chin and a scowl on his face leaned out.

"What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l is going on here?"

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I'm looking for the woman who's staying here."

The man rolled his eyes.

"Cor blimey! That b.l.o.o.d.y flake moved out early this morning! And b.l.o.o.d.y good riddance to 'er. Crying and playing the same b.l.o.o.d.y love songs on her warbler over and over all night, she was."

Hearing that she'd had a rough night aroused mixed feelings in me. A part of me was the tiniest bit glad she'd suffered long after leaving me standing on the promenade. The other part of me felt as if a white-hot lance had pierced my solar plexus. But all of that was overshadowed when I remembered her telling me about working her way up to first cla.s.s. Feeling more than a little foolish, I started back down the hall.

"Sorry, to have bothered you," I said, calling back over my shoulder.

The man mumbled something I couldn't make out, shook his head and disappeared back into his room.

I ran back the way I'd come, pa.s.sing the lowermost First Cla.s.s staterooms on E-deck. Second Cla.s.s staterooms were farther aft and confined to the starboard side. I kept my eyes peeled for a steward and was soon rewarded: one was exiting one of the last of the First Cla.s.s staterooms when I approached.

"Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could help me locate someone?"

The steward looked to be about eighteen, but a closer examination of his boyish face revealed a fine web of crow's feet spreading out from the corners of his eyes, as well as a smattering of gray at his temples.

"Have you tried the Purser's Office?" he asked in a pleasant voice tinged with a public school accent.

I told him about Maddy's intention to move around on the mostly-empty ship, and the steward frowned.

"That is a bit of a problem. What does she look like?"

I described her as thoroughly as possible, and when I got to her auburn hair, his smile returned. "I saw her, not more than half an hour ago."

"Thank you so much," I said, relieved. "Did she seem okay?"

"How do you mean, sir?"

"Did she seem upset, agitated?"

"Not that I noticed but, then again, I was a trifle busy at the time."

"I know this is asking a lot, but do you remember the stateroom number?"

The steward shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't. But I could show it to you."

I followed him down the corridor and a moment later he stopped in front of a stateroom marked: E-75. He knocked on the door and we both waited, listening for a response. He tried once more, then turned to me. "I'm sorry, sir, but it seems the lady is out."

"Thank you, anyway, you've been most helpful."

"My pleasure, sir.... After all, courtesy and civility are all we have left."

I looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Now, it was his turn to look puzzled, and then a little nervous. "I'm sorry, sir, I guess I'm just bemoaning the state of modern society. If you'll excuse me, I must get back to work. So glad to have been of help."

He marched back down the corridor and I watched him go, feeling a vague sense of disquiet. Courtesy and civility were certainly casualties of the modern age, but were they really all we had left? I certainly hoped not, or we were all in big trouble.