"Well, don't you worry, I'm getting to it. Thing is, I was really enjoying the Hollywood lifestyle, such as I was able to partake. When I wasn't working as an extra, I parked cars for a valet service that did all the big parties in Beverly Hills and Hollywood. And let me tell you, I met lots of film folks. Most of the guys would joke with you when you handed them their keys, and if you laughed hard enough, they'd lay a nice tip on you. I learned to laugh real hard.

"The ladies were a different story, the ones who had studio jobs. See, I'm not a chauvinist, not like you'd think a Texan would be. I think a woman ought to be able to do anything she puts her mind to-and get the same pay for it. No, my problem is that some of them get this att.i.tude, like they know better than anyone what's the right decision to make. Anyway, this lady executive at a party I was working had me get her car and I make this offhand remark about this script I saw sitting on her pa.s.senger seat. Told her I thought it was a lousy t.i.tle."

"Don't tell me, she got you fired."

"Yep. The next day my boss calls me and tells me to come and pick up my check. When I asked him what had happened, he didn't want to tell me at first, but we'd been friendly, and I wore him down. He told me the b.i.t.c.h-excuse my language-had complained that I'd gone through her things. Now, I never would do that. The t.i.tle was right there on the spine of the script in black magic marker. You couldn't miss it, especially 'cause it was so lame."

"So, what did you do?"

"A part of me wanted to confront her and tell her what for. But the other part, the one that reins in all my boyish fantasies about getting even, held me back. I decided it wasn't worth the trouble. So I went on home.

"Wouldn't you know it, she was waiting outside my little hole-in-the-wall in her big Mercedes. Seeing her there, I got angry all over again, thought she'd come to rub it in. Turns out, she'd got to feeling bad about what she'd done, told me I was right, that it was a lame t.i.tle, and did I have a better one?"

"Did you?"

Kevin laughed. "She thought so. Hired me on the spot. From there it was easy street. And it turns out Robin, that's her name by the way, had the hots for me. It wasn't too long 'fore we were keeping company in and out of the office. We went to all the A-list parties and I met everyone who was anyone, got real friendly with a couple of famous actors, and we all hung out everywhere.

"Now, I promised to get around to your question, didn't I? Well, about a year after Robin and I became an item, we were invited to a party over at some bigwig's house up in the hills, had this house perched up on stilts with a view you'd kill for. Turns out he was showing the director's cut of t.i.tanic as part of the fun. I think maybe Cameron was there, too, but I didn't see him. Now, you're going to laugh. Up until that time, I'd never seen the film. Oh, I'd heard all about it, I mean, who hasn't? It was only the biggest thing of all time 'til Avatar, right?

"Anyway, when Robin heard I hadn't ever seen it, she dragged me into that screening room and plopped me down. And all she said was, 'I envy you,' just like that."

"And...."

"Well, three and a half hours later, I knew what she meant. Seeing that movie for the first time was like a lot of firsts, some of which I need not mention. Aside from being put through the emotional wringer, something no movie had ever done to me, it left something with me, a little kernel of itself. I can't really describe it. Call it haunting, maybe. Yeah, I'd have to say it haunted me. I knew I had to see it again, if nothing else to see if it was just a fluke, a one-time thing. Turns out, Robin had the DVD version at home, the one that's got all the 'making of' stuff on it.

"I watched it for the second time a week later, and let me tell you it walloped me even harder. I started crying during the opening credits. That music, the piece with that Norwegian woman singing? Man, it just cuts right through your soul, you know?"

I knew. I knew exactly. "So how did you hear about Harlan's t.i.tanic?"

"I suppose it was when the news broke back in February. I was in my doctor's waiting room and CNN was on. As soon as the story started running, I was called into my appointment. Well, I made them wait while I watched it. From the moment I heard about it, I knew I wanted to be on it's first voyage, that it would be something special.

"Funny thing, it's turned out to be more special than I'd ever imagined. You see, the reason I was at my doctor that day was because I'd started feeling poorly, had been for two months. I'd wake up lightheaded and weak, and the feeling would hang with me the whole day. Still, I was a stubborn cuss when it comes to going to the doctor; and the only reason I went was because Robin threatened to leave me if I didn't. So, I went." Kevin paused, his mouth tightening. "I got to give those medical boys credit where it's due. They ran every kind of test imaginable. You name it, they poked and prodded me with it. The long and the short of it was I had what they called a 'pernicious' form of leukemia; my only hope of surviving it was a bone marrow transplant.

"Robin was beside herself, but she really kept it together for me, paid all my bills and started trying to locate a donor. See, my problem is I have a real rare type: AB negative. I hear it's something like one percent of the population have that. When the weeks and months went by and there was still no donor that matched, I tried one last thing. You remember hearing about that DNA project?"

"You mean the one where they clone bone marrow material from a dead relative?"

"That's the one. My one hope at that point was exhuming my parents and hoping they weren't too far gone. You see, them being Baptists, they didn't believe in embalming. For them the right and holy thing was getting back to the dust as fast as nature would allow. With them being dead for almost a decade, I didn't know if I had a shot in h.e.l.l. I know it's kind of creepy, and if I wasn't dying I sure as h.e.l.l would think so, too. But my options were used up.

"I know I'm going on, but you did want to hear this, didn't you? Anyway, to cut to the chase, both my parents were what the morticians call skeletalized, and the DNA was too far gone to re-map. The day I found this out was the day I decided I wanted this one last thing in my life: to sail on this ship. You been finding others saying this?"

"Yes, it seems Harlan has allowed a good many ill people on this voyage."

"And I'll bet you didn't know he paid for my ticket out of his own pocket. Not that Robin couldn't afford it, but he wouldn't take it, ripped up her check and sent it back with the ticket."

"My friend has a big heart."

"You're d.a.m.n right he does. When I e-mailed him about wanting to sail on the new t.i.tanic, he set up a video interview for the next day. The rest, well, here I am." He sat back in his chair, looking tired and satisfied. "Is that what you wanted, Mr. Hughes? Did I do okay?"

"You did just fine. I have only a couple of more questions. Is that okay?"

"Sure, no problem. Shoot."

"Why isn't Robin with you?"

"I'd rather not talk about that."

"You and she break up?"

"You might say that."

"Okay, last question.... Has the voyage been worth it?"

Kevin remained silent for a minute, then looked me directly in the eyes, his expression sober. "Every d.a.m.n minute."

14.

Dinner that evening proved anticlimactic. Besides myself, the only other occupants at the table were Hoyt Asbury, as churlish as ever, and Gavin Reynolds, who managed to spend the entire meal in self-absorbed silence. But it was the three empty chairs that disturbed me the most: Mrs. Bates's, Harlan's...and Maddy's.

From what little I could pry out of our steward, Harlan had decided to take his meal in his suite. He'd looked tired the last time I'd seen him, and was no doubt taking it easy. That didn't bother me, other than I missed his wit and style. With Maddy, it was a different story. I'd hoped to see her and take the opportunity to apologize for what had happened in my suite. It seemed, where she was concerned, I couldn't help putting my foot in it, in one fashion or another. And what did that spell for us down the road?

I'd begun to realize the voyage would be over in a few days and I had a book to write, which meant a lot of hard work and solitude, hardly the stuff on which to build a long-term relationship.

And then there was the fact we both lived in different cities.

Even though she'd retired from interior design, was it reasonable to expect she would move to Boston, give up her old life for mine?

And what about me?

Would I move to New York for her, a city I loved to visit but loathed living in? Did each of us love the other enough to make that kind of sacrifice? And others?

I knew the answer for me was an unequivocal, yes. But what did Maddy really feel for me? Did she love me the same? More? Less?

The answers eluded me. Too many questions a.s.saulted me while I sat there in my evening clothes trying to eat the rich food that was becoming ever more cloying by the mouthful. I longed for a sloppy burger, or a pizza from Santarpios, that much-loved landmark in East Boston. Anything but fancy French food with a heavy, highly-caloric sauce poured over it.

With my stomach turning somersaults, and a dull ache throbbing behind the eyes, I made my excuses and left the Dining Saloon for the solitude of the Boat Deck, where I wandered for over an hour in the evening chill in the hopes I would run into Maddy. I was out of luck there, too. Like Harlan, she'd apparently decided to stay in.

Annoyed and concerned, I took one of the lifts down to E-deck and stood in front of her door an entire minute before knocking. As with the last time in steerage, she did'nt answer. Either she was not in, or was refusing to acknowledge me, something that angered and worried me. After five minutes, I gave up and returned to my suite and put in a solid two hours of writing. I was just finishing the third chapter when I heard a soft knocking. My heart soared, thinking it was Maddy, and my face must have made a silly picture when I threw open the door and found Sammy Richards standing in the hall, his fist poised for another knock.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Hughes," he said, "but you have a Marconigram."

I hid my disappointment and took the proffered paper from him.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Hughes? You look a little worried."

I smiled and nodded. "Everything's fine, Sammy. Just trying to get the words right."

He glanced over my shoulder and saw my MacBook sitting on the small writing table, its screen glowing in the darkness. "Oh, I get you," he said, looking embarra.s.sed "Sorry to bother you. Have a good night."

He nodded then retraced his steps toward the Wireless Room. I closed the door, went back and sat down in front of my computer, then unfolded the Marconigram.

I shook my head, a weary smile curling my lips. The message was from Marty. It said: You never call me anymore. Got some interesting dope. Give me a ring.

I hadn't wanted any contact with the outside world, preferring to immerse myself in the allure of Harlan's t.i.tanic for the duration. Now, with Marty's not-so-subtle appeal, I decided to end my self-imposed "radio silence."

Closing out my word processor, I then opened up the cellular software, using the number keys to dial Marty's private number. A minute later, I was staring into his bleary-eyed face.

"Hi, Marty, I got your message."

"About time, kid. You wouldn't believe the gyrations I've gone through to send one of those stupid Macaronigrams."

"Marconi."

Marty frowned. "What?"

"It's a Marconigram."

"Whatever," he said, shrugging.

"So, what's up?"

"How's your friend, Harlan?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how is he? Is he feeling all right?"

"Marty, what's this all about? Since when do you care about anything other than your business."

"'Cause it is my business. Just answer the question."

"I don't know, all right, I guess."

"You don't know?"

"No, Marty, I don't. Can we cut to it, it's late and I've got more work to do."

The agent perked up at the mention of work.

"Oh, yeah? You cookin' up something good?"

"Marty, why are you asking about Harlan?"

"It seems your buddy's been winding up his affairs."

I shook my head. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about dotting the I's and crossing the T's, that sort of thing."

Marty was never the type to beat around the bush, so seeing him do it now, bothered the h.e.l.l out of me.

"Marty, you're getting obscure on me."

"It's probably nothing. But I got the skinny from a source of mine; told me he's put all his affairs in order prior to the voyage, that's all. Probably nothing."

"It's definitely nothing. I've known Harlan a long time. He's a meticulous planner. He's just preparing for every contingency, like he does with everything. h.e.l.l, it's the same kind of thinking that motivates some people to buy flight insurance every time they get on a plane. You worried, Marty?"

The agent shook his head, his jowls quivering like Jell-O. "I always worry about my clients. Besides, I'm superst.i.tious."

He was right about that. Marty had the biggest collection of rabbit's feet I've ever seen.

"I know, that's why I'm here and you're not. So, what else is going on."

"Mannheim Books is getting hotter to trot by the minute, kid. When do you think you'll have a draft?"

"Probably a few days after I get back. This deadline's going to kill me."

"I know, I don't envy you, but I know I can depend on you."

"That you can."

"All right, kid, keep me posted."

I rung off and reopened my word processor, managing to write another two thousand words before Henry let himself into the suite to turn down my bed at eleven o'clock.

"Have you had a good evening, sir?" he asked, folding down the coverlet.

"Depends on what you mean."

He eyed me with an expression of concern, not once hesitating in his duties. "Perhaps the lady wishes a little s.p.a.ce, as the young so handily put it."

I shut down the computer and clicked it shut, accompanying it with a sigh of weariness. "Sure, why not. She falls in love one day and wants s.p.a.ce the next. Makes as much sense as anything else on this voyage. My best friend builds his dream and spends most of it in his cabin. Does that make sense to you, Henry?"

The older man finished smoothing out the sheets and turned to me.

"May I be frank, sir?"

I looked up at him then, thinking he was being wry, finding him meeting my gaze with a sober expression without even a hint of his dry humor.

"I wish you would," I said.

"There are things about this voyage to which you are not privy. And I think it would be best if you concentrated on your present task. You will be much happier for it."