Herb and I went back to our cabin.
“I hope Savin’s all right,” I said.
“Imagine meeting Mary again after all these years,” Herb replied. “Now what are we going to do with our last morning at sea?”
What we did was take our fat old white bodies up to the pool and had the waiter bring us a couple of drunken sailors, like any other two old pirates. We could see Mary chatting up another of the art gallery boys, a young Russian named Scott. In the old days, we had had occasion to call Mary Queen of Scotts for two or three different guys, er, reasons.
Back at our cabin, Herb had to get online. “I still have over an hour of Internet time left,” he told me. “You go ahead and shower. I’m damned if I’m going to leave any of these expensive minutes. I want to contact my housekeeper, Ramone, like t
