Cruising for Love

Chapter 3

3

I crane my neck to stare up at the mammoth bow of the ship in amazement. My intention had been to play it cool in case any cameras were secretly recording my arrival. So much for that plan...I'm openly gawking at the enormous vessel. The fact that this steel behemoth floats defies logic.

"I never dreamed it would be so big," I say to the porter who is trailing behind me, wheeling the cart that is burdened with my luggage. He smiles knowingly at me as if everyone says this.

I ended up borrowing two additional suitcases from my parents, so including the train case that holds my toiletries and cosmetics, I have a total of four bags. I keep waffling between being embarrassed that I brought so much to being concerned that I won't have enough clothes. After all, I don't want to be seen on air repeatedly wearing the same tired outfit.

I see a family of four heading up the gangplank whose porter isn't dragging as much luggage as the one helping me. During the call I'd had with the show's PA, Jamie, she mentioned that there would be 'regular' people on the ship, but that the show's participants would be kept separate from the tourists––for the most part.

Of course, as soon as I had hung up the phone from my conversation with Jamie, I came up with numerous questions that I should have asked her, but failed to think of during our brief chat. My detailed voicemails to her were left unanswered, and I didn't have a contact number for T.J., so I went with my best guesses as far as what to pack.

I stand there for a moment to enjoy the blazing heat of the intense sunshine beating down on my forehead and shoulders. My baggage helper stands patiently behind me as if he has nothing else to do all day. Deciding that he probably has plenty of other cruisers to assist and that I have come too far to back out now, I head toward the angled pedestrian bridge that the light-on-luggage family had just taken to board the ship.

A disconcerting thought enters my mind as I trudge up the walkway and the elegant interior of the ship begins to become visible. The producers sent me airline tickets and arranged a rush order on my very first passport, but I don't have an actual ticket for the cruise. The smiling attendant holds his hand out, clearly expecting me to hand him something to gain access to the ship.

I return his smile and lick my lips nervously. "Hi, umm, my name is Ruthie Rose." I had been hoping to see a flicker of recognition of my name as one of the people on the show, but his face maintains the vacant, sterile friendliness of a professional greeter.

We are silent for a bit before he nods briskly letting me know my awkward introduction was unnecessary. His eyes dart to his outstretched hand as he raises his brows slightly and says, "Ticket, please."

"About that," I start, uncertain how to continue. "You see, umm." He peers skeptically at me over his reading glasses and I clear my throat nervously. "I'm on the television show that's going to be filming on the ship." Again, no recognition registers from him.

Deciding that this gatekeeper will not be the end of the line for my reality television career, I change tactics. I didn't come this far to not even make it aboard the ship. "Look," I say, trying to sound assertive, making the fake smile slide off his face only to be replaced with a weary stare, "don't you know who I am?" I cringe inwardly that those words have already slipped out of my mouth before filming has even started. Attempting to soften the edge of my crass question, I beam one of my most charming smiles at him. "Isn't there a list," I peek over the podium trying unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of the papers in front of him, "of the stars of the television show that is going to be filming during this cruise?"

"There's no list, ma'am," he informs me sternly before adding, "and even if there was a list, you would still need a ticket to board this ship." I'm fairly certain he thinks I'm a total wackadoo.

I turn to my kindly luggage porter, who raises his shoulders as if to say he doesn't know what else to try. Several people are now lined up behind us, waiting patiently to gain access to their floating vacation home.

I'm quickly becoming embarrassed and frustrated––mostly with myself for not asking Jamie about the ticket during our brief conversation. "Isn't there someone you can call?" I plead with the attendant.

He gives me a look that indicates his patience is wearing thin with me. Losing most of what is left of his professional courtesy, he rigidly informs me, "No ticket, no entry."

Completely at a loss for what to do, I can feel my face starting to crumple into tears. Even if I wanted to retreat down the gangplank, it is not wide enough to pass the group of ticketed passengers and porters now lined up behind me. They would all have to go back down to the sidewalk to give me a means of egress. I guess having an un-ticketed passenger attempt to board a cruise ship isn't a terribly common occurrence––at least not common enough to warrant setting up a second gangway.

The ticket agent is giving me the look of fear all men seem to acquire when dealing with a woman on the verge of tears. "Please," I try. "This is my big break. I'm supposed to become America's Sweetheart."

I see the slight smile the ticket agent tries to hide with an undoubtedly fake scratch of his nose. For some reason his smirk angers me. It's as if he can't believe that I might be on the cusp of a major breakthrough.

"I will make it," I vow to him. "You'll see...America will love me. The world will love me," I proclaim for some odd reason. I don't know what it is about this man, but something about him makes me want to prove my worth. Maybe it's because he controls the access to my future.

Dashing in like a savior, T.J. pops into the entryway. "Ruthie, darling!" he exclaims in a very 'Hollywood' tone. Air kissing my cheeks, he asks, "What is the holdup? Follow me."

I start to explain that my lack of a ticket is causing a problem, but T.J. turns to the man who has been holding up my progress, saying, "She is with me," and whisks past him with me in tow.

I rush through the metal detector and follow T.J. inside the sophisticated entrance lobby of the ship. For a moment, I wonder at the producer's ability to gain my entry onto the ship without a ticket, but I am soon distracted by my surroundings. Gazing in wonder at the pristine brass railings, shiny-mirrored elevators, and plush carpet, I am astounded by the luxurious decor of the enormous cruise ship.

My porter takes the luggage cart into one of the glass elevators and finger waves to me as T.J. and I head towards the stairs. My first thought is to hope he knows where to meet us, but then I relax, realizing that he does this every day and that it will all work out.

As we ascend one of the winding staircases, I listen to the music emanating from the grand piano and tell myself to take a deep, calming breath. The fiasco I encountered with embarking the ship is over now. Although I hadn't handled the situation nearly as smoothly as I would have liked to, at least the cameras aren't rolling yet.

Ordering myself to do a mental reset, I silently promise to remain calm and not let my emotions take over again. After all, my reactions during this show will be recorded for the whole world to see. I'd like to put my best foot forward.

From now on, I'm going to be worthy of being an internet sensation, I vow silently. Smiling happily, I whisper to myself, "You've got this," as I follow T.J. to my destiny.