Down Among the Dead Men

6

She threw up halfway back to the stateroom. They were on the stairs leading up to Deck Seven when she gripped the rail.

“Are we swaying? Why are we swaying?”

Beth steadied her. “We’re on a ship, remember?”

“Uhhhh. I don’t feel so good. How many drinks did I have?”

“Before or during dinner?”

“It’s the rum. I swear to God, I should know better. Rum always knocks me on my ass.”

“I don’t think your ass is the problem.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Beth said. “Let’s just get you into bed.”

They’d had plans to hit the casino after dinner, then maybe the dance club on the uppermost deck, but thanks to Jen’s overindulgence and sudden need to express herself, it now looked as if Beth would be curling up with a paperback book.

“What happened back there?” Jen said. “Am I dreaming, or did I flash my boobs again?”

Again?

Beth wasn’t aware of any previous boob flashing-unless you counted the teeny-weeny bikinis Jen favored-but then Jen had long been an exhibitionist. If she was drunk enough and some guy pointed a video camera in her direction, she’d surely be the first one to say, Why the hell not?

In fact, she probably wouldn’t even have to be drunk.

“Let’s put it this way,” Beth said. “I’m pretty sure you and your two new friends are the talk of the ship right now. And I can almost guarantee we’ll be getting a phone call from the purser tomorrow morning.”

Jen slumped against the wall. “I am such an idiot. Why do I always do this?”

“Let’s save the pity party for later, okay?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t drink so much, and what’s the first thing I do?”

“It’s a little tough to say no when you’re surrounded by the stuff.”

Jen shook her head. “I am so fucking predictable. And I’ve ruined your vacation. I ruin everything for everybody.”

“Quit being dramatic,” Beth said, then tried a smile. “If they don’t throw us off the ship tomorrow, you’ve still got three days to make it up to-”

Jen clutched her stomach. “Uhhhhh. Tell it to stop. Make it freaking…ohhhh, shit.”

Then it came. Jen’s appetizer, dinner salad, three beers, and two Bahama Mamas, all over the standard-issue cruise ship blue and green carpet — and Beth’s brand-new Kenneth Cole sandals.

Her smile abruptly disappeared.

“Oh…my…fucking…Lord…,” she said, and nearly threw up herself.