Chapter 1

I had wrapped up meetings with clients and prospects, so before heading back to my apartment on the upper west side I decided to stop for dinner. My path took me close to the Capital Grille near Grand Central, so I stepped inside.

The hostess got me seated and handed me a menu, and a bus girl filled my water glass. I scanned the menu and was approached by my server.

"Is the spit-roasted chicken the only poultry on the menu?" I asked.

"Yes -- it's very good," she replied.

"I don't want to eat a whole chicken."

"They're small."

"But still..." I scowled at the menu. "I hate having to pick it apart, and there's so much waste with the bones and skin and all..."

"That would go to waste whether it's picked apart by you or the chef," she retorted.

"Yeah -- but in this case I'm paying for it."

"You'd pay for it either way."

"I came here for dinner, not an argument," I responded. "That's the trouble with this society -- we've developed into such a culture of waste."

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "I thought I recognized you ... When you said 'culture of waste'..."

I looked up at her from over the menu. She was in her late twenties, built like a model, and with shoulder-length light brown hair pulled into a ponytail and fetching grey eyes.

"Paula ... Paula Powers ... Do you remember me?"

"Of course I do -- how could I forget?"

"How did you end up waiting tables ... and at a place like this?" I asked.

"It's a nice place."

"Yeah ... but it's a chain. I'd expect you to be waiting tables at 21 or Delmonicos -- if you were waiting tables at all."

"I don't have time to talk," she replied and nodded toward the rest of the room. "I have other customers. The grilled salmon is very good -- farm raised, very ecological."

"Fine -- I'll have that."

I nursed my glass of water. Soon enough Paula returned carrying a tray. She set my dinner before me. "What time are you off?" I asked.

"Ten."

"Would you like to go somewhere for a drink? I can meet you here at ten."

"I've stopped drinking," she replied.

"You? First I find you waiting tables and now you tell me you've stopped drinking."

"I learned I can't moderate it. I can stop drinking altogether but I can't drink in moderation."

"We'll go for a milkshake, then."

"I'd enjoy that," she said.

"I'll meet you out front at ten, then."

"It's a date."

I finished my dinner and left a hefty tip for her. Since I had a few hours to kill I decided to take a train back to my apartment; and as the coach lurched through the tunnels I recalled the last time I had seen her.

I had passage booked on a cruise ship -- a smaller one of Greek registry that hopped from island to island among the Lesser Antilles.

The night we departed San Juan, the captain hosted a welcome mixer in the ball room. I sat in a corner regarding the other passengers, to a one all retirees on a museum-sponsored wildlife tour. A young woman approached me. She was tall and pretty, with shoulder-length light brown hair and grey eyes. We introduced ourselves. I learned her name was Paula Powers.

"What brings you on this cruise?" I asked her.

"I'm celebrating," she replied. "I just finished my MBA from Harvard Business School. This cruise is my reward."

"Congratulations."

"What about you?"

"This is a working trip for me. I'm a photographer, and my assignment is to document the island lifestyle."

"I'm going to get something from the bar," she said. "Want anything?"

"A beer maybe."

She returned and handed me a bottle of Heineken. "It appears," I remarked, "that you and I are the only passengers on board under the age of fifty."

"I was noticing that."

"I hope you weren't expecting a boatload of eligible bachelors."

"Hardly," she replied with a smirk and held up her left hand. She was wearing a ring sporting a rock the size of Gibraltar.

"Wow ... Is your fiancé with you?" I asked.

"No. He had to cancel at the last moment."

"That's too bad."

"No matter ... I intend to have fun on this cruise -- with him or without him."

"What sort of fun?"

"You know ... hit all the spots..."

"Paula -- if you're expecting to find some nightlife -- you're on the wrong boat. This line specializes in the obscure ... the unspoilt. They've made their name in ecotourism. You won't find your typical tourist amenities at any of our destinations."

The next day we were underway. I spotted Paula lying in a bikini on a lounge chair. She was on her stomach and had untied her top. "Hello," I said.

"Hi..."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Suit yourself."

"So -- what are you planning on doing with your MBA?" I asked.

"I'm going to work for my dad."

"Doing what?"

"Trading stocks. My father happens to be Richard P Powers," she replied. "I don't suppose you know who he is."

"Should I?"

"He's the founder of Powers Capital."

"And..."

She glanced up at me. "You've never heard of Powers Capital?"

I shook my head. "Again, should I have?"

"Powers Capital was named by Capitalist Magazine as the most exciting small investment house."

"Do you mean the investments are small or the house is small?" I asked.

"You are very humorous," she retorted. "Powers Capital has twenty-five billion under management."

"And, no doubt, the mission to make rich white men even richer."

"We don't just have rich white men as clients."

"I'm sure you have some rich white women, too. Well -- I don't have any need for your services. I'm not even getting paid for this assignment."

"Why did you take it?" she asked.

"At my stage I need to get my name out there," I replied. "They are paying for my passage on this barge, so that's something."

"Some day you'll be famous. You'll have some money and need someone to invest it for you."

"I doubt it. I think I'm too much of a socialist."

"Hmmph," she snorted. "I want to flip over. Will you promise not to gawk at me if I keep my top off? I don't want tan lines."

"A present for your fiancé?" I asked.

"Of sorts..."

"Okay," I agreed, "no gawking." She rolled onto her back. "Do you need any lotion applied?"

"Get out of here."

The first day in port I went ashore with my gear and filled a SANdisk with images of the local lifestyle. That evening I was back on board for dinner. Paula approached me looking a tad unsteady on her feet.

"May I join you?" she asked.

"It's a free ship."

She sat. "You were right -- there IS nothing to do on this island. No shops -- no clubs -- nothing."

"And, this is one of the bigger islands."

"Raoul was nuts booking this cruise."

"Raoul? Is he your fiancé?"

"Yeah ... He likes roughing it. You would've gotten along with him. Oh, well -- there's always the bar here on the ship. Want anything?"

"They'll serve wine with dinner."

"Be right back..."

Paula returned with a mixed drink of some sort. She proceeded to drink several glasses of wine at dinner. The tables were cleared and a DJ started playing old standards from the sixties.

"Care to dance?" she asked.

"Paula -- I'm no dancer and I don't think you're in any shape to dance. You've had an awful lot to drink."

"I'm juss getting started," she replied. "In fact -- I'm going to go get another."

"I tended bar in college. I wouldn't serve someone in your state and I doubt the barkeep here will either."

"The shecret is not appearing impaired. I am a pro at this. Juss watch ... I'm going to get a Slingapore Swing..."

She stood, steadied herself on the back of her chair for a moment and then composed herself. Spine erect, head and shoulders back she walked a remarkably straight line to the bar and returned with her Singapore Sling and another drink.

"He gave you TWO?"

"Thish one's for my friend," she replied, "but I'm gonna drink it myself."

Some nearby passengers lit cigarettes and the smoke began to bother me. I excused myself and went out on the deck for some fresh air.

Paula approached me. By now she could barely stand, much less walk. "They won't serve me any more," she slurred.

"I'll help you back to your cabin."

"I'm gonna find someplace that will. Maybe there's a club in town."

"No, Paula -- there's no place. You need to go to your cabin." She headed toward the gangway and I headed after her. "Paula -- watch my lips. There isn't any place in town. If there was, it wouldn't be safe for you."

"You're not my big brother."

I grasped her upper arm to lead her away from the gangway. "Come to your cabin and sleep it off."

"Get yer meathooksh offa me!" She jerked away, started down the gangway, stubbed her foot and lurched toward the railing. She reached to grasp it, missed and fell head-over- heels into the harbor.

"PAULA!" I yelled, then I stripped off my shirt and dove in after her. Supporting her and treading water I yelled, "PASSENGER OVERBOARD!"

Some crew tossed me lines and helped me haul her back on board. A steward approached me. "Is she all right?"

"She had that one extra cocktail," I remarked. "Let's get her to her cabin."

"Right this way, sir."

Paula gasped and coughed from the seawater she had inhaled. I carried her to her cabin. Hers was the biggest stateroom on the ship; while mine was right above the engine room, smelled like diesel fuel and had no porthole. The steward used his passkey to open the door.

By now she had passed out. I stripped her wet clothes from her and put her in her bed, face down so if she vomited she wouldn't choke. Then I closed her door behind me and made sure it latched.

The next morning at the breakfast buffet I saw her stroll in. She sat at my table. "Were you the one who helped me to my cabin last night?" she asked.

"Yeah..."

"Were you the one who undressed me?"

"Yeah. I didn't think you'd want to sleep in wet clothes."

"I see..." She looked me up and down. "Was it good for you? Was it?"

"Paula -- I'm not the sort that takes advantage of intoxicated or unconscious women. Besides -- I saw your breasts the other day when you were sunbathing."

"You promised you wouldn't look."

"No -- I promised I wouldn't gawk. This is gawking..." I made a face with wide open eyes, dropped jaw and tongue hanging out. "I never promised not to look."

"Why, you!" She lifted her hand.

I grasped her wrist. "Careful -- I don't slap well -- especially after diving in and risking the jellyfish to haul you out of the harbor."

"Let go of me!" She wrenched her wrist from my grasp and then looked up at me. "You're the one that fished me out of the water?"

"It was a group effort, but yeah I was the one that jumped in."

"Oh, God ... I'm sorry. You probably saved my life. I guess I owe you some thanks."

"I'd have done it for anyone," I replied.

"I am really sorry for going off like just I did. Can you forgive me?"

"I accept your apology, Paula. Are you going to have some breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry ... Maybe some black coffee..."

She returned with a cup and sat across from me. Then, she opened her bag and removed a wallet. "How do you spell your name?" she asked.

"Paula -- what are you doing?"

"I'm writing you a check -- for saving my life."

"I said I'd have done it for anyone."

"But you didn't do it for anyone -- you did it for me. I owe you my life and I pay my debts."

"Paula -- I do not want your money."

"My dad says cash is the sincerest form of gratitude."

"Your dad is wrong."

"Here -- you can fill in your own name." She handed me a check for five thousand dollars.

I tore it in half. "I said I don't want your money." I looked at her and shook my head. "I find your gesture ... insulting."

"Insulting?"

"Yeah -- insulting. Paula you are without a doubt the richest person I've ever met. What's five thousand to you? Nothing -- it's chump change. It would be as if I dipped into my pocket and tipped a waiter a quarter. You think you can pay off your guilty conscience for your shameful behavior last night by writing me a check. It's not gratitude, Paula. I don't know what it is, but it's not that."

"What would you consider gratitude?"

"There's an old Irish tale. Long ago, in pagan times the high king assembled all his lords. It was tradition for each lord to give the king gifts, and the lord who gave the most valuable gift earned the right to sit alongside the king at the banquet table. So the lords competed with each other to see who could give most lavishly. Some brought gold and others brought gems. And one lord took off his belt and gave it to the king. And, he was the one chosen for the honor. Do you know why?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Because that particular lord was poor and his belt was his most prized possession. It was all he had to give. The gold and gems meant nothing to the rich lords and the king knew it."

"You really don't like me, do you?" she asked.

"I don't like your lifestyle, or your values. I kinda like you."

"What could I give you that would show my gratitude?"

"How about yourself?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Forget it!"

"Not that, Paula. I meant a day of your time ... your companionship. Come with me on my shoot, and we'll explore the island together. I could use someone to help carry my gear."

"I don't have the right shoes."

"I'm not surprised. It's too easy for you to write a check, isn't it? You have no desire to give anything of yourself -- to anyone."

She glared at me. "I'll be right back. I'm going to change out of these heels."

"I'll go get my gear."

The next day we were underway again. The seas were a bit choppy, from a tropical storm several hundred miles east of us. I was standing on the deck watching the swells as the ship plowed through the water.

Paula approached me. "Do you have any Dramamine?" she asked.

"Sorry. You can get some from the infirmary."

"This ship has an infirmary?" she asked.

"Of course. There's no doctor on staff, but there is a nurse practitioner. Are you seasick?"

"I've been feeling a bit off..." She put her hand to her mouth and headed for the rail. "Don't watch!" she shouted; then she leaned over and vomited.

I put my hand on her back as she heaved. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's not something you have much control over. Do you feel any better after throwing up?"

"Not really. I think I'll find the infirmary and then go lie down in my cabin."

"Would you mind if I check on you before dinner?" I asked.

She smiled. "Okay..."

The seas hadn't lightened much by dinnertime. I hadn't seen Paula since her episode at the rail, so I went to her cabin and rapped on the door. "Paula?" I rapped again and put my ear to the door. I could hear moaning.

"Paula," I called, "are you all right?"

"No..." I heard more moaning.

I flagged down one of the stewards. "I think she's in some distress," I said. He put his hear to the door and nodded.

"Paula," I called. "The steward's going to open your door with his passkey. Is that okay?"

"Okay..."

We stepped into her cabin. She was curled up in a fetal position clutching her abdomen and moaning.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Cramps..."

"Where?"

"My stomach ... hurts..." She shuddered. " ... and I have a fever..."

"We had better get he to the infirmary," I said to the steward. He nodded. "Paula, can you stand?"

"No..."

"I'll carry you, then." I put one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades and lifted her from her bunk. "Can you hang on?" She put her arms around my neck.

The steward led the way and I carried her below decks to sick bay. The nurse on duty spent some time with her and then led me back. She was on her side on a cot with a small basin near her face.

"What does she think?" I asked.

"She thinks it's my appendix," Paula replied. "She can't do anything here, but she says there's a hospital in the next port. She's having the captain radio ahead. I'm scared..."

The nurse stepped into the room. "Paula ... The hospital is expecting you. They have a surgeon..."

"Surgeon!"

" ... IF you need one, dear; and the captain will attempt to make best speed. He thinks he can shave two or three hours off our time there." She brought Paula some tablets and a glass of water. "Do you think you can keep this down?"