“I heard them call him Sergei Loban,” said Sue.
Jack listened to Sue’s story with the enthusiasm of a boy reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. After a few seconds, he took a sip of his coffee to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Well,” he replied, “in that case, I guess we should celebrate. Coffee?” He offered his cup to Sue. However, unexpectedly, Walter stopped him.
“Sue doesn’t drink coffee. You should . . .” He barely had control of his tongue. “You should know by now that Sue doesn’t like coffee. Ain’t that right, honey?” His voice had turned from cheerful to bitter.
Jack was shocked at Walter’s outburst, but he kept silent.
“And you should know that I don’t like other people deciding for me,” Sue said reproachfully to her fiancé before accepting Jack’s cup. Walter was wide-eyed with disbelief in spite of his drunkenness.
“Ha! But you do what Jack tells you to do, huh? Why doesn’t that surprise me? Oh, of course! Because Jack’s having lunch with the big shots! Eh, Jack? You’ll be someone important soon,” he mocked. His glazed eyes seemed to have difficulty focusing. He turned toward Sue and looked at the coffee that the young woman was about to drink. “Leave that, honey. If you want coffee, I’ll make you one,” he sputtered, and he tried to snatch the cup from her, so clumsily that the coffee spilled all over her beautiful orange scarf.
Sue was silent for a moment. Then, red with rage, she smashed the cup against the floor, and, cursing Walter, she left the dormitory in the direction of the deck.
Jack watched the scene without knowing what to say, unsettled by Walter’s possible misinterpretation of what had merely been a friendly gesture toward Sue.
“I’m sorry, Walter, I didn’t mean to—”
“Really?” he shot back. “If you really were sorry, you wouldn’t flirt with my girl at every opportunity,” he blurted out, holding on to the bunk bed to stop himself from falling over.
“You’re kidding me, right? Anyone can see I was just trying to be friendly.” Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Then be friendly to your bunkmate, or dance with the captain, or go feed the dolphins . . . but stop horning in on our life.” He looked at Jack as if he were speaking to a stranger. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? Always playing the big man . . . And why the hell did you say you two were married, huh?” He kicked the coffee cup. “Shit! I don’t even know why I helped you.”
Jack looked at his friend. It was obvious that he’d drunk far more than he should, but that didn’t excuse his nasty tirade. He tried to make Walter take a step back, but he managed only to infuriate him even more.
“Save your smooth talking for some other woman!” Walter bellowed. “We’re not at school anymore, and Sue isn’t one of those teenage girls you stole from me.”
“Walter, please. Everyone’s staring at you.”
“Oh, I see! Well, when you hit me in that coffee shop, you didn’t mind me being stared at. Don’t like it when you’re not the center of attention, do you?” he jabbered.
Jack knew it was just the vodka talking, so he decided to put an end to the conversation and get away from there. But when he went to walk off, Walter stopped him, grabbing him by the arm.
“Let go of me!” Jack growled, shaking Walter off. “Have you looked at Sue? You must be deluded if you think she’s the kind of woman I’d lose my head over!”
As he said the words, Jack realized how cruel his response had been. He considered apologizing, but pride gripped him. Instead, he looked down in silence, sat on the bunk bed, and sank his head into his hands. When he looked up again, he found Sue, watching the scene from the stairs, tears in her eyes. He felt like a tyrant. It had been a reaction to being provoked, but neither Walter nor Sue had deserved his harsh words.
At five minutes before noon, Jack looked at himself in the mirror one last time. For a fleeting moment, he saw himself as the attractive young man who’d conquered Dearborn. He adjusted his jacket, checked his shave, and put on the felt hat that Harry Daniels, his bunkmate, had lent him. To his mind, his getup was the mark of someone respectable enough to at least not be branded a pauper. He made a final correction to his tie, checked the time, and contemplated his companions’ empty bunks. He regretted they weren’t there; he’d have liked to have shared the moment with them, but it had been a while since they’d disappeared. Finally, he picked up the invitation that a crew member had delivered to him, took a deep breath, and headed up to the deck. He had no idea what his meeting with Wilbur Hewitt held in store, but he was determined to make the most of any opportunity that presented itself.
On the bridge, he found Sergei Loban, wearing a green dress coat with red epaulets, his expression that of a dog ready to defend its bone. The Soviet official grunted something like a good afternoon in English, and without saying another word, led him to the adjoining room where lunch was to be served. Once inside, Jack saw that it was an old cabin that had been beautifully and painstakingly refurbished. The damask-lined walls complemented the beige upholstery of the chairs, and the table, covered in an ostentatious ivory lace tablecloth, was set for six with porcelain crockery and an army of forks, spoons, and knives. Jack was surprised to find the dining room empty, but he gave nothing away to Sergei. Instead, he stood and waited with the Soviet until, a few minutes later, the ship’s captain and his boatswain appeared, impeccably uniformed, along with a stranger in a brown suit and a red bow tie almost as striking as his bushy mustache. Finally, with his jacket unbuttoned and his left arm in a sling, Wilbur Hewitt, the man Jack had saved, made his entrance.
As he took his seat, Mr. Hewitt eyed Jack through his gold monocle, before erupting into an effusive display of gratitude.
“So this is the young man to whom I owe the honor of waking this morning attached to my left arm!” he bellowed. “Wipe that funereal look off your face and smile a little! If it weren’t for you, those Russians would’ve turned me into an amputee.”