The Tryst

My grandmother traveled across the Atlantic Ocean almost every year with her husband to attend medical functions in England or elsewhere and she kept copious notes in a diary every night which she then used for a newsletter she mailed to family members.  Many of her missals candidly talked about the other guests onboard. No one was ever likely to meet the passengers she thought, so as a writer, she composed her words nightly with complete freedom and imagination.

I can hear her writing in her diary now--on her manual typewriter, keys hitting the three onion skin pieces of paper with carbon paper snuggled between them… . . . . . . . .

  “An entertaining saga is playing out at our assigned table in the dining room each night as the lovely widow flirts shamelessly with the confirmed bachelor sitting across from her. He occasionally lets his glance linger on her smiling face with a twinkle in his blue eyes, but in the middle of a whispered conversation he suddenly changes the subject to talk about himself. His grey mustache needs trimming making it hard to decipher the words that he shares with her, but enough is absorbed to know they are playing coquet and rogue. The widow drops subtle invitations all through dinner; more frequent than the condensation droplets from her water glass that fall onto the white tablecloth. But it seems the gentleman remains resolute and uncommitted. He has work to do so he often leaves dinner before she does. Her shoulders slump with disappointment as she tries to maintain a smile.

I wonder what will become of this unrequited sexual sparring dished out at dinner every night. Will the widow manage to lure the bachelor into her embrace before the ship docks in a few days? Will he continue to resist her charms and adhere to his pronouncement that he does not want any shipboard romances on this trip?”

Diary entry the next day:

“I saw the lovely widow with her prince charming tonight, laughing and obviously enjoying themselves sipping drinks at the piano bar.  They made a stunning couple, still dressed in their dinner attire, he in his tux, and she, wearing what can only be described as a classic, long black dress, very low cut, and almost backless. Her hair, in a twist and topped with a glittering tiara, competed for attention with the ropes of pearls that jiggled and caught the light laying on her ample breasts as she strolled beside the prince. Everywhere she walked that evening men turned to watch her pass; their companions tugging their arm to lasso back their attention. With a full moon shining across the gently rolling seas where our ocean liner was cruising in the waters of Bali Hai, where the air was perfumed from the flowers of hundreds of islands in the South Pacific, how could there not be a tryst upon the horizon?

I can’t wait to see them at dinner tomorrow and observe if they exchange secret, sly glances and telling smiles across the table. It is unlikely they will drop any hints about an assignation they might have enjoyed, but perhaps it will be obvious if I watch their faces carefully. Which I fully intend to do.”