Later, as our “sinister” waiter returned, Betty Lou, in her sweetest Southern accent asked “How long have you been working on the ship?”  He slid his sinister-looking eyes to hers and replied “We are not allowed to discuss personal matters with guests..would you like another drink?”

Here’s where I slide MY sinister-looking eyes to him and replied, “no, I believe we have had enough!”  To which he dropped his eyes, made a slight bow, and said “I will bring your check.”

“Wow!   I thought bartenders were supposed  to be friendly!”  This from Betty Lou.

“Well, for one he isn’t a bartender, he is a waiter, but his tip will reflect his attitude in my book!”

Betty Lou, always the peacemaker said “Well, maybe he is having a bad day.  Do you really think they are not allowed to talk personally with the passengers?”

“I don’t know, but there surely is a better response for questions like yours without being rude.  Let’s  go.”

As we left the lounge, I felt his eyes boring through us.  Wow, some waiters take offense when tips are low.

We spent the rest of the day lying in the sun until time to prepare for dinner.  Dinner was all  it could be, with wine or champagne offered.  Betty Lou was afraid if we accepted any alcohol it would be charged  to our cabin.  I tried to explain to  her that they do not know which room we are in, but to no avail.  I had wine, Betty Lou had diet coke. We met several fellow  travelers and sat with a lovely, older couple.  Mae, I believe her  name was, chatted the whole dinner through, leaving no challenge for  us to carry the table conversation.  Yay.  Fred, her husband, looked like he felt the same  way.

I yawned as we left the dining room and told Betty Lou I was going to turn in..  “No, we have to provide any and all opportunities to meet someone!  They are dancing in the Blue Room.  Let’s go in there just for a little bit!”

As we stepped  into the Blue Room, it was a beautiful sight.  Those little lights that go around a ballroom were accompanied by “Once, Twice, Three Time a Lady” being played by a wonderful band.  The crooner was not Lionel Ritchie, but..ah romance.  Both of us tried to look around, but those little lights don’t show much. (Which can be an advantage sometimes).  We sat down at a tiny table, and who should appear but Mr. Sinister, himself.  He saw us and started to turn away, but changed his mind and asked if we wanted a drink.  “No, thank you” we replied in unison.  He made that slight bow again and left.  “What are we going to do now?”  asked Betty Lou, “You have made us look stupid!”

“I beg your pardon?  Did I not also hear you say no thank you?”

“Yes, but I only said that because I know how you feel about him.  Anyway, what are we going to do now?”

At that moment a very nice gentleman leaned over my shoulder.  “Would you care to dance?”  As I  looked up at his Bruce-Willis-when-he-was-younger face, my heart did a flip-flop.  “k”, I said as I rose and took his arm.  I looked back and saw Betty Lou with both arms out, palms up, raised  eyebrows as if to say what the hell?  I could not be responsible for myself at that moment, and certainly not responsible for Betty Lou.

I did look over another time and saw that she had a drink, which was good.  Later, she tapped me on the arm and said “bye”.  I figured she was turning in.  Poor Betty Lou.

When I finally went to my cabin,  floating along the hallway with a smile on my face, I couldn’t wait to tell Betty Lou all about “Bull”.  But I  couldn’t tell her anything.  She was not there.