Part 4 (1/2)

Harlan had thought of everything. Aside from the pricey first-cla.s.s airline ticket, an extravagance I fully enjoyed, he'd booked me a private compartment on the train. I liked European trains, for though they were as sleek and as modern as any in the United States or j.a.pan, they still retained the quaint modular design, whereby each compartment opened onto the platform. As for the compartment itself, it boasted standard seating for four (both seat backs folded down to beds), two fold-down writing desks the size of postage stamps, each replete with a data port, and a well-stocked mini-bar. Unfortunately, the only beverages offered were thimble-sized bottles of mediocre vodka and cans of a local soft drink, the name of which I could not decipher. In any event, it was cozy and didn't smell too bad.

Sitting down, I propped my feet up on the swing-out footstool, sighing when the soft plush of the seat molded itself around me. That, and the clackety-clack of the wheels, began to calm me. I fell into a fitful sleep, awakening only twice, once for the conductor asking for my ticket, and once to use the tiny closet of a bathroom. Aside from that, no one bothered me during the entire trip.

A frigid wind was howling in off the Baltic when my train pulled into the Gdansk station. I'd somehow managed a cramped shower and changed my clothes. The train hissed to a stop, and I grabbed my bag, stepping out onto the platform. This late in the evening, the station was deserted, with only a handful of maintenance workers on-hand to greet my fellow pa.s.sengers and me. Even after my long nap, I was still tired, and my neck ached, as if twisted by some s.a.d.i.s.tic chiropractor. All I wanted was to get the h.e.l.l out of there and grab a cab to the hotel. As usual, Harlan had me covered.

Outside the station, I dashed for the line of cabs idling at the curb. The blast of a car horn startled me; I turned and spotted Harlan standing up through the sunroof of a stretch Mercedes limo, grinning from ear to ear. He looked thinner than he had on my computer screen six weeks before; and there were dark circles under his eyes, but if anything, his enthusiasm had only increased.

Leaping out of the Mercedes, he encircled me in a bear hug. ”It's great to see you, Trev. Come on, there's lots to tell.”

While the limo wound its way through the city's darkened and desolate streets, Harlan filled me in on the upcoming schedule of events.

”The press conference tomorrow is scheduled for 11:00 a.m. Immediately after that, we'll move out to the hangar for the christening and the launch. You'll never guess who I've got to wield the champagne.”

I shrugged.

”Kate Winslet.”

”You're kidding. I heard she was in the middle of shooting a picture in South Africa.”

”She is. But I paid off the producers, the cast and crew, and gave them all a week off. Besides, only a great woman like Kate should christen a s.h.i.+p like this.”

He laughed, and I had to admit I envied him his ability to think so big-and his wherewithal to bring it off.

”The press know anything, yet?”

Harlan cracked a sly grin. ”Those sonsab.i.t.c.hes are practically foaming at the mouth, if you can believe that.”

”Oh, I believe it. After I hit the bestseller list the third time, my publisher had me on a signing tour for two months straight. And everywhere I went those bozos asked the same dumb questions.” I shook my head remembering the inanity of it all.

After a ride of twenty minutes, the limo pulled up in front of our hotel, a soot-blackened pile of rock that looked as if it had been through a war. Then I realized that it had been through at least two.

Inside, the grand old dowager had retained much of her dignity and appointments, enough to make it seem as if I were in one of New York's or London's lesser hostelries.

After I checked in, we had coffee in the restaurant. I was surprised to see the place was busy at one o'clock in the morning. Harlan read my mind.

”Most of these people don't eat dinner until ten o'clock at night, some even later,” he said, shaking his head. ”I don't know why they don't all end up with acid reflux disease. Then again, I'll bet they sell lots of TUMS here.”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. I noticed it was a lot grayer than at our reunion nine months before.

”I've been meaning to ask you something, Harlan.”

”Shoot.”

”You told us back in June why you wanted to do this. But, now that you're almost there, has it been worth it?”

He stared back into my eyes with the kind of look I can only describe as prophetic. Not in the way most people use that word, but as in a prophet of the Old Testament: intense, with a touch of divine madness. It thrilled me and scared the h.e.l.l out of me all at once.

”Ask me that after tomorrow,” he said, picking up his espresso.

”Then again, you won't.” The crazed look was gone, replaced by one of tired satisfaction. ”She's really a beaut, kiddo, a real knockout.”

”You have many pa.s.sengers booked?”

”About two hundred, so far,” he said, staring into his cup. ”I've decided to limit the pa.s.senger list to five hundred for this trip. I'm sure I'll have the rest by sailing day. As it is, I've had to turn a lot of people away....”

”Why?” I asked, puzzled. ”Surely not the money?”

Harlan shook his head, a distracted look creeping into his eyes.

”No, money isn't the main criterion on this voyage. I'm just being very selective.”

After a few more minutes of small talk, we called it an evening and I took the elevator up to my suite. Again, Harlan had surprised me by booking me into the Presidential Suite: A master bedroom, a sprawling sitting room and a smaller, but no less extravagant bedroom adjoining.

In all, over two-thousand square feet of bygone opulence. I was mortified.

”Jesus Christ, Harlan,” I said to myself, ”you're spending it as if someone were about to take it all away from you.” I shook my head and went to the phone, intent on calling down to the front desk to request a room change. It rang before I reached it.

”h.e.l.lo?”

”How do you like it, kiddo?”

”Harlan, it's wonderful. I feel like the Sultan of Brunei, but I don't need it. It's way too expensive.”

He laughed. ”You're saying that to a guy who just spent six hundred million on a boat?”

”My point exactly.”

”I've got news for you, Trev. My lawyers and accountants are setting up a foundation. It's piling up faster than I can spend it. So, relax and enjoy it. You're only here for one night, anyway.”

I sighed. It was no use arguing over it, plus I was beat. And the wide king-size bed did look inviting. ”All right. You win.”

”Naturally,” he said, chuckling. ”Oh, I've sent up a little room service, too. Enjoy.”

”Harlan, I'm not hungry-”

He hung up before I could say anymore. Two seconds later there was a knock on the door.

”Yeah?”

”Room service,” came the heavily-accented reply.

I opened the door to find a uniformed waitress standing behind a cart draped with white linen and silverware. In the center was a champagne bucket covered by a folded napkin, the top of the bottle poking out. Next to the bucket was a plate filled with caviar-topped canapes. Never one to refuse a gift (it obviously didn't do any good, anyway), I waved the young lady in.

She pushed the cart into the middle of the room and presented me with a bill. I signed it then reached for the bottle.

I almost dropped it when I saw the label: Dom Perignon 1912. A note was attached: Just a little something to get you in the mood. It's great having you here. Harlan.

It was then I noticed the waitress was still there, and there were two champagne flutes on the cart. I turned to let her know everything was fine and nearly dropped the bottle again.

She was stark naked, and breathtaking.