Paranopoly

Chapter 5 - Boat

The Queen Robbie III Cruise Ship sailed sleepily over the calm waters of the North Pacific Ocean, the moon hanging like a glitter ball in the black sky overhead. Inside the ship, many excited holiday makers were arriving in the ballroom for that evening's entertainment. It had the name 'ballroom' but it had never been used for ballroom dancing; it bore the title because it sounded far grander than 'the bar' or 'the entertainment lounge'. A large square of wood was set into the floor in the centre of the room, around which was a carpeted area populated with chairs and tables. One wall of the room was occupied by a bar, behind which stood various members of staff awaiting customers to ply with alcohol. The opposite end housed a stage which rose four feet above the level of the dance-floor. An old looking electric guitar sat pitifully in its stand beside a keyboard and between them, a microphone.

Billy Boyle, or to give him his preferred title and stage name, 'Baz Bonanza' was sitting in front of a mirror in his dressing room, applying make-up. He smiled as he stared at his reflection, which was illuminated by the twelve high-wattage bulbs encircling the mirror. Since 1988 when he'd been a finalist on a television talent show called 'New Faces', he'd been an entertainer for various establishments in and around the holiday industry. The company he worked for also owned a series of clubs and bars in the various locations visited by their cruise ships. Tonight, Billy was preparing for his final performance aboard the Queen Robbie III before taking up a three week residence at a club in Hawaii. Following that, he'd board the next cruise ship to visit the island and form part of the entertainment department for the journey back to England where he lived. Although he'd tried and failed to become a successful recording artist and musician, working for Polomony Entertainment Inc. was a dream come true; a captive audience and a salary for doing what he loved to do. The thought always occurred to him however, whenever he gazed into the blazingly bright mirror, that his forty-year-old bright orange puffy leathery face, bleach-blond spiky hair and beer keg shaped torso was always going to be more suited to entertaining holiday makers than belting out a number one chart smash in front of an arena of adoring fans. It was a thought that he had learned to make peace with, to accept and not feel bitter about. This emotive suppression did seem to have a strange deep-rooted psychological side-effect though; it manifested as a kind of music related Tourette's syndrome. The merest hint of song lyric from the 1970's or 80's and Billy would blurt out the artist, instantly and abruptly.

Geoff, a member of Billy's band, was kneeling on the floor of the dressing room, sifting through a suitcase full of music manuscripts.

'Geoff', Billy said solemnly.

'Yeah?'

'Where's Steve?'

'He's still on the toilet', Geoff replied, becoming increasingly frantic in his search through the sheets of music.

'He went in there half an hour ago'

'It's a big night, he's probably nervous. Not avoiding you. Definitely not.'

'Eh?', Billy turned from the reflection he so loved to face Geoff, 'what do you mean by that?'

'By what?'

Billy gazed suspiciously at Geoff's frantic sifting before turning back to the mirror and dabbing at his face with a foundation sponge.

The sound of a flushing toilet was followed by a thin door in the back wall opening tentatively. Steve, another member of Billy's backing band emerged with a distinct expression of discomfort.

'That's the last time I have those Chorizo sandwiches', Steve uttered as he sat gingerly on a plastic chair in the corner of the room.

'I can't find the Duran Duran book', Geoff admitted finally, scrunching his face into an expression which closely matched the one Steve was still sporting.