1 Shore Excursion Read Free Page B

chiropractor she met in Cleveland . I can’t say I’m surprised. I never thought it would last. He ’s a Yankee, and was married three times before he met her.”
    “Mamma, Aunt Caroline was married before, too, first to that professional wrestler, and then to Uncle Jack, the bible salesman. I liked him. He made me laugh.”
    “How could you have liked Jack, Sidney, when he turned out to already have a wife and family up in Missouri? That just shows that you ’ re a Marsh girl, too, and have no judgment at all when it comes to finding the right man.”
    “You might be right, Mamma. But we can’t all be the belle of the ball like you were and find someone as good as Daddy.”
    “No, that’s true . You’re right about that. They don’t make many men as good as your Daddy anymore . His sisters sure have had bad luck, though. That’s the gospel truth. Well, I guess I better get off th e phone now, baby. It’s long distance and we’re just burning up money. You have a good time, now, you hear? Don’t work too hard and look around on that big ship, honey. There might be a nice man on there just meant for you . I mean a nice man, now, honey, not one of those ole boys like your aunts are always runnin’ of f with and marryin’. Don’t you be bring in’ one of those home! Bye now, darlin’. Love you. Have a good time now , and be careful!”
    “Okay, Mamma. Goodbye. Love you, too. Glad you called.”
    I ended the call, put the phone on silent, rolled over, and went back to sleep. As I drifted off, I wondered if she might be right. Wa s there a Marsh curse? And if so, did it apply to me?
* * *
    The afternoon sun slanting through the mini-blinds finally persuaded me that it was time to get moving. I showered and dressed, drank iced tea , ate a sandwich and made my bed ; then I rolled my bag down the hall, into the elevator, and out into the lobby.
    The hallway smelled like marinara sauce. People here cook a lot on the weekend.
    “You are leaving again so soon.”
    My favorite Pole grabbed my bag and carried it down the steps to the street.
    “While you are gone, this time, your sink, I fix. Yes?”
    “Yes, indeed, Janusz. That would be great. I would love for you to fix my sink.”
    I knew full well that he wouldn’t.
    The black car bound for Kennedy was at the curb , and while the driver loaded the bag I grabbed a Post and a Times from the newsstand on the corner. The street vendor cart that was always there for me in the mornings with a fresh cup of coffee , fixed just the way I like it, was gone.
    New York is all about fresh. Fresh pastrami, fresh coffee, fresh bagels, fresh flowers .
    F resh driver from the car service. “So, whereya goin’, doll?” he said, checking me out.
    “Kennedy, please. British Airways.”
    “Kennedy I already know, doll,” he smiled. “ What I mean is, whereya goin’ after that? And whenya comin’ back? And when you DO come back, how about maybe a beer and a pizza sometime, you and me?”
    You can’t blame a guy for t rying, and he was pretty cute, but I smelled married so I turned him down. Sing le guys’ clothes never smell of meatloaf .
    The car service can be sketchy because Itchy Feet won’t pay the five bucks to guarantee the fancier car, so you never know. Sometimes I score and ride like Mrs. Astor, gliding down Grand Central Parkway in a sweet new Town Car with soft leather seats.
    Sometimes I bounce through Queens in a beat-up glider that is 15,000 miles overdue for a brake job, mesmerized by the little cardboard air-freshener swinging from the rearview.
    My rejected Italian Stallion floored it along the north edge of the park and through Carnegie Hill, apparently preferring the cross-town lights and traffic to the twilight charms of Harlem.
    He was really showing off as he swung left onto the FDR, but I forgot all about him, watching the lights of the RFK Bridge reflected on the water of the East River.
    I thought of other trips I’d taken — of other