Working Title: “Slow Boat, Bitter End”

A Roy Boston Mystery novel

(This is a work of fiction, which means the author makes stuff up and tries to make it sound like it might have happened. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is incidental. And, is it protesting too much to remind my readers once again that I use Perplexity, Wikipedia, and google to research stuff but not to ask for artificially intelligent assistance in writing. I mess that up on my own.)

I SAT AS I DID before at the end of the table farthest from the wheel. Mustafa the cook rose from the galley and took orders for our cocktails. I felt very bad for the gentleman; he had lost his helper and still had to carry on. I ordered a gin and tonic, my favorite drink of summer, although it was only early April. I watched the others order but paid little attention except to Griselda. She asked for ouzo. This surprised me very much. Ouzo is strong. Maybe mix it with something, I suggested, but she said no, she would like it straight from the bottle. In fact, she added, please bring the bottle for us all to enjoy. Ruthie giggled loudly and said she loved ouzo when she was in Greece.

And Ruthie had a story:

One night, we sat around a table and had a game. Each of us had to tell a story with three details about ourselves but one had to be a lie. We made up stuff about ourselves and then guessed what was true. Oh, dear did I get drunk!

She laughed loudly and kept at it until we all were laughing. When her ouzo arrived with glasses for all of us, I set my gin and tonic aside and joined with Ruthie as she shouted saloon-a! The stuff has a licorice flavor, but it reminded me of the grappa I had once in Italy, a liquor that tastes like kerosene and probably is as deadly. As odd and inappropriate as it seemed, Ruthie’s laughter and Griselda’s daring drink order provided us all with the relief we needed from the day’s tragic events. Even the sour face of Vasil broke into a broad, gap-toothed display that made me laugh at my own prejudgment against him.

Ruthie, feeling the life in the party, said:

Let’s play the Truth or Lie game! I will tell you a story of myself so fantastic that none of you, not even Henry, will know which parts are true and which are false.

No one objected to her playful idea although I for one was a bit uneasy with the familiarity. Ruthie forged ahead.

So … I was in a movie made in my hometown in Ohio, a child actress. The director of the film thought I should try for a show he was planning. He said, ‘Ruthie, I’m going to make you a starlet! I want you to audition for the lead role in Annie!’ It will be a movie about a cartoon character from the funny papers. So, my parents agreed, and when I auditioned, I made a couple of rapid jumps up and down to demonstrate my youthful energy, and my petticoat fell off! Everything was ruined. Oh well, in my college years I tried out for a role in another play and was cast in the lead!

What’s true and what isn’t? You first Tad!

I don’t think I’m ready to respond to that one, Ruth. Can you call on someone else?

Well, here’s the rule. The person telling the story gets to call on the Truth or Liar and that person becomes the next storyteller. So, Tad, you’re it, and one of us is going to have to drink another ouzo, and you get to tell the next story!

OK, well if I must guess, I’d say the first part is true; you did have a small part, maybe an extra or something, in a movie in your hometown. And there must be one other true thing, right?

Yes, that’s right.

OK, I think you tried again in university, but I don’t believe that part about the petticoat. What is a petticoat anyway?

You’re exactly right, Tad! Yep, the petticoat did fall off, but not from me. It was my dear mother who experienced that, and she would laugh herself silly when she recalled playing ping-pong with her boyfriend when the accident occurred. In my mother’s day, girls wore bobby socks and petticoats, and you had to be careful because if the elastic started to wear, you could lose one. I did get a part as an extra in a movie, and I did take up acting in university and landed the lead in South Pacific!

Oh boy. This was better than Gungor’s icebreaker, but at the rate we were going we might have been eating breakfast before we got to dinner. Ruthie swigged her ouzo and Tad, acting the good sport, downed his shot, too, before starting his story.

I was in the store in Palm Springs shopping for a necklace. I had my mind set on a heavy one with a stone of some sort as a pendant. I was examining them carefully when the famous pianist Liberace suddenly stood beside me. He said he’d buy me anything I liked, so I picked one with an audacious turquoise stone. Liberace paid for it. But two days later, I was at the pool and put it by my chair so I could take a swim. When I got back it was gone. I ran around looking for it. You know what? Shirley MacLaine came over to me and said, “Did you lose this?” I said yes and she gave it back to me. I paid her a reward of $20. What’s true and what isn’t? Griselda!

She quickly said, Tad, you wouldn’t wear a necklace with a turquoise stone. Not true. But Liberace did buy you something once and you once rewarded Shirley MacLaine for returning a belonging of yours.

Wow! You’re exactly right! Didn’t buy a turquoise stone on a gold necklace, but Shirley MacLaine found my credit card in the hotel parking lot and returned it to the desk. I asked the desk clerk to give her $20. I’ll drink up!

“I will join you,” Griselda said, “out of good sportsmanship because you told a good story.” She gulped the drink quickly. I love the taste of the anise, she said.

Is that what that is? said Neil. Call on me! I’d like another!

At this point, Ruth, Griselda and Tad were ahead of the rest of us with two ouzos to our one. Griselda went on:

I am from a poor family in the South. I went to university and studied Russian literature. I was a Rhodes scholar.

Her three statements rolled from her tongue quickly. None of it fit with what I had surmised about her. She called on me.

Just pour me another, I said. I think none of it is true, but the rules require that at least two statements be true, don’t they? Which two? Hmmm… I think you are from a poor family in the South, and you studied Russian literature. Rhodes scholar? Congratulations to you if you were, but I am skeptical.

Pour the man another ouzo! I was not born to a poor family in the South. I grew up in Southern California.

She did not elaborate. What? She was a Rhodes scholar? I had only discovered her beauty and her tragic experience with her late ex-husband. Now, I was aware of her unusual intellect. Russian literature at Oxford! At the same time, I was crestfallen, because she was out of my league. A reporter who grew up in a small Colorado town wouldn’t have a chance with her. Well, I never really thought I’d have a chance, but here is the thing about male egos: They aren’t often anchored in reality. At least not mine. I drank my ouzo slowly. Anise and kerosene. I gulped it down and had to admit it was tasting better.