Chapter 15
A song by Frank Sinatra plays on the record player. It sits in a stylish, dark walnut wood, mid-century Crosley media console. It houses Mina’s record collection that Yvette currently sifts through. Some of Mina’s fondest memories as a child were listening to her grandfather play his records in the den on Sunday afternoons. Oftentimes, she’d sit with him and enjoy the songs and the crackle between the beginning and end.
“Awe, look at this,” Yvette says, pitching her voice so the others can hear her. She sits on the floor and pulls out a record from the stack displayed between wire record slots. “Oh, I love her voice. Don’t you think Patsy Cline had one of the best voices in the world? Too bad she died so young.”
“One of the best,” Mina says as she brings her champagne glass to her lips. She lets a small amount of champagne into her mouth, holds it there for a moment, then swallows. She glances at the glass, the bubbles dance upwards in the yellow-tinted liquid.
“You know, Mina, I’m beginning to think you modeled your record collection after Grandpa.” Yvette’s fingers are flipping through them. “Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong, Patti Page, wait- these are all from Grandpa’s collection.”
It's like a lightbulb went off and she's looking at each record in disbelief. She puts a hand on her hip and glares at her sister, “So that’s where his record collection went. You got it.”
Mina purses her lips and says, “Well he left the collection to me because he knew it would be in good hands.” She twirls her glass on the linen table as Lisette takes away the plate of leftover lobster tail shell. “Besides, anytime I want to think about him, I know he’s just a song away.”
Mina can feel the hot tears threatening to fall as her eyesight blurs. She blinks to bat them away as Yvette says, “And you even got the Glenn Miller.” She stops looking through them. Her attention is back on her sister, “I’m the musician, yet Grandpa gave you his record collection.”
Mina wonders for a second if they’re going to start fighting in front of everyone, arguing like children. She's ready for it though, ready for the argument, but her sister surprises her with her next words. “I’m happy though, that he gave them to you. And you’re right, they’re with the best person he could have ever given them to.”
The song ends with Sinatra’s voice fading away. The crackle of the end of the record starts. Mina smiles with appreciation at her sister and there’s a silent understanding between them. The moment fizzles when dessert arrives.
Mina didn’t notice when Marcel left the dining room, but here he is now, wheeling in the Baked Alaska on a serving cart. He has a smile on his face and he winks at Mina as he pulls out a matchbox from the bottom of the cart.
“I hope I’m doing this right.” He takes a long match, flicks it against the box to light it, and brings the flame to a small pot of warm cherry brandy. It ignites instantly. He takes a breath and pours it slowly over the Baked Alaska. The glow of the fire is brilliant. Beautiful.
Yvette claps her hands like a child and Mina giggles. “Hurry and put it out, Marcel before it burns.”
He looks around, “I don’t know how,” he says with his hands in a ‘giving up’ fashion.
Then Captain Delgado chimes in from the far end of the dining table, “It’ll go out on its own.” He swirls an Old Fashioned drink in his hand.
Everyone eyes the flames and slowly, the fire starts to die until it is finally gone. Marcel looks pleased with himself as he picks up the large knife and slices through the cake. Lisette is back from the kitchen to hand out the slices.
Andres comments something in Spanish to Captain Rodrigo. His eyes are wide with delight.
“By far the best Baked Alaska I’ve ever tasted,” Yvette says as she savors a spoonful.
Marcel returns to his seat as Captain Delgado, Andres, and Fisher dig in. They’re silent, but the delight on their faces says it all.
“Of course, it is the best,” Mina says as she cuts through the ice cream with her spoon, “you made it.”
Yvette licks her lips. “Baking is my specialty.”
“I thought mixology was your specialty,” Marcel says.
“That too. And singing. I love singing.”
Lisette is back again and this time with two wine chillers. One is bearing a bottle of Laurent-Perrier and the other has a few bottles of Filico. Yvette licks her spoon and then reaches for the jewel-encrusted Filico. She downs it like it’s an average bottle of Evian water.
“Don’t you want to put that in a wine glass or something?” Mina points her spoon at the Filico. “I thought that was like magic water or something that maybe you want to drink it from a fancy glass. You know, like it’s Cristal or something worth drinking.”
“That is not magic water,” Captain Rodrigo says, “I know magic water and that’s definitely not it.” He goes back to scooping more cake into his mouth.
“How about you guys stop hating on me? I love my Filico and that’s that.” She takes another drink and says, “That’s some good stuff,” as she eyes the bottle in her hand.
“Yup, just your everyday H2O. Where do they bottle that stuff anyway? Did you know that water bottle companies aren’t even regulated? They don’t even have to actually put pure water into their bottles. It could be tap water in there for all you know. The same stuff you can get from the faucet in Los Angeles.”
Yvette smirks, “Tap water doesn’t taste this marvelous. I know tap water. That Voss water you drink is tap water.”
“Ugh, you both fight like siblings,” Marcel says, “I’m so glad I was an only child growing up.”
Yvette rises, her gold shift dress shimmers as she walks, “Fighting? Oh no, we’re not fighting. We’re quarreling, sparring, maybe taking a few jabs or two but we’re not fighting.”
She walks over to the record player and puts the Frank Sinatra vinyl disk back in its sleeve and grabs another record. She gently places the new record onto the player and moves the tonearm into place. A crackle sounds over the speakers as the stylus hits the record and then a song begins.
Mina smiles and takes another drink of champagne. “Mmm,... the Tennessee Waltz. Brings back good memories.”
Yvette is singing now as she comes back to her seat and Mina can’t help but join in.
“Yes I lost my little darling,
the night they were playing,
the beautiful Tennessee Waltz…”
Fisher takes a moment to pop open the bottle of Laurent-Perrier. By the time the song ends, everyone is ready to make a toast.
“What should this be to?” Marcel asks, holding his glass in his hand.
“To new beginnings,” Yvette says.
“To new adventures,” Fisher says.
“To the gods of the outer worlds and may the seas continue to favor us,” Captain Rodrigo says.
“To family and friends,” Mina adds.
The glasses clank together and the toast ends in a long drink. Mina savors the slight burn in her throat. By now she’s feeling warm and she wants to open a window. Marcel pours another round as she goes to the sliding glass doors and cracks them open.
The sea is calm and she can hear the waves hitting the yacht, playfully. The stars are brilliant in the sky and the Milky Way glows between them. In the distance, she can see nothing but a void of black. A darkness so dark that light cannot escape. It amazes her how dark the night can be so far away from land and the rest of the developed world.
A loneliness sinks in and it's at this moment she realizes why she’s always liked the sound between songs that a record player makes. The crackling of the stylus hitting the vinyl is like a promise of another song or the end of a record. It’s a prelude to things to come and a reminder of the end.
She walks out onto the deck. The air is icy cold against her skin and goosebumps quickly emerge along her exposed legs. Her silver shimmering dress may have long sleeves but it does nothing for her against the frozen air that bites all around her. But she grips the rail and looks out into the void, the void that awaits her. And she wonders about what’s going to happen next.