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even possibly flirting. I couldn’t be sure because I didn’t know what they were saying.
    She introduced me to the officer, who raised our hands to his lips, but without actually kissing our fingers. I could hardly blame him for that. I, for one, felt absolutely grimy, although before landing, I had scrubbed my face and fingers with one of those smelly hand wipes the airline provides with breakfast.
    The fuming American with the sore foot was marched away by another officer, who had been summoned to the booth by Luz’s new friend. What did they mean to do to him? Give him a lesson in gentlemanly behavior? Subject his person and his luggage to an embarrassing search? Behind us in the line, people were complaining about the delay. Not a promising start to our vacation.
    The cruise lines may consider the overnight flight from the United States part of the total vacation experience, but I certainly didn’t. A very large man in front of us on the airplane had tilted his seat back into Luz’s face. Then his girlfriend threw herself into his lap, setting both seats to shuddering and knocking my book onto the floor while jamming Luz’s left knee. That was the beginning of a very bad night.
    â€œI don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” she muttered for the millionth time as, with hundreds of other sleep-deprived tourists, we waited at the carousel for our luggage.
    â€œIf we can just get to the ship, we can fall straight into real beds and have long naps,” I promised. “By the time we wake up, we’ll be at sea and ready for a memorable meal.”
    â€œI thought international flights were supposed to have good food,” she groused. “That stuff was pig swill.”
    â€œI told you to order the beef. It’s always safer to avoid the rubbery chicken and even the overcooked pasta unless you’re in business or first class. Anyway, the food on the ship will be heavenly.”
    She grunted, hooked her cane through the handle of her suitcase—she’d only brought one, and it wasn’t that big— and hauled it off the carousel, sending three or four people to either side of us stumbling into other people in order to escape Luz’s flying luggage. When mine came along, I leaned forward and grasped the handle, only to be dragged along by the weight of my bag. A nice gentleman pulled both the suitcase and me to safety and murmured, “Da nada, señora,” when I thanked him profusely. Then we wheeled our luggage into a cavernous room full of people arriving, people leaving, people waiting, and people standing in line. I felt like weeping when I saw the crowd. How were we ever to find the cruise representative in this mass of humanity?
    While I was ready to give up, Luz looked around and spotted a smiling lady wearing a smart periwinkle uniform and holding a sign that said, ALL ABOARD THE BOUNTIFUL FEAST. Much relieved, we trundled our bags toward her. I had my huge suitcase and my carry-on, which contained my laptop and other important possessions I’d never pack into a suitcase from which some sticky-fingered Homeland Security person could filch appealing items. Luz was festooned with her handbag, a small wheeled suitcase, and her cane, which I fervently hoped didn’t contain that pop-out knife she’d used in Juárez to terrify a criminal. What an adventure that had been!
    We identified ourselves to the cruise representative, who had the most luscious, gleaming black hair I’d ever seen and more curves that one usually expects to see on a woman in uniform. She also had a three-part name, which I immediately forgot, and made an amazing show of delight over our arrival, as if we were long-lost sisters or childhood friends she had been pining to see for years. Her delight ratcheted up several notches when she checked for our names on her list and discovered that we were to be in the owner’s suite. By this time Luz was scowling