Free Time Trapped by Richard Ungar

on.
    â€œHelloooo, cruisers. I am Minky MacPherson, your DOFBPC—that’s short for Director of Fun on the
Bonnie Prince Charlie.
”
    It’s a woman in a pink shirt, wearing pink eyeglasses and with perfectly coiffed pink hair. Something tells me she likes the color pink.
    â€œI see you, standing there all alone, doing nothing!” says Minky accusingly, and for a panicky moment, I think she’s actually talking to me.
    â€œWell, your alone time is over!” She continues, “Time for a wee bit of fun! And there’s no better place for fun than the
Bonnie Prince Charlie,
your home away from home. Tonight,” says Minky, “there’s a Scrabble tournament in the Captain’s Lounge and a séance in the Pitlochry Pub. And don’t forget to claim your purchased items from this afternoon’s art auction of original works by Cézanne.”
    Maybe if I cover my ears I can block her out.
    â€œDon’t forget, cruisers!” Minky enthuses. “In ten minutes in the Loch Linnhe Lounge, I’m giving my popular talk on priceless but affordable Scottish woolens. The first ten people to arrive will receive a complimentary, that means free, ladies, genuine, made in Scotland, cashmere neck warmer, so hurry on down to the Loch Linnhe Lounge!”
    It’s not working. She’s got the type of voice that cuts through skin and bone. The elevator door opens, and I dive for the entrance.
    â€œWell, look what the cat dragged in!” says a voice.
    For an awful moment, I worry that Minky’s tracked me down, but the image on the television screen is of a large woman in a flowery bathing suit, sprawled on a lounge chair reading a book. The title says
Scotland on Five Turnips a Day.
    â€œPhoebe?” Wow, Uncle must be getting really paranoid if he’s brought Phoebe along. I wonder what he has her doing . . . tinkering with the ship’s security system so that no one bothers us? Or, siphoning the take from the ship’s casino to Uncle’s offshore bank account? Probably both.
    â€œDo you think I’m fat?” she says.
    â€œNo,” I say. “I think you’re normal . . . I mean for a computer.”
    â€œGood. Because I’ve already eaten my five turnips today and guess what?”
    â€œWhat?” I ask.
    â€œI’M STILL HUNGRY!” she wails.
    â€œWell, then have something else,” I say.
    â€œIt’s not that simple. I need to lose ten pounds. I want to look good for Minky’s Scottish woolens talk.”
    â€œBut . . . her talk’s in ten minutes. No one can lose ten pounds in ten minutes,” I point out.
    â€œAre you saying that I have no willpower?” Phoebe says.
    This feels like old times. If I closed my eyes right now, I could easily be on the elevator at Headquarters. I wonder absently what it would be like having a silent ride in an elevator for a change.
    â€œI think you have great willpower,” I say. “Now, can you take me up to five, please? I need to join the others for dinner.”
    Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.
    â€œDinner? You’re having dinner while I stay here alone, suffering? How can you be so insensitive? You’re no different than the rest. You don’t care about me.” Phoebe starts to sob.
    â€œThat’s not true,” I say. “Don’t you remember the time I brought you back those earrings from Peru?”
    â€œY . . . yes,” she says in between whimpers.
    â€œWell, doesn’t that show I like you?”
    She doesn’t say anything. Just sniffles quietly.
    â€œAnd how about that porcelain tortoise I brought back from China? I had to jump into a hot kiln to get that for you.”
    â€œI remember,” she croaks.
    â€œGood,” I say gently. “Now bring me up to five, please, and slide those doors open so that I can step off.”
    The elevator starts up and then stops