The Explorer's Apprentice

33:Eleanor Opens a Resturaunt

Eleanor Brown

Eleanor and Georgia step out of the lady’s room, both looking decidedly different. They look each other up and down, admiring the transformation.

 “Th-thank you…” Georgia says, for the thousandth time.

 “Oh no, hon, thank you!”

 Eleanor’s brand new navy blue dress is slinky and form-fitting on Georgia’s full hips. She looks like a real lady, a queen even, with its long train and tight beading and impossible corset. Eleanor shakes her head, amused, remembering what a pain it was to put on. “Are you sure this is okay?” Georgia asks, touching her hair self-consciously. The dark silk is alien to her, a previously unattainable treasure. They’d only just met, but Eleanor cannot help but like the girl.

 “Relax, Georgia,” Eleanor says, stilling her new friend’s fretting hands. “It looks much better on you than it ever did on me! If you think you can stand the pain, by all means, keep it.”

 “What? Really?” Georgia’s eyes go wide, eager.

 “Of course! Consider it payment, for switching with me.”

 A tall boy with slicked-back hair is waiting for Georgia in the last seat of steerage’s only bar. The band music fills the room—a wailing, throbbing cacophony of accordion, guitar, drum, pipe, and fiddle—but Eleanor can still read his lips as he says, “Wow.”

 Eleanor gives her own new outfit a twirl. Georgia’s dress is a bright, happy red. The bodice is more of a hug than a bone-crushing squeeze. The skirt is loose and long, with plenty of leg room, so different from the sleekness of her evening gown. This is a dress she can dance in.

 “Excuse me.”

 She turns around, and there is Fabrizio. His bright eyes flicker shyly from his feet to her face, wanting to stare while trying not to be rude. Look at me, she thinks suddenly, a silent demand. I want you to look at me and never look away, with your beautiful green eyes.

 “You came.”

 I nearly forgot, she thinks guiltily.

 “Wouldn’t dream of staying away!” And that’s the truth.

 He bows at the waist, removes his hat in one hand and takes her hand in the other. Neither of them can stop from smiling. “I am glad you did. My fair lady, may I have this dance—”

 Before she can reply, a heavy, sweaty body barrels between them, tearing her hand away. The floor is gritty and already well-worn from so many stamping feet. The smell of beer hits her like a slap in the face. A man crashes dead drunk into a table, eyes rolling, bottle still in hand. He gives a low moan before slipping into unconsciousness.

 A crazy idea flashes through Eleanor’s head. Rule Number Five. No alcohol.

 She picks herself up from the dirty deck. She pries the man’s limp fingers from his drink, throws her head back, and drains its contents in one long draught. The dark amber liquid burns all the way down, and her eyes start to water.

 “Are you okay?” Fabrizio watches in surprise, face split with an impressed grin. “Ehi! How do you feel?” he asks.

 Her head swims with a sudden bubbliness, and he throws an arm around her shoulders to steady her. She slams the bottle down with satisfaction, leans against him, and says with a laugh, “Tastes like old horseshoes!”

 With some slaps on the back and encouraging shouts, the drunken man comes to, and is quickly offered another beer.

 “Now I’m ready to dance.”