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of bowls of orange punch. Table Sixteen was empty so she sat down, and a silver domed plate floated down in front of her.
    She began to eat her salmon when a young woman slid into the seat across from her. Her hair hung down in long, straight sheets, as though flattened by the heat of her own thoughts.
    â€œDarlene Horwitz,” she said, holding out her hand for Ginger to shake. She was young, ridiculously young, with the glossy, unmarked skin of a baby. “This is my first cruise.”
    â€œGinger Klein.”
    â€œMy parents sent me here,” said Darlene. “They had enough of my moaning.” She looked at Ginger. “Have you ever been on a cruise?”
    â€œIn the past,” said Ginger.
    The girl unfolded her napkin onto her lap. “Are you retired? What did you do?” asked the girl.
    Ginger leaned across the table and whispered to Darlene, “This is what I do. People have dreams that I want to be part of. I say I can make them come true. One gentleman expressed a desire to sample gelato in Italy. Then I just did it for him, but on his dime. That man was in the field of advertising. I thought of him sitting behind his desk, eating a bag lunch, a little sweaty, and I thought he’d be grateful that I could taste that gelato for him.”
    This was Evelyn’s philosophy, really; she had believed that swindling was generous, as it allowed the suckers a moment to dream. Ginger pushed her seat back slightly. She unfolded her napkin and spread it on her lap.
    â€œI don’t understand,” said Darlene.
    Ginger coughed. Then she said, slowly, “I’m a swindler.”
    â€œOh,” said Darlene. She rubbed her face with her hands. Thenshe laughed. “Should I be hiding my purse? Are you going to steal money from people?”
    â€œNo,” said Ginger. “I don’t need to anymore.”
    Darlene seemed to want to steer the discussion back to more familiar territory. “What does your family think of your job?” she asked, carefully.
    â€œI haven’t talked to them in over sixty years,” Ginger said. They had lost their parents suddenly, their mother to illness, their father to lust—when their mother died of tuberculosis, their father left Brooklyn to pursue a stripper in Louisiana. He left a note with some train fare and an address for an aunt in Orange Hills, Los Angeles.
    They tried the first phone booth on the street. When the number didn’t work there, they tried another. By the fourth phone booth, they realized that there was no neighborhood called Orange Hills and there was no aunt. At the time, the girls had between them $43.
    â€œYou want to know why I’m here?” Darlene asked. She looked a bit dazed. “His name was Warren. One minute we were finishing each other’s sentences. The next minute he was packing his bags. Now I’m twenty-two years old and afraid I will never find the one.”
    Waiters came out carrying ignited Baked Alaskas. Sparklers on the desserts fizzled, and a faint smoky odor filled the air.
    â€œI went to my parents’ house,” said Darlene. “ Big mistake, they packed me off to the glaciers, to meet people and have fun—”
    Ginger did not want to spend one moment of this week comforting someone else. She folded her napkin, stood up. “Well,” said Ginger, “I hope you have a grand time.” Then she turned and walked across the room. The ship was approaching the first glaciers. Sliding down the mountains the ice was rushed and utterly still. The glacial ice was pale blue, and huge pieces drifted by, like the ruined bones of a giant. She watched the pale ice float by her and wondered when she would forget her name.
    Her awareness had been her great gift: of the best hour to meet the lonely, of the hairstyle that would make her look most innocent, of the raised eyebrow that indicated a person’s longing, and of course, of the moment when she