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826.”
    â€œWho’s Code Ingrid?” I ask.
    Jaideep laughs.
    â€œIt means that someone in suite 826 is in need of medical attention,” he tells me. “Ingrid is for ‘injured,’ that is how I remember it. There are many codes, for different situations.”
    And as he escorts me to the medical center (I am on the totally wrong end of the ship), he distracts me by listing the codes.
    Code Ernie—environmental hazard (something’s gone over the side of the boat).
    Code Frieda—fire.
    Code Sherman—security breach (!).
    Code Rosa—bomb threat (!!).
    Code Oscar—man overboard (!!!)
    Code Matthew—fatality (um,!!!!!!!).
    â€œGod,” I say. “Do you get a lot of bomb threats and deaths and people falling overboard?!”
    â€œNo!” he laughs. “Never! But we are prepared. We run drills.”
    â€œWell, thank you for being prepared,” I say.
    â€œHere you are,” he tells me, depositing me at the medical center doors.
    â€œThanks,” I say. “I really mean it.”
    â€œGive it a day or so. You will soon be a regular sailor,” he tells me.
    I’m in there just long enough for them to press some Dramamine into my hand when that super-peppy lady comes back on the PA and tells us all it’s time for the muster drill.

 
    TOM
    DAY ONE
    SO I SAW SABBI AT THE MUSTER DRILL.
    We all had to file into the Celestial Lounge—which is a big theater where they do the shows at night, and sit around while safety procedures were explained to us by the cruise director, a woman named Lorna somebody.
    She kept on saying things like “Now, I’m not used to giving these directions to big celebrities like Luka Harris and Sabbi Ribiero, but just bear with me!”
    Sabbi was seated at the back of the room and people kept turning to check her out when the cruise director mentioned her name. I felt like Sabbi was looking at me, waiting for me to turn around and nod or something.
    I didn’t. I just stared ahead at Lorna what’s-her-name.
    I guess I hadn’t made up my mind yet about what to do about the “discreet” offer made to my people by Sabbi’s people.
    We learned about the “abandon ship” signal—one long blast, followed by seven short ones. We also heard about the life raft capabilities—some of them have motors and some of them don’t; we were called in groups and led single file down through the boat to Deck 6.
    They had us put a hand on the person in front of us and make a human chain.
    Two heavily made-up cougars were joking around, elbowing each other out of the way so they could be in front of me.
    â€œHe’s mine!” said one.
    â€œYou’re married! Give him to me,” the other one cackled.
    â€œThere, there,” I said. “I can put one hand on each of you.”
    I didn’t really feel like joking around with them. They were pretty worn-out looking, but I guess it’s a part of the job.
    A beefy man in a polo shirt was behind me.
    He put his hand on my shoulder.
    â€œLord, get a load of the traps on this fella!” he called, massaging my back.
    Yeah, yeah, yeah. Manhandle the celebrity.
    â€œDidn’t you used to be tubby, like the rest of us?” he joked.
    I pretended it was funny.
    On Deck 6 there are open areas where the lifeboats are on these giant braces, suspended above us. In case of an evacuation, they are lowered down and we board right from the side of the deck, then the whole thing gets lowered to the water level.
    â€œWhat say we give it a test drive?!” the beefy guy called to the perfectly nice crewman supervising us.
    â€œI’m afraid that’s not allowed,” the crewman answered with a bright smile. “We’re just waiting to hear that everyone has arrived to their stations and the drill will be over.”
    There was a small cheer from the guests.
    One of the cougars pinched me on the