Inside, they find seats at the bar. There are brightly colored flowers everywhere, and the bartenders are wearing Hawaiian shirts. A blue surfboard leans up against the wall.
“All very Alaskan,” Ben says once they’ve ordered their drinks: a margarita for him and a strawberry daiquiri for her, because what else do you order in a place like this?
“Yeah,” Greta says, looking around, “this is definitely getting me in the mood to visit a frozen tundra.”
Ben looks amused. “It’s hardly a tundra. We’re going to be seeing some of the most interesting landscapes in Alaska. In the world, really.”
Their drinks arrive, and she plucks the small paper umbrella out of hers. “You’ve clearly done your homework.”
“You haven’t?”
“This was sort of a last-minute decision for me.”
“A last-minute Alaskan cruise?”
Greta hesitates a second, debating whether to be honest, then says, “It was supposed to be my mom here with my dad and their friends—not me.” She takes a sip of her daiquiri, which is much too sweet. When she lifts her eyes again, Ben’s smile has fallen. “It’s okay,” she says quickly, even though it’s not. Not at all. “It happened a few months ago.”
“That’s not very long.”
“No,” she agrees, “it’s not.”
He taps a finger against his glass. She can see the faint line where his wedding band had once been.
“It’s nice you can be with your dad,” he says, and she nods.
“They’d been planning this trip for ages, and he still wanted to come. So my brother asked me to keep him company.”
“Why you?”
She shrugs. “Because he has three kids and a day job.”
“And you…”
“Have very few daily responsibilities and a zillion frequent-flier miles.” She takes a long swig of her drink. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t even mind it, honestly, if it didn’t mean a whole week with my dad.”
“You guys don’t get along?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have three kids and a day job.”
He stares at her. “Seriously?”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Let’s just say I’m not exactly the favorite.”
Ben opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just…I have so many questions for you. I’m not sure what to ask first. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
Greta smiles. “I’m not easily overwhelmed.”
“Okay. So your dad—”
“Wait,” she says, lifting her glass, which is now empty. “I do need another drink first. In fact, I may need several.”
“Fair enough.”
She swivels in her seat, facing him more fully. Their knees are almost touching, but not quite. “Do you have another lecture today?” she asks, and he shakes his head. “So you don’t have anywhere else to be?”
“No,” he says. “Why?”
“I think we should get drunk then.”
Ben laughs. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I’m here for work.” He glances around as if someone might overhear them. “I’m representing Columbia.”
“And, what, you’re worried someone might approach you with a question about The Call of the Wild that you’ll be too shit-faced to answer?”
His expression shifts, and he leans forward, eyes glinting. “Dude. I could drink a whole case of beer and still be able to tell you every detail of Jack London’s life.”
Greta motions for the bartender to bring them another round.
“Prove it,” she says.
Chapter Nine
Somewhere around their third or fourth drink, Greta runs to the bathroom, and when she gets back, Ben is staring at her with a strange expression.
“What?” she asks, and he holds up his phone.
“I just looked you up.”
“Uh-oh,” she says in a playful voice, though every muscle in her body has gone tight. “That sounds ominous.”
She searches for traces of pity—some sign that he’s seen the video—but instead his expression is full of wonder. “You’re kind of a big deal,” he says, holding out his phone, as if she’s asked for proof. On the screen, there’s a picture from a Rolling Stone shoot she did when the first album came out. She’s wearing a sleek black dress, and her dark hair is piled high on her head, and something about the makeup or the lighting makes her look like she’s all angles. Her eyes are huge, greener than they should be, and there’s a challenge in them.