The Winter Over(64)

“After what we’ve been through? Who the hell thought that was a good idea?”

“Think of it as exposure therapy.”

“As long as it doesn’t turn into a documentary.” Cass flushed the toilet and watched the blue whirlpool for a moment. “What about unofficially?”

“Nurse Beth—she’s a wild one, she is—told me some of our more adventurous colleagues are planning an ice party down in the warehouse whilst the movie is showing.”

“The warehouse is sixty below zero. Why would anyone have a party down there?”

“Well, apparently, someone with a degree in chemistry has been nicking a bit of sugar from the approximately ten thousand pounds of it in the warehouse and using it to fuel a small distillery in the back of the generator room, which, as you know, is not that far away from the warehouse.”

Cass leaned out of the stall to stare at Biddi. “You wouldn’t happen to have a degree in chemistry?”

“No. But my ancestors were bootleggers.”

“So, it’s just more drinking? Homemade hooch isn’t going to do much for frostbite,” Cass said. “It’s going to get ugly when body parts start freezing and falling off.”

“Ah, well, as to those body parts . . .” Biddi said, her voice trailing off.

Cass leaned out again, curious. A note of embarrassment had crept into Biddi’s voice, something Cass had never heard before. “Yes?”

“Evidently, there will be more than just drinking going on. It has been suggested that certain . . . calisthenics are planned.”

Cass looked at her blankly. “Calisthenics?”

“Yes, Cassie.” Biddi, impatient at having to explain the obvious, did a quick bump and grind. “Calisthen ics.”

Cass’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“I shit you not, love.” Biddi snapped her washrag and moved to the next mirror.

“How do you find out about these things?”

“Sanitation engineers are the great levelers,” Biddi said haughtily. “We might be bloody fucking janitors, but we talk to everyone and everyone talks to us.”

“I’m a janitor, and no one told me about the orgy.”

“That’s because you’re down in the VMF all the time, fondling engine parts when you could be fondling . . . other parts. I, on the other hand, prefer to walk among the people.”

“So Mr. Boychuck and his hose will be there, I take it?”

“Um, well. Yes.” Biddi cleared her throat. “You should join us, Cassie. For the boozing, if nothing else. People think you take things too seriously.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’ve got a date with a real plate of food, a glass of wine, and that’s it.”

“That nice man Jun looks lonely.”

“He’s married, Biddi.”

“Not for long, I hear.”

“What?”

“He’s been in the doldrums for some time now. Anne told me he’s having trouble at home. Didn’t you know?”

Tears, spilling from his eyes . “He told me a few things and I guessed the rest. Is there something new?”

“An American wife, a domineering family, pressure from his school, gone to the South Pole for nine months,” Biddi said. “The math is pretty easy, love.”

“It’s a sad situation.”

“Perhaps you could give him a hand, then. You never know what a little bit of tenderness might do for the poor man,” Biddi teased. “An ice wife might be just what he needs to cheer him up.”

“Can we go back to talking about food, please?”

“You brought it up, darling.”

The conversation turned to more neutral topics, like what Pete would be putting on the menu, whether the champagne would be drinkable or better used to scour toilets, and laying bets on whether Hanratty would smile. Time flew by as their chatting turned the bathroom duty into an afterthought, and they were done before they knew it.

Throughout the rest of the day, Cass felt a sense of excitement infect the station as the crew began to anticipate the midwinter celebration. It was a nice change from the anxiety the communications outage had caused, although there was a reluctance to talk about the celebration openly, as if mentioning it out loud would cause Hanratty to cancel it out of spite. But it was impossible to ignore the look of anticipation on everyone’s faces as she passed them in the hall or sat down to eat in the galley. Even the previously tasteless lunch buffet took on a richer flavor as the crew whispered to each other how much better the next night’s meal would be than the gruel they were eating now. The day couldn’t pass quickly enough.

The next night, long lines formed outside the galley while the smells of cooked food—the kind no one had experienced in months—wafted down the halls. It was virtual torture and the crew shifted from foot to foot, antsy and barely able to contain themselves, trading jokes and telling stories to keep their mind off the dinner that was so close. Cass had heard of one’s mouth watering in anticipation before, but she’d never experienced it, at least not like she was now.

Colin and Anne were standing in front of her, with Colin trying unsuccessfully to remember the punch line to a joke, though based on Anne’s expression, it wouldn’t have helped. At one point, with her back half turned to Colin, she rolled her eyes at Cass, who bit her lip and turned away.