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and back, that’s for those with medulla oblongata deficiency syndrome. I swim north and south, parallel to the shore and not more than twenty yards out. This is my only form of exercise, if one doesn’t count going a few rounds with Connie Garcia, and it does wonders for the appetite.
    I put on a pair of simple trunks (lavender with iridescent silver stripes), sandals and a snow-white terry robe. The Atlantic laps the shore just across Ocean Boulevard from our house, making crossing the A1A the most perilous part of my journey. I had my swim and returned to my rooms to shower, begin logging the rudiments of “Serge the Seer” in my journal and dress in time for the family cocktail hour.
    Thanks to the seigneur we are a family of tradition, one of them being gathering for cocktails prior to dinner where Father mixes martinis that are not as dry as I would like them but, like the rent on my suite, they’re free. When I appeared, Father knitted his brows, which is quite a skein of yarn, and uttered, “When do we view the remains?”
    In keeping with the theme of my date later in the evening, I had elected to dress all in black. Jacket, trousers, turtleneck, socks and loafers. Mother, bless her, noted, “You look just like Errol Flynn in The Mark of Zorro. ”
    “That was Tyrone Power, Mother, but I’d be happy to be mistaken for either.”
    Mother’s given name is Madelaine and she is a warm and loving person who, at near seventy, is as radiant, if a little stouter, than the day she became Mrs. Prescott McNally. I know, because I have seen her wedding photos and I am an expert on female pulchritude, as witness the photo of Thelma Todd I consider my prize possession. Her complexion is florid, thanks to her high blood pressure, and I am still her precious little Archy, thanks to her good sense.
    “How are you progressing on the Ouspenskaya business?” Father asked when he had served us his idea of a martini (three parts gin to one of vermouth).
    “In fact, sir, I am meeting him tonight, in situ as it were. A séance at the home of Vance and Penny Tremaine.”
    “Very good, Archy. I must say you’ve moved with remarkable speed on this one.” Coming from Father this was tantamount to being awarded the Nobel, Pulitzer and Oscar all rolled into one. Mother beamed her approval for Mrs. McNally’s favorite son.
    “I will have more to report in the morning,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel, having no idea what the evening would bring. What it brought were enough surprises to keep my flabbergasted for a millennium of leap years. And mon père, not Ouspenskaya, began the beguine.
    “Archy,” he said, “your mother and I have decided on a second honeymoon.”
    “I beg your pardon, sir.”
    “Oh,” my mother cried, all in a dither, “he means we’re going on vacation.” But it was clear that she liked the idea of calling it a second honeymoon.
    When I had recovered sufficiently to speak, I said, “This is awesome, as the young say, and for good reason. Congratulations, sir, and it’s long overdue. I’ll miss you both but if you’re not taking Ursi and Jamie, I’ll survive. When are you going, and where?”
    “We’re going to cruise the Caribbean for two weeks. When depends on what ship we decide to cruise with. The Pearl of the Antilles or the Atlantis ”
    Father was a crusty old thing who liked nothing better than to work and rule his domain, be it home or office, with an iron hand. But beneath the crust and pomposity was a genuine love for his wife and I suspected he was doing this with the hope that a carefree two weeks on the high seas would improve her hypertension, a condition that had us both more concerned than we cared to admit. From the look of pleasure on her lovely face, I would say he was getting off to a fine start.
    I got up to kiss Mother, drawing two red patches on her velvety cheeks.
    Father produced a dozen colorful brochures detailing the amenities of the cruise ships he had