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She quickly shut up when the door to the next cabin opened and a man walked out. He looked a little weird, I must say: he was dressed like a teenager, only he wasn’t a teenager but a grown man. He wore jeans with holes in them, a flashy T-shirt, several big rings on his fingers, colorful wristbands, a bandana, a goatee and sunglasses with little wings on the side shields. He also had a very large pink stone embedded in his forehead for some reason.

“Lil Thug!” Odelia cried out. “I’m a big fan, sir.”

Our neighbor smiled and took off his sunglasses.“Thanks. Always happy to meet a fan.”

“Love the diamond, Mr. Thug,” said Chase, who seemed to be a big fan, too, judging from the silly grin on his face.

“Oh, this little thing?” said the man as he casually touched the stone on his forehead. “I picked it up at Tiffany’s, as you probably know.”

“Oh, I do,” said Odelia. “I’m a reporter,” she explained, but when the man’s face morphed into a frown, she quickly added, “But I’m not working right now. We’re actually on our honeymoon. This is my husband Chase.”

“Pleased to meet you, Odelia, Chase,” said the guy smoothly, and they extended handshakes. And I think this might have been the beginning of a wonderful friendship if the other doors across from the corridor hadn’t opened just then, and a small gathering of people poured out and joined us: a woman in a wheelchair being pushed by a younger woman who looked very much like her. A young man was also present, and a woman with a wizened face and suspiciously dark hair. The foursome stared at Mr. Thug.

The woman in the wheelchair produced a sort of loud squeal, while the young woman produced a startled little whimper, then exclaimed,“Omigod omigod omigod—Lil Thug!”

“That’s me,” said the guy who I now assumed was probably a rapper of some kind.

“I love your stuff!” said the girl, as she immediately left the wheelchair where it was and tripped up to the rapper. “Your album Stinky Fingers is my absolute favorite!”

“Thanks,” said the rapper with the kind of vague indulgent smile that indicated he’d been in this type of situation many times before.

“Are you all right, darling?” asked the young man solicitously.

“I’m fine,” said the woman in the wheelchair, who was holding a small white ball in her lap. Possibly a keychain. “Muscle spasm,” she said with a grimace. “It’ll pass.” She stuck out a hand in the direction of Odelia and Chase, who stood closest to her. “Bertha Biles. And this is my husband David, my daughter Laura and my caregiver Adele.”

“Odelia Poole,” said Odelia. “And this is my husband Chase.”

“They’re honeymooners,” said Lil Thug with a waggle of expressive eyebrows.

“Honeymooners!” said Laura, who now turned her attention from the rapper to Odelia. “That’s so romantic! When I get married I want to go on a honeymoon cruise, too.”

“We need to get going,” the wizened-faced lady now growled. Judging from her smoky voice she probably couldn’t wait to dig into her second pack of cigarettes of the day. “The boat will take off any minute now.”

“Oh, you’ll love the embarkation ceremony they like to put on,” said Mrs. Biles. “It’s just the best thing. There’s music and everybody cheers. It’s a lot of fun.”

“You’ve taken this cruise before?” asked Odelia as the company moved off in the direction of the elevators.

“Oh, sure. We take this cruise every year. We’re big cruise fans. You?”

“This is our first time, actually.”

“And you, Mr. Thug?” asked Laura, her eyes glittering, knowing she was in the presence of fame.

“First time for me, too,” said the singer. “Though I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

“You’re doing a show?!” asked the girl, practically screaming now.

“Yeah, I am,” he said with a deferential smile. “Not tonight but tomorrow night, and then every night after that. I hope that’s all right with you?”

“All right? It’s the best news I’ve heard so far!”

A door opened and a couple walked out. They were a blond woman who looked like a model, and her equally handsome male companion. Both of them were holding selfie sticks and were preening as they talked into their phones, filming themselves. When they caught sight of Lil Thug, their perfectly-shaped jaws dropped, and in a coordinated movement they swung their selfie sticks to include the famous rapper in their efforts.

“No selfies, please,” Lil Thug said immediately.

“Of course,” said the woman, who lowered her selfie stick with visible reluctance.

“Oren,” said her companion, “and this is my partner Chiquita. We’re influencers.”

“What’s an influencer, Max?” asked Dooley.

“People who film themselves and then post the videos online,” I explained. “And then people pay them.”

He frowned, his lack of comprehension clear.“I don’t understand.”

“Well, they post stuff online, and get people to watch it, and the more followers they have, the more they can charge when they plug some handbag or a pair of shoes.”

“Okay,” he said, but it was obvious he still didn’t fully comprehend the strange and wonderful world of influencers.