The next night, during Count's broadcast, we all gathered in the observation room. John finished his newscast with, "We'll meet again in one hour. This is John Mayford, and until then...this man!"
Count came in. "Ok, so this was the deal. I asked all of you to demand of me to do a very foolish thing. You sent in ideas in the thousands, but one idea has defeated them all. So, I'm proud to announce that I will soon be the first person to say the f word on Rock n' Roll radio in the United Kingdom of Great Britain." We all burst into applause. The Count acknowledged us, then went on. "My aim is not to offend, it is to entertain...and also, perhaps, educate a little. When you shoot a gun, someone dies; when you drop a bomb, many die; when you hit a woman, love dies; but, when you say the f word, nothing actually happens. So, here it comes, especially for you, the f word..." Quentin burst into his studio and knocked on the wall, motioning to stop. "Fffffff...first, though, this very fine piece of music." He turned on a record and turned to face Quentin.
"You can't do this," Quentin said.
"Why not? It's just a word!"
"Charming thought, but here's the simple situation. The authorities already dislike us. If you do this, they will hate us, and by hook or by crook they will find a way to close us down."
"They can't close us down! We're pirates. That's why we're sitting out here in the middle of the freaking ocean!"
"Yeah!" we all called.
"Believe me, they will find a way. Governments loathe people being free."
"Ok...I'm thinking about it."
"Boo!" we said.
"Come on, Quentin!" I exclaimed.
The Count turned back to his microphone. "My dear comrades, I have some sad news. The powers that be have decreed that the f word is a word too far. But, at least for now, even though our dreams of freedom have died a tragic death, The Hollies are still alive." He turned on a new record.
"Thank you," Quentin said.
"I don't know why you did that. I was just going to say fuck once. One tiny little fuck."
"There's no such thing as a tiny little fuck."
"Yeah, there is," Dave said through the mike in our room. "Ask Angus' girlfriend!"
We all laughed as Quentin went on, "Be that as it may, there is no fuck so small that it won't fuck us up. One day, in a world of dreams, you'll be able to say wank, or bollocks, or even cock on the radio, but fuck...never."
Harold went flying out of our room to the door of the studio. "Excuse me, your lordship!" he said.
"Yes, Harold?" the Count replied.
"You've left your mike up in the studio."
The resounding laughter that greeted that statement was all the louder because we knew it was being echoed all over Great Britain. Quentin looked like he wanted to dive out a window into the North Sea. "Oh!" Count exclaimed. "So I have. I do apologize to everyone out there for the four...or was it five?"
"It was five!" Angus said.
"F words. The Hollies will continue undisturbed." He turned the volume up on the record and turned off his mike. "I'm so sorry about that, Quentin." Quentin nodded with one of those looks where you knew you were in trouble, and you couldn't help but laugh. "I thought you sounded good! Lovely radio voice."
"Fuck off," Quentin said before promptly exiting.
"SIX!" I cried. I gave the Count a standing ovation that everyone gladly copied.
In the morning, we were all gathered around the breakfast table topside while Simon did his broadcast. Angus leaned across the table and asked Carl, "You looking forward to Saturday?"
"What's Saturday?"
"Sex-sational Saturday," the Count replied.
"As you may have noticed," Angus continued, "There are unfortunably no women on this boat, apart from Felicity...yoo hoo!..." Felicity waved from where she was cooking on a grill. "...who is of the lesbionic tendency, and lovely Chelsea who deems us all very ugly."
"No offense, Carl," I said around a bite of egg. He just shook his head and shrugged.
"But," Angus went on, "every second Saturday, every DJ is allowed to invite one female onto the boat." All the guys cheered. "So, any idea who you'll invite?"
"Um...is there the presumption that there will be...sex?"
"Every time," Count answered.
"Then, no. I've spent my life at all boy schools. The closest I've ever come to a snog was when I was once licked on the face by a horse."
"Sounds good actually."
I punched the Count in the shoulder. "You're disgusting." He just laughed and punched me back.
Dave came in. "Sorry to hear that, Carl, my son. I would seriously like to help. I'll put my mind to it."
"How are you lined up, Ang?" I asked.
"Well, her name is Daphne."
"I see. And she likes the bearded man?"
"She does indeed."
"And a tiny knob!" Dave said.
"Whatever!"
Suddenly, from the far end of the table, Kevin said, "I've got a tiny knob actually. But I kind of like it. Means I can wear smaller underpants."
We all stared at him until the Count said, "Don't know what that means. I didn't understand any of that."
I snorted and went back to eating. Carl leaned over to me and pointed up at a man sunbathing on the higher deck. "Who's that? I haven't met him yet."
Quentin actually answered, as he had just emerged. "That's Mark. He's the sexiest man on the planet. Hardly every speaks. Not even when he's broadcasting, which is...interesting."
"So, that's Midnight Mark."
"It is, it is," I said. "I think I've only talked to that man twice, and I've been on this boat for nearly two months. And when I say talked, I mean I said hi and he nodded in my direction." That got a laugh out of just about everyone.
On Saturday, everyone with a date was anxiously awaiting their arrival. I joined Carl and Simon up on the higher deck. "Haven't you got someone?" I asked Simon.
"No," he said. "Not today. I guess, I'm really looking for that one true love thing."
"Really?"
"Yeah! Oh, yeah. Big time."
I ruffled his hair. "You are just too cute sometimes." He grinned and tried to ruffle my hair in return, but I ducked out of reach.
"Here they come," Carl said.
We looked out at the transport boat. It was full of waving, giggling, smiling girls. "Wowzer," Simon said a little choked-like. "Oh my god, it's like a boat of honey. I want to sleep with them all." He rang the bell that was immediately to his left, then started waving like a mad man. Carl joined him. I just laughed.
When all was said and done, Carl, Simon, Felicity, John, and I were without a date. We gathered in the living room. Carl was messing with a camera, Simon was reading a book about woodpeckers, Felicity was playing solitaire, and John was just kind of sitting there awkwardly. I sat next to Simon, and he turned and put his feet up in my lap. I pat his leg affectionately, then started untying and tying his shoestrings. We all stared after the Count as he escorted two girls up the stairs towards his room. Once they were gone, Simon said, "This is actually a pretty interesting book."
"Is it?" I asked.
"Yes. It's...uh...well, my father used to collect woodpeckers."
Carl asked, "Really?"
"Yeah...no. No, my father was an architect. How about you? What did your father do?"
"Well, he had sex with my mum, then left without leaving his name or address."
"No!"
"Yeah."
"No!"
"It's cool! I mean, you don't miss what you've never had." He paused, then looked over at Felicity and John. "Nothing planned, you guys?"
"It's gonna be a quiet afternoon for me and my sex life," Felicity replied as she opened a Coke.
Just then, Dave entered. "Oh, sad room." I flipped him off. He just ignored me and went to Carl. "I've come to get you out of your predicament."
"What predicament?" Carl said.
"Your no girl, unused/pencil-sized penis predicament."
"Oh. That one."
"Walk this way." He took off, and Carl looked to me and Simon for guidance.
Simon shook his head. "Don't walk that way." Carl just kind of shrugged. "No! Walk woodpecker way." I snorted, and Carl just smiled and followed after Dave.
"Eh, Chelsea, did you have a boy back on the mainland?" Simon asked once they were gone.
"No. No, I didn't. I wasn't much into the dating scene. Seemed a bit dangerous to me."
"I suppose I can see that."
John said, "I'm sure you were popular, though. You're very pretty."
"Thanks, John. You are too." With that statement, our mood lightened a great deal.
A few nights later, we were eating supper in the living room/kitchen, just laughing and talking like always, when this guy walked in that I had never actually seen. He had a bushy beard and matching hair. He fixed himself a plate, then sat down at the end of the table. Conversation ceased and he looked up, realizing his arrival was what caused it. "Hi," he said.
None of us really knew what to say. Finally, the Count said, "Sorry, man, but who are you?"
"Um...I'm Bob. Smooth Bob. Bob Silver of the Dawn Treader. I do the early, early, early morning show."
That's when I realized I had completely forgotten about Bob since the night I arrived. "You're Bob!" I said.
"Yeah," he answered with a small smile.
"How long you been on the boat, Bob?" Count asked.
"Hmm...seven months. Every morning, 3am to 6 am."
"Well, then how come we've never met you?"
"Oh, you know. I keep myself to myself. Lot of sleeping. Fair amount of drugs. Total emotional involvement in the music. I mean, you've got to listen to it if you're gonna give the people what they need in, in their hearts, in their souls."
"Totally," I said, nodding.
He nodded, then said, "Better be getting back to the sounds. It's a bit hectic in here."
We all stared at him as he walked out. Once he was out of hearing range, I said, "That's Bob."
The Count waved his hands around and went, "Whoosh!" to describe how Bob had appeared and disappeared.
"Yeah, that's about right," Dave said.
Slowly, Kevin asked, "What was his name again?"
Carl shook his head and replied, "Really?"