Thirty Four
Standing in the hardwood cabin, Scootie extracted a bottle
from his backpack and handed it to Jackie.
“Scootie! This fucker’s twenty years old. And French! Where
djou get this?”
“I stole it from Scott Kross’s cellar.”
Jackie laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Scootie,
you’re a lyin’ sacka shit. Bad enough you’re stealin’ his wife. Whoops...
sorry.”
“It’s okay. It might not be... I mean, I don’t think
we’re... Well, you know I just...”
Jackie put a hand to the side of his face. “Scootie, what’s
the matter?”
“I don’t...” Scootie took the bottle and pretended to study
the label. “This really is from Scott’s cellar.” He slid the blades around the
cork and twisted it out. “You want a glass?”
“It’s probably ridiculously expensive,” said Jackie. “So
let’s drink it straight from the bottle.” She took it and raised it high for a
merry swig, breathing out in a sigh. “Oh, honey! I’m tinglin’ in the tonsils.”
Scootie took a giant Watsonville strawberry from the buffet
and planted it in his mouth. “Wed’s dake dis on deg.”
“Oday, Dapdain,” said Jackie.
The boat was still on its motors, puttering past the
man-made boulders of the breakwater (Scootie thought they resembled a giant’s
toy jacks). He settled on a bench and took a swig.
“Wow! It does pay to be a millionaire.” He dreaded talking
about it further, though, so he changed the subject. “How does this deal work?
Do they refund your money if it rains?”
“Nope. They just throw in a dinner at the Crow’s Nest. I
knew it wouldn’t rain, though. ‘Course, I also thought I’d be spendin’ the
evenin’ with a cowboy.”
Scootie handed her the bottle. “Darlin’, you don’t know how
good a cowboy I can be.”
Jackie had to fight not to do a spit-take. “Honey, you can
fool the entire state of Wyoming, for all I care, you would never get that
cheeseball rodeo outfit past me. God I hate New Year’s. Almost as much as I
hate Valentine’s Day.”
“And Christmas,” said Scootie. “The single person’s trinity
from hell.”
“All within – what? Seven weeks? Jesus Christ and all his
merry men.” She leaned her head against the boat, watching the mainsail whip
out as they hit the black swells of Monterey Bay.
“Is the emerald out with the gander tonight?” (Jackie knew
all the code words, had even begun substituting gemstones for “Jewel.”)
“I suppose.” It was the time of deciding, and he was
hesitant to say more. He picked up the bottle, motioned for Jackie to follow
him and climbed to the foredeck, pulling himself along on a cabled railing.
Soon he was standing on the prow, a little cherry picker cage that lifted high
on each crest. It always seemed like it would slice right into the following
swell, but the hull interceded, bouncing him safely along.
Jackie crept up behind, bracing herself with an arm around his
waist. “From the look on your face, I’d say you were not a cowboy but a
sailor!” They fell into the next trough, and Jackie let out a Texas yelp
“Whoo! This is more fun than tango night at the nudist
colony!”
Scootie broke out laughing, tasting the salt mist on his
tongue. The warning bells sounded and the boat rounded into a tack, smoothing
out the ride as they headed toward land, the Santa Cruz boardwalk off to port.
Scootie lifted the bottle and shouted, “Make a toast!”
Jackie braced herself against a cable. “To my next boyfriend
– the accountant!” Some of it went down the wrong pipe and sent her into a fit
of coughing. Scootie retrieved the bottle, held it high and declared, “Never
squat with your spurs on!” Then took a long, sloppy swallow. He wiped his mouth
and spotted something over the light-speckled finger of the Monterey Peninsula.
The Pleiades. He turned to watch them head-on, dangling the half-empty bottle
over the side. Jackie sensed his distraction and stroked the back of his neck.
“It’s almost over, isn’t it?”
“Might be.”
She ran a hand into his hair, shiny as charred firewood.
“You’re a beautiful, solid man, Scootie. I wish this could all make more sense,
but it just doesn’t work that way, does it?”
Scootie gave no answer, but took Jackie’s hand and held it
to his heart.
“Excuse me!”
It was one of the ship’s crew, a tall young woman in white,
approaching them along the railing.
“Excuse me, folks? I’m afraid you’re not allowed to have any
bottles up here.”
Scootie turned and shrugged, with empty hands.
“Oh,” said the woman, laughing. “I’m so sorry! I must be
seeing things.” She returned to the main deck, where she stopped to talk with a
middle-aged couple in yellow rain jackets.
Jackie turned and let out a grin. “Scoots, you just made
some shark an extremely happy man.”
Photo by MJV
No comments:
Post a Comment