Golden Orange (33 page)

“Okay,” she said. “Let's take her for a sea trial.”

“She's ready,” Boyd Schuyler said. “If
you
are, Mister Farlowe.”

Winnie was astonished. “You're not coming?”

The yacht broker shook his head and said, “Tess said I'm not needed and that's good enough for me.”

Before Winnie's heart stopped banging, the boat was cruising along the channel, under power. He was so nervous about sailing a new boat like this that he wouldn't hoist the main and shut off the engine until they got past the Balboa ferry.

“How could you do this?” he finally asked Tess, who sat beside him in the cockpit.

“What?”

“Pretend you're interested in buying this boat?”

“Why wouldn't I? Haven't you ever test-driven a Porsche or some fancy car you knew you couldn't afford?”

“Actually, no,” Winnie said. “I never had the guts.”

“Boyd's used to it,” she said. “Do you think everyone who walks in there hands him a check and sails away in the sunset?”

“No, but this! She's a hotdog racing boat!”

“All the more reason you should be the first to sail her, old son,” Tess said, kissing his earlobe as he steered past the pavilion.

When he finally hoisted the jib, the ultralight sloop leaped forward. Twice, a windsurfer flashed across the bow, and Winnie was thrilled by the boat's responsiveness when he maneuvered out of the way.

Winnie pointed to the sheets and said to Tess, “Wanna pull the strings?”

“What's that?”

“Work the sheets.”

“Aye, aye, skipper,” she said. “I'm the right wench for a winch.”

Winnie laughed. Everything made him laugh. He was sure there was good wind out on the ocean. This was his day! He decided to pretend that she was his, this agile sloop.

Reading his mind as always, Tess said, “What would you call her?” Then she looked over the stern, patted the transom and said, “Right here. What name would you paint on her rump?”

“I've always liked pretty names,” he said. “
Jasmine
, maybe.”

“Horrible!” she cried. “A boat that can sail almost as fast as the wind needs a name with sex appeal. How about
La Venganza
?”

“What's that mean?”

“
The Revenge.
That's a great name for a fast boat.”

“She's also a sweet boat. Why not a sweet name? Like
Tessie
?”

“Ree-volting!” she said. “This is
La Venganza.
She's sexy. She's dangerous!”

“A boat called
Revenge
? Well, it's not bad, I guess. For a fantasy boat.”

When they cleared the jetty, he brought the boat up on course to weather.

When he tacked for the first time, he yelled, “Ready about!”

“Ready, skipper!” Tess shouted back.

“Hard a-leeeee!” Winnie laughed, noting that there was hardly a luff before Tess trimmed the jib.

The tack was buttery and fast. The sails roared, then filled, and they were jetting forward again, away from the buoy and the sea lions, a blue plume of spray in their faces.

“Okay!” Winnie shouted. “Let's pop the chute!”

Tess took the helm, and Winnie found the spinnaker down below. The spinnaker was blood-red with a slashing yellow stripe. In a few minutes they were in a race with the wind.

“She's built to run!” Winnie said, tasting salt in his teeth.

The big sloop sped southeast in the sunlight, glinting like a knife, down past Corona Del Mar, where the water dramatically changed to midnight blue and the sea creatures visible in the water all wore black wet suits with Day-Glo stripes and bobbed like seals.

He anticipated a sudden wind change and decided to play. “Now, let's
drop
the chute!”

“Aye, skipper,” Tess responded, moving very quickly. She could sail a boat, all right.

And then, magic! A school of dolphin flashed across the bow, doubled back and swam under the sloop when he jibed. The dolphins stayed right with him on a close reach as the boat heeled so steeply that Winnie yelled to Tess, “The rail's in the water!”

They were playing with him! The dolphins were enjoying their day as much as he was. He took her on a broad reach again, and Tess ran to the bow and lay flat, looking over the stem as the dolphins flashed beneath her in a game of sailboat tag.

Then the lead dolphin veered off, headed toward the shore, and the others followed. Winnie saw that the wind was blowing fifteen knots and they were sailing nine or ten! A hotdog boat!

Then, a last bit of enchantment. A silvery translucent biplane took off from the sea just off starboard. A flying fish. Then another. Then three more. A good omen!

The day disappeared on Winnie Farlowe. The first time he looked at his watch, he was shocked. It was after six when he came about and sailed very close to the shifting wind, back toward the harbor.

This time, despite the speed of the vessel slicing toward them, the sea lions were not troubled. Without an engine roar, they merely watched as Winnie sailed so close to the buoy that Tess could've almost touched the whiskers of a jealous bull, who covered the bodies of two small females. The tapper on the buoy sounded musical! Winnie laughed out loud.

By the time they approached the breakwater, Tess was in his arms almost dozing. The sky was ablaze and the sun was getting ready for the magic hour show.

“We did everything but spot a whale,” Winnie said.

“Next time, old son,” she murmured. “We'll do even better next time.”

But Winnie Farlowe sensed that there could never be another day like this one.

“You know, Dennis Connor's entering the Ensenada race,” Winnie said. “He'll sail the
Stars and Stripes
catamaran with a soft-sail rig instead of the airfoil wing he used in San Diego.”

Tess said, “When I was married the first time, my husband forced me to crew with him on that race. Galley slaves had it better.”

“He'll be going after the record,” Winnie said. “Ten hours, thirty-one minutes and two seconds. I was in the race when that record was set. Nineteen eighty-three. Newport to En-senada, Mexico, in ten hours, thirty-one minutes. Of course, our boat needed another five hours, but still, that's a hundred and twenty-five miles! Think of it!”

“And what'd you do when you got there?” Tess asked. “All my husband and his friends did was go to that ugly party they throw in a building they'd condemn if it was on the U.S. side of the border. Everybody falling down drunk and throwing up. A convention of Hell's Angels shows more class.”

“Jist a bunch a sailors letting their hair down,” Winnie said. “Imagine what it'd be like to race
this
boat in the Ensenada race!”

“I simply can't imagine,” said Tess Binder, observing the boyish glow in the eyes of Winnie Farlowe.

Tess suddenly stood up on the cockpit seat and stripped off her sweater and pants.

Winnie looked around the jetty for fishermen and said, “Jesus, Tess!”

He didn't see anyone, but she obviously didn't care if he did. She unfastened her bra and stripped off her panties. When she sat on his lap he looked around and saw a lone fisherman trudging along the jetty at day's end with two buckets, a gunny sack and a fishing pole. The fisherman wore a painter's cap with a Coors logo on the front, and had a belly that got in doorways five minutes before he did. The guy was looking downbeat and discouraged, as though he'd been skunked. Until he happened to glance over at the sailboat gliding by in light twilight air.

Tess rose up and gave him a victory sign, and the fisherman yelled, “Whooooo-eeeee!” at the naked blonde in the cockpit of the sloop.

Then Winnie lost control of
everything
and the boat was all over the channel. Once he giggled and cried, “Prepare to jibe!” and “Jibe ho!,” followed by screams of laughter from Tess Binder. With the naked woman climbing all over him, Winnie finally had to furl his headsail and drop the main.

By the time Tess finished with Winnie, and got herself dressed, the sun had almost set. A breeze was blowing in from Catalina where the island seemed to rise from red dusk. Winnie was sprawled back in the cockpit and caressing the tiller when they slid by the old pavilion, the Victorian dowager of the Balboa peninsula. The pavilion's observation tower and cupola glimmered in twilight beneath a crystal sky.

Winnie felt almost sad enough to cry. He'd never had such a perfect day, not as a grown man. There were perfect days only when his father was alive. When he and his father went out on boats. When they were boys together, he and his father, on perfect days like this.

“My dad used to say her crown looks like a candy kiss,” Winnie said, and he was surprised when his voice quivered.

“Who?”

“The old pavilion,” he said. “And after dark when the lights go on, the crow's nest on top looks like a bright shining gumdrop.”

“A bright shining gumdrop.” Tess chuckled. “That's my boy! A bright shining gumdrop.”

When they arrived at the yacht broker's, they found the office dark and empty. Winnie steered the sloop into the slip, tied her up, stowed the spinnaker, removed the battens, and covered the main.

“Is he gonna be mad that we're so late?”

“Of course not!” Tess said. “Just toss the key through the letter slot. I'll call him tomorrow and tell him we're thinking about it. Maybe we'll need another sea test before we make up our minds.”

“You're amazing,” he said.

“You'll never forget this day, will you, old son?”

“Not as long as I live.”

Tess chuckled again. Like wind chimes. Then she said, “It tickles me every time I think of it.”

“What?”

“A bright shining gumdrop. You're my precious precious boy. A bright shining gumdrop!”

18

Two Harbors

F
or once, she didn't let him sleep late. “Wake up, old son! Come on, sleepyhead!”

Winnie had been having a dream about the nymph, something that caused him to toss and sweat. The nymph had tried to speak to him at last. She'd hovered over him and he could see her gray marble eyes. Winnie jumped up, but his head didn't. It was somewhere on the other side of the bed, and somebody was beating on it with a mallet, like a slab of squid.

“Got a busy day. Breakfast's ready. No omelet. Bacon and fried eggs, over easy with hash browns. Come on!” She clapped her hands three times and left him alone to deal with the hangover. The echo was like rifle fire.

They'd stayed home last night. The last Winnie remembered, he was lying on the living room floor watching the old war movie where John Wayne takes Iwo Jima, actually filmed on the very spot where he now spent his nights and days: Linda Isle, then called Shark Island, a name that Nouveau Newport didn't appreciate after the sandspit was developed for residential property. Especially since a few of the home buyers had been referred to as sharks in their time, as in land, loan, etc.

He'd had a
lot
to drink last night. He was becoming increasingly worried about that, but it wasn't entirely his fault. Tess kept refilling his glass! He taught her how to make The Golden Orange cocktail, and every time John Wayne shot a Jap she'd be in the kitchen mixing another batch. He remembered telling her he was outdrinking her three to one, maybe four to one. She'd laughed and said she was holding her own.

His hands were shaking and he was bilious. He belched, and a sour ball erupted from a deep well of toxic waste. He'd been poisoned by too much of a good thing, too much of The Golden Orange. He tried to get up. This time, his head stayed with its body.

When he finally lurched into the kitchen, pale and shaky, but showered and shaved, Tess took his breakfast plate out of the oven.

“Sorry to roust you out of bed so early, old son, but I've got news!”

He said, “Tess, I don't wanna drink anything today. I'm so sick I actually look like the picture on my driver's license.”

“Oh, never mind that,” she said. “You'll feel better at lunch-time. I had a slight hangover too, but it's gone. Listen, I've got
real
news!”

“Do you have some aspirin?”

She fetched the aspirin from a cupboard and poured his coffee.

“Listen! Dexter Moody's yacht party at the isthmus begins tonight with a picnic tomorrow! I rang him and he said he'd like us to come!”

She never said
phoned
him or
called
him.
Rang
him.
Masterpiece Theater.
Cute, but not when his head was a squid getting pounded into steaks.

“I don't quite understand.”

“We're going to Catalina, silly! We'll take the catamaran to Avalon and taxi to the isthmus for the party. After which we'll sleep at the B and B over there. And, are you ready for
this?
”