Just Add Water (1) (23 page)

Who knew that droves of Chinese are
clamoring to chow down on hofbrau fare while placing thousand dollar bets at a
Pai Gow table? Or that tall African Americans dressed in full tribal robes
played Pan? Or housewives in hair rollers spent their milk money on poker? Or
that I’d have the best five dollar corned beef ever, right in downtown
Emeryville?

Jenks played Pai Gow like a pro.
Not the Anglicized card game offered in Nevada casinos, but real Pai Gow, with
tiles. The dealers knew Jenks, the only non-Asian at the table, by name. I
demurred learning their game and since no one in the room seemed interested in
playing
my
game—Dr Pepper: tens,
twos, and fours wild—I watched Jenks win for an hour, then we went back to the
boat for a nightcap.

No euphemism here, a nightcap is
what we had.

I curled up on the settee with a
brandy while Jenks folded into a director’s chair with a Chivas, which he’d
graciously settled on after learning I didn’t stock his brand, Dewars. Ten
minutes later, he left and I was left stunned. And angry. With myself. Somehow
I had to learn to lower my expectations instead of raising my hopes. Most
people learn this by age eighteen or so.

And what were those expectations?
Had I actually planned to break a five year sexual hiatus tonight? I mean,
there was a day when it was okay to hop into bed with a guy on
the first date. Who was I kidding?
Instead
of a first date. But that was
then, before scary sex. What had I expected from Jenks? I don’t know. What I
had not expected was, “I got somewhere to go. See ya.”

He took off before I could slam my
mouth shut, leaving me alone and frustrated at nine thirty on a Friday night.
This is not good. I tromped up to the yacht club in one rotten mood.

Alan, the British hunk, spotted me
at the bar nursing my second champagne in ten minutes and tore himself away
from the covey of women he’d been entertaining. “Hetta, how delightful to see
you again. May I join you?”

“What do you mean by
join
, ” I growled.

He smiled and sat down. “I’d
venture your evening, up until now, hasn’t been satisfactory?”

“You’d venture right. Look, Alan,
I’m not very good company right now, so maybe you’d better go back to that
gaggle of silly geese and leave me to my foul mood.”

“Was that a poultry joke? I can
never tell with you Yanks.”

I barked a laugh and relaxed. What
was wrong with me? A gorgeous man was hitting on me. A gorgeous,
charming
man who probably wouldn’t feed
me corned beef on a first date.

“Sorry. So, Alan, what are you
doing here in the States?”

“I work for Trans-Pacific Maritime
and will be here at the Port of Oakland for a couple of years. I plan to buy a
sailboat and thought joining a local yacht club would be a good way to meet
people. I hear you live aboard yon powerboat.” He lifted his perfectly chiseled
chin towards
Sea Cock
. “Interesting
name, that.”

“I’m going to change it real soon.”

“To what?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Hmmm, something suitable that
captures your very essence. Beautiful, yet feisty. Independent, yet vulnerable.
Maybe a little naughty. Something like
Muy
Salsa
.
Very Saucy.”

Now, I’ve spent a great deal of
time and money perched on ginmill barstools all over the world. Yes, even in
Casa Blanca. I’ve flirted with and chatted up men from many different countries
and cultures while wearing a groove into the insteps of my shoe soles. Trust me
when I tell you I can spot a world-class rotter when I meet one. And this Alan
had all the makings of a candidate for president of
Roues
Internationale
. My
kind of guy.

There
was something vaguely wicked about him, something familiar. His kind usually
meant trouble. Unfortunately, my kind of trouble. With guys like this you know
what to expect, namely eventual grief, preceded by a great deal of dodgy
dalliance. Who needs steadfast and dependable when the Alans of the earth still
skulk and charm? How could I have even
considered
falling for someone like Jenks Jenkins?

 
“Haven’t we met before, Alan?” I slurred,
then ordered more champagne. A lot more champagne.

Alan and I careened back to my
boat, bouncing off the dock ramp’s handrails and narrowly avoiding a midnight
dip in the estuary. When I stepped onto
Sea
Cock
, he started to follow and for one moment I almost let him. But warning
bells clanged loud enough to penetrate my boozy brain and I sent him on his
way.

I am not
always
stupid.

Nor am I always smart. Which I knew
the minute I came to the next morning. I didn’t wake up, I came to. A second of
dread washed over me, until I felt the other side of the bed, found it empty
and forced myself to sit up. Relief replaced apprehension. I was alone, fully
clothed. And the phone was ringing.

“Mrffsg,” I said into the
mouthpiece. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth by something truly
horrid.

“Hetta? Jenks. Can I come by and show you
something I’ve set up for you on the security system? I didn’t get a chance
last night.”

Hell
no, you didn’t get a chance last night, you were too anxious to escape.

“Umm-humm,” I said.

“Good, be over in ten minutes.” He
hung up and I headed for the shower and Mentadent. The next boat I buy is going
to have a hot tub.

Steam still rose from my body when
Jenks rapped on the hull. I yelled, “Come on in,” threw on an oversized tee and
leggings and wrapped my hair in a towel. I didn’t care if Robert Redford was
waiting for me, I needed coffee and I needed it now. I trudged up the stairs to
the main saloon and found, not Robert R., nor Jenks J., but Alan, Brit.
Merde.

“My,
don’t you look delicious this morning, Hetta.”

“Alan, what are you doing here?”

“You told me to come in.”

“I wasn’t expecting.…”

The boat dipped slightly and I
heard Jenks call out, “Ahoy,
Sea Cock.”
Jenks
stopped short when he saw Alan in the cabin.

Alan took the lead and stepped
forward with his hand held out. “Alan Whitcombe here. We haven’t met, but I’ve
seen you around the yacht club.”

Jenks shook his hand. “Robert
Jenkins. Nice to meet you. Uh, I can come back later if you like, Hetta."

“No!” I yelled.

“No?” Jenks said.

“I mean, don’t leave. Alan stopped
by to, uh, Alan, just why
did
you stop by?”

“Oh, to tell you how very much I
enjoyed last night. Perhaps I’ll call later?” Alan exited without my answer,
leaving me openmouthed. I hate it when someone uses my own tactics.

 
Jenks grinned wryly and said, “I could have sworn you were out
with me last night.”

“I was. But then I went up to the
club and ended up talking with Alan. He’s new in town and he really did just
stop by.”

“Hetta, you don’t have to explain
what you do with your time to me. Besides, I saw him when I stopped at the club
on the way down. He beat me down here. And I owe you an apology for leaving so
early last night without an explanation. I’m not used to telling anyone what I
do, because I usually don’t give a damn what they think. In your case, I do. I
went to my daughter’s in San Jose. She has a nasty flu bug and I thought she
needed a little chicken soup and fatherly love.”

“Chicken soup?” I said dumbly.

“With stars. Her favorite. She’s
feeling a lot better today. Now, would you like to go get some breakfast before
we go over your new system?”

I almost swooned with relief and
gratitude. “Let me dry my hair. I would love some brunch.”

“Breakfast, Hetta, not brunch. Real
food,” he said. He took me to The Hideaway, home of greasy home fries, biscuits
with cream gravy, and corned beef hash. Jenks, it seems, has a thing for corned
beef.

While we finished off about a
gallon of coffee, Jenks told me more about the security system he’d installed
for me. “If you feel uneasy with what I’ve done, I’ll take it out. I give you
my word I’ll never activate the system myself, nor will any of my employees, unless
you push the PANIC button.”

I didn’t have any idea what he was
talking about. One thing I was more and more assured of, though, if Jenks
Jenkins gave his word, he meant to stand by it. What a concept in a man.

We went back to the boat and he
accessed his website to show me the options available for my security system.
Despite ten gallons of coffee and several thousand calories worth of
carbohydrates, I was still a little foggy brained from my champagne overdose
the night before, but he was patient. Finally, while he was showing me how to
change a camera angle, it suddenly dawned on me I didn’t know where the cameras
were.

“Camera number one is right there,”
he said, pointing to what I thought was a smoke alarm. “We call it a covert
system, meaning not obvious to an intruder.”

“Is it legal?”

“Sure, as long as it’s in your
home, being operated for your own security.”

“Wait a minute, can
you
turn this system on from your
office?”

“Technically, I can. That’s what I
was talking about earlier.”

“You could turn this on when I’m
here and watch me?” This was getting kinky.

“I could, but I won’t. That’s what
I was telling you about the PANIC button. The way I’ve set it up, my staff
can’t activate the system unless you hit the PANIC button first, and then don’t
answer our phone call. On the other hand, I could override the system, but only
me. And I won’t.”

“How do I know that for sure?
Christ, for all I know I could be a new Internet star.” Then I giggled, “But
who in the hell would want to watch.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Hetta.”

“I guess I have to trust you and
your people not to spy on me. Anything else I should know?”

“Nope. What I would like to do, if
you agree, is demo your system to potential clients. I’ll come aboard, hit the
PANIC button and then show off for my clients, who will be watching from my
office. That’s the only time I will turn on the camera, and never when you’re
home.”

“I trust you.”

“So how do you like the system?”

“I love it. Not only can I see
what’s happening on my boat, if I need help I can punch a button. Wait a
minute, who’s monitoring the calls? What if you’re out of town or something?”

“I have a pager and a portable
satellite system. I can go on line, look at the situation and call the police
or whatever. And if I’m not available, I have employees who cover for me. They
work from home.”

“Wow. I feel safer already. Jenks,
how much does one of these things really cost? You’re only billing me for
service, not equipment and all. This sucker’s pretty damned sophisticated. In
my business, that spells big bucks.”

“They ain’t cheap. I’m targeting
megayachts, corporate stuff. Your boat, like I said, will be my prototype, so I
really shouldn’t be charging you anything, but it goes against my nature. The
hundred will do. If, that is, you agree.”

“Oh, I agree all right. I’ll be
your Guinea pig, no problem. What happens when the boat leaves the dock? Is my
security system dead in the water, so to speak?”

“I can rig up a cell phone that’ll
dial the website when the PANIC button is pushed.”

“Call me impressed. In fact, call
me anytime,” I said, then blushed. Brazen hussy.

“I will. Oh, and there’s another
thing I meant to do last night, but ran out of time.”

What now, my own satellite?

“What?” I asked.

“This,”
he said, and he kissed me.

And
what they say is true, even after two thousand, one hundred and thirty-one
days—but who’s counting? It’s like riding a bike.

In
the Tour de France.

And winning.

Chic,
alors!

What can I say? The next six weeks
were magical. And no, that’s not what I named the boat, it’s the only word I
can think of to describe my
thing
with Jenks.

I guess one could call it a budding
romance, but one thankfully devoid of the hype, sleight of heart, and the
general bull
merde
involved in most
new
affaires d’cœur
. At least any I’d
had since I was ten and my heartthrob was a horse named Wishes. As in, “If
wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Or maybe it was that Jenks and I
were far from buds. One might even say a mite past full bloom. For the first
time in my life, the words, mature and love, could share a sentence.
 
Not that either of us had actually used the
L-word yet.

Call it what you will—love, like,
lust, or a healthy mix of all those things—we fell into a comfortable…what?
Relationship: A state of connectedness between people. Okay, so that’s what we
had, even though I hate the word. Anyway, neither of us found it necessary to
unload past baggage—another buzz word that stinks—play the hard-to-get game, or
worry whether what we said to one another might constitute possible insult or
injury. I never even obsessed or asked about that blowsy blonde, old Shirl. It
was downright unnatural.

I was away in Seattle or Los
Angeles a few days out of each week, but we frequently talked on the phone
right before I went to bed. It was comforting to know someone out there besides
Jan, Mama, and Daddy missed me. And told me so.

Thursday night through Sunday night
we spent aboard
Sea Cock
. We left the
dock on Thursday afternoon, sometimes taking what we dubbed a cocktail cruise
to our destination. We’d anchor at Treasure Island’s Clipper Cove, Angel
Island, or some other Bay Area locale until reluctantly returning to the real
world Sunday night or Monday morning. Sometimes Tuesday, if we didn’t have
pressing business.

We quickly fell into a natural,
relaxed routine. For our weekends afloat, Jenks shopped for what he called real
food, namely steaks, hamburger fixin’s, pork chops. I made sure we had movies
and necessities like chocolate cake, popcorn, Toll House cookies, and Merlot.

Weather permitting, Jenks schooled
me on anchor drills, basic seamanship, knot tying, and diesel mechanics. If it
blew or rained, we holed up on the hook and played dominoes. He always won.
We’d read, he Clancy, me McMurtry. We both liked Tom Hanks movies, and while he
really leaned toward action flicks, we both loved
Sleepless in Seattle
. Mostly though, we talked and enjoyed each
other’s company.

After being alone for so long, I
sometimes found myself astonished that I could spend this much time in such a
confined space with someone who still liked me when we parted. Like I said, it
was downright unnatural.

But when we were apart, my neuroses
surfaced. Lurking very deep in the dark labyrinth of my insecurity was a murky
dread of…what? My past whispered, “Hetta, Jenks is too good to be true, and you
know
what they say about that.” And
if he was what he seemed, what was he doing with me? Four in the morning found
me tossing and turning in my hotel room bed, trying to convince myself I wasn’t
dating Ted Bundy.

Thankfully I didn’t carry my
misgivings aboard on our weekends. Although we didn’t usually go into gory
details concerning our histories of loves, losses, or regrets, we did touch
lightly on our pasts. Needless to say, I couldn’t let the “nooner” incident go
untouched. We shared a good laugh when he told me he called a nap a nooner, and
I told him what I
thought
he’d meant.

One Thursday night, when
entertaining Jenks with funny anecdotes of my hooker friends in Tokyo, I found
myself reluctantly telling him about Hudson. After all, Jenks was in charge of
my security system and we were having an intimate relationship. I thought it
might be about time to tell him my last boyfriend ended up floating face down
in my hot tub. Some guys could get real touchy about something like that.
Evidently Jenks was made of sterner stuff.

“So,” he said when I’d finished,
“this guy, Hudson Williams, who disappeared in Tokyo five years ago, shows up,
breaks into your house and ends up dead in your hot tub? Why do you think he
surfaced,” here he smiled, “after all this time?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll show
you,” I said. I went to my cabin, opened the safe, and brought back the key I
no longer wore around my neck. The one from the Key Note Club in Tokyo.

“Mr. Fujitsu, my Japanese neighbor,
told me these clubs keep bottles in personal boxes for up to ten years, so
chances are Hudson had more in that box than a bottle of Crown Royal. That’s my
guess.”

Jenks fingered the key. “What did
that detective, Martinez, think about this?”

“Actually, I didn’t tell him about
the key.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m stupid. That’s my
defense and I’m stickin’ to it. I’ve been thinking it was a mistake. I plan to
get in touch with Martinez on Monday, give him the key and let him figure out
what to do with it. I never was a serious suspect in Hudson’s murder, but I can
assure you Martinez is going to be really pissed when he finds out I’ve been
holding out on him. According to Allison, he could even charge me with
obstruction of justice or something. The only good news is that Hudson is no
longer in the picture.”

“Gee, I don’t know about that,”
Jenks said, smiling and handing me back the key. “If he were still alive we
could invite him for drinks, hit him over the head and collect the reward.”

“Very funny. Although I like the
hitting over the head part. Anyway, I promised Allison I’d give the key to
Martinez this week for sure.”

“I thought you had to leave for
Seattle Monday noon. Do we have to go back to the dock on Sunday instead of
Monday morning?”

“Rats! You’re right. Japan
Incorporated, as I call the big client, will be in Seattle. We start work
early, eat late, and never have a moment in between. The good news is that
after this week, I’ll have some time off and can stay down here for at least a
couple of weeks. I’ll have to give Martinez the key after I get back.”

“Want me to handle it for you? I’m
not real busy and I can’t really get any work done on the boat because you have
a charter on Wednesday and Thursday.”

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about
those charters. I must say, they’re great for the pocketbook and my champagne
supply. Molly buys the good stuff.”

“Who’s chartering this week?”

I shrugged. “I never know. Molly
takes care of everything. Whoever they are, they have bucks, ‘cause I get five
to seven hundred a day and Molly charges the client twice that. I think it’s
mostly corporate stuff and honeymooners.”

I handed Jenks the key. He turned
it over and looked at it. “Looks harmless enough. Give me Martinez’s number and
I’ll get it to him so you don’t have to break your promise to Allison and Jan.
I’m sure, though, he’ll be wanting to talk to you about it when you return.”

Gratitude swept over me like a warm
wave. I had been alone for so long, handling everything myself, the ability to
share a responsibility with someone was a wonderment. Moisture welled in my
eyes, causing Jenks to get that alarmed look men get when women cry.

“Don’t worry, Jenks,” I told him
with a laugh, “I’m no sob sister. I’m not gonna cry. In fact, I rarely do. Nor
do I throw up. If I ever do either, you’d best pay attention because we have us
a serious problem. And while I’m in a true confessions mood—a rarity, you’ll be
glad to hear—I have to warn you I have a long-term memory like a computer. I
might forget what I had for breakfast this morning, but in the end I remember
almost everything anyone tells me. If two pieces of information don’t add up,
my motherboard screams
tilt
. So don’t
lie to me unless you mean it.”

He grinned. “I’ll remember that. So
if you don’t cry or throw up, does that mean you never get seasick?”

“Never have. Why?”

“I thought maybe we’d take this tub out
the Gate, go down to Half Moon Bay.”

“In the
ocean
?” I squawked.

Jenks chuckled and waved away my
concern. “Hey, you’ve got to get certified sooner or later.”

“As what? A lunatic?”

“Sea wench,” he said.

Any other man called me a wench
he’d’a died on the spot. The way Jenks said it, I smiled. Yep, I had it bad.
This was a man I aimed to get—without my .38.

True to form, I didn’t get seasick
the next morning when we left Clipper Cove, cruised out under the Golden Gate
Bridge, and plunged into fifteen-foot head seas.

“Uh, Jenks, are you sure about
this?” I said as we ran up a wave, fell off it and crammed the pointy end of
the boat into a wall of water before climbing the next wave. That’s the way I
saw it, anyway. For the properly nautical, however, we topped a swell, nosed
into the trough, and buried the bow, taking on green water before climbing to
the top of the next swell. Semantics aside, we were getting the crap beat out
of us.

“It’ll get better real soon, Hetta.
We have to clear the bar, then you’ll see.”

“Damn. I’ve been in some pretty
raunchy bars in my day, but this one is the roughest.”

Jenks laughed. “All the weather and
sea reports say we’re in for a great cruise down to Pillar Point. Hang in there
for an hour.” He took a sip of his coffee. I’d long since given up trying to
drink mine after almost taking out my front teeth.

“If you say so,” I muttered, not
really convinced.

In just under an hour, we were
smoothly headed south,
Sea Cock
riding in the troughs or over swells, only occasionally catching an undulating
wave on the beam that caused the boat to rock from side to side.

I soon adapted to the boat’s rhythm
and started enjoying the cruise. We changed course, picked up a following sea
and rode it into Pillar Point. I whooped with delight as we surfed off the top
of swells, sliding forward with dizzying speed, then almost stalling in the
troughs until the next wave picked us up and pushed us forward again. It was
this E-ticket ride that told me I’d found more than one new love. But, like any
new relationship, mine with the sea was soon to be tested.

North of Half Moon Bay, the
delightful anchorage at Pillar Point Harbor offered a peaceful respite from the
waves pounding her breakwater. A flotilla of small sailboats, a group of
trailerable vessels from a Sacramento sailing club, bobbed about, their crews
sipping beer and swapping tales after a day of sailing on the Pacific Ocean.

Happily anchored after our own
exciting day at sea, we showered, had a drink, cooked steaks on the propane
grill and we went to bed at nine o’clock. Whoa, you say. Drink? As in singular?
Yep, one of the most surprising aspects of spending time with Jenks was my
diminished alcohol consumption. “Maybe you won’t be needing those meetings
after all,” my Pollyanna muse chirped. My dark side, however, rasped, “Until he
dumps you.”

By the time we hit the sack, an
unusually balmy southerly breeze gently rocked the boat. The warmish air felt
good on my naked, slightly sunburned skin. A little foreplay on the foredeck
during the voyage—in full view, I might add, of planes soaring out over the
Pacific from SFO—had singed previously pasty white body parts to a pinkish
tinge. As I fell asleep, I gave the day a ten. People spend their whole lives
dreaming of a day like I’d had.

A clap of thunder brought us from
dreamland to our feet in seconds. Driving rain sent us scurrying around the
decks, naked as the day we were born, slamming shut doors and hatches.
Lightning flashes lit building whitecaps. White horses slammed into our bow.
Surf crashing on the beach astern roared the boaters’ worst nightmare of ending
up on the wrong side of a normally lee shore.

We
started the engines.

It was, of course, pitch black
outside. Where’s a moon when you need one?
Sea
Cock
was hobby horsing, her bowsprit scooping seawater on the dive, then
throwing it over her shoulder onto the decks on the rise. Thankfully I had done
the dishes and locked the refrigerator before we turned in or the galley would
have been a minefield of flying food and pottery. I careened around the cabin,
securing anything that threatened to move while Jenks turned on the running
lights, depth sounder, VHF radio and radar.

“Hetta, can you get down to your
cabin and grab us both a set of sweat pants and our shoes?” When I said yes, he
added. “I’ll get out the PFD’s.”

PFD’s. PFD’s. I tried to remember
what they were. “PFD’s? What are those?”

“Personal Floatation Devices.”

“Hell, Jenks, I thought we were
on
one!”

Once we were both dressed and
PFD’d, he snapped a safety line to his waist, strapped a strobe light to his
arm, then one on mine. During all this time, which seemed like an hour but was
more like five minutes, he was a rock of calm, doing his best to relieve my
building sense of panic. However, safety lines, life jackets, and strobes are
somehow not comforting. They mean shit has happened.

He gave my lifejacket ties a tug
and said, “Okay, Hetta, here’s the drill. Raising the anchor from down here,
using the automatic switch, is too iffy under these conditions. I have to go
out on the foredeck. We’ll have to maneuver the boat to time the raising of the
anchor between swells. Got it?”

I nodded dumbly. “Uh, yes. I think.
What do you want me to do?”

“You have to drive the boat from
the bridge.”

“What? Are you nuts? No way. Not a
chance.”

“You have to, Hetta. And you have
to drive from up there so you can see my signals. Remember what I’ve taught
you. Slow is good. Follow my hand signals, just like we’ve practiced.”