Sun on the Rocks - The Sugar Baby
Page 5
Chapter Four
The next day, after setting anchor near the island of Little Thatch, the ‘Lady Moura’ headed south. Clarity and Flower enjoyed their first day suntanning on the sun beds of the ‘Lady Moura’´s upper deck. The pussy liners, four of them, had taken three of the cabins normally used by the crew, leaving the master suite for Bartleby, one suite for Clarity and Flower, and one for Ribalaigua, each of them equipped with double beds, private shower stall and bathroom. Clarity had overheard two of the women´s names, Belina, and Virgy. They were simply giggling among themselves on the bow of the boat, both of them topless. The third woman, Sandy, wearing a pink bottom and black top, was speaking about their favorite drinks. Belina seemed to be in charge of the group and Sandy had bartended at a trendy bar on Mosquito island, the island north of Virgin Gorda that celebrities chose for vacation. Anton, the bodyguard, had settled in a small cabin used by the crew.
They crossed San Francis Drake Channel and set course on a few islands south of Tortola, Norman Island, Peter Island and the island of Dead Chest. When they reached Ginger Island, they noticed a yacht, about the same size as the ‘Lady Moura’, but of more recent built and design. On its bow, someone was waving a large flag at them. Bartleby took his binoculars and observed them.
“It´s the flag of British West Florida.” He gave the binoculars to Ribalaigua.
“It´s Cobbler´s yacht,” said the bartender, “looks like they´re having trouble.”
“I´ve never heard of British West Florida,” said Clive.
Ribalaigua informed Bartleby´s uncle that British West Florida was a micronation. Clarity felt a sense of kinship with those harboring the flag of a micronation similar to her own adopted homeland, the Monteviena cigar plantation micronation, the one that precious metals agent Cubandor had created in the name of spreading knowledge freely in the island of Cuba. Even though U.S. authorities had confiscated her U.S. passport, Clarity had received a passport issued by Cubandor's own micronation in Cuba, established on the land of his Monteviena cigar plantation. At least she was a citizen of Monteviena, even though nobody knew of it.
When mentioning the name Cobbler, Ribalaigua was referring to ‘Cobbler’ Hargreaves, a man known in the British Virgin Islands for his understanding of the one hundred and eight aspects of Buddha, afflictions of the mind which tended to stain or defile comprehension of realities, conceptual errors in thinking which could be straightened out by following the path. What the path entailed exactly, no one knew with certainty, just like no one seemed to know why Cobbler was such an admiror of Buddha. The ‘Lady Moura’ approached the yacht. Clarity saw several women on the bow, three, waving at them.
“The engines don´t work,” they said, “we need some assistance”. Ribalaigua placed the ‘Lady Moura’ side to side with Cobbler´s yacht and threw a rope to allow boarding. Bartleby stepped on the yacht first, followed by Ribalaigua. Two of the pussy liners climbed aboard, and Clarity and Flower decided to do the same.
“We´ve got some alcohol in the platform at the stern,” said one of the ladies from the yacht, Cathy, dressed in bikini. Another woman, good looking, Eve, wore jeans and a t-shirt.
Cobbler was absent. Ribalaigua followed Eve, the lady in t-shirt, to the engine room to take a look. After a few minutes, he came back to report the damage.
“Can´t see anything wrong but the engines are not running, it might be the battery, I´ll take a closer look.” Bartleby nodded and Ribalaigua headed back to the engine room of the yacht.
“Where´s Cobbler?” asked Bartleby, turning to one of the women in bikini, a woman named Tiffany.
“He took the small zodiac with the crew to call for help in Virgin Gorda. We´ve been stranded for a few hours.”
The three women, in their late twenties and early thirties, were the only passengers onboard. Bartleby stared at them, intrigued. They were more elegant than the pussy liners. Not that the women sent by Chubby Caddy were vulgar, but these were more refined in their talk, and in the way they moved. Although Bartleby had his own supplier for the boat´s liquor, a man known in the Caribbean as the ‘Shawab’, Bartleby knew Cobbler sold liquor as well for a living. He headed for the platform and spoke to one of Cobbler´s ladies.
“What are you carrying?”
“Tambrera Añejo,” she said.
“All right, give me five bottles, we´ll give you a hand for a couple of hours. Can´t stay too long, we have to reach the Baths by tonight.”
The lady selling the alcohol, Tiffany, gave Bartleby a large bottle of rum.
“Baths is pretty close,” she said, “let me come on board, I´ll give you a hand with the bottles, we´re bringing them from Mosquito island.”
“Thanks,” said Bartleby.
Clarity and Flower each carried a bottle of rum on board the ‘Lady Moura’, to the area of the boat reserved for entertainment, an area which included a large bar shelf and counter, filled with over one hundred bottles of various spirits. The bar shelf, lit up by a pale blue shade coming from a light emitting diode, a LED, was impressive. Clarity noticed that the bar shelf had several rows, numbered carefully. While Bartleby examined the bottles offered by Cobbler´s ladies and Flower took a closer look at the front rail of the bar, Tiffany took Clarity aside in the entertainment room, a few feet from the large plasma screen showing the latest news on Bloomberg television. The look of worry on Tiffany´s face took Clarity by surprise.
“What are you doing here, I can see you and your friend are not pussy liners.”
“My friend made an arrangement to be the Sugar Baby of Bartleby for a few days, I´m just with her, I guess to ensure she´s all right. Why, is there something wrong?” Tiffany took a photograph out of her pocket.
“Have you seen this before?” Clarity could not believe her eyes. Tiffany was showing her the minted gold bar known as Lady Fortuna, the one that she had found in Cuba, before Mista Jack had taken it with him. She became suspicious immediately, for she thought nearly no one was aware of the gold bar.
“Who are you?”
“Torch bearers of the Mysteries, carriers of the Lady Fortuna initiation tradition.”
Tiffany explained that their role was to help other women become initiates, and they wanted Bartleby to become one as well, the main reason for their not so fortuitous meeting. Bartleby was a corporate executive. The idea of him adopting any habit related to the spiritual was a far fetched idea, thought Clarity. The important fact was that the yacht´s engine failure was not a coincidence, though. Cobbler knew that Bartleby was passing through Ginger Island.
“We have informers in Tortola, we spoke to Shay Manwick who told us the ‘Lady Moura’ was leaving for a cruise,” said Tiffany. “It´s important that your friend stop being the Sugar Baby of Bartleby, she may be disappointed.”
Clarity glanced at Flower, sitting on a bar stool, who was engaging in a lively conversation about her platforms with one of the pussy liners, the expert on drinks named Sandy. After briefly trying Flower´s platforms, Sandy went on explaining the ingredients of the Brandy Shrub, made with the juice of five lemons, two quarts of brandy, covering for three days, adding a quart of sherry, some loaf-sugar, and bottling the whole. Flower loved sugar. On a boat in the Caribbean, surrounded by women who shared her liking for skimpy clothes, platforms, and a sugary drink, it was difficult to disappoint Flower.
“What about Cobbler, where is he?”
Tiffany said that Cobbler was with the five men who were part of his crew, in a nearby island, Cooper Island. It was important that Cobbler be absent, because he didn´t get along that well with Bartleby and he wanted to bait Bartleby with women, Bartleby´s well known favorite company if he had to choose between money and women. She added that Cobbler was not an initiate, and that he was looking for a woman who was dear to him, a woman who had decided to go through the first ceremony that all initiates go through, the ritual of the neophyte, before disappearing. That disappearance, and the subsequent search for her, had brought Cob
bler closer to the work of Buddha. According to one of the four truths of Buddha, one could lose one´s nation, home, or spouse in a single moment. Losing his spouse had happened to Cobbler and it had felt like losing his home and his nation. That was the reason why he lived on a yacht and had adopted the flag of a micronation, British West Florida, as his own. Through a whim of fate, Cobbler had lost a spouse and his identity, and the flag of British West Florida was a way to recover part of that identity.