South of Bixby Bridge

by Ryan Winfield

  Like the way you just tried to take advantage of me?

  Benny drops the photos. He walks around the desk. His voice is loud and firm. He says,

  We’re responsible for the retirement of the people who teach our children. We’re not some reckless hedge fund here.

  You seem to have no problem—

  Are you blackmailing me, son?

  Giving you options.

  Benny stomps to the door and opens it. He says,

  I take the professional duties of this office very seriously—I am not for sale!

  My heart is pounding out of my chest but I remain aloof, force a smile, and walk to the door. As I pass Benny, he grabs my arm. He clears his throat and in a low voice, he says,

  I’ll look over that risk report. You can tell Paul I’ll get in touch after the holidays.

  21 It’s Just Wine

  I sit alone at a window table for two in the Delta King restaurant. If it were still light outside, I could see the CalTEARS building downriver, but I want to forget Benny Wilson, so I read the boring history lesson on the table card for the third time.

  The Delta King is a retired paddlewheel steamboat permanently moored in Old Sacramento. In the roaring 20s, it took 10 days to steam passengers through the Delta into San Francisco. During World War II, it transported troops across the Bay. In 1982, it sank and lay on the sand-bed seafloor for a year before it was resurrected in Sacramento as a floating hotel and restaurant. Some people claim it’s haunted and I think it would be great to see the faces of the pretentious capital-city patrons if the engines fire up on their own and we take off upriver during dinner. My hand is still shaking when I sip my water.

  I see the mustached host leading Stephanie to the table. I stand. She wears a simple yellow dress that looks stunning against her dark skin. The Tiffany’s diamond solitaire hangs from her neck catching the light. I take her hand. I say,

  You’re beautiful!

  Thanks, she says, you look handsome, Trevor.

  You wore the necklace.

  Stephanie clutches the necklace and blushes. I slide her chair in as she sits and then I take my seat across from her.

  I wish I could have afforded a bigger stone, I say. You should don a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

  I like the one you gave me, she says.

  Yeah, but the way things are going with Paul, I’ll be able to buy you a better one soon.

  Our server sees that my companion has arrived and rushes over with menus. She’s a young redhead with a quick smile and cute freckles. She says her name is Courtney. She asks us if we would like to start with a drink. Stephanie says she’s fine with just water. I say the same. We decide we’re both hungry enough to order right away and as we look over our menus, Courtney says,

  The chef’s special tonight is the king and queen, a petite filet paired with a four-ounce lobster tail—

  I snap my menu closed. We’ll have two of those, I say.

  Stephanie peers around her menu at me and says,

  I don’t eat meat, Trevor.

  Oh, yeah, right—sorry.

  Courtney beams a smile at me as she takes my menu. How do you like your meat, sir?

  Bloody.

  Courtney blushes. She turns to Stephanie. And for you, Miss?

  The diver scallops, please.

  Courtney nods, collects our menus. The sommelier will be right out, she says and then she heads off toward the kitchen.

  When I called Stephanie back this morning, she sounded happy to be talking to me. I told her I was coming to town and suggested dinner. She said yes right away. I’ve been thinking a lot about getting back to when things were good with Stephanie and me and now that money’s rolling in again, I think it’s time.

  I reach in my pocket. I feel the cold metal of my grandmother’s ring. I brought it just in case. But now that she’s across from me, I’m having second thoughts. I’ve never compared Stephanie to another woman, but I look at her now and size her up to Tara—Stephanie’s not as pretty as Tara is.

  Stephanie sees me examining her. We share an awkward silence. Why were you in ugly Old Sacramento anyway? she says.

  Oh, just a little meeting over at CalTEARS—the $160 billion pension fund, the largest one in California.

  That sounds really important, she says. What were you meeting with them about?

  It’s a new account, I say. Paul has me working with the CEO.

  Nice. Have you seen your dad?

  I sent him some money. How’s school?

  Fine. We’re on winter break now.

  When will you graduate?

  I’m going for my TESOL certificate now, so next year.

  TESOL certificate?

  Stands for: Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages.

  Still want to teach, eh?

  The money’s no good but I love it, she says.

  Stephanie takes two quick nervous sips of her water and when she sets her glass down she touches the Tiffany’s necklace. She closes her eyes, opens them again, and says,

  Trevor, I’ve been thinking a lot since we hung out the other weekend—since two months ago really—

  Me too, I say.

  And I’ve been talking with my mom. She’s your biggest fan—

  I like your mom very much.

  Well, if you’re really serious about things, I think I’d like to give it a try—give us another try—our relationship, I mean—but only if you still feel the same—

  Your 1989 Château Pétrus, sir, the sommelier interrupts her. The sommelier is tall, thin, a tuxedoed cartoon vampire, and he grins down on me with purple teeth and presents the bottle. You have fine taste, sir, he says. Shall we open it now and allow it an opportunity to breathe? He deftly sets two wide-mouthed Bordeaux wineglasses on the table. Then he uncorks the bottle and pours me a sample. I taste it, nodding my approval. He fills Stephanie’s glass, and then mine. He sets the bottle on the table, spins the label to face us, smiles, and then retreats with a bow.

  Stephanie gapes at my glass of wine. She says,

  What is this, Trevor?

  It’s a very rare French Bordeaux.

  You’re drinking again?

  It’s just wine, Steph.

  Just wine?

  The other stuff was the problem. You know that.

  I know the problem starts with just wine, Trevor.

  Relax, Stephanie, pull in your horns already. I’m not gonna start drinking again—I just wanna be able to enjoy a glass of wine with you. Like the good times.

  There was nothing good about those times.

  Come on, we had lots of good times.

  You didn’t touch me for months, Trevor.

  I was a little depressed is all.

  You overdosed!

  Come on, I thought we’d celebrate.

  Celebrate what?

  Let’s celebrate getting engaged.

  I pull my grandmother’s ring from my pocket and hold it out to Stephanie. She stares at the ring in silence. Then she looks at me with wet, glistening eyes. She grips the table. She says,

  They pumped your stomach. You almost died. If I hadn’t found you, you would have died. Right there in your stupid hot tub, Trevor. Don’t you get that? You’re heavy, you know. Too heavy for me to lift. You weren’t conscious. All I could do was hold your mouth above the water until the medics got there. Now you’re drinking again. And you want me to marry you?

  I stuff the ring back in my pocket. Okay, I say, don’t marry me then. But let’s just drink this wine—we can’t very well waste an $800 bottle in good conscience.

  Stephanie stands and throws her linen on the table. She says,

  If you have any conscience at all to go along with all this damn money that you’re throwing around on wine, maybe you can pay my mother back for your rehab!

  Sit down.

  You haven’t changed.

  Stephanie storms out. I gulp my wine and decide to go after her. People stare at me as I rush through the restaura
nt. Bursting outside, I catch Stephanie on the dock and grab her arm. I say,

  Why didn’t you meet the train!

  Stephanie spins around. She’s crying. She shakes her head and says, This is too much, Trevor—too much, too much, too much.

  She pulls free and walks off.

  I yell at her back. Are you fucking someone else?

  Stephanie spins to face me. She clutches the Tiffany’s diamond solitaire around her neck. She rips it off and holds it over the railing of the raised dock. The necklace dangles from her hand reflecting yellow light from the windows of the Delta King. She lets it drop. The necklace tumbles toward the black water below. I rush to the rail and look over. The necklace plops like a pebble and then the inky ripples close around it and I can see myself reflected in the black water, my silhouette outlined by the orange dock light behind me waving on the water’s surface—a shapeless shadow of a man.

  When I look up, Stephanie is gone.

  22 Christmas Ship Parade

  The yacht club parking lot is full tonight. As I lead Courtney, the Delta King server, down the docks toward the Valombrosa II, partiers drift past us on their way to idling yachts. The black water reflects one-hundred-thousand colored lights strung from the ships and the waiting crews untie lines and lay dock plates down so the owners can board.

  A boy passes us wearing a red Santa hat. He looks too young to be drinking the open bottle of Champagne he’s carrying and when I call after him and ask what all the commotion’s about, he looks back and he’s not a boy at all but a small woman and she holds up the Champagne bottle and says,

  It’s the annual caroling Christmas ship parade of course!

  Courtney’s eyes get wide as I help her aboard the yacht. Her jaw drops when I throw the master switch and turn on the lights. Wow, she says, this is yours? You live here? Are you rich? Are you?

  No, I say, I’m broke.

  Yeah, sure, she says.

  I’m tempted to open another bottle of Pétrus but I find a bottle of Vya dry vermouth in a galley cupboard and decide to mix martinis instead. When I pull the Kauffman vodka from the freezer, Courtney takes it from my hand and says,

  Holy shit, dude! We serve this vodka for 80 bucks a shot.

  While I shake the martinis, Courtney inspects her sudden stroke of luck. She wanders around the galley touching every expensive surface. Stopping to study the portrait of Paul, she says,

  Is this your dad?

  I ignore her question and fill the martini glasses. Courtney says,

  So what do you do that makes so much money?

  I blackmail people.

  You’re an attorney?

  I hand Courtney a martini. Money manager, I say.

  How’d you get into that?

  I fell into it like a fucking grave.

  She sips her martini. I’m getting my associate at American River College, she says. But I plan to major in business.

  Business is good, I say. My degree’s in poli sci and it qualifies me for jack shit—except maybe waiting tables. Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that.

  It’s okay, she says. I don’t like serving either, but we all do what we gotta do, right?

  The lighted ships are moving now and I walk out on the deck with my martini. Courtney follows me. She wraps her arms around me from behind and unbuttons my shirt. She presses her breasts into my back and slides her hands in my pants pockets, rubbing my inner thighs and the edge of my hardening boxers. She says,

  What were you and that pretty girl fighting about?

  Nothing.

  Oh, don’t tell me nothing.

  Courtney pulls my grandmother’s ring from my pocket and holds it up to me. Is this her ring? she says.

  No, I say, it’s not, snatching the ring from her hand.

  I can’t believe Stephanie threw away the diamond necklace I bought for her, I can’t believe she told me I haven’t changed, I can’t believe I asked her to marry me, and I’m glad she said no. I wind up and pitch my grandmother’s ring into the water. It doesn’t even make a sound as it disappears into the black.

  We stand at the rail in silence and watch the parade of lighted yachts pass by on their way out into the cove.

  As the last ship passes, Courtney says,

  Hey, that guy’s waving at us.

  Scott waves from the back deck of the SS Reel Talk. Ahoy, mate! he says. What’s the problem, no Christmas spirit? That Valombrosa Grinch couldn’t afford any lights? Scott and Justin high-five and everyone on his party deck laughs.

  I leave Courtney standing on the deck and run out to the dock. I untie the lines and unplug the shore power. I jump back on the yacht. Courtney follows me into the pilothouse. I start the engines and back the Valombrosa II from its slip.

  In the distance, the floating light show pushes out into the cove. I push the throttles forward and steer toward the yachts. Horns blow up and down the line of lighted ships like the wave moving through a crowded football stadium and the sound of caroling echoes across the cove. Courtney runs to the window. She says,

  It’s just so beautiful. I’ve never been on a boat at night—never been on a boat this big ever. Way cool. You must feel so free living on a boat. But it’s not really a boat, is it? It’s a yacht! We’re getting closer. Look at the lights. Hey, they’re caroling. Let’s carol too. I saw three ships come sailing in / On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day. This is so great! Hey, there’s your friend, there’s the guy who waved at us.

  Come and take the wheel, I say.

  Courtney skips to my side and grabs the wheel with both hands. Yay, I get to drive! she says.

  I stand behind her and steer our course for the SS Reel Talk. Then I take one of Courtney’s hands from the wheel and put it on the throttles, pushing them wide open. The dual engines whirl and scream. We pick up speed. Courtney says,

  Shouldn’t we slow down a little?

  She pulls back on the throttles. I push them forward again and keep us speeding toward the SS Reel Talk.

  As we advance, a small crowd gathers around Scott on the party deck. When one person shouts and points, they all become frantic like ants in a smoking nest. Scott waves and yells—

  Hey, what the fuck are you doing!

  The distance closes between our ships.

  Courtney twists like a held fish. Let me go, let me go, she says, you’re scaring me!

  I grind my hard-on into her ass. She turns around and kisses me. I pull back on the throttles and the yacht sinks back to the water line. Courtney reaches down and hikes up her dress. I unbuckle my belt and drop my pants. As the SS Reel Talk slips away, I pull Courtney’s panties aside and enter her from behind.

  Thrusting into her, I imagine that she is Tara. She lays her head against the polished-wood control panel and parts her lips. A moan slips out. Air pushes from her lungs with each violent pump. She reaches back, clutches my ass, and pulls me deep inside her. My scream bursts across the cove as I climax and then collapse on the deck panting. Courtney lies bent over the wheel housing with her dress bunched around her waist and her naked ass in the air.

  The echo of my scream dies and the caroling carries back to us across the water—

  All the souls on earth shall sing / On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day And all the souls on earth shall sing / On Christmas Day in the morning.

  PART

  II

  23 Merry Christmas

  I think my eyes are open but all I can see is darkness. The BlackBerry vibrates on the mahogany bedside table in the stateroom. It’s been vibrating for half an hour.

  It’s a week since the Christmas ship parade. Courtney from the Delta King is long gone but Kari from the escort service lies passed out on the bed next to me. After loading Courtney in a cab that night, I called for Kari and 30 minutes later, she was tapping on the door. She said she knew I would call back. I handed her another 400 bucks and invited her in. While I shook us martinis, she kicked off her shoes and slid onto the couch. Then she opened her purse, pulled ou
t a baggie and cut me a line. I snorted the coke and my brain lit on fire. That was a week ago, she never left.

  I guess the escort-service number isn’t the only one that Charlie gives out often because the ‘‘Doc’’ knew right where to deliver the cocaine. The Doc is a slick Mexican kid and he’s crossed paths with the Chinese food-delivery guy so many times this last week, they’ve learned to say hello in each other’s native languages.

  I haven’t left the yacht except twice to pick up boxes of bottles from Charlie at the bar. I can only imagine what my tab is now. My pile of cash is running lean. I quit paying Kari three days ago but she called in sick to her service and stayed. She’s a cool chick when she’s high—she’s a bitch when she’s not.

  The cocaine was getting expensive and I needed to come down. I asked Kari if she knew where we could get some GHB. She didn’t. But she went to her car and came back with a purple pharmacist’s refill bottle of promethazine-codeine cough syrup. She called it Texas tea. She said it would help me sleep. And it did.

  It must be windy because the yacht rocks in its berth and a yellow blade of light cuts beneath the blackout window shade. The BlackBerry vibrates on the table again. Grabbing it, I hit the answer button, raise it to my ear in the dark and mumble hello. Paul says,

  Merry Christmas!

  Huh? Oh, yeah, right—Merry Christmas.

  Tara and I want you to join us for Christmas dinner, he says.

  Today?

  No, next Christmas. Of course, today.

  I don’t wanna intrude.

  You won’t be.

  Are you sure?

  I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t sure.

  Then I hear Tara in the background. She says,

  Tell him I said to come.

  Did you hear that, sport?

  Okay, I’ll come by your place then.

  We’re not at home, he says. Come to La Spa Rouge du Soleil in Rutherford. It’s not far from our place. If there’s anyone at the club today, they can give you directions.