the Golden Orange (1990)

by Wambaugh, Joseph

  Winnie was confused. Why was he showing them a terrific new boat like this? What had Tess told him?

  "She's got a very long waterline and a planing hull, and for this dealer demo we put a furling one-fifty on her. Lots of little things. Deck hardware's through-bolted with stainless steel fasteners and backing plates."

  "She's a paper bag," Winnie said. "I'll bet she flies."

  "But she'll hold up under washing machine conditions. The deck's cored with plywood inserts where there's high stress. The hull and deck're bonded and through-bolted with aluminum toe rails. Go on down the companionway and have a look at the main cabin. The cabinets and bulkhead are bonded directly to the hull. No floating bulkheads."

  Tess said, "I want to see if this boat's got any lady features."

  When they got down in the cabin, Boyd Schuyler said to Tess, "You've got two roomy quarter berths or doubles, and a large locker. You can stand upright in the head and the galley has a three-burner stove and oven and a stainless steel double sink.

  You've got double iceboxes and even a trash bin. She's not a cruiser, but there's comfort."

  "Okay," she said, "I can make an omelet down here. I approve."

  "All seating is arranged so you have a three-sixty view out the cabin windows," said the broker.

  When Boyd Schuyler saw Winnie admiring the navigator's station, running his fingers along the Bruynzeel mahogany chart table, the broker said, "Plenty of electronics, as you can see. Wind speed, autopilot, depth, VHF and Loran. The station is convenient to the cockpit and the whole electrical system is controlled at a breaker panel." "What kind of engine?"

  "A twenty-seven-horsepower three-cylinder diesel."

  "Tell me, Boyd," said Tess. "How much does this boat cost?"

  "Well, Tess, we like to quote prices without sails and electronics. That would be at a hundred and fifty thousand."

  "This boat has sails and electronics, Boyd," she said. "How much?"

  He laughed and said, "For you, Tess, we'll do the best we can. I'd have to sit down and do some computing. Probably another twenty thousand, more or less."

  "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 ft 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-vol ting!" 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 dolphins 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 whe
n that record was set. Nineteen eighty-three. Newport to Ensenada, 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 the 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!"

  Chapter 18 _ Two Harbors

  For 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 lunchtime. 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?"

  "With you I gotta be ready for anything," Winnie said, picking at the fried eggs with his fork.

  "Warner Stillwell's going to arrive tomorrow!"

  That got his attention. "Who with?"

  "He'll be coming with some people from China Cove. They have a big custom powerboat called Circe. We'll be there when they arrive."

  "So tomorrow I meet him?"

  "We'll have a long talk, Warner and you and me."

  "Let's see how it goes first," Winnie warned. "See who's with him. Maybe I'll talk to him alone."

  "You're the skipper," she said.

  His hands were trembling so much he spilled coffee on his eggs. He was not going to have a drink until this thing with Stillwell was over. In fact, he decided he'd go on the wagon for a month just to prove he could do it. He didn't like the way he looked and felt this morning. It scared him.

  "Hurry, slowpoke," Tess said. "The Catalina Flyer leaves in forty minutes. We've got to pack a few things."

  "I want you to promise we're not gonna drink anything till this is all over," Winnie said. "My brain feels like I leased it out."

  "Whatever you say, Cap'n. We'll drink plain orange juice."

  "I feel like I been drinking Agent Orange juice," Winnie said, hoping his hands would stop shaking before noon. "By the way, who was Circe? A goddess or what?"

  "She was a bad bad girl," said Tess Binder.

  The sailmaker was yelling at two employees when Buster Wiles climbed the stairs to the cavernous sail loft. The sails were laid out on
the huge varnished floor with drawings under the Kevlar material. Six men sat at sewing machines in pits below floor level.

  Woody saw Buster and growled something else at the two employees, who seemed very glad for the interruption.

  "Problems, Woody?" Buster said to the sail-maker.

  Woody was so weather ravaged and bald it wasn't easy to guess his age, but Buster thought he was about seventy.

  "Can't find decent help these days," the sail-maker grumbled, wiping his sweaty face with the tail of his green T-shirt.

  Buster said, "I could hear you clear from the street. Had a sergeant once could air out a guy like you do."

  "What good is it? They come and go like grunion, these beach bums." The ponderous sailmaker had a Frankenstein gait from a fused right knee, and practically clanked down the stairs to the glassed-in cubicle that served as his office. Designs and brochures and sail samples were everywhere. He opened the desk drawer and handed Buster a set of keys attached to a flotation cork.

  "Okay if I don't bring her back till tomorrow?" Buster asked. "Thinkin about maybe goin down to Dana Point. I know a guy down there lets me tie up all night. Sells outboards. Name a Guthrie. Know him?"

  The sailmaker shook his head and walked with Buster out to the street, where the cop had double-parked by one of Woody's vans. "Keep it a week if you want," the sailmaker said. "Don't know why I don't sell that boat. I can't use it. Leave here for half a day and these idiots'd probably burn the place down. Can't get decent help no more."

  The cry of The Golden Orange, from the hot mommas to an old guy in a sail shop. Can't get decent help.

  "The police department can't run very long without me so I'll be back tomorrow," Buster said.

  The old sailmaker looked in the back of Buster's car. The entire seat and the floor were taken up by scuba gear. "You oughtta get a hatchback or a van. Gonna ruin your upholstery with that stuff."

  "I'm lucky I can afford gas on my salary," Buster said. "Those two douche bags I divorced grab half a what the city pays me. They got hearts like an Iranian judge."

  "You might take some lobster and abalone around Catalina this time a year," the sailmaker offered. "Not too many tourists, now that spring vacation's over."