“I know. What an asshole. All men are assholes.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“So what did you decide to do about it?”
“I was ready to run. When he told me, it hurt like hell, but when I thought about it some more, I knew I wasn’t going to do anything. I don’t have a job. He makes all the money and I’m too old to start over. Right now, it still hurts. Ours is a mutually beneficial relationship. We both know that. So he told me he was ending it with Melinda. He even let me listen in on the phone while he was telling her. It wasn’t very pretty. She took it hard. But in the end, he persisted in convincing her and me that it was finished with her. What cinched it was when he asked me to chime in and tell Melinda how I felt and that I knew about it.”
“He put you on the phone with her? You have to be kidding. That’s unusual. Highly unusual.”
“Yes. I got to say five words to her before she hung up.”
“What did you say?”
“I win again, you bitch!”
Stephanie laughed aloud and then continued. “But I’m not sure that John would be able to understand anything if I had an affair. He’s liable to become physically abusive. I’ve seen it in him a couple of times earlier when we dated, so I know he has the capacity. I’m not even going to broach the subject with him. If I have an affair, no one will know. I won’t even tell you.”
“Have you ever even asked him what he’d do if you were unfaithful?
“No. and I won’t either. Bringing that subject up is likely to set him off.”
“I don’t know. I think maybe you should ask him what he would do if you went out and found somebody for a one-night stand. You could lead with that to open the conversation about why your sex life is so miserable now. Ask him if he would be okay with that. If he says no to your having an affair, then you’ll know what you’re dealing with. If he agrees to it, then you will also know what you’re dealing with. Either way you win. Either he starts paying more attention to you, or you will get a free hall pass to explore.”
“Really?” Stephanie probed.
“Really. I asked my husband the same question. He was very uncomfortable at first, but then he fessed up and gave me the whole story about Melinda. He ran into her after not seeing her for a while. They went out, had a couple of drinks and he ended up in her bed. What got to me was how long the affair lasted. He was ingenious about hiding it from me.”
“And what did you say about that?”
“What could I say about it? I did the same thing. Only I wasn’t upfront with him about it until we both mutually confessed. He felt he had to confess. I kept it to myself.”
“And you’re okay with what happened now?”
“Yes, I’m okay with that. In some sense, I knew that he needed more. I knew that I needed more. It was unspoken by both of us, but we both knew we were unhappy. It was as if he needed to be out there and have some comparison to me. We have been married for 8 years, and I know enough about men to know that they are wondering if they still have it or not.”
“Have what?” Stephanie was clueless.
“You know. Have the ability to get somebody else and have the ability to make them happy in bed.”
“I never thought about it that way, Sharon.” Stephanie wrinkled her brow as what Sharon said sank in.
“Then maybe you should.”
“But I sometimes love my husband, except for all of the things that I don’t love about him. I think I’m in the same boat you were, Sharon.”
“And what things are those?”
“I don’t like the way he picks at his face. I don’t like the way he doesn’t shave the back of his neck. I don’t like the way he belches after drinking beer. For Christ's sake, he’s a professional, but around me, he acts like a boneheaded jock. There’s a lot I don’t like about him. Most of it deals with his lack of personal hygiene.”
“Get over it, Stephanie or you are the one that’s going to lose. He’s the executor of your parents’ estate. Isn’t that what you told me? You could lose everything. And John is an excellent lawyer. If you want to have an affair, go ahead. One caution, though, be discreet about it. And whatever you do, don’t tell John. Especially, since he might become violent.”
“My parents are both in the later stages of Alzheimer’s. They don’t have many more months to live. I think I’ve pissed them off over the years. And you’re right. I could lose everything. They appointed John as the executor of their estate. I irks me to no end, but there’s nothing I can do about it. But it’s unfair. It’s not right.” Stephanie’s voice was quavering as she fought back tears.
“I was the one that took care of them and got them into a good care facility. John had nothing to do with it.” At this point, Stephanie started sobbing. “I was the one that helped them. It wasn’t John. It was me!”
“And where are they, now.”
“They are at the Pyrenees facility in Santa Maria.”
“Santa Maria? That’s three hours north of Los Angeles. Why did you put them there?”
“It’s the only facility in the state that has an experimental trial therapy program for Alzheimer patients. It has something to do with gene therapy. Although I’m a plastic surgeon, I don’t understand it. It’s risky, but it might work. I was hoping that if it did, my parents would reverse their decision to have John as the executor. It’s a long shot, but they aren’t responding well to the therapy now. At the time, it was the only chance I had to reverse that decision. I just waited too long.”
Now Stephanie’s tears and sobs were coming in waves.
“Listen. My advice to you is quit fighting with John. Try to see if sailing together works to smooth some of the tensions. Talk to John about your lack of satisfaction in the bedroom and test his resolve, as I told you earlier. Either way, you will win. Whatever you do, don’t let him know if you do have an affair. You have too much to lose.”
“You’re right about that. But fortunately, we’ve been married for over 10 years so I’m going to get half of what he earns anyway, even if he screws me on my parents’ estate.”
“Okay, then you have it all figured out. Now dry your eyes and keep me informed.
“Thanks for listening, Sharon. You make a lot of sense.”
“We can talk about this tomorrow. I’m glad I could be here for you.”
“Let me end with this. I do love John sometimes. I’m so frustrated right now. I need some more love and lust in my life. I need it now. I want to use the boat to help me connect with someone that will love me physically and emotionally. I deserve that. I don’t deserve to be taken for granted. My God, I have so much to give and someone will appreciate it. I guarantee.
“I certainly understand that,” Sharon sighed. She knew Stephanie was a narcissist and didn’t want to disagree. “I understand, honey. Now do what I said. It will all work out the way it should for you.”
Sharon was telling the truth. Stephanie would get what she deserved. She totally forgot about the time she had found her and her husband in each other’s arms after a long night of drinking at a barbecue at Stephanie and John’s Malibu home. Stephanie had apparently written it off as her being drunk. Sharon had not, but they had remained friends throughout the years. But that one incident had made Sharon cautious.
“Now go and get what you deserve,” Sharon said, and then hung up.
Chapter 13
Stephanie and John drove down to King Harbor Marina early Friday morning to meet the captain who brought their boat in from Marina Del Rey to their side tie slip in King Harbor.
The 51-foot Bavaria was beautiful. It had all of the accouterments of a home with three double cabins, one forward and two aft, which easily accommodated 6 people. It also had three heads with entrances from the cabin for privacy. This German-manufactured yacht had everything any well-heeled sailor would want: it was wired with a state-of-the-art Fusion stereo system, had twin tillers and wheels for easy steering, a 75 horsepower Volvo-Penta engine, and e
lectric swim step, and was outfitted with the most high-tech electronic gear available. It had GPS, auto navigation, and radar. You could set a course for Catalina right out of the slip and not even have to touch controls if you wanted to. It was definitely too much boat for novice sailors like Stephanie and John. Their problem was neither of them knew how to use any of the equipment that came with their purchase. Without lessons, they merely bought themselves a $400,000 stationary condominium in the Redondo Harbor.
That’s why they hired Todd Weston.
Todd was an experienced sailor, 42 years old, and had been working at West Marine in Marina Del Rey for several years. He was referred to them by Mac, the yacht broker, who got kickbacks on the fees Todd charged to teach novices. (Mac was clever that way.) He took a 20 percent cash referral payment from Todd, which netted him an extra $800 on a 20-hour lesson package at $200 an hour, which was Todd’s going rate.
This was to be their first lesson.
Todd was a scruffy sailor. He had the requisite sailor rust colored beard, the alcohol jitters, and had an engaging smile with ultra-white teeth, which contrasted against his scruffy face. He stood 5 foot 11 but only weighed a buck forty. When he was drinking, he often forgot to eat. And he had already had three Bloody Marys that morning while making the hour and a half long sail from Marina Del Rey to King Harbor. In spite of that, he wasn’t drunk. Let’s say he was mildly buzzed.
He saw John and Stephanie coming down the gangway and came up to meet them at the steel-gated entrance to the dock while they were fiddling with the gate trying to open it.
“Here, let me get the gate. These ancient magnetic keys are a pain in the ass. You’ll get the hang of it after a while,” he said as he opened the gate and stepped off the dock.
Once outside, he took his own dock key out which resembled a metal dog tag and inserted it into the doorknob. “You have to have the embossed arrow facing you like this, and then you have to jiggle it to push it in to make the doorknob turn. It takes some getting used to.”
He did as he said and the knob turned easily.
“Here, you try it.” he said giving the dog-tag key to John.
John struggled but finally got it to work.
“You’re right. This is a pain in the ass.” He tried it a couple of more times successfully rotating the knob and, when he was satisfied he had mastered it, handed the key back to Todd.
“So you must be Mr. and Mrs. Pollock.” Todd extended his hand. “I’m Todd Weston.”
They had only talked to Todd on the phone, and his voice was pleasing enough then. Besides, Mac had highly recommended Todd, but when Stephanie and John saw Todd’s outward appearance, they were taken aback. He was dressed in grease-covered old denim jeans with holes in the knees, and had a woolen pullover red and white striped sweater, which was also stained. He looked like a character from a Where’s Waldo book. He also reeked of alcohol.
John Pollock shook Todd’s hand. Now he wasn’t sure he hired the right person. This was, after all, a $400,000 boat.
“So how long have you been sailing, Todd?” John asked skeptically. Stephanie was standing behind him and let John do the talking, something she normally would not do, but Todd’s appearance made her take a back seat. She sensed something wasn’t quite right with him.
Todd answered. “I’ve been sailing since I was 14 years old. My dad owned a 52- foot catch. He, my mom and I sailed around the world for three years. I was on that boat from the time I was 14 until I turned 22 years old when my dad sold it after Mom passed. I’ve seen the whole world. I’ve been through typhoons, gale force winds, and thirty-foot seas as we rounded Cape Horn, and I’m still alive. I know what I’m doing.” Todd said proudly.
Stephanie had to step in. “You’ve been through typhoons on a sailboat? Weren’t you scared?”
“Hell yes, I was afraid, but my dad was an expert sailor and I sorta picked up by watching him. By the end of the trip, I was and still am a master seaman. When I was 14 years old, our first leg of the trip was from King Harbor to Hawaii. We left when the trade winds were blowing the right way and sailed in the Trans Pac. We didn’t win, but when the race was over, we headed southwest towards Australia instead of going back home. That was the plan all along. We were carrying so many provisions on the crossing to Hawaii the ketch was weighted down like a pig. We didn’t care if we won or not. We were on an adventure. My father was around boats his whole life. He actually helped design a couple of sailboats when he worked for Morgan yachts. You may have heard of them.”
Stephanie and John didn’t. “Morgan yachts? Are they as nice as our boat?”
“Charlie Morgan was one of the best boat designers back in the 60’s and 70’s. He sold his Morgan Yacht company to a food company in 1968 to get money to design and build the 12-meter Heritage to defend the America’s Cup. Catalina Yachts later bought them out. They killed the original Morgan Sailboat plans because it was cutting into sales of their own products. There are still Morgan yachts that continue to sail around the world even today. The Morgan yachts are as stout a blue water boat as you could ask for. They can go anywhere.”
“What’s a blue water boat?” Stephanie asked.
“It’s a boat that is made for sailing in any conditions. The bulkheads and all of the interior stress points are designed to share the load inside. It makes them stronger in heavy seas. They’re bulletproof, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means that its one solid motherfucking boat!” Todd exclaimed, and then apologized. “Sorry, I dropped the F bomb. But they are to this day, still great boats. Morgan yachts are in a class of their own. When Catalina took over, they cut production costs and weakened the inside of the boat, and then scrapped the design in favor of their own. Now, I’m not saying that Catalina Yachts aren’t well made. They are. They aren’t Morgans, though. There have been numerous changes in the yacht building industry since the mid-80s. Most of them have been as a result of the environmental protection regulations.”
John furrowed his brow. This was getting interesting. Maybe Todd was the right person to teach them. He certainly sounded like he knew his stuff.
“Well for one, the hulls of Morgan Yachts were about 1 inch thick. The newer boats aren’t nearly half that. In the mid-80s, the Environmental Protection Agency put a lot of restraint on what chemicals boat builders could use to make fiberglass. There were some chemicals that were being used that were carcinogenic. The chemicals they banned resulted in hulls not keeping their strength. Boats made after the 80’s tended to delaminate or come apart. Not so with the Morgans. They were made with the good stuff before the EPA stepped in and ruined it. “
“And then what happened?” John asked.
“Well, they couldn’t make the hulls as strong. Until they perfected a better hardener in the early 1990’s, there was a time period when boats were coming apart in heavy seas.”
This wasn’t what John wanted to hear. He had just spent close to a half million on his new toy. “Well is this Bavaria yacht going to have that problem?” Stephanie asked. “For $400,000, it had better not!”
“It’s extremely well-designed. They made numerous changes over the last 25 to 30 years. This is as good a boat as you will ever want to have. It’s not quite a Morgan, but in many regards, it’s a lot better. It has a lot more room. The electronics are better, and it will be easier for you to sail once I teach you.”
“That’s comforting. So let’s see how it looks inside, and then let’s have our first lesson,” Stephanie said running down the dock towards the boat. John followed. He still wasn’t entirely sold on Todd, but he was in it for the longer term. He needed to learn how to sail if he was ever going to carry out his plan to eliminate Stephanie from his life and garner the inheritance. He’d give him a chance to see whether Todd was worth the $200 an hour, they were paying him. Once he and Stephanie were trained, John knew he would have ample time to stage the sailing accident he planned for his dear wife and then his futu
re would be secured.
“Ok, honey. Let’s go get our first lesson,” he said as he ambled down the dock.
Stephanie got to the boat first. The Tyrian purple hull was beautiful. It had white 2 inch trim just under the railing and a deep red boot stripe at the water line.
“I love the color!” Stephanie exclaimed as she walked around to the stern. “And the painter did a fantastic job with the name.” She was referring to the Lucida calligraphy lettering they chose to represent a playful elegance.
They christened their boat Arachne on Stephanie’s suggestion. Upon seeing the deep purple color of the hull of their boat, they considered several names, such as Indigo, Incognito, Lover’s Lair (something they both liked initially, but ultimately thought too trite.) Secretly, John hated that name. She, however, liked it because it spoke to her plan to use the boat to lure other suitors.
Finally, while researching the hull color, Stephanie came across a story in Wikipedia about the legend of Arachne, which is Greek for Spider.
Greek myth tells of Arachne, the daughter of a famous Tyrian purple wool dyer in ancient Lydia, which is South of the Black Sea in modern-day Turkey. (The purple color on the web page is what drew Stephanie to read further. It matched the hull perfectly.) Because of her father's cloth dyeing skills, Arachne became a master weaver.
Myth has it, she considered herself to be so good she challenged the goddess Athena to a weaving contest to prove her skills.
Athena wove the scene of her victory over Poseidon, god of the Sea. Arachne wove a tapestry that included several images and episodes of infidelity among the Gods of Olympus. The images on her challenger’s tapestry angered Athena. However, because of the flawlessness of the weave and the intricate scenes portrayed on the fabric, Athena conceded that Arachne's weaving won the contest. Still she was infuriated by the mortal's pride. In a final moment of anger, Athena destroyed Arachne's tapestry and the loom with her shuttle and cursed Arachne to live with extreme guilt forever. Out of sorrow, legend has it that Arachne soon hanged herself. Taking pity on her, Athena brought her back to life transformed as a spider, and ever since, Arachne, like a spider, weaves her web.
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