“I see what you mean. It’s subtle. You have to pay attention.”
“Right,” Todd responded. “When the Santa Anna’s are not blowing, it will be different. When the wind is coming from offshore and blowing on shore, you’ll have to continuously steer more to port to keep it from drifting into the rocks. Always check the weather, but more importantly, look at the flags near the Harbor Patrol house.” Todd pointed to the right. The Spanish Stucco two-story mansion was home to the Harbor Patrol personnel that kept the harbor safe. A flagpole with an American Flag was right outside. “See how the flag is waving? It will tell you what the wind is doing. Use what you can.”
“Yeah, good point.” John studied the flag, which clearly indicated the wind was blowing from onshore out to sea. The flag was flying perpendicular to the channel.
“It’s easier if you take visual clues from the flags or the wind indicators on the sailboats. Unless you’ve sailed for a long time, trying to sense the wind any other way is difficult. Always look for other clues and then adjust accordingly.”
Stephanie was laying out on the bow and had loosened the top of her bikini. She was faced down not paying attention to either man.
Todd studied her bare back, casting lurid glances and thinking thoughts that were even more so.
John was watching everything and could see Todd was interested. “Okay buddy, keep your eyes on the prize.” He grinned as he thought to himself poor Todd doesn’t know what he’s getting into.
John did and Todd could have her for all he cared.
He was done. The only reason he wanted to learn to sail was to get rid of her.
As Arachne rounded the channel past the King Harbor Yacht Club, which was perched at the end of the Harbor, Todd reached over to the throttle, pushed it forward and added more power. The boat was slowing and about to stall because it had lost momentum due to the Santa Ana winds blowing directly up the channel.
They had just passed the Yacht Club docks and John noticed a big powerboat was about to pull out from a channel on the left. The captain wasn’t paying attention and was moving much too fast, obviously in a hurry to catch a sunset cruise with his guests, six bikini-clad babes with glasses of wine who lined the bow. The captain was watching them and didn’t even notice he was on a collision course for Arachne.
John spoke. “What do I do now?” as the powerboat continued to accelerate towards them.
Todd turned his head abruptly, forgetting Stephanie, and seeing the situation, jumped in front of John, grabbed the wheel and accelerated past the bow of the powerboat. Had he not taken this evasive measure, the Luhrs would have T-boned them, more than likely causing significant damage.
The rush of adrenalin counteracted his drunken state.
The girls on the bow of the powerboat were clueless. They only smiled and waved.
“Fucking idiot,” Todd thought as the powerboat passed his stern. He put Arachne in full reverse and stopped in mid-channel, turned and flipped off the powerboat’s captain.
“Get a fucking clue, asshole!” He yelled, pumping his hand and middle finger up and down to make his point.
The power boater heard him but didn’t turn around. He was still staring at his girls on deck.
He was in his own world.
Todd whistled and yelled again. “Hey asshole, next time watch what the fuck you’re doing. Just because you have a big boat doesn’t mean you own the road.” Todd flipped him off again.
“This is what I’m talking about, John,” Todd said. He had completely sobered up now. “You have to continually pay attention. A sailboat doesn’t stop on a dime like a car. This could have been a fucking disaster.”
Stephanie heard the commotion and stood up. She forgot her top was loose and it fell off as the power boater turned around to respond to Todd’s threat. When he saw Stephanie, his jaw dropped and he forgot about his six guests on the bow of his boat.
He waved and smiled. “Sorry about that,” he yelled back still ogling Stephanie. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
The powerboat owner was in his mid-30s and driving a half-million dollar boat.
Stephanie blew him a kiss and smiled. Perhaps he might be a possible candidate for later fun and games.
She wondered.
He blew her a kiss back as his boat continued down the channel at more than eight knots, three knots above the posted limit. At this speed, he’d need over fifty yards to stop.
It was a bad choice, to blow her a kiss instead of driving.
That twenty-second stare cost him thousands as the port side of the powerboat ripped into the seawall guarding the channel on his port side. The concrete wall cut into the side of the powerboat ripping off the rub rail and the bow station as the boat lurched forward.
The impact was so severe one of his guests, a cute brunette Latina in her mid-twenties, was thrown overboard by the impact and nearly caught between the hull and wall.
Had that happened, she would have been crushed.
Fortunately, the boat rub rail took the impact and slowed the momentum leaving enough space between the wall and the hull to keep that from happening. The captain immediately cut power and engaged his bow thrusters, which pushed the bow even farther from the wall saving the young girl’s life.
She was struggling to stay above water when one of the other nymphets threw out a life ring, which she grabbed for dear life.
Her friend walked toward the back of the boat dragging her through the water like a submerged rag doll until they got her to the swim step where she struggled to get aboard.
Todd was howling inside when he surveyed the damage to the powerboat. The entire rub rail was hanging from the port bow nearly touching the water. The stainless steel rails were bent and twisted as if some giant had grabbed a handful of stainless steel tubes and turned them into a macabre piece of modern art. Except it wasn’t art—not pretty at all--and it was going to cost him thousands to repair.
“Fucking asshole! It serves him right!” Todd exclaimed.
Stephanie, no longer topless, agreed and came back to the cockpit.
John was in shock at how close they came to being rammed. All the color leached from his cheeks. He looked like an Auschwitz victim. No color. No expression.
Todd saw the dismay on John’s face and wanted to diffuse the situation. “John it wasn’t your fault. You were doing everything right. You just need to be more aware of what’s going on in the harbor around you when you enter the narrow channel. It’s nothing on you. In fact, I was the one that screwed up. I should have been watching.” (What he was actually saying was, he should have been paying attention to where they were going and not ogling Stephanie like the power boater was ……Oh, well.)
He shifted his focus, trying to make a bad situation better now that he was sobered up.
“You see what I mean? You can’t come in under full power when you’re in this part of the harbor. There’s a five-mile-per-hour speed limit. You need to keep it under that, but you don’t want to go too slow. You need to keep making enough headway to make sure that you have control of the boat and the wind doesn’t have control of you. It will take practice. You’ll get it. You’re doing fine.”
John still felt stupid, but he understood. Todd was actually an excellent instructor.
They tied the boat up and made arrangements for the next sailing lesson and, as they were leaving the dock, Todd asked if he could do anything more for them.
Stephanie smiled coyly. “Not now, but maybe later.” Stephanie knew Todd was hammering down the booze, but he was cute and he was available.
She liked both.
It was a double win for her.
Todd knew exactly what she meant, but kept his interests hidden lest John get suspicious. He was, after all paying the bill.
(Little did he know John didn’t care what his bitchy wife did anyway. He’d be done with her in no time.)
Before John and Stephanie got into their car, Todd yelled out to them. “How about we
meet for drinks at a little watering hole nearby?”
John hesitated but turned back at Stephanie, who agreed instantly.
He could use a drink after what happened in the channel.
John gave a thumb’s up and followed Todd to the Hermosa Beach Yacht Club, which was three blocks down the street.
Chapter 21
Charlene and Randy made it to John Larson’s small apartment on Hermosa Avenue after a thirty-minute drive down Sepulveda from LAX. John R. Larson, or JR for short, was 38 years old, a redhead, six feet one inches tall, medium build with freckles but aside from that, an attractive man. He was never wanting for dates and had recently met someone that he was more than interested in.
JR met them at the door of the brown stucco nondescript apartment building, one of many that lined the little stretch of beach known as Hermosa Beach, or beautiful beach in Spanish. In the sixties, this part of the South Bay was a biker’s paradise. Now it boasted a new downtown area and several upscale restaurants that were making money hands-over-fist catering to the tourists and locals alike. It also had million dollar apartments next to multi-million dollar beach shacks.
JR lived in one of the older but still-expensive fourplexes. When he greeted them at the door, he helped Charlene with her luggage. Because Charlene had exceeded the fifty-pound limit for the airlines, he almost strained his back but finally got them settled in on his couch and they started to catch up.
Randy told JR the same lie he told Charlene about him owing money to Giovanni, but JR, suspecting his friend wasn’t telling the truth, called him on it after Charlene went to the bathroom.
“Look, buddy, you can’t fool me. We’ve known each other for a couple years and I can tell when you are lying. What is the scoop with this Giovanni?”
Randy walked towards the kitchen and motioned for JR to follow. He didn’t want Charlene to hear. “I was into some pretty radical stuff back in New York.”
“Radical?”
“I mean like blackmail. I thought you knew. I told you once at Charlies’. Don’t you remember? It was after St. Patty’s Day, right before you left to come out here for your sister.”
“That night is a blur. It’s the same night I found out about her drug problem. I was drunk. I don’t remember a thing.”
“Well, trust me, I told you.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember. I wondered how you made money. I honestly don’t remember anything from that night.”
JR and Randy stepped farther into the kitchen and Randy began to whisper. “Anyway, Charlene and I pulled a scam on a businessman Giovanni works for. We took some pictures of the guy in compromising positions with her.”
“No!!! You didn’t set up your girlfriend. Did you?” JR couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“We were going to blackmail him like I’ve done before with other guys I hooked my previous girlfriends up with. Anyway, to cut to the chase, Giovanni is one bad dude. Some friends of mine told me he killed a guy a while ago, and I believe them.” Randy told him about the incident in Palm Springs. Then he added, “Is this going to be a problem with us staying here? I mean in case Giovanni is able to track us down?”
At that moment, Charlene entered the room.
“I heard the word “problem.” What problem are you talking about Randy? She could tell he was whispering and didn’t catch everything, only the word “problem.” It bothered her he was evasive. He had been so straightforward until now. She began to wonder if her faith in him was misplaced.
There was a pregnant pause. Randy, caught off guard, didn’t know what to say. JR came to the rescue and interrupted knowing he was sending a lifeline to his friend. “Randy was asking if it was going to inconvenience me while you both camped out here. I told him it wasn’t.”
JR then took out his cell phone and brought up a picture of his girlfriend in Palos Verdes to distract her.
“Here’s why. Take a look at Patricia. I’m going to be spending time with her while you are here in Hermosa. Your being here will be an excellent excuse for me to be there with her. We are only beginning to get to know each other. I can tell her you and Randy needed a place for an indeterminate amount of time and she’ll understand. She’ll have no choice but to let me stay there. I’ve been looking for an excuse to move in with her anyway. This will work out fine for all of us.
Besides, she knows how small my place is. It’s okay for me, but three people staying here would be pushing it.
I love this girl, but I’m not sure the feeling is mutual. The more time I can spend with her, the sooner I can sort out what, if any, future we might have together. She’s a widow and our relationship is still in its early stages. Trust me. This will work out well.”
Charlene was easily distracted and took the phone. The MILF blonde was stunning, except for her collagen-filled lips and fake boobs. Charlene didn’t want to offend JR. To her, his girlfriend looked like an ex-stripper, or worse yet, an over-the-hill one. She paused momentarily and then summoned the right word. “Interesting.”
JR knew the drill all too well. His girlfriend was somewhat plastic--at least parts of her were anyway. He had gotten this same reaction before when he showed the pictures to his friends at the bar.
“I know what you’re thinking. She looks like she would be high maintenance. Trust me, she’s not. Her husband was very wealthy, older than she was, and liked his trophy wife to look young. That’s why he paid for the boob job and lip work. Once you get to know her, which you will, you’ll see she’s sweet. Not only is she nice, but she’s also loaded! And she loves me. I like my sugar mama!”
He beamed, took the phone back, glanced at his girlfriend’s picture one last time and put it back on the counter.
Charlene was perplexed. This girl was an ex-stripper as far as she was concerned, Even if she weren’t, she looked phony. But apparently, JR felt about her much as she felt about Randy. They had something in common.
That first night they were there ended with JR, Charlene and Randy drinking far too much wine, but during that time, the three bonded. Still, in Charlene’s eyes, JR was in way over his head with his “Plastic Patty” as she mentally referred to his friend. She tried to caution him, but he was having none of it.
For the next two weeks, Charlene and Randy scoured the want ads and Craig’s list trying to find jobs.
They found nothing.
Randy’s bank account was draining like a dinghy with a hole in it. It was slowly deflating and, if he didn’t do anything about it soon, he and Charlene would be sunk--up to their proverbial eyes and on skid row. Because neither of them had marketable skills, they spent most of their days making phone calls and getting rejections. After a couple of weeks of this, Randy was reaching his limit and considering pimping out Charlene again. At least he knew he was good at blackmail. He thought about it all afternoon while pounding down a six-pack of Bud. He fell asleep on the couch with Charlene. Finally, at 2:30 AM when JR finished a shift at HBYC, Randy came to his senses and quartered his friend to ask for a favor. Charlene had moved into JR’s bedroom when Randy’s snoring got too loud.
“JR, I didn’t know the job market in LA was so terrible. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks and I’ve already spent $3000. At this rate, without any income, I’m going to be broke in less than six months.” He reached into his cigar box where he stored his cash rolled up in thousand dollar wads, each with a rubber band around the ten one hundred dollar bills. There were only twenty-seven wads left. He counted them out for his friend.
“If I had to pay you rent, I’d be in even deeper shit.”
“Hold on, bro. I’m not charging you rent. I haven’t and I won’t. I can help you.”
“How?” Randy perked up, went to the fridge, got two beers, and handed one to JR.
“Look, I’m going to give notice in four months and between now and then I’m going to move into Patricia’s house. The fact that you’ve been here for a couple of weeks and I’ve spent time up there has worked wonders for
our relationship, which is getting better by the day. We actually do like each other. Hell, we more than like each other. She loves me and I love her. She told me I don’t have to work if I don’t want to. She has enough money for both of us. My lease runs out in four months. By then, you’ll have something going and you can take over the lease. I know my landlord would rather have someone in here I can vouch for than rent to some stranger. He’s been great these past couple of years and hasn’t raised my rent a dime. When I tell him you’re my friend, he will have no problem renting to you.”
Patty is 48 years old, a yoga instructor, and recently a widow. Her husband died in a car accident while skiing in Vail. She has a $3 million house Palos Verdes. She also got the $5 million life insurance settlement when her husband died. And, best of all she loves me.” JR pointed his thumb to his chest to emphasize the point.
Randy could tell JR was smitten.
To Randy, it was obvious. JR had fallen into high cotton. He could quit his job as a bartender now that he had found his sugar mama.
He swigged his beer. “You dog. Are you kidding me?” Randy asked. He was jealous.
JR smiled. What else could he do?
“Listen, I’ve dated a lot since I moved to California, but I’ve never met anybody like Patty. The California girls I’ve met over the past two years, especially the ones on the beach, are so phony. Carrying on a conversation with them is like talking to a wall. With Patty, it’s different. She has her bachelor’s degree in psychology. She likes sports. She drinks, but not too much. She knows how to have fun, and we have never had an argument since we’ve been dating. She’s the most easy-going person I’ve ever met. She also can’t have kids, which is fine by me. She and her husband were doing well. He was an architect with some firm in downtown LA. They had it all: the house in PV, the condominium in Vail. Then he died.”
“How long ago was that?”
“It was only six months ago, buddy, right before I met her. But since then we’ve become very close. I love this girl. I honestly do”.
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