by Ellie Rowe
Try this one on for size, lady, I think, if I didn’t have the success that got me this fucking yacht, you’d still be in the clutches of those shit-heel pirates! Plus, you didn’t seem to have any problems with my money and fame when we were fucking each other’s brains out in the luxury suite!
Feeling self-righteous, I’m about to march after Veronica and throw it all back in her face. More than that, I’m already trying to remember if I have Yvonne D’mica’s phone number, because when I get back to land I’m sure as shit going to give her the time of her life, which I should’ve done several days ago, instead of letting Veronica Swift get inside my head and make me second-guess all my life choices.
I take one bold step forward. Then I stop. Because an even better idea occurs to me.
I know exactly how to get through to Veronica. She wants to throw partying in my face? She doesn’t believe that I can change? She thinks this has all been a joke? Alrighty, then.
There’s only one thing left to do.
Thirty-Seven
Veronica
Don’t fuck with me Hank Wilder, I’m a writer. You weren’t sober enough to feel my wrath but I know damn well you can hear me today. I’m not sure if I should pat myself on the back or throw myself into the fucking sea. Fuck him. I’m better off.
Right? I lean out over the side of the boat, wondering if I should try and steal a lifeboat and make a go of it on my own. After what I said to him, it’s not like he’ll care anyway, right? But I meant every word. Sort of.
He did remind me of my ex. Without going into any gruesome details that kind of scene was a nightly basis. And Hank did accuse me, make me feel like garbage for hearing that he… I can hardly finish the thought. If he loves me so much then why do I feel like shit?
God I don’t know what to do. I made a promise to myself. No more getting talked down to, no more being gaslight or manipulated or lied to. No more accusations of crimes I couldn’t possibly commit!
I’m not that kind of person. If I hurt you, I probably know I did. In fact I probably made a point to do it. And if I’m sorry, I’ll say so. My stomach twists. I feel sorry now.
Suddenly there are shouts from the back of the boat. Oh fuck. Pirates. My heart clenches and I feel like I’m having a panic attack. Not again, not again! I duck into the bridge to look for my trusty gun.
Well shit. I’ve no idea where it went off to, but there’s still a plethora to pick from so I choose something that reminds me of good old trap shooting days. I take a deep breath to steady myself.
We’ve beat them once, I sound like a goddamn football coach, we can do it again. Wouldn’t this be the cherry on the top of my article? Lost the boat deposit, lost the yacht, lost the guy and now…
I click off the safety. Not today.
One more breath for courage and I duck down again to sneak around the back. If one of those fuckers is already onboard, he is in for a world of pain. Even if I have to tear him apart with a steak knife I am not getting on another smelly, rusty, garbagey—
I reach the other side and stop in my tracks. There are no pirates. With stealth mode off, I stand up and do my best to understand the situation. There’s shouting alright, but it’s definitely not pirates.
It’s Bruce. And Hank. What in god’s name are they doing? I sneak a little closer, trying not to jump out at them in sheer fury for scaring me like that.
It would serve them right ,too, if I blasted some led their way just to return the favor. Hank is hurling something with all his might. Oh my god. Is that the booze?
“Have you gone fucking insane Hank!” Bruce wails as he watches Hank toss another bottle into the sea. “That’s the good booze! ALL that good booze going to waste!” Oh, fuck I think Bruce is gonna cry.
But Hank is relentless, no matter what his friend says or how hard he begs he just keeps chucking bottles like he’s pitching for the world series.
“If all this shit!” Hank chucks a bottle, “If all of this partying made me lose a woman like Veronica,” Hank chucks another, “then my party days are over!” Hank heaves a rather large bottle into the sea with two hands and Bruce audibly gasps.
“I’m gonna get back to port, I’m gonna sell this fucking yacht and the mansions and the booze, yes the booze! And I’m gonna go into retirement.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, bro!” Bruce hollers as he reaches for a bottle, but Hank slaps him off. Bruce looks like a wounded puppy and holds his slapped hand like a musical dame.
“NO! No more parties, no more women, and no.more.shitty.movies!” Hank hurls a bottle as a flourish to his vows. I find myself smiling like a madwoman. Is this for real?
Hank’s sweating, his eyes are red and the desperation of his throws sends the veins in his neck and arms bulging. The grief that he shows is unmistakable. He thinks he’s lost me.
Oh God, he actually fucking means it doesn’t he? I mean once again, this is unprompted. Hank has no idea I’m here, and still he’s cursing into the sea like some Greek king invoking the gods of the ocean.
I want to go to him now, to tell him it’s alright I believe him I forgive him. But that seems too easy. That and it looks like he’s on the verge of a psychotic break. I’m not looking to have one of those bottles accidentally swung in my face.
I look down at my gun. Maybe I was right the first time. Maybe blasting a little lead their way isn’t such a bad plan.
Taking aim high in the sky I wait for the next throw. Hank wrestles the bottle out of Bruce’s hands and winds back for the pitch.
“Pull.” I whisper to myself and Hank unleashes it into the air. Taking aim down the sight I wait until the little bead lines up with the bottle and BOOM! Shards of glass and wine explode overhead and drop into the ocean like a firework.
Guess I’m not such a bad shot after all, when I’m not fighting for my life.
Bruce falls back on his ass with his hands over his head and Hank freezes immediately. Good. I try and hide my smile as I stride over to them. Hank turns his head and realizes with astonishment.
That’s right motherfucker. It’s me.
I shoot him a small smile then turn my back to him. Bending over slowly, my ass in his direction, I take my time picking through the remaining bottles to find an excellent blend.
Ah. Gran Cru! My old friend. Someone’s clearly tried to open it, (I blame the pirates) because the cork is sticking out of the top, just centimeters away from being opened. I stand up slowly, giving Hank a show before I turn to face him.
The look on his face is priceless. He’s shocked, a little annoyed, definitely aroused and terribly confused. Just how I like ‘em. I bite the cork and pull the bottle so it makes a satisfying pop. Keeping my eyes on Hank I spit the cork into the ocean and take a deep pull.
God that’s good. I finish my pull and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I can’t stop the smile on my face as Hank stares back at me. Without a word I hand him the bottle and raise my eyebrow.
Hank blinks for a second then starts to understand. He eyes me hungrily and takes a deep pull himself, licking his lips for good measure.
“Moderation in everything.” I say. Then I drop the gun behind me and smash my body into his, tasting the wine from our lips as I swish my tongue inside his mouth. Hank moans in surprise and throws his arms around me.
Our tongues intertwine as I claw into his back. He reaches one hand to my neck, caressing my cheek before he pulls us apart. He looks at me with such tenderness, such gratitude and lust and…love. Yeah, love.
I’m more than ready to make up for lost time but take a moment to search for Bruce. Well would you look at that, old captain cock-block has left the building. Maybe I judged him too harshly. After all these years the guy can still take a hint.
I’m about to consume Hank’s delicious mouth when I hear the creaking of boards on the deck. If this is a pirate, I swear to god my gun is going up his ass. But no. It’s just Bruce, tip-toeing back into the scene to noiselessly pick up a bottle…or two
, or three from the pile.
He nods in our direction before padding his way round to the cabin and out of sight. Good old Bruce. Apparently, he didn’t get the moderation memo. Ah well, live and let live. Now, where were we?
Hank slides his hands down to my ass as if to remind me. I take a moment to run my hands up to his neck, brushing his stubble with my thumbs. Hank bites his lip. It’s terribly sexy, but I know it’s also a sign that he wants to say something.
Rather then let him potentially spoil the moment I decide to take matters into my own hands. Or my own mouth rather. I pull him into me and stand up on my tip toes so he can wind his arms around my waist.
He hoists me up and I throw my arms around his neck to keep myself up. He groans into my mouth and I return the sentiment as we find our own special way to make up. We’ll still have to have a real conversation. Like a fucking sit-down adult conversation.
But for now…this is perfect.
Thirty-Eight
Hank
For a second, I think the sirens I’m hearing are all in my head. An aural hallucination. The result of the oxytocin drenching my brain in response to the intense make-out Veronica and I are engaged in. I ignore the sound. We keep kissing. I place my fingers on the top button of her blouse…
Then I hear a voice over a megaphone. “This is the United States Coast Guard…!”
Huh?!
Veronica and I pull apart. Sure enough, we are surrounded by about eight ships of various sizes. All of them fly the Stars and Stripes. At least two of them are fucking gunships.
We put our hands up because it seems like the right thing to do. My boner disappears quickly, for which I am incredibly grateful.
“Identify your ship!” the guy on the megaphone says.
“Uh… This is the Let’s Do This.” I cringe. It really is a pretentious name. I may have to rechristen her. Boats are usually named after women, aren’t they? ‘The Veronica’ has a nice ring to it…
“What the hell are you people doing?” the megaphone squawks.
Veronica and I look at each other for a moment. Is he referring to the making out we were just doing or something more broad?
“Uh, nothing,” I finally call out. “What’re you guys up to?”
“We followed an enormous cloud of smoke a few miles back. We’ve spent the past twelve hours rounding up and arresting pirates that’ve been terrorizing these waters.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“APBs have been going out all over the radio. We’ve asked every ship in the vicinity to give her coordinates. Weren’t you listening?”
I glance at the bridge. I don’t think anyone’s been in there for a while. I turn back to the boat. “Uhh, nope,” I admit.
After a nerve-wracking pause, the megaphone announces, “We’re coming aboard.”
I think about Bruce. If they’re gathering up pirates… “Uh, we’re good, actually!”
It’s no use. A few minutes later, several sailors board my ship. A middle-aged man in a skipper’s cap identifies himself to us as Captain Pike. He’s pretty no-nonsense. “You got some I.D.?” he asks us.
I have no fucking clue where my wallet might have gotten to. Veronica’s, I assume, is somewhere back on her sailboat.
“No,” she and I say simultaneously.
“Didn’t think I’d be getting pulled over,” I say with a chuckle.
Pike’s not having it. He looks overboard. Clocks the trail of bobbing bottles and cases of booze I recently unloaded over the side of the ship. Are there fines for littering in the ocean…?
One of the sailors calls Pike over. They huddle together and whisper. Now and again they glance in our direction. Finally, Pike wanders back over to me. “My lieutenant thinks he recognizes you.”
“I doubt it.”
“I see it now, too. You’re Hank Wilder.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Celebrity to the rescue again! I give him my best ‘you got me’ grin. “Guilty as charged. Always nice to meet fans.” I hold out my hand to shake. Pike doesn’t move.
“I’m not a fan,” Pike says.
“That’s cool, too.”
“My ex-wife is a fan.”
Ya can’t win ‘em all.
Pike turns to his men. “Lieutenant, search this ship.”
The men scurry off. Shit. I hope Bruce has hidden himself away somewhere.
“Captain Pike, I can assure you,” I say, “there’s nothing to find here. The truth is, we were actually hostages of those pirates.”
Pike turns his back on us.
“Captain, it’s true,” Veronica chimes in. “In fact, Hank got kidnapped trying to rescue me. See, my name is Veronica Swift. I’m a travel and adventure journalist. You may have heard of me.” Pike gives absolutely no sign of having heard of her. Poor kid. “Well, that’s alright. But the truth is, I’m going to be writing a story about this. Maybe I can use you as a source?”
“You’re not publishing one word about this,” Pike states.
“Captain, you should show us a little more respect. After all, we’re the ones who stopped the pirates.” Pike doesn’t respond to her. “If anything, y’know, you could thank us.”
Instead of thanking her, Pike lights a cigarette. He smokes it like he’s mad at it.
His men play hide-and-sneak below us, trying to root out my old friend. A long, awkward silence passes between those of us on deck. I try to break the ice. “By the way, Captain, you all didn’t happen to come across a dinghy full of people the other day? It would have been a lot of half-naked bros and scantily clothed actresses and models…?”
He considers his cigarette with a look of disgust. “Some boat matching that description got picked up, yeah.”
“Oh, good.”
“Half of the folks got arrested for possession of narcotics.”
“Yeah. That was them.” I give a chuckle. Pike continues to scowl. Veronica gives me a warning look.
Shouts from below. The sailors come up on deck. They haul Bruce up with them. He’s handcuffed and miserable. He’s got some red bruises on his body. Guess they roughed him up a little.
“Hey! Hey!” I cry. “That’s my friend. What’re you doing to him?”
Pike sees Bruce and comes to life. “Son-of-a-bitch. It’s the King himself.” He looks at me. “You know you’re harboring a wanted criminal?”
“Oh, trust me,” I joke, “nobody ‘wants’ him. He’s a terrible guest.”
“Don’t help me, Hank,” Bruce mutters.
Pike counts off on his fingers as he says to me, “Robbery. Aggravated assault. Kidnapping. Conspiracy. Those are just the headlines for what this guy’s been up to. We’ve been looking for him for years.”
“Him? Captain, I promise you, you’ve got the wrong guy. That’s Bruce Richardson. He’s an old Hollywood buddy of ours who was taken hostage by the pirates.”
Pike scoffs at me. I wrack my brain, trying to come up with the right play to talk us out of this. Except I’ve got nothing. Game over. I’m clearly not charming my way out of this one.
Sorry, Bruce, I think.
What the hell. Maybe it’s just as well. Maybe it’s time I let all that bullshit go. Isn’t that what Veronica wants?
“Hang on, Captain!” Veronica steps toward Pike. “What Hank said is true.”
What the…?
“Bruce,” she says, “tell them what you told us.”
I realize what she’s up to. Clever girl. I look at Bruce. My old pal stares at her stupidly, not picking up on the game. He’s been out of the biz for too long.
Veronica powers on despite that. “Look at him. Still in shock, the poor guy. He was kidnapped years ago by the pirates. They treated him terribly and he developed Stockholm Syndrome. You’re familiar with that, aren’t you, Captain? When the hostage begins to identify with his kidnappers?”
Bruce finally gets it. “They only wanted to live free,” he coos like a deranged person. “They meant no harm…” I’ll be honest, it’s a little much. Pike s
tudies him, though, trying to suss things out.
“See?” Veronica tells Pike. “They brainwashed him into helping them. They convinced him he was their leader. It’s sad, really. This man doesn’t need a prison. He needs a shrink. Please, Captain.” She places her hands on Pike’s chest. Look deep into his eyes. Even pouts for chrissakes. “Please,” she echoes, “let us take care of him. We only want to recover the man he used to be. I’m sure he’s… he’s in there somewhere.”
It’s a pretty damn impressive performance. I mean, she even manages to summon up a few tears on that last line.
Unfortunately, Pike is not as gullible as pirates and commercial fishermen have shown themselves to be. He removes Veronica’s hands from his person. “Get that man onto our boat,” he orders his men.
Poor Bruce. Veronica returns to me. She looks defeated. I put my arms around her and kiss the top of her head. She gave it a good go, after all.
Just as the sailors and Bruce are about to step off my yacht, Veronica’s head snaps up. I see a glint her eyes. “I guess you’ll have to reconsider your donation, Hank,” she muses.
Huh? This time I’m confused. I stare at her.
“To the Coast Guard,” she prompts. “The boats.”
Pike slowly turns back to us, despite himself.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, catching on. She’s fucking brilliant! “Yeah, I’ll call my accountant tomorrow and tell him to redirect those funds. Too bad, too.” I glance at the flotilla around us. “Their boats look pretty beat-up.”
“What else can you do, sweetheart?”
“Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all…” We both sigh.
“What’s this now?” Pike finally asks. He’s clearly interested, despite himself.
Veronica laid the perfect bait, bless her heart.
“Nothing, nothing.” I shrug at Pike.
“She said something about boats.”
“Just a donation I was going to make. But I can’t reward bad behavior, can I?” I challenge him.