Blackfoot Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “No, thanks.” Marisa pulled out a navy featherweight wool with a white satin bib and satin cuffs. “Look, this has satin on it, is that fancy enough for you?”

  “Are you giving the eighth grade commencement speech?” Tracy asked, surveying the garment with distaste.

  “I’m trying it on,” Marisa said stubbornly.

  “Fine. Take this too.” Tracy handed her a pale blue silk dress with a fitted waist and a tulip hem. The only decoration was a dusting of seed pearls on the shoulders. It was simple but elegant.

  “That’s pretty,” Marisa conceded.

  “Thank God,” Tracy said fervently.

  Marisa disappeared into the dressing room. When she emerged in the navy dress Tracy groaned.

  “I like it,” Marisa said.

  “You would.”

  “It’s very practical. I could wear it to court.”

  “Exactly my point. What you do not want for this occasion is a dress you could wear to court.”

  “It’s on sale.”

  “Honey, you look like Hester Prynne in that dress. All you need is the red brooch. Put it back.”

  Marisa returned to the dressing room and came out again in the blue silk.

  “Now you’re talking,” Tracy said approvingly.

  Marisa turned and looked at herself in the three way mirror. The material clung to her in all the right places, the color lit her eyes and flattered her complexion, and the skirt described a graceful arc above her knees.

  “Pilgrim, your search has ended,” Tracy said.

  “It’s too short,” Marisa said feebly.

  “Buy it,” Tracy said firmly.

  Marisa glanced at the price tag and gasped.

  Tracy opened her purse, took out her wallet, and extracted a credit card.

  “If you don’t buy it, I will,” she said.

  “Don’t bully me, I’ll make up my own mind,” Marisa said, annoyed. She marched into the dressing room and came out a few minutes later attired in her own clothes. She brought the two dresses over to the clerk and said, “I’ll take the silk.”

  Tracy chuckled.

  “I needed something dressier anyway,” Marisa said defensively.

  “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  “I’m not sure which shoes will go with it.”

  “We’ll find something.”

  “I don’t have the right jewelry.”

  “My pearl earrings will be perfect,” Tracy said. She giggled and rolled her eyes. “He is going to die when he sees you in that. I’d love to be there.”

  Marisa said nothing, wishing that she were as confident as Tracy that the outfit would be a success.

  * * *

  Marisa’s doubts were erased when she saw Jack’s expression as he met her in the lobby. She had resisted the temptation to put her hair up and instead let it fall loosely over her shoulders, and she wore her highest heels. Jack’s eyes passed over her from head to foot and then back up to her face.

  “You look incredibly lovely,” he said softly.

  He was wearing a navy jacket with a white shirt, tan slacks and a rep tie. The combination with his vivid features was memorable. Cochise at Choate. Marisa had to restrain herself from running into his arms.

  “Shall we dance?” he said, extending his hand.

  She took it and they walked out into the balmy night.

  Chapter 4

  “The boat is docked right across the street,” Jack said, indicating the public pier, which was within view of the hotel.

  “Should I have brought another pair of shoes?” Marisa asked, glancing down at her highly unsuitable pumps.

  “No, it’s high tide. You can just step into the boat. When the tide is out you have to climb down a ladder.”

  “Quite a trick in this outfit,” Marisa said.

  “That’s why I suggested this time of day,” Jack said.

  “You mean you had already checked the tide charts?” Marisa asked, as they walked down the wooden dock.

  “Yes.” He took her hand and helped her step over a coiled rope someone had left in their path.

  “You were confident.”

  He stopped and looked at her, his form backlit by the blazing sunset. “Hopeful,” he corrected.

  Marisa let it go at that. She stood looking across the water, her hair lifted by the light evening breeze, the sound of gulls and other seabirds filling her ears. She inhaled deeply of the salt air.

  “What is it?” Jack asked.

  “Everything is so beautiful,” she said softly.

  “Yes, everything is,” he agreed, gazing at her.

  “I love the sea,” she said.

  “Maine natives usually feel that way.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Did you have boats while you were growing up?” Jack asked.

  “Sailboats. My grandfather thought powerboats were an abomination.”

  Jack jumped down into the boat and then held out his hand to Marisa. “He would never have approved of this one.”

  Marisa stepped into the boat and watched as Jack undid the spring line and then flipped on the blower switch. He lifted the cover on the engine to check it for leaks and then switched on the motor. The boat rumbled into life.

  “Are you sure you know how to operate this thing?” Marisa asked nervously, feeling the vibrations beneath her feet.

  “Do you doubt it?”

  “Oklahoma has never been famous for its coastline,” she pointed out uneasily.

  Jack grinned. “I have a local friend who has taken me out in this several times,” he said.

  “How many times is several?”

  “Will you relax? For a Maine lady you’re very twitchy.” He undid the bowlines and fixed them to the posts in the slip and then freed the stern lines and tossed them onto the dock.

  “Here we go,” he said, stepping behind the wheel and guiding the boat out of the slip.

  “What kind of boat is this?” Marisa asked, watching as they passed the fuel dock and headed out into the river.

  “Twenty-foot Sea Ray Bowrider, dual two-fifty Mercruiser engine,” he replied.

  “That was a big help.”

  He chuckled. “You asked.”

  Once on the open water, the breeze picked up and Marisa became fascinated with the river traffic flowing around them. Jack cruised slowly until they had passed the No Wake area and then gunned the motor, accelerating until Marisa’s hair was flying behind her like a flag. He looked over at her and she grinned delightedly.

  “Like it?” he called.

  “Love it,” she replied.

  There was little conversation for most of the trip since it was difficult to be heard over the roar of the motor and the wind. After about ten minutes Jack slowed the boat and turned into a narrow passage hemmed in on either side by marsh grass and weeds.

  “What’s this?” Marisa asked.

  “The inland waterway. It was dredged by the Army Corps of Engineers, but even at high tide there are some shallow areas. It can be tricky in here.”

  “Tricky?” Marisa said warily.

  “Relax, counselor. Open up that compartment and hand me the chart inside, will you? It looks like a map with lots of numbers on it.”

  “I know what a chart looks like,” she said stoutly.

  “Forgive me.” He extended his left hand and Marisa gave him the chart. He unfolded it, frowning slightly, and then stabbed at it with his finger.

  “See here? Four feet deep. This boat draws three feet, so even if the chart is just a little bit off, or if the bed has shifted, we could get into trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Marisa said weakly.

  “We could go aground,” he said, guiding the boat slowly forward. Greenery pressed in on either side and birds splashed in the tide pools on the shore. There was an eerie silence, punctuated by the chirping of crickets and the distant racketing of cicadas.

  “Then why did you come this way?”

  “It’s shorter, for one thing,
and I want to make our reservation. It’s a prettier trip, too.”

  “What happens if we go aground?”

  “Same thing that happens in a sailboat. Got to get her off the bar and into deeper water.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier just to drive?” Marisa said logically.

  He laughed. “Would you stop being such a lawyer for once? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “I think I left it back at the hotel.”

  “You just said you loved this trip.”

  “That’s when we were going thirty miles an hour in open water,” she replied.

  There was a grinding sound and Jack said, “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I think we’re stuck.” There was a whirring noise as he raised the engine and then gunned the motor slightly. Nothing happened. He shut the engine off resignedly.

  “Yup,” he said, and yanked on his tie. Marisa watched as he undid the knot and pulled it off and then began to unbutton his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, aghast.

  “Got to go in and push her off,” he said. She watched as he stripped off the rest of his clothes in the fading light, tossing them onto the pilot’s seat. She looked away when he got to his pants, glancing back quickly to see him standing barefoot in a pair of black briefs, looking down at the water. Then he flipped a switch on the instrument panel and vaulted over the side in one swift motion. She heard the scattered splash as he hit the surface.

  Seconds later the boat began to rock, and then she heard a loud thud. This was followed by an eerie silence. Marisa waited, ticking off the seconds, which lengthened into minutes. She was just about to jump in after him when Jack appeared in an explosion of spray. He swam strongly a few feet and then grabbed the steel ladder at the rear of the boat. He ascended it swiftly and clambered over the back to land beside her, dripping.

  Marisa flung her arms around his neck.

  “Hey, hey, what’s all this?” he said softly, holding her off to look down into her face. “You’ll ruin that pretty dress.”

  “Forget the dress, I thought you were drowned.” She hugged him closer, pressing her face into his damp shoulder.

  “Drowned! I was gone two minutes!”

  “But I heard this thud, and then you didn’t come back...” She trailed off miserably into silence.

  “All right, all right,” he said soothingly, robbing her back with the flat of one large hand. “I was just swimming under the boat to find where it was caught. I switched on the bottom lights so I could see.”

  “So are we free?” she inquired finally, lifting her head and looking around warily.

  “We are. Can’t you feel the boat drifting?”

  “You must be cold,” Marisa said, stepping back, suddenly conscious of the way she was clinging to him.

  “Not while you were holding me,” he said quietly.

  “Are there any towels?” Marisa asked briskly, eager to change the subject now that her fear had passed.

  “In the duffel bag next to you,” he replied, going to the wheel and starting the engine, steering the boat to the center of the passage. Marisa found a thick beach towel and came up behind him to drape it around his neck.

  “Thanks.” He looked over his shoulder. “What do you think, am I a dull date?” he asked, grinning.

  “Never.”

  “For my next trick...” he said threateningly.

  “Please, spare me.”

  He guided them through the rest of the narrow passage and then back into open water. He switched on the bow and stern lights as full dark fell around them.

  “So much for my clever plan to take the scenic route,” he said, shrugging. “We’ll go back the other way, the passage is deeper.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sorry about scaring you.”

  “I’m over it now. Actually, it was kind of... interesting.”

  “Now that it’s over?”

  “Now that it’s over,” she agreed.

  Marisa came up behind him and tucked the towel more closely around him. “Is that better?” she asked.

  “Much,” he replied quietly. He turned and faced her. “I guess I should get dressed. They probably won’t let me into the restaurant this way.” He shut off the engine and let the boat drift as Marisa handed him his shirt. He looked down at her as he shrugged into it.

  “You were really worried back there?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  They were inches apart, seemingly the only two people abroad on the dark water, even though other boats were passing in the background all the time.

  “I didn’t bring you there to ravish you among the reeds,” he said softly.

  “If you wanted to ravish me you already had a golden opportunity,” she replied.

  “But I do,” he said, pulling her into his embrace again. Marisa wrapped her arms around his torso under the open shirt and laid her cheek against his chest.

  “I do want you terribly, and that’s been the source of all our conflicts. You know that,” he said.

  “I know,” she murmured.

  “Because you want me too.”

  She nodded silently.

  “What are we going to do about it?” he asked huskily.

  “Go on to dinner?” she said desperately, drawing back reluctantly to look up at him.

  He pushed a lock of her wind disordered hair off her forehead. “All right,” he said, and bent swiftly to kiss her cheek. “Let’s get this tug into harbor.” He dressed quickly, draping his tie around his neck, and then started the engine again. A short time later he turned into a canal and pulled up to the dock of a brightly lit restaurant. Tiny Christmas lights were strung along the waterfront and Leduc’s was spelled out in neon along the Acadian roof of the building.

  Jack tied up the boat and then shrugged into his jacket, glancing at Marisa.

  “Feels like something’s missing,” he said.

  “Your tie,” she said, gesturing.

  “Got a mirror?” he asked, feeling for it around his neck.

  Marisa took a compact out of her purse and held it for him as he tied his tie.

  “I’m helpless without a mirror,” he said, grimacing. “In school I met guys who could do this blindfolded, but the technique has always eluded me.”

  “Can you see?”

  “Are you kidding?” he said, tightening the knot. “You could do brain surgery on this dock.” He looked up and squared his shoulders. “Okay?” he said.

  Much better than okay, she thought. “Fine,” she said. Marisa glanced into the mirror to make sure her makeup hadn’t been smeared by Jack’s wet shoulder, then replaced the compact in her purse.

  Jack helped her out of the boat and they walked hand in hand to the entrance, which was flanked by evergreens bearing more Christmas lights. There was a giant wreath on the door.

  “I had almost forgotten about Christmas. It’s easy to do in this weather,” Marisa said. “What date is it?”

  “December twenty-fifth.”

  She shot him an exasperated glance.

  “Three weeks away, Ebenezer,” he added.

  “That explains the large decorated tree in the lobby of the hotel,” she said dryly.

  “Don’t you spend Christmas with your family?” he asked. “I had pictured a greeting card scene, traditional New England holiday, snow falling and chestnuts roasting on the open fire, kiddies gathered ‘round the hearth...”

  “Actually, there isn’t any family, not anymore. My grandfather raised me after my parents died and he passed away three years ago. He left his house to me.”

  “So what do you do on holidays?”

  “Oh, I have friends,” she said vaguely.

  Once they were inside, the captain seated them immediately at a table overlooking the water. The tablecloths were pink linen, the glasses were crystal, and the silverware was heavy and plentiful.

  “Have you been here before?” Marisa asked.

  “A c
ouple of times with Ben Brady.”

  “This looks like Ben’s type of place. Did you dissect me along with the Salade Nicoise?” Marisa said archly.

  Jack favored her with a secretive smile. “Actually Ben admires your ability very much.”

  “I’m sure that’s not what he said.”

  “He said that your legs give you an unfair advantage with male jurors,” Jack replied, grinning wickedly.

  Marisa rolled her eyes. “That sounds like Ben.”

  “Oh, Ben’s all right. He just resents his male preserve being invaded, especially by a woman who’s as good at his job as he is.”

  “Better.”

  Jack laughed.

  Marisa stared down at her menu, frowning. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

  “Coq au vin, coquilles Saint Jacques, trout almandine, flounder Provencale…” he recited.

  “No chicken nuggets?” she asked.

  “Afraid not.”

  “That’s all I usually have time for when I’m working.”

  “You’re not working now,” Jack said, holding her gaze across the table.

  She nodded. “I’ll have the trout, with a salad.”

  When the waiter arrived, Jack gave their order and the waiter asked if they wanted to see the wine list.

  “Still not drinking?” Jack asked Marisa, with a sidelong glance.

  “Don’t start.”

  “Never mind,’‘ Jack said to the waiter. “Bring the lady a club soda with lime and me a beer.”

  “Do they have beer in this place?” Marisa whispered after the man was gone.

  “Imported beer.”

  “Of course.”

  “French beer.”

  “Ça va.”

  “Deux Magots, by name.”

  “D’accord.”

  They were both laughing when the waiter brought a “relish tray.” It was a highly polished silver salver with a pile of thin, almost transparent biscuits on one end. There were several depressions lined with cut glass dishes containing various unidentified substances on the other.

  “Mademoiselle?” the waiter said, offering it.

  Marisa pointed.

  “Påté,” the waiter said.

  Marisa looked at Jack. He shrugged. “Goose liver.”