“And he’s enough to make me barf,” Crystal said. “Get real. The best you can hope for from a guy is a great body and a slow mind. Like Jesse, here. Knockout bod. Not the swiftest brain on the planet.”
Jesse looked up at her. He shrugged. “Loyalty is what counts,” he said. “You’ll know that once you find it.”
“Hey, babe, I’ve experienced everything. You name it. Been there. Done it. Moved on,” Crystal said. “Not like Joy here. She’s more like, ‘scared of it, won’t do it, wouldn’t be prudent.’”
Dawn turned toward Crystal, her green eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t know—”
But Joy interrupted. “You don’t know love, Crystal,” she said with astonishing gentleness. She patted Crystal’s arm. “You’ll feel better about yourself when you do.”
And to everyone’s amazement, it was Crystal who stomped out of the room in tears. She spent the rest of the night high in the rigging, alone with her thoughts and the stars.
The evening ritual was beginning to shift. For the first weeks of the trip, the crew would anchor the ship safely before sundown and gather in the mess hall for dinner. Then they would drift apart in small groups, find quiet places on the deck or in the cockpit or somewhere, and talk. Eventually, they all would return to the mess hall for a final lamplight conversation around the table, beneath Joy’s Bible Saying of the Day.
One evening they ended up talking about the worst jobs they had ever had. Logan started that theme when he commented that he’d rather be a pirate than a professional clown.
“You were a fucking clown?” Crystal asked.
“For one summer,” Logan said. “It was hell. All I did was, like, entertain at kids’ birthday parties. A bunch of screaming, rowdy eight-year-olds who think Wiffle bats were invented so you could hit clowns in the nuts with them. And my job is to keep these monsters busy by showing them how to, like, make dachshunds out of balloons. ‘Look, kid—a doggie!’ Kids are ripping apart the furniture, punching out the windows, setting fire to my wig—and all the parents are hiding in the rec room downstairs, saying, ‘Just call us if you need us.’ No wonder I ended up being a pirate.”
“Why didn’t you just quit?” Joy asked.
“I couldn’t,” Logan answered. “My mother had gotten me the job, and she had totally made it clear that if I wanted to buy a motorcycle, I’d have to earn the money doing that job.”
“You must have really wanted a motorcycle,” Arthur said.
“Badly,” Logan said. “Still do. By the end of that summer, I had managed to save all of, like, two hundred and fifty dollars. Cha-ching! I couldn’t afford gas.”
“I know what you mean,” Joy said. “I once worked the night shift as a short-order cook. It was a little diner that was the only place open all night. When the bars would close, everyone who hadn’t managed to pick up a date wandered in there. The order was always the same: cheeseburger with everything, apple pie, coffee. And the conversation was always the same: ‘When do you get off work, baby?’ ‘I’ll have a cheeseburger and a great big helping of you.’ ‘That grill ain’t the only thing that’s hot around here!’ I finally went to a flea market and bought a picture of some big ugly boxer. I put it on my counter next to the grill, and whenever anyone gave me a hard time, I’d just point to it and say, ‘Don’t let my boyfriend José hear you talk like that!’ And after an entire summer of putting up with that stuff, I saved four hundred dollars.”
Dawn nodded. “That kind of hassle can be a real pain, but it’s easier to take from a lot of lonely strangers. I once spent a summer working as an intern for an anthropology professor at the university near where I live. It started out with me doing typing and filing and stuff like that, helping him with things while he worked on some big research project he was doing. I loved the work—the thinking, the theories, the realization that we’re all basically human no matter how different we look and act. But then we started working later and later into the evenings, and he started telling me how boring his wife was. It got pretty spooky. Then he asked me to go with him to some anthro conference in San Diego. It was a week long, and he explained, with this stupid little smirk, that he could only afford one hotel room. ‘Two beds, of course,’ he said.”
“What did you do?” Joy asked.
“I told him that I would be happy to go with him to that conference. It would be a great experience for me,” Dawn said. “But I also told him flat out that I would need a room of my own, a return airplane ticket, and the right to bring along a friend to keep me company.”
“I’ll bet the pervert loved that idea,” Crystal said.
“He did—until I explained that my friend was Hank Henry,” Dawn said. “Hank was a right tackle for the school’s football team. He was about six-and-a-half feet tall, about three hundred pounds, and he shaved his head. I met Hank through my church group—we weren’t dating or anything—but I figured it would scare this professor off.”
“Did it?” Logan asked.
“It’s hard to say,” Dawn said. “His conference plans suddenly fell through—surprise, surprise—but a little while later, he told me he was going to the Australian Outback to do some fieldwork. He asked me to go with him, and he said he could only take one tent! By then, though, the summer was over, and I got out of there.”
The pirates continued to share their stories. Arthur had worked on a highway crew, hired by a manager who wanted him to show the union workers how to apply themselves. “Three months of anger and hatred from my coworkers,” he said.
Jesse had worked for a roofer in southern Florida, where the afternoon sun would melt the shingles and the soles of his boots. “I fell off a roof once,” he said. “Everybody laughed. ‘You damn near killed yourself, boy!’ they said. I was lying on my back on the ground. Those people had no loyalty.”
Joy had worked for a daycare center. “It was me and twenty kids for most of the day,” she said. “I had to hire the older kids to help me with the little ones.”
Crystal had worked for a private investigator, shooting videotape from the passenger seat of his Volkswagen. Marietta had worked for a modeling agency, showing off preteen dresses on creaky catwalks in the middle of aging malls.
When most evenings drew to a close, the pirates would stand one at a time, say goodnight, and wander off to the bathroom. When they returned, dressed in some assemblage of T-shirts and shorts or cotton pajamas, they would climb into their bunks, roll over to face the wall, and go to sleep. The last two or three to end the evening would clean up the glasses and blow out the lamp.
But things had begun to change. Signs of affection were becoming more open. On this night, for instance, Crystal stood up, stretched, and announced that she was going to take a walk on the deck before turning in—and Logan stood also. Crystal sat back down, and Logan sat back down. Crystal stood again, said goodnight quickly, and glowered at Logan. Logan stayed in his seat.
When Arthur was ready to call it a night, he announced that he was going to check the anchor before going to bed. Marietta offered to help him. Arthur climbed the steep gangway and disappeared into the night, and Marietta was close behind him.
It was a hot night with little breeze. The humidity made clothes sticky with moisture. Arthur stood in the bow and studied the anchor chain. It seemed to hold its original position, so the ship clearly wasn’t adrift. He turned—and Marietta was close to his face.
They kissed for a long time. Then Marietta made her move. “I’ll join you tonight in the captain’s quarters,” she said. “Just you and me. We’ll be together, alone, and private. It’ll be romantic.”
Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think we—”
Marietta kissed him again. It was a deep, involved, physical kiss, and it made her intentions clear. “Let’s go,” she said. “No one’s going to care.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THIRTY-FIVE KNOTS OF FREEDOM LEFT
Breakfast the next morning was unusually quiet. Tension was sharp in the air, a
nd it was Logan who broke the silence. “So,” he asked Marietta, “did you, like, totally sleep well?”
“Just fine,” she said.
“Oh, good,” Logan said. “Yea! Whee! We’ve all been totally wondering how comfortable that captain’s bed is—”
“It’s absolutely luxurious,” Marietta said, brushing her blond-streaked hair. “I haven’t felt that good in a long time.”
“—but of course,” Logan continued, “since we’re all, like, stuck out here in these little bunks, we thought we’d never know. I think you two ought to totally give us updates every morning. That way we’d know if, you know, the mattress was beginning to sag, or if the pillows were losing their plumpness. In fact, I think you should start a newsletter. You could give us the undercover scoop every morning.”
“Or you can damn well sleep in the bunks like the rest of us,” Crystal said to Arthur. “Who the hell gave you permission to move in there in the first place?”
“Who said I needed permission?” Arthur shot back. “If it weren’t for me, you’d all be sleeping with mommy and daddy this summer. If any of you are so petty that you’re upset over something this stupid, then that’s your problem. I mean, we’re out here in a boat that isn’t ours, we dumped a body overboard without telling anyone he was dead, we’re stealing the stuff we need, we all might end up in jail—and you’re all bent out of shape because I sleep in the big bed. Well, maybe you all should just grow up. I really don’t—”
“Apology accepted,” Dawn said. She faced the rest of the crew. “Listen, everybody. After McKinley died, Arthur moved into the captain’s quarters. I agree with Crystal”—she fixed her green eyes on Arthur—“it would have been nice if Arthur had talked about it without just moving in like that. But we’re all okay. We just have some talking to do right now. We don’t—”
“Oh, please!” Crystal snapped. “Look, gang, here’s the deal. From now on, I say we rotate who gets to sleep in the captain’s quarters. In fact, I say we rotate who gets to be the captain! Arthur got this trip started, but that doesn’t make him Emperor for Life.”
Oh, shit, Arthur thought. Mutiny. Crystal’s trying to strip me of my position. What should I do? What would Dad do? “Never show weakness,” he would say. That’s it. Never show weakness.
“Forget about it,” Arthur declared. “I’m the captain, and that’s my room.”
Good. Strong and forceful. Back her down. The minute you open the door, she’ll come charging right through.
“And another thing,” Arthur continued. “I’m tired of having you always whining and complaining about my being the captain. I’m the captain, and the job isn’t open. If you don’t like it, leave the ship.”
“If I don’t like it?” Crystal charged. “I’ve got news for you, pal. If anyone’s leaving this boat, it’s you.”
Call her bluff. Force her to play her hand. When she loses in front of everyone, she’ll stop being such a pain.
“Let’s put it to a vote,” Arthur demanded. “If you win, I’ll move out of the cabin and we’ll all share the captain job. But if you lose, you have to leave the ship.”
Good one, Arthur thought. There’s no way she’ll—
“You’re on!” Crystal said.
Dawn shook her head. “This is a bad idea, folks,” she said softly. “We’re not going to vote on who we’ll listen to or where people get to sleep. Crystal, we respect your thinking just as much as anyone’s, and we all know that our days on board the Dreadnought would be a lot harder if you weren’t here. And Arthur, we know you got us started on this wonderful adventure, and we appreciate your willingness to make tough decisions. Let’s chalk this up to a minor storm at sea and forget it ever happened. Okay?”
The chilly silence that followed, Dawn knew, was the best response she could have hoped for.
Several days later, the crew staged another raid on lavish yachts. It went flawlessly. Crystal and BillFi were the raiders again, and Jesse worked the oars. The first target was a white cabin cruiser with a flying bridge and a mass of radio and navigational gear blinking expensively all over it. Crystal had been the scout, and she noted that the owners never bothered to lock the door. She and BillFi slipped inside and found a surprisingly stark interior—little furniture beyond a simple table and a sleeper sofa. The fridge, though, was crammed full of food—mostly sausages and cheese—and the raiders filled a duffel quickly.
The second target was a white sailboat with the words Never Better scripted across its stern. The key was hidden under a hibachi grill, and the interior was similar to many others they’d seen: the beds, the galley, the tiny bathroom. There wasn’t much food on board, but there was a significant amount of cash stashed underneath one mattress. “Looks like a thousand dollars!” BillFi whispered as he slipped the money into the duffel. “Must be a thousand dollars!”
They went on to hit a third yacht to fill out their bags. It was a powerboat, white and impressive on the outside, with a flying bridge and teak deck. Inside, though, the galley and cabins were cluttered with dirty clothes, empty beer cans, and stuffed ashtrays. The blue smell of cigarette smoke clung to the air, and streaks of ash littered the unmade bed. Food and dishes filled the tiny sink.
“Owners left more than an hour ago. Walked. Said something about a bar with a big-screen TV,” Crystal said.
“This is disgusting,” BillFi said, pushing his glasses and looking around the disheveled room. “It’s a mess. It’s disgusting. We should steal a lot of stuff, just to clean up in here.”
“Better yet,” said Crystal, “we should take what we want and torch the fucking place. We should—”
Rustle. Something in the bottom of the small forward closet moved. It rustled again.
“Oh, great,” BillFi said. “Just great. This place has rats. I hate rats. The rats in the shelter where I lived were huge. They were huge. I hate rats.”
From beneath the heap of clothing on the floor of the closet came a sound. Half scream, half whisper. Hoarse and tired and scared. Not the sound of a rat. More like a mew.
“It’s a cat!” Crystal said. “These people keep a cat in their closet.”
She grabbed the clothes and tossed them aside. There, in a small cage, was a tiny kitten. It was gray with darker gray stripes. Its ribs corrugated its sides, and its face was gaunt and tight. It mewed again.
The cage, not much bigger than a shoebox, had an empty water bowl and a small paper plate for food. The food left in the plate was dry and dark brown, and it wiggled.
“Fucking maggots,” Crystal muttered. “This is sick. Let’s get out of here.”
“Sounds good to me,” BillFi said. He picked up the cage, holding the wires from above to keep his hands away from the damp sticky newspaper on the bottom of the cage. He followed Crystal up and out of the boat and into the clear night air. They carried their haul down the dock to the dinghy, where Jesse waited for them.
“Brought you a present,” BillFi said. “A present. It’s for you.”
Jesse took the cage gently and looked inside. The kitten stared back, afraid and hopeful, mewing quietly. Jesse opened the cage door and pulled the tiny animal to freedom. He cradled her in his giant multicolored hands and petted her softly. He held her to his face, nose-to-nose, and stared into her eyes.
“We found it on one of the ships,” BillFi explained. “It was badly treated. Badly. So we took it. We took it, and you can have it.”
Jesse shifted his weight and moved forward in the dinghy. “You row,” he said. Shrugging, Crystal took the oars and rowed back toward the Dreadnought. As the dinghy cut through the black water, Jesse grabbed the empty filthy cage with one hand and hurled it angrily overboard. It hit the waves with a splash and sank quickly. Jesse’s eyes never left the tiny kitten that trembled in his oversized hands.
The sky was clear, and the moon was three-quarters full. Dawn stood at the rail of the Dreadnought and watched the sparks of moonlight dance on the ripples in the sea as the dinghy approached
. It was a magical sight, and the air was cool, the stars bright; she lost herself in the weaving, waving light.
She thought about home. Along about now, in late July, her father would be in Zurich scheduling press conferences to alert the media to the latest robotic inventions cranked out by the company he worked for. Then he’d be off to Israel to alert the media there, and then he’d be back home for a few weeks, then off to some other place. To alert the media.
Dawn smiled. It seemed a bit ironic—her father off hawking the virtues of cutting-edge technology, while she lived on a wooden boat and ate her meals by the flickering warmth of an oil lamp. But maybe the irony wasn’t all that surprising. After all, ever since her mother died and she left for boarding school, she and her father had hiked down different paths.
He had wanted her to be a lawyer. That plan, and his constant travels around the globe, prompted him to consider boarding school for Dawn. A few years ago, they spent several weekends visiting schools, reading brochures, talking to teachers and students, and evaluating matriculation lists. Dawn was dead-set against the idea of going away to school. Not only was she tempted by the freedom of living at home while her father was away, but she also hated the idea of immersing herself in the stuffy world of the super-rich and super-bored. She had met enough of the upper-crust to know that she didn’t want to join it.
Then they learned of Mount Greylock School. In Dawn’s eyes, at first, it was barely a contender. It was founded by an evangelical Christian minister, but Dawn considered herself a firm believer in a more Hindu/Islamic/pagan/Baha’i sort of religion. Okay, she’d admit, it varied. And it wasn’t very tightly nailed down. But it meant something other than sterile churches and expensive “show off” outfits and empty rituals and hollow words. There was no way she’d be happy in an evangelical school.
Plus, Mount Greylock was huge. The school had an enormous campus, and it was in western Massachusetts—not exactly the most glorious place Dawn could think of.
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