I take a long, deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to shake off the energy in the cabin that Tenn seems to have left behind. The two empty margarita glasses are still on the table in front of me. I think of everything that happened since I woke up this morning and can’t help but laugh to myself.
Somehow, I have to shake Tenn off and get to work. I decide I won’t leave this cabin until I complete at least one chapter of this damn book.
Three
Three days have passed since my encounter with Tenn. I haven’t written a word, and my laptop remains open on the table. I’ve been pacing the cabin thinking, brainstorming, and muttering to myself. I came up with a thousand ideas, each worse than the last. These long internal conversations sometimes became heated arguments. I’d come up with an idea and then immediately shut it down. I never looked directly at the laptop sitting on the table; I was beginning to feel like it wasn’t on my side.
My VHF radio squawks and cracks, and I know who’s calling me.
Stan and I talk to each other occasionally over the radio. I feel like we’re boys playing on our toy walkie-talkies. The conversations are short, usually Stan asking me if I can help with something. Sometimes he’s just checking in. I know Stan worries about me sometimes.
“Calling S.V. Tuuli. Over.” Stan’s voice is barely recognizable. He uses an old tired radio that barely works. I always wonder why he uses formal radio etiquette when it is just the two of us on the channel. He hates that I don’t.
I push the button on the side of the radio. “Hey Stan.”
“I have a group of twenty for lunch today. That is two-zero expected today for lunch. Can you give me assistance? Over.”
I know I will, but in truth I don’t feel up to it, so I take a moment to muster up the energy to respond. I have the radio pressed against my forehead and my eyes are tightly closed. I press my thumb down on the radio to answer. “Okay, I’ll head over soon.”
“Copy that, much appreciated. Stan over and out.”
I look down at the cold coffee in the bottom of my mug, then over to the blank screen on my laptop. I slowly close the lid and feel a sense of relief once it is closed. Maybe I need to get off this boat. My head isn’t right, and I need to shake it off.
I splash my face with water and put on my cleanest dirty shirt. I’m more nervous than usual. I think of twenty tourists shouting forced conversations, and it makes me shudder. From time to time, one catches me and forces me into a social trap. If I leave now, I can get to the safety of the kitchen before they arrive so I don’t have to interact with them.
As I row to shore, I try to make out what’s happening with Crazy Lady, but I don’t see any signs of life. It’s a boat like none I have ever seen before—it looks like a cartoon version of a pirate ship in this light. It’s large and clunky compared to my modern boat. It’s more beautiful in a way, but it’s a mystery to me how that big heavy thing can be sailed. Far behind Crazy Lady and Tuuli, I see the familiar tour boat entering the bay. It has been a while since I have cooked for that many people, and I feel my heart begin to race. I don’t want to let Stan down, so I make my way to shore.
I drag my tiny skiff along the white sand beach toward the palm tree where I always leave it. To my surprise and displeasure, another tiny little rowboat is in my parking spot. I’m a creature of habit and this type of thing gets under my skin. Clearly this is my palm tree and my parking spot.
I hold the rope like it’s a leash and the little boat is my dog. Reluctantly, I push on to another palm tree and rest my boat next to it. Walking by, I see the words written on the back of the boat that stole my spot — TT Crazy Lady.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about Tenn. How could I not? I look around to try and spot her. There are not many places to go, so I’m sure I’ll run into her sooner rather than later. For now, I need to focus on getting a head start in Stan’s kitchen.
I swing the door open and see Stan dancing around the little restaurant. The busier it gets, the more Stan seems to dance. He glides along setting tables, throwing salt shakers into the air and catching them behind his back. I suppose it’s a great way to handle pressure. I’m very much the opposite. When the pressure rises, I focus on what needs to be done and everything else disappears.
It’s interesting how this space can come to life so quickly. With everything opened up and the music playing, it’s a delightful place to be. The restaurant is almost completely akin to its tropical surroundings. The light blue paint is weathered, ornamental rope wrapping around the support beams. Lovely hibiscus flowers bloom along the edge of the building.
“Vince is here, we’re saved!” Stan shouts when he sees me.
We?
“Hey darlin’!” Tenn steps out from the kitchen area wearing an apron around her waist.
“Tenn is going to help us out,” Stan says.
“Okay,” I answer. I know I look like a deer caught in headlights.
“What’s on the menu?” Tenn asks.
I turn to Stan.
“We only make one thing here, Tenn. Local fish, coconut rice, and mango,” Stan answers for me.
“Well, that makes it easy,” she says.
I know I should make some kind of light pleasantry, but I find myself staring at her, something about her pulling me in. It could be that she doesn’t seem put off by my unusual approach, but most people are.
“Alright, Stan and I will work front of house, and Vince has the kitchen taken care of. You best get back there,” Tenn says to me.
I make my way past her to the kitchen, and she pinches my ass. It amazes me, the strength of her little hands. I jump and yelp.
She laughs straight from her belly, and it makes Stan and I chuckle. “What’s your sexual harassment policy here, Stan?” Tenn asks.
“It’s encouraged,” says Stan.
“Ya hear that, darlin’?” Tenn makes a motion to pinch me again.
I slap her hand away and dart into the kitchen, laughing while I put on my apron. Stan has everything ready for me to prep, so I get to work. Having only one thing on the menu has its advantages. Once I get rolling, I can do this with my eyes closed.
As the tourists start to pour into the little restaurant, the volume in the building creeps up. Stan turns up the music slightly because it’s being drowned out by the large group.
I have the rice ready, and the fish is just about ready to go. I poke my head out and notice Tenn is struggling at the bar. I try to never leave the kitchen once the tourists come in, but I feel compelled to join Tenn at the bar, so I do just that. I feel my anxiety creep up as I step into the buzzing restaurant. My vision begins to tunnel, but at the end of the tunnel Tenn is smiling at me.
“Want a hand with those mojitos?” I ask her as I join her behind the bar.
“Yes. I’ve never made so many in my life!” she says.
Together we start a mojito assembly line. I handle the fresh mint and ice while Tenn pours the rum and mix. I notice she’s a little over generous with the rum, but I don’t say anything so we can keep the momentum going.
Stan is laughing and joking around with a table of German tourists. He never seems like he’s working; he’ll share a laugh with someone, then put his hand on another person’s shoulder that wasn’t involved in the conversation, as if to transmit some joy their way. Once Stan has made it around the room, the energy is different— better.
Tenn and I are standing close to each other, and I can smell her coconut sunscreen. She’s shorter than me, and her frame is small. It’s funny how she seems to dominate this area behind the bar, considering she physically takes up very little space. I make adjustments to allow her to squeeze by to grab a bottle or reach over for a glass. She doesn’t seem to notice that we keep touching each other; I do my best not to notice, too.
I’m not sure if I’m feeling something, or just remembering a feeling. It’s a distant memory, wanting to impress a woman, but it’s familiar. I want Tenn to like me. I’m ver
y aware of what I’m doing and how I’m doing it. I become so self-aware that I feel frozen in time. This seems to only happen at the most crucial moments, the sounds of the restaurant beginning to feel distant. It’s like there’s a slingshot in my chest, pulled back and armed with a ball of anxiety, and I’m trying to not let it be released. I’m beginning to regret leaving the safety of the kitchen.
Snap.
The slingshot releases, pointed upward toward my throat. I feel it there first and then my shoulders. I twist back in reaction.
Crash.
The glass that was in my hand shatters to the floor. My vision tunnels again until there is only Tenn.
We both crouch down and start cleaning it up, the volume of the restaurant returning to normal.
“It’s okay, you know. I don’t care,” she says to me.
“I know. It’s just a glass.”
“That’s not what I mean, Vince. I don’t care,” she repeats.
I clean up the broken glass while Tenn watches me, feeling her eyes on me. She doesn’t blink, and her mouth is in an easy smile. She isn’t wearing any makeup; her face is sun-kissed with natural beauty. I know what she is referring to — she is talking about my odd personality and the little anxiety attack she just witnessed.
“That should do it,” I say as I clean up the last of the glass.
Tenn watches me, her easy smile and constant gaze calming me, but also making me feel like I should respond in some way. She senses my uneasiness and stands up. I’m still crouched down, frozen in the same position. It’s only when I realize I’m staring at her ass that I snap out of it. She looks down at me and wags her finger. Even after the slingshot of anxiety and breaking the glass, that old familiar feeling is creeping back; I stand and smile.
“Alright darlin’, I have this under control. You can head back to the kitchen if you want,” she says, pointing in that direction as if I forgot where it was.
I see Stan watching me and smiling as I make my way back to the kitchen. When the swinging door closes behind me, I slowly exhale and feel relieved. I feel like someone who can’t swim who finally jumped into the water and forced themselves to learn. I’m back ashore, and I feel a mix of accomplishment, exhilaration, and embarrassment.
I start cooking. I get lost in what I’m doing, and it all happens fast. When Tenn comes through the door to take the plates, we flirt and smile. It’s so comfortable I almost forget what it was like when it was just Stan and I working the restaurant.
Before long, the excitement is over and I’m washing twenty dirty plates. I can hear Stan and Tenn horsing around in the empty restaurant. I can’t tell what they’re talking about, but it’s clear they’re having fun. They offered to help with the dishes, but I prefer to work alone and insisted that they just leave me to it.
Tenn kicks the swinging door open, holding it. “Vince, we’re starting a union. We need to make a stand against this regime!” she shouts, holding her half-empty mojito glass up and looking back at Stan when she yells the word regime.
She disappears back into the restaurant, and they continue to shout and laugh. I smile to myself while I clean the last of the plates. It’s nice to see Stan having fun like this since he’s my only friend. More accurately, he’s something between a friend and a father figure. He gives me a few bucks for helping out, but to be honest, I would do it for free. It gets me off my boat. I’m not sure what I would be doing if I didn’t help him out now and then. I suppose I would be writing. I should be writing. I think about my agent, Kayla, back in Seattle and suddenly feel guilty for not being in front of my laptop.
As I hang up my apron, Tenn enters the kitchen again, this time with two mojitos in her hand.
“Come on, darlin’. Let’s get high on our supply.” She offers me the minty cocktail.
“Actually, it’s my supply. You’re getting high off my supply,” Stan says.
“Never mind him.” Tenn smiles devilishly.
I take the cocktail and join them in the dining area. It’s much more comfortable when it’s empty. The three of us sit on the high benches and rest against the long, narrow table at the edge of the room, facing the water. It’s a nice feeling. There’s nothing like working as a team and sharing the joy of an accomplishment.
We share silence, we talk, we rest. Stan and Tenn joke about some folks they served today. I don’t know who they are referring to because I was in the kitchen, but I still enjoy the conversation. While they banter, I stare out into the bay. It’s still just Tuuli and Crazy Lady out there, but something catches my eye, farther out at the mouth of the bay. A speedboat is charging in. It’s an unusual sight. In the year I’ve been here, I’ve never seen a boat like that. It races in, sidles up to Crazy Lady, and ties up to her.
Tenn is deep in conversation about how there is no magic in Hollywood anymore. She’s on a roll though, so I hate to interrupt her.
“Umm, Tenn, are you expecting company today?” I ask, pointing out to the speed boat.
Tenn’s leg has been innocently touching mine, so when she notices the boat I’m pointing at, I feel her body tense up and the energy where our legs are touching changes.
“Those are some old friends. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.” She stands, struggling with her apron.
“Vince, would you mind?” she asks, referring to the knot she is unable to untie.
“What kind of sailor knot is that? Let’s see what I can do here,” I say.
She stands in front of me and I start fighting with the tiny knot. I tug at it, and it forces her hips toward me, a warm feeling washing over me. It feels nice having her so close. I know my hands are weathered and rough, so I try not to touch her soft skin, but it’s unavoidable as her shirt has bunched up under the apron. The back of my hand is flat against the skin at the small of her back while I work the knot out. I sense Stan turning away from us.
“You know, it’s funny how a crowd of lame tourists can rattle your cage, but you’re brave enough to sail across an ocean alone.”
“There, you’re free,” I say as I hand over the strings of the apron.
Tenn doesn’t step away. She stays close while she reaches behind to unravel the string wrapped around her. It causes her to arch her back and reveal her shape. I feel like she’s doing this for my benefit. I hold eye contact with her so I’m not too direct, but I can sense her every curve right down to her toes. I sit a little higher in my chair and feel my mouth form into an easy smile.
Tenn hands her apron to Stan and thanks him for a wonderful day, her eyes staying on me until she turns and walks away.
I’m under her spell until Stan’s voice brings me back to reality. “I appreciate your help, Vince. I really do. Look, tomorrow, can you take the jeep into town and pick up an order for me? At my age that road is getting to be too much.”
“Sure Stan, I can do that.”
Stan looks at my glass rather than me. “She’s a breath of fresh air, isn’t she? It’s nice to have someone like that around,” Stan says, still looking down and avoiding my eyes.
“It is,” I agree.
Stan doesn’t say anything about me drinking, but I feel his concern. He finally turns so we are both looking out at the bay. There are two men on the speedboat that is rafted up to Crazy Lady. They climb aboard the sailboat, and one stays on deck while the other disappears below.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Stan pats me on the back in a reassuring way. “Why don’t you row out with her and see who her friends are? I can close things up here,” Stan says.
“I can do that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Stan,” I answer as I stand.
I walk quickly to where my tiny rowboat waits. Tenn is halfway down the white sand beach and doesn’t see me. “Wait up!” I shout.
I run along the beach, trying to catch up to her, dragging my little boat behind me. She looks different than she did moments ago at the restaurant, her mood having changed.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
Tenn ignores my qu
estion and looks back at my tiny skiff. “I’m surprised you don’t have a motor on that thing,” she says, referring to the fact I chose to use this very basic rowboat rather than a more typical inflatable boat with a gas-powered motor. I can tell she is shifting the focus away from her visitors.
“That would just be another thing to maintain, and I like the exercise,” I tell her, stepping into my skiff.
We paddle out into the warm tropical water. There’s something beautiful about rowing along so close to the shore. I can see colorful fish and the sandy bottom even as it gets deeper in the middle of the bay.
The large powerboat fires up its motor, causing a rumble that echoes off the shore. Tenn stops paddling but does not turn around to look at her visitors, who seem to be leaving. They motor toward us before they begin to turn back. Tenn finally looks back at the large imposing boat, the two men staring at her. They don’t wave or smile, their faces expressionless. Tenn looks away as they take off, causing large wakes that rock our little skiffs.
It’s clear they’re not her friends, that I can be sure of. I sense that she does not want to be questioned about the odd encounter. Although Tenn and I have become fast friends, we have only just met, and I don’t feel it’s my place to question any further.
“Dominoes!” I shout because she has drifted away from me.
She scrunches her face in confusion. “Dominoes?” she shouts back.
“You wanna come over and play dominoes?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, just smiles easily. She looks like a painting to me, her face full of mystery, sitting in a tiny rowboat with her pirate ship over her shoulder. The sound of the large speedboat can still be heard but it’s faint. Those boats travel fast, and it’s already out of the bay.
After a little more rowing, Tenn and I climb onto my sailboat. Dominoes is the most passive, brainless game ever invented. Those mojitos were great, but mixed with the tropical sun and fresh air, they have taken our energy away. We move slow. I get the iced tea she left in the fridge this morning, and when I put it on the table next to our game, the glass container frosts up and pools with condensation. We take long breaks from the game to lie lazily in the sun and enjoy Tenn’s grandma’s famous sun tea.
Uncharted Waters Page 5