“I played every dive in town. Sometimes I would get paid, but most of the time I wouldn’t. I was one of many trying to make it in the city — strumming my guitar and singing my songs wasn’t enough, so I came up with an act. I dressed up in a burlesque outfit, put on a dark wig, and spent as much time talking to the audience as I did singing. I loved pretending to be someone else.”
“Sounds familiar,” I add.
Tenn ignores my quip and presses on. “It didn’t take long for me to get a regular gig. It wasn’t the best venue, but it paid well, and god knows I needed the money. It was a place where criminals and gang members would spend their nights, but it wasn’t so dangerous. There was an unwritten rule that this joint was neutral ground. It was a local watering hole, and whether you were predator or prey, you could come for a drink. There were a few times when that rule was broken but, for the most part, the boys behaved themselves. I think they liked me there because I seemed to be able to ease the tension. I could even make fun of the crime bosses and they would laugh at themselves. They really loved me, and I was treated like a queen.”
“I’m guessing this is where you met you charming husband?” I ask.
“It is. Believe it or not, Sylvester could be very charming. He commanded respect, and it was obvious he was on his way up. It was an exciting time. He would take me to the Caribbean to spend vacations on his sailboat.”
“Crazy Lady?” I ask.
Tenn laughs. “No, Crazy Lady is not his kind of boat. His sailboat was bigger and fancier than yours.”
“Mine is on the bottom of the ocean,” I remind her.
“Sorry,” Tenn says, then reaches for her drink.
“But Crazy Lady is Sylvester’s boat?” I ask.
“Well, technically he does own the boat, or did … look darlin’, I’m telling you my life story here.”
“Sorry, please continue.”
“Well. It didn’t take long before Sylvester’s true colors started to come out. He wasn’t a nice man, and he never loved me. He loved the character I played on stage. He would even have me bring my costume when we went away for the weekend. Anyway, when I left him, he didn’t try and convince me to stay. He was done, too. I got my regular gig back, and he disappeared. Everything was peachy.”
As intriguing as Tenn’s story is, I struggle to focus. I have reached a level of exhaustion that borders on delirium. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that she’s concerned. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Look, let’s get some sleep. Come on.” Tenn slaps a few bills on the table and leads the way along the boardwalk toward Crazy Lady.
I follow her to her boat — free of blood, thanks to the rain — and down into her bed. There is part of me that wants to push her to tell more of her story, and maybe get some questions answered, but this day has given me more than I can process. I have lost my friend, my boat, almost my life, and I’m lying beside the woman who is the cause.
Tenn pulls the blankets to my chin and strokes my hair. The gentle rocking of the boat and the smell of the wood interior gives me comfort. For a moment I feel like I’m on my boat. I feel like none of this happened, and I’m writing my novel. I let sleep overcome me.
I’m lost in a dream. I was thinking about what she must’ve been like on those small New York stages as I fell asleep. My mind runs wild— I can see her working the small crowd in a dark windowless bar, the kind of place that wouldn’t be worth spending your time in if it weren’t for her smile lighting up the joint.
I’ve never seen what she described, so my imagination paints her outfit in red and black, probably making it a little more provocative than it actually was. Tenn wears black leggings that stop at her thigh, garter belt, corset, and gloves that go past the elbow. I’m having a hard time imagining her in a dark wig. She must have looked so different from the blonde Bohemian Caribbean sailor woman I know.
It’s not difficult to imagine her performing. Tenn is a natural performer, and I heard her beautiful singing voice when she serenaded me with that Willie Nelson song. She must have had the crowd in the palm of her hand. I bet on some level all the men in the room had fallen in love with her, Sylvester only getting her because he was the leader of the pack. A pack of criminals escaping their risky dark lives with a stiff drink and lusting after a woman that was closer to a cartoon character than anything real.
I’m no stranger to escapism and understand what it is to be lost in a fantasy.
I fall deeper and deeper into my safe little dream. Tenn is singing on stage, and she’s looking me dead in the eye, her red lips in a devilish smile, her dark painted eyes soft and caring. I sit alone at the crowded bar, and she only has eyes for me. She walks toward me with the strides of a performer — all the other patrons are faceless shadows. There is no music, just her voice whispering in my ear.
“She gives me fever, fever when she holds me close, fever…”
As she leans in close, I can smell the mix of sweat and perfume, and I can feel the breath from her whispering words on my lips. Her eyes close, and our lips are about to touch.
“Vince.” The voice pulls me from my dream.
“Vince.” I’m jolted awake by Tenn whispering my name again.
For a moment I have a hard time managing what is a dream and what is real, but I slowly feel the weight of my own body on the familiar sheets. I smell the old wood of Crazy Lady surrounding me. My body, mind, and sprit are exhausted and weak. Tenn’s big eyes are looking at me, her blonde hair tied up, and her face looks young. This is a very different Tenn than the one I was dreaming about moments ago.
“Are you awake?” she asks.
A silly question, considering she clearly had just woken me up.
I don’t answer, sitting up slightly and adjusting my pillow. I look back at her. I only have to close my eyes and I would be back in a deep sleep. I force myself to stay awake a few more moments, curious to hear why she has woken me.
“I’m going to show you something that will change your life forever. Everything is going to be okay. Sweet dreams, Vince Stark.”
I let her words linger for a moment. I have no idea what she has up her sleeve, but I have no energy left to press her for more information. I close my eyes and bid farewell to this day as I fall into a deep sleep. Her words repeat like my head is an echo chamber.
I am going to show you something that will change your life forever.
Twelve
For a moment, when I first wake, I forget all my misfortunes. I lie in blissful ignorance like a Saturday morning child. The soft morning light coming in from the paneled windows above my head floods the aft cabin with warmth. I turn onto my side, watching Tenn sleep. The rays of light make her blonde curls shine and her cheeks glow. She looks like an angel sleeping beside me. It’s hard to harbor any ill will toward her when she looks so peaceful and innocent like this.
Eventually the realities of life begin to bubble up to the surface. I turn over and readjust my position, trying to hold on to the peacefulness of the morning. As if I don’t have a care in the world, as if I don’t have hard decisions to make. I can feel Tenn turn and shift; she, too, is fighting reality. She pulls herself out of bed and does a sleepy shuffle to the galley. I pretend to sleep while she makes coffee.
Then, unexpectedly, the motor starts. It’s loud and vibrates the entire boat. I can no longer pretend to sleep, so I sit up to look out the port window and see that we are drifting away from the dock.
We shift into gear and motor away. I throw the sheets off and scurry up the ladder to see what’s going on.
“Morning, Vince.” Tenn holds out a cup of coffee for me.
I quickly survey the area to make sure we are on a safe course before accepting the steaming mug.
“We have to go, darlin’,” Tenn says.
She has one hand on the large wooden steering wheel and the other holds a coffee. She seems cavalier and aloof as she maneuvers the boat around the d
ocks and buoys, heading out to the open sea.
I sit down on the long wooden bench and drink my coffee. I have no idea where we are going, or what she has in mind. I’m not sure it matters. Very little matters to me at this point. I sip my coffee, looking blankly over the horizon. The sun is hot for so early in the day, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s not in my character to go out to sea so blindly, and it’s not that I suddenly trust Tenn, it’s more that I have accepted the reality that I have very few options. I’ll go where the wind takes me — literally.
The sea is flat, and the boat is as stable as a train on rails. I stand, and Tenn positions herself for an argument, her body tensing up as she readies herself for my objections.
But I have no intention of asking where we’re going, or why. I’m done playing games with Tenn. I climb through the companionway, make my way back to bed, and pull the covers over my head.
The motor stops.
I stay under the false security of the light sheet. The sun makes its way through the light fabric, illuminating my safe, pillowy space. I hear her move above me, hoisting the large sail, using the winch to crank up the last stretch that’s too heavy to do by hand. I can hear the sail flapping around and the halyard banging on the mast, then the sounds of her pulling the sheet in tight and cranking it with the winch. The boat groans and seems to stiffen. We heel over very slightly, then silence.
We’re sailing.
I feel a sense of peace. I may even have a slight smile on my lips. I don’t know what it is I have submitted to — I’m letting life take me where it will. This morning it has me in the belly of a sailboat sailing north-northeast to … I don’t know where. I don’t think it matters anymore. I haven’t forgotten Tenn’s words from last night, that she’ll show me something that will change my life forever. Perhaps she’s taking me to her buried treasure; maybe she is going to bring me back to my boat in perfect condition. Maybe Stan is alive and well. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe we are beginning our trip across the ocean to the Azores right now. You would think I’d care what it is Tenn has in mind, but I don’t. There’s simply too much to feel and it’s making me numb.
I sit up with my back on the headboard and drink my coffee. I feel like she’s expecting me to ask her what the hell is going on, but I won’t. I’m going to let life happen. I don’t want to chase her around the boat and ask what’s going on. This might simply be a case of wanting her to come to me.
I hear her come down the steps. I feel some gratification that she came to me before I went to her.
“You’re missing a beautiful day, darlin’. Bring the pillow,” she says with half her body in the aft cabin and half her body in the hall.
“The door.” I point and outline the frame of the door she is peering though. “It should be a bulkhead.”
After a brief silence, Tenn responds to my observation. “You’re a bulkhead.”
I laugh lightly. “This really is an impressive boat but it’s a design flaw?”
“That’s what you want to talk about? With everything going on, your only question is about the door. Who cares about the door, Vince?”
I feel the power shift over to me, which I guess is what I was going for. “If this door was a bulkhead, the entire front of the boat could be destroyed, but this part wouldn’t sink.”
Tenn looks annoyed. “I don’t know anything about that. Hopefully we don’t have to test it.” She slips away and makes her way back on deck.
It’s an impressively built boat and an impressive feature to have, but maybe this doorframe isn’t the most important thing to be focusing on right now. Perhaps I am looking for anything to distract me from the shambles of my life. I grab the pillow and head up.
Tenn was telling the truth. The day is about as lovely as it gets. It’s rather hot, but in the shade, it’s perfect with the light breeze. Tenn’s cleaned the blood from the wood, and there’s no sign of the carnage that happened here so recently.
I lie down on the long bench and rest my head on the pillow. Tenn’s on the adjacent bench, sprawled out in her normal relaxed fashion. Her large, floppy sun hat almost completely covers her face, save her chin and bottom lip. If I were in a healthier mental state, I would probably feel some attraction to her, but I am numb and feel nothing but the warmth of the sun and coolness of the breeze.
“So, when are you going to ask where we are going?” Tenn asks.
“Where are we going, Tenn?” I ask after a delay.
“We have officially begun our Atlantic crossing.”
“Okay,” I answer after an even longer delay.
Silence hangs in the air. I’m not really playing a game. I really don’t know what I’m doing, but I just can’t seem to feel anything right now. I can’t react. These current travesties have exaggerated my odd personality. I’m at mercy to my inadequacies.
“That’s it? Okay?”
“What do you want me to say?” I ask.
“I don’t know, darlin’. I realize you’ve lost a lot in the past forty-eight hours. But please … please don’t lose it on me here, Vince. I need you,” Tenn says in a broken, fragile voice.
Seeing Tenn so vulnerable pulls me out of my head and slightly more into reality. I look over the horizon and see only open water. The sails are full, and we are being gently pushed along. I put my feet flat on the ground and the pillow in my lap. I run my hand though my hair and, with a deep breath, try to force myself out of the prison of my mind. I look up and make eye contact with her. I think it’s the first time our eyes have met all day.
“I’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
Tenn doesn’t answer, but holds my stare. Her eyes shine with a naïve love, but the skin around her eyes shows stress and fear. She is a beautiful fool sailing into the great nothingness of the open ocean.
“So, this is really happening. I mean, is this day one of our transatlantic crossing? Is that what’s happening right now?” I ask with my arms open.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, why not? The boat is packed and ready. We just got banished from these waters. You are homeless, and I need you. Why not leave now?”
I don’t know why, but I’m smiling. Tenn’s eyes look to my smiling lips and she smiles, too.
“So?” she asks.
My smile turns into laughter, and she follows suit. We are two broken souls, our minds are weak, and we are laughing like fools. Again, I submit to something I cannot define.
“I have one request,” I say.
“Anything,” Tenn answers with sincerity, and perhaps a touch of seductiveness.
“One quick stop,” I add.
Tenn doesn’t ask where. She knows exactly where I want to stop. She unlocks the steering and changes our heading to Solitude Bay. I need to grab a few things, but more importantly, I need to say goodbye.
We don’t speak for the rest of the trip. The wind is light, and it takes several hours until we arrive. When we enter the mouth of the bay, I know why I needed this. It’s not just to say goodbye to Stan; it’s not just to say goodbye to my sunken boat. It’s to realize that this is no longer home. It has changed, or perhaps I have changed. Either way, there is no going back to how it was.
We drop anchor close to where the mast of my beloved boat sticks out of the water. Tenn hasn’t said a word. I can tell she doesn’t want to take away from whatever ritual I need to happen. We both stand on the edge of Crazy Lady and look over Solitude Bay to say goodbye. Oddly enough, I feel it saying farewell to us, too.
It isn’t just Stan, although that is a part of it. Tenn and I share a peaceful look. Then, without warning, I do the other thing I came here to do.
I dive into the water.
I can hear Tenn shout something as I jump, but once in the water, swimming hard toward the bottom, toward my boat, her voice fades.
The water is clear, and I can see Tuuli from bow to stern. I can hold my breath longer than most, but still, I’m deep, and my time is limited, so I make quick work of sw
imming inside the vessel. I look for anything that might help us on our passage. I see my laptop, navigation equipment, radios — so many things that would have been a world of help are damaged beyond repair. I grab a bag and start putting clothes and anything I see that isn’t electronic into it.
My body tells me it’s time to get to the surface for air. Just as I’m about to leave the vessel, I see the red color of the wooden parrot. I grab it and put it into the bag without much thought.
I swim hard to the surface. When I break through, I take a painful gasp of air.
“Are you okay?” Tenn shouts from the deck of Crazy Lady.
I hold up the bag as if to show her my dive was a success.
Once on deck, I empty the contents of my duffle bag, and it does feel a little silly. Some clothes that will surely be nice to have. But the parrot doesn’t seem to be worth the trouble.
Tenn holds up the wooden ornament. “Really?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh.
“It’ll be nice to get some sea miles behind us before dark,” Tenn says.
“I agree. I have one more thing to do.” I begin hoisting the paddleboard up and over the rail.
Tenn helps me wrestle the large board into the water and hands me the paddle once I’m upright. It’s not difficult to keep my balance, and I move along the water quickly. It’s amazing how different it feels here — in less than two days Solitude Bay has gone from my safe home to a place I’m visiting. My boat isn’t floating in the bay, Stan isn’t here to greet me. My memories have been spoiled by the recent events burned in my mind.
I walk along the white sandy beach toward Stan’s restaurant, and it, too, looks different. Without Stan, it’s just a lifeless shack. In fact, this entire beach has lost something. The motorcycle leaning on the tree looks like abandoned junk, as does the tired old jeep and the small outbuildings that are scattered among the palm trees.
Uncharted Waters Page 14