Molokai Reef

by Dennis K. Biby

  With neither socks nor blue blazer – he was a sailor not a yachtie - he rowed to Lagoonabago.

  Ahead, Amber nuzzled da Dink, Lagoonabago’s dinghy, against the starboard hull. The first client with Amber now helping him aboard had arrived in a hotel limousine moments earlier. Gybe secured Aweigh to the other hull and scrambled aboard.

  The third and final client arrived within twenty minutes. The girls helped the clients get settled then Pamela presented a brief safety lesson. The initial meeting between the girls and the clients was crucial to the success of the operation. One client was a repeat but for the other two, this was their first time.

  The girls, but not the clients, knew their assignments – or pairings. This tactic stroked the client’s ego by letting the client think they had chosen the girl. Andrea made brief introductions then manned the bar where the clients selected their drinks.

  Les acknowledged Gybe then ordered an old scotch, “… one without a glen in its name. Neat.”

  Thomas asked for a sparkling water. From previous visits, Andrea anticipated his request and poured a freshly opened bottle into a frosted glass.

  From his earlier review with Andrea on the laptop, Gybe recalled that Thomas would be the CFO (Chief Financial Officer) of a dotcom company based in Redwood City, midway between San Francisco and San Jose. Gybe knew that this was a cover for Thomas’s real occupation. He was a televangelist from Tuscaloosa. This was his third visit to Lagoonabago in as many months.

  To protect confidentiality, clients never divulged last names, employers, or hometowns aboard Lagoonabago. It wasn’t necessary since Andrea had enough background on each client to keep him or her quiet if someone decided to talk later or try to blackmail the other clients. She didn’t allow client-owned cameras aboard either. For the purpose of conversation, clients selected a cover story to use during their stay on the boat.

  The third client, Melissa, ran her own Louisiana-based company with more than two hundred employees. Later, when Gybe checked the computer, he found that Melissa’s real occupation was raising free-range llamas on her ten thousand acre ranch in west Texas

  And of course, Gybe knew Les.

  Pamela, Amber, and Lindsey chose not to imbibe alcohol until the sunset meal. Instead, they sipped mineral water or fruit drinks.

  Gybe helped Andrea prepare to sail. Normally, she would bring da Dink aboard and stow it forward on the trampoline. Instead, Gybe took the two dinghies over to Ferrity and tied them astern while Andrea used the cockpit-controlled capstan to retrieve the Lagoonabago’s anchor. Since no one was on the bow, she raised it to waters’ edge only. With an engine in each hull, the cat was easy to maneuver. By backing one engine while going forward with the other, Andrea spun the boat within its hull length and nudged it towards Ferrity.

  When Lagoonabago’s port bow was two feet away from Ferrity, Gybe stepped aboard. Andrea backed both engines, then spun the hull towards the harbor entrance. As always, he was in awe of the spaciousness of the boat. It was as if two Ferrity-sized boats were sailing in parallel. A net, called the trampoline, stretched nearly twenty feet between the two hulls forward of the cabin. Lengthwise, the net spanned at least another fifteen feet between the bow and a point forward of the mast. Gybe walked across the trampoline and stowed the anchor on its bow roller, then clipped on the chain stopper.

  Noticing that they were clear of the harbor entrance, Gybe stopped at the mast and awaited Andrea’s signal to hoist the main. A gentle ten-knot wind blew from the east. The captain idled the engines as she spun the boat into the wind. Gybe raised the mainsail as smartly as the Marines raised the flag at the Iwo Jima Memorial.

  Andrea fell off the wind and the cat accelerated. Returning aft, Gybe uncleated the jib furling line and eased out the foresail. With both sails drawing, ten knots of wind on the beam, and seas of two to four feet, Lagoonabago accelerated past nine knots, a speed that Gybe’s Ferrity saw only when she surfed down big ocean waves.

  For this evening, Andrea planned to sail to the west end of the island where they would have an unobscured view of the sunset. To get there, she would sail west-southwest before turning northward. The boat would be in no danger of gibing, but as a prudent sailor, she asked Gybe to attach a preventer to the boom just the same.

  He tied one end of the line to the end of the boom and secured the other end to a padeye near the leeward shroud. A preventer was needed when a sailboat sailed a course that was close to dead downwind. If the wind managed to get behind the large mainsail, the preventer would prevent the boom from swinging rapidly to the opposite side of the boat. Uncontrolled gibes where the boom crashed from one side to the other had killed many an unfortunate sailor whose head happened to be at boom level. A gibe could cause the mast to fail and fall on deck causing injury and more damage.

  Because the boat would be running nearly dead downwind, the apparent wind coming over the port quarter would be negligible. This made for a comfortable ride for the guests.

  Once she reached mid-channel, Andrea would gibe and set a north-northwest course, which would take them clear of La‘au Point. The point was the southwestern corner, or base of the heel, of Moloka‘i. Then, for the rest of the cruise she would sail first north, then south – hovering off the west end of the island like a gunboat on patrol.

  Andrea clicked in the autopilot and joined the others in the saloon.

  The girls and clients were laughing when Gybe and Andrea sat down. Andrea subscribed to an Internet-based joke writing service. The girls always knew a few, usually short, fresh jokes. The guests nibbled from a tray of pupus, sipped their cocktails, and flirted with the girls.

  Twenty minutes into the sail, Andrea gibed the boat and set a course that would safely clear La‘au Point. The sound of a breaching humpback drew everyone’s attention aft. They whale breached three times before disappearing in a deep dive.

  About one mile north of La‘au Pt. and a mile offshore, Andrea hove to by backwinding the jib. In the lee of the mountain ridge on the island’s west end, Lagoonabago rocked gently in the waves. “Swim call.” She announced.

  Two of the pairs, now firmly established, jumped into the clear water. Les and Amber remained aboard. Gybe helped Andrea prepare dinner in the galley. Amber shot a glance of concern at Andrea as she poured Les another drink. This would be his third scotch in an hour.

  Andrea wasn’t concerned about the cost of the decades old scotch. She knew the drinking preferences of each client and she stocked the boat accordingly. In fact, the bar aboard Lagoonabago would disgrace the fanciest bar in Waikiki. Instead, the signal meant that Les needed watching.

  Coupling was discouraged before dinner, but a slight vibration drew Gybe’s attention to the bow. An old proverb drifted through his mind as he stepped outside and looked forward around the saloon.

  An oddly shaped silhouette hung beneath the trampoline near the port hull. Squinting into the sun, he smiled as he made out the hanging shape of Thomas – arms extended above his head – and then Pamela, also hanging from the trampoline, but with her legs wrapped tightly around Thomas. No doubt, some genetic skill passed down from a tree-dwelling ancestor was at work.

  Gybe returned to the saloon just as Andrea escorted Les outside.

  Inside the saloon, Gybe turned to Amber. “Amber, what happened?”

  She made sure that Les was out of earshot. “Les is getting drunk and his groping is getting out of hand. Pun intended. Andrea will tell him to slow down on the alcohol and stop fumbling with my tits until after dinner. She will remind him of the rules that he agreed to.”

  “She’s good at that. By the time Les returns he’ll believe that you were out of line.”

  Amber grinned. “Gybe, why don’t you stay with me and let Andrea take care of Les?”

  Nothing but nice, using the word euphemistically, thoughts flashed through Gybe’s primal mind. Yuummmeee! “I’ll take a rain check. Thanks.”

  The swimmers showered then everyone gathered around the tabl
e for dinner. Most of the dinner had been prepared before the clients arrived. The girls took turns serving and clearing each course. Andrea tolerated no bawdiness or vulgarity so the conversation was light and lively.

  To the west, they watched the sun set until a group of spinner dolphins found Lagoonabago. To everyone’s amusement, the dolphins played about the hull arching through the air or jumping vertically and spinning. It was hard to count the number in the pod, but Gybe estimated there were more than twenty. The gray and white five to six foot long mammals clicked and whistled with their long slender beaks.

  As he gazed at the intelligent animals he pondered their fate. Tuna fishing fleets had decimated another beautiful – can anything natural not be beautiful – animal. Because the dolphins traveled with yellowfin tuna, purse seiners inadvertently had killed more than a million over the past couple of decades while unsustainably slaughtering the tuna.

  After ten minutes of play, the dolphins disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived.

  Satiated with the rich meal, each client rested as Amber cleared the table, Pamela poured coffee, and Lindsey served desert – a white chocolate chiboust with Szechuan pepper infused chocolate sauce and caramel ice cream. Les freed a cigar from his pocket and started preparations to light it.

  Before Melissa could object, Andrea intervened. A petulant Les resheathed the oral phallus.

  As they finished desert, a tardy moon, a few days past full. rose in the eastern sky. This moon was unseen to the crew and guests of Lagoonabago which lay shadowed by the high mountains of first Maui, far in the distance, and then Moloka‘i.

  After dinner, Gybe and Andrea cleaned dishes and secured loose items that had been used for dinner. The girls and clients disappeared in pairs. Amber and Les took the Polynesian room, the forward cabin in the starboard hull. Pamela and Thomas moved to the harem room, also in the starboard hull. Lindsey and Melissa took the dungeon room located forward of Andrea’s master cabin in the port hull.

  “Beautiful night,” Gybe intoned as he and Andrea stood near the helm.

  Andrea hugged Gybe tightly. “That it is. I’m so happy to see you again.”

  After dinner and after the girls settled into their staterooms, Lagoonabago sailed in a northerly direction. Still staying off the west end of the island, Andrea sailed north until she encountered the rougher water of Ka‘iwi Channel, the channel between Moloka‘i and O‘ahu, then she tacked and sailed south. For the next three hours, she would sail the ten-mile track back and forth like a drug war sentry. The two long time friends took turns at the wheel.

  “Ahhh-oooo-gaaah” blared the alarm at 2132 (9:32 p.m. civilian time). Ahhh-oooo-gaaah, it repeated reminiscent of an old submarine dive alarm. A light flashed inside the etched diagram of the catamaran’s layout. The diagram was near the top of the instrument panel in front of the ship’s wheel. The graphic showed the source of the problem to be the starboard forward stateroom. The Polynesian room. Les and Amber’s room.

  38

  Gybe sprinted through the saloon, down into the starboard hull, and was at the door within seconds. Hidden behind a small painting, an override lock-release allowed him to open the cabin door. Behind him, Thomas wearing a golden sultan’s hat with blue tail and Pamela in diaphanous harem pants – no top no underwear - stepped from the harem room.

  Like the general quarters alarm aboard warships, the ahooga alarm brought all of the girls and guests from their quarters. Lindsey, finally deciding to cut the ropes rather than untie the many knots, was the last to arrive with Melissa. Andrea spun the wheel hard over to stop the boat. Lagoonabago was now hove-to as sailors would say, bobbing in the swells. Andrea joined Gybe in the open doorway.

  A red-faced, naked Les, chewing an unlit cigar, turned to Gybe. His fist tightened around the wad of dry grass in his right hand. “What the hell do you want? Get out. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  Behind him, Amber stood in the corner atop the queen size bed. Her sex was visible to all through the gaping hole in the front of her grass skirt. Her rubicund left cheek required little explanation. “He hit me.”

  The skirt, Amber could have handled. Each girl determined the limits for rough play. Andrea contracted a well-known psychiatrist to coach the girls on managing the boundary between sexual exploration and abuse, a boundary that fluctuated with the passage of time and the evolution of society.

  Andrea knew that Amber could protect herself. Training in the martial arts was part of each girl’s matriculation, but the rules – as laid down by Andrea – were to sound the alarm at the first sign of trouble. Amber had pressed the button, clearly visible to the clients, as soon as Les struck her.

  Gybe’s fist drove most of the cigar down Les’s throat; the slightly off-center blow spun the jerk around. Les landed face down on the bed, butt up. If this were a movie, the tough-guy hero would lift Les by his hair while twisting his arm high behind his back for control, then ask Andrea where she wanted the scumbag.

  This wasn’t a movie. Gybe reached down, grasped the face down man’s family jewels with his right hand, and lifted him from the bed. Steadying him with his left hand clamped to the back of his neck, Gybe duck-walked the now-docile Les up into the saloon and out onto the aft deck of Lagoonabago. Leaning at a precarious angle off the stern while Gybe tightened his grip, Les squeaked, “I can’t swim.”

  “Hold on Gybe. Lindsey, go get Tiffany.” Gybe held Les on the edge of the deck as the girls took turns inflating Tiffany, an anatomically correct vinyl doll.

  When the unappealing, unless you were an inflatable man, doll was firm to the touch, they handed her to Les. Buck-naked, Les and the doll, also naked, hit the water. Either the rush of blood returning to his scrotum, the half-swallowed cigar, or fear ignited the projectile vomiting.

  “You can’t do this, Andrea.” Les shouted between hurls. He said something else but no one understood. With one arm around the doll, he puppy-stroked towards land.

  Andrea, the girls, and the other clients knew that Les hadn’t a leg to stand on so to speak. The contract that all clients signed was very explicit. Finally, when cooler heads prevailed, no client wanted to discuss their problems aboard Lagoonabago in public, especially when doing so would reveal that they paid upwards of seventy-five hundred dollars per night. Les, being a first time client had paid nine thousand one hundred dollars – the new demand driven rate.

  On the nearest beach, a loud luau was in progress. The beach stretched between two rocky points and presented the only logical place for Les to land. It fronted the Papohaku Resort hotel where many of seed corn conventioneers, Les’s peers, were staying. Andrea hoped that his friends would see his pasty body stagger ashore, blow-up doll under his arm. She offered Gybe a spare set of binoculars.

  “Amber, would you get us a round of drinks. Melissa and Thomas, I apologize for what has happened. As you know, I screen my clients very carefully. Thomas, you’ve been here before. You know what it is like.” Andrea sighed.

  Thomas nodded one arm around Pamela. He wore only the sultan’s turban and stood next to Pamela in her harem pants. Gybe’s eyes crossed at the image.

  Businesswoman that she was, she continued, “Your accounts will reflect a twenty-five percent credit towards your next visit.”

  Neither of the clients, Melissa or Thomas, had liked Les. Andrea could have charged them extra for the entertainment. Instead, they got a good discount. Happy campers were they.

  Loud applause and laughter drew their attention to the beach. Even without binoculars, they could see Les’s waddling up the beach, clutching the doll in front of him as a shield to his modesty. A lose-lose effort. For added emphasis, Gybe aimed a two-million candlepower spotlight at his pale, hairy butt.

  Amber released the anchor at 1:35 a.m. in Lono Harbor and fed out seventy-five feet of chain. Andrea backed the engines to dig it into the bottom. Ferrity rode at her anchor fifty yards to the east, the two dinghies bobbing astern.

  Thomas and Pamela were quiet in t
he harem room. No sounds escaped the dungeon room where Lindsey and Melissa stayed. Amber said goodnight and went to her cabin.

  Andrea poured two cognacs and asked Gybe to sit with her on the aft deck. No cars, no people, no houses on the shore, only the distant swish of the small ocean swells against the shore pierced the silence. Lagoonabago’s lights were silent; no synthetic light competed with the stars overhead.

  “You know Gybe, about Les, he’s married. That isn’t unusual, as you know; many of my clients are married. But there was something about his background that tickled my anxiety wheel. Jennifer, who vetted him from her San Francisco office couldn’t find anything.”

  “Woman’s intuition?”

  “Maybe. Maybe more. Jennifer found that his company needs money and soon. Perhaps he is under stress from that.”

  “Hmmph. Les is an asshole. Kara and I saw that when we visited him at his office. He comes across as a good ole boy, but I think that’s just a front.”

  Andrea took Gybe’s arm, snuggled, and said. “I’m glad you are here tonight.”

  “You could have handled Les.” He hugged her tight. “I’m glad to be here too.”

  After another cognac, Gybe slipped overboard and swam back to Ferrity. Nestled into his bunk, Gybe recalled a time when he and Andrea would have done the deed. They had, but soon realized that their love was of the friendship nature. Best friends. Either would do anything for the other. All for one and one for all, as Nixon would have said. That was his last rambling thought before sleep snatched away consciousness.

  Sometime later, unsure of how long he had slept, Gybe sensed motion aboard Ferrity. He heard water drops on the deck and soft footsteps. Hmm, maybe Andrea felt differently. Friends were allowed to have sex, weren’t they?

  39

  Whoever had boarded Ferrity had found the hand shower in the cockpit and was no doubt rinsing off the seawater. That was a good sign. An evil person seeking to harm Gybe wouldn’t rinse off. Gybe closed his eyes.