by Daya Daniels
Marielle nods.
“She was also a black woman.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Aside from the that, I like to read. A career in law meant a lot of prestige and the opportunity to help others and other perks, of course.”
Marielle’s face brightens. She gives me faint nod. “But you’re happy now?”
“Yes.”
She removes her hat and drags her hair over one shoulder. “Do you know how I met Aurelio?”
“Grand-mere, I don’t want to hear this story again.” Tatiana whines, wrapping herself deeper into the fluffy pink towel around her. She collapses just behind me, pressing her face into my back.
“Oh, be quiet, Tat. It’s a great story.”
I laugh at the two of them. Tatiana groans into the soft material of my shirt and proceeds to undo my plait.
“I was eighteen and working in a restaurant at a hotel in the seventh arrondissement in Paris. I picked up dishes, poured coffee and tea and all that good stuff.
“Aurelio was in the city with his father on business meetings. He was a young man, you know. Incredibly handsome, successful and rich. After the group of businessmen finished their meal and the waiter left the table, I was tasked with pouring all of them coffee.
“So, I proceeded around the table filling each cup. When I reached Aurelio, I snatched up his cup and poured the coffee. My hands were shaking so badly.” She laughs. “Well, anyways I poured the coffee into the cup and on my own hand! Hollering in pain and stunned by the burn, I dropped everything. The dishes went crashing to the table, some of it landing in Aurelio’s lap. It was a terrible scene.” Marielle laughs and I giggle at how animated she is as she tells her story. “So, I was fired of course.”
Tatiana giggles.
“I was sent away from the restaurant in tears with one hundred francs, which is what they used then, which is about sixteen US dollars and a severe burn to my hand that needed to be looked at by a doctor. It was the worst day of my lifffe!
“Then on top of that I had to go home and tell my parents, I’d lost my job. We were poor and my mother was sick.” She scoffs and throws her hands up to the sky. “It was horrible, horrible, horrible.”
It’s silent for a moment, only the sound of the soft breeze that flows over where we sit and Tatiana’s giggles fill the quiet.
“I still have the scar, you see.” Marielle cants forward, showing me a very faded scar around her wrist.” When I meet her blue eyes, they’re sheened with tears. She swallows thickly. “I was just a girl.”
“What happened after that?” I ask.
Marielle takes a deep breath. “Aurelio rushed out of the restaurant and followed me down the block. I was a teary-eyed disaster. He took me to a small clinic to get the burn looked at. After we left the doctor, we went for ice cream.” She laughs. “He told me he wanted me to be his wife, right then that day in Parc Monceau under a sycamore tree.”
Marielle laughs so loud that I flinch at the shriek.
“I thought this man couldn’t be for real! But he was.
“It wasn’t a gimmick. There were no games. He wasn’t a creep. And he had a huge...” My eyes widen while she giggles, allowing my imagination to finish the rest of her sentence.
Marielle continues. “Everything Aurelio told me that day was true and here we are today, still married.”
“That’s romantic.” I whisper.
“It wasss.” Marielle says dramatically. “The men in this family are romantic.” She winks. “You’ll get used it and they mean everything they say.”
Nico
It’s mid-afternoon. I stand on the wharf at Ely’s Harbor a few feet behind Ambrose with my hands in my pockets under the hot sun. A westerly breeze washes over me and I inhale the salty scent of the ocean that’s a few feet away. He walks from one end of the wharf to the other, casting occasional glances at me over his shoulder, still not speaking. His head jerks to me again and he runs his hand over his jaw a few times. Then jumps down into the boat, looking around.
“This is fucking incredible, Nico!” He shouts and then bursts into laughter.
“They couldn’t save the engines.” I tell him.
“Fuck the engines!” He laughs.
“They couldn’t save much of anything.” I go on.
“You did all this?” He asks with tears in his eyes, his voice lifting an octave at the last word. “I got fifty grand for that piece of shit.” He chuckles some more and removes his hat, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I thought there was something fishy about that.”
I stand in front of a brand new sixty-three foot Viking 62 Convertible.
It took a few weeks to get this done. It was rush job but the crew we flew in were compensated handsomely for the work of getting it ready. Reel Talk meant so much to Ambrose. I knew he didn’t know what he’d do with the rest of his retirement if he wasn’t fishing. It was his livelihood. Now, he had a brand-new boat that was back on the water. He could use it to fish or charter it out. It was all up to him now.
I jump down into the boat and point a few feet away to a wooden punt that floats in the water. “It’s just a punt but it was made using the wood from the old boat. It was all we could salvage.” I smile. “You’ll need it, of course to get to the boat every now and again.” I laugh.
“Yeah, I’ll definitely need it. This thing is huge, Nico. This is incredible.” He says, looking around.
Ambrose mumbles a few words to himself when he peers over at the name embossed across the transom of the boat, which reads Reel Talk II. When he stands straight, he removes his hat and begins to sob.
“This is incredible.” He repeats, wiping his tears.
I pull him into a hug, clapping him on the back.
“This is wonderful, just wonderful.” He says.
I stare at the sleek vessel, that’s all white and navy blue with tinted windows running along the sides of it.
“The fuel and maintenance are covered for a year.”
Ambrose sniffles and bobs his head a few times. “Thank you.
“Why’d you do all this?” He asks breathlessly.
A broad smile spreads across my face. “Because you’re my friend. You’ve been a good friend, Ambrose. You’ve sort of been a matchmaker too.” I mumble the last part.
He nods and laughs again, looking around.
I’d known Ambrose for a while now and I’d only come clean a few days ago to him about who I really was, after knowing him for at least three years. I had a lot of respect for the old man and I loved him, a lot.
Tomas speeds into the parking lot, allowing the compact BMW i3 Hatchback to drift in the sand like the moron that he is, when he makes a left turn. I toss Ambrose the keys to the boat and give him another hug.
“Apreciar. Enjoy.” I tell him. “It’s-all-yours.”
The old man pulls out his cellphone and gives me a wave when I take the stairs to the parking lot.
Tomas stares straight ahead and huffs with an eye roll. “I’m guessing he loves it since he seems to be a bucket of tears.” He jokes, when I slide into the passenger seat, putting my seatbelt on.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Where to next?” Tomas asks, putting the car in drive.
Cassandra
The island is alive. People crowd the Dockyard and boats fill the harbor to watch the final race day between the challenger and the defending team, who already held the cup. The sky is clear and the sun is out, beating down on my shoulders. We sit on the expansive deck on the Zephyr. I was told by Marielle that this deck that is used for entertainment, since it’s massive and open to the breeze.
4K TV’s surround the place, displaying every sports channel that is broadcasting the event in front of us live. People fill the deck – some I know and some I don’t. A mixture of languages is being spoken – French, Spanish, Portuguese, Brasileiro and English. I believe I also hear some Russian in the distance.
Marielle sits in a corner on a lounge chair, h
olding a glass of champagne sipping from it slowly, while she teases Tat. Her dark hair blows in the wind beneath the very large, navy blue sun hat on top of her head. She’s classy and beautiful and has a very Jackie O vibe going on.
Aurelio is smoking a very expensive Cohiba Behike, the scent of it taking my breath each time the smoke drifts my away, no doubt leaving its woodsy aroma in my hair. This is the first time I’ve realized how much Nico looks like his father. Aurelio is fifty-five. He’s tall, still built with dark hair and he has the most scrutinizing brown eyes that are still kind when he looks at you. Grey edges his hairline in places sparingly that only makes him look even more attractive for his age. He looks weathered, experienced, antique and I know this is what Nico will look like in twenty years.
Yum.
“Cass, people often ask me why I do this? Why I believe in racing? Why invest hundred of millions of dollars into a sporting event?” Aurelio says letting out a long puff of smoke.
I examine his posture as he sits in a lounge chair, with his legs crossed at the knee, and with his elbow propped up on the side of the chair. He leaves the cigar to his lips when his eyes narrow. “Do you know what I tell them?”
“No.”
“It’s for my ego.” He laughs heartily, displaying each one of his pearly whites.
I only smile, debating if that’s really funny or not or just plain sad.
“It’s the truth.” He adds. “We invest hundred of millions in this and that is just for this event. My money lends itself to much more than this – Formula 1 etcetera and I’m always looking for new hobbies.” He says, taking another long puff of the cigar.
Hobbies?
“We always want to win of course but it isn’t realistic. Someone must win and someone must lose.” He says curtly.
I nod.
“It’s a lot of money.” I remind him.
He runs his tongue over his shiny teeth and shifts to sit forward, levelling his gaze at me. “J.P Morgan once said, “If you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford it.” He smiles tightly.
I force out a laugh, not entirely sure I get the joke but whatever. Looking around, I observe everyone in their carefree state, drinking, talking and looking out into the Great Sound with binoculars. The sun blazes and the wind has picked up. Two helicopters circle overhead, recording the action below, their rotors drowning out the sound of the small group’s voices here every few minutes.
Tomas is drunk. He’s laughing and talking loudly, with his arm draped over a malnourished model with chocolate skin and black curly hair, who’s holding a martini in her free hand. After getting to know the playboy a little, I realize he really is a kid. Tomas is young, handsome and has absolutely no plans to settle down. He has a great relationship with Tat but his prickly demeanor when it comes to Nico sometimes, tells me to keep my guard up. Seeing that the two are brothers, I don’t get in the middle of their squabbles.
Standing, I snap a few pictures, grateful that I don’t have to work the main event today, since I did mostly leading up to it. I take a few shots of Tat and Marielle laughing together and one of Nico who stands in the corner of the far end of the room, with his back to me talking to another gentleman. I have a perfect view of his profile. His left hand is in his pocket and his hair is slicked back. I swear he could be a Calvin Klein model if he ever gave up his job in finance.
Click. Click. Click.
This morning though, I’m guilty of chimping. I check the LCD screen after each shot, scrutinizing the angles and the impact of the natural light around me. I grab another camera and focus on the wing-sail catamarans in the distance, snapping a few shots leisurely and taking a few of the landscape.
“Champagne.” Margeaux offers, jerking my attention away from the water.
“Yes, please.” I answer, taking a glass from off the tray in her hands.
She gives me a nod and disappears again.
I view the statistics on one of the 4K TV’s that line the far wall of the room and the closed captioning running across the lower part of the screen. The racing conditions are perfect, as the sportscaster states. The wind is coming out of the northwest at around fifteen knots. The sky is clear and tide is light – with not much current. The course map has been set and the race is limited to forty minutes.
A light tap lands on my shoulder. I jerk my vision from the television in the distance and find Symone standing next to me. She pulls me into a hug but she doesn’t speak right away.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I say, absorbing her contrite expression.
She takes a seat next to me at the high table and lets out a deep breath, placing a hand over mine. Her hair is up in a messy bun and the yellow dress she has on, really brings out her brown eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d come. You look pretty.”
She bobs her head a few times and looks around. “Of course, I was coming. I’m here. Stefan is over there.” She says pointing across the room. Stefan is deep in a conversation with Nico, dressed as dapper as ever, like he’s headed to the Kentucky Derby. I meet Symone’s eyes.
“I really just want the best for you, Cass. I don’t know I was so confused when I last saw you.” She admits, looking around. “But I guess in some way, maybe I was even mad at myself, since I spent so much time tearing Nico down for being a nobody and now to find out that he really is a somebody.” She laughs. “It’s just all crazy and maybe in some way, I can see why he hides who he really is.” Her last few words come out in a hushed tone.
Really?
“Champagne.” Carlos offers.
Symone smiles. “Yes, please.” She removes the Waterford flute from the tray and takes a long gulp.
I follow suit, sipping from my own.
“I really like your dress. It’s Marc Jacobs, isn’t it?” Carlos interrupts.
Symone pouts and examines the dress as if it’s the first time she’s seen it. “Actually – yes, it is.”
Carlos nods and strides away.
“How’d he know that?” She chuckles.
I only shrug. Symone must need a white cane if she can’t see that Carlos is more feminine than the two of us combined.
“I’m sorry, Cass for how I’ve been acting. You and I are so different.” She smiles. “I don’t know. I think I envy the way you just don’t care about what people think. I love how you just feel free to be yourself, free of the judgments of others.”
I remain silent, listening to her words.
“He’s a nice guy, Cass. I’m going to try to be nice to your Hot Hobo from now on. You super-rich Hot Hobo.” She says, brushing her hand over my arm.
“Thank you. I love him and we’ve been together for-.”
“You don’t think he’s actually going to marry you, Cass? Do you?” She snaps and then she’s laughs...at me. It’s high-pitched and mocking. “A man like that, isn’t going to marry someone like you, Cass.” She hisses. “You don’t fit into this world. You barely even have a career anymore.” She adds. “This is a fuck fest. The two of you, together are a fuck fest, simple as that. Don’t set yourself up to believe it’s anything more.”
Why is my head spinning?
I’m stunned, shocked, stupefied. The words I was about to speak, have been stolen right from my mouth, plucked straight off my Taittinger-laced tongue. This is Symone. Sweet and sour - just like the traditional Chinese sauce, except her recipe is fucked up and simply unsavory. There’s so much Symone doesn’t know about Nico.
“He’s not going to marry you, Cass.” She repeats, taking a chug of her champagne, looking around.
“I guess I’m not good enough.” I mumble, certain she doesn’t catch my sarcasm.
Her eyes cut to mine. “I didn’t say-.”
I only laugh, when I really just want to scream and put her in a choke hold until she taps out and maybe even then, I won’t let her go.
“Cass.” She says.
I finish my champagne, rest the glass down and stand. “Excuse me.” I
say, before removing myself from the table, leaving Symone to wallow in her own issues.
I exhale and rush across the room to settle between Nico’s thighs, where he’s sitting in a stool. He embraces me for a moment, nuzzling his nose into mine. I spin around and stare out into the distance, where the two wing-sail catamaran’s float. They’re sleek and beautiful and their sixty-foot carbon-fiber hard sails, or wings, glint against the sun.
The Village is filled with thousands of people, observing the race from the land in Dockyard.
We were ten minutes into the race between the defender and the challenger team that made it to the finals. Everyone aboard the Zephyr stand along the perimeter with binoculars firmly in hand. Tomas is yelling something in Portuguese about one of the boats possibly tipping over. Aurelio savors his cigar while watching the action. The two boats fly across the Great Sound, racing upwind. They’re neck and neck and then quickly work to turn their thirteen-story sails broadside to turn back downwind, when they bank around the first marker that’s just northwest of us.
Aurelio moves closer to the pristine glass that surrounds the deck. “This is a difficult move but it’s critical for success!” He shouts, pointing to Marielle.
She nods, rolls her baby blues and proceeds to look out to the sea.
The men work feverishly keeping the craft steady, while the chase boats keep their distance.
The blue ocean sprays everywhere, while the two boats foil across the harbor, easily breaking a speed of at least forty miles per hour. Everyone cheers while my gaze dances between the live action across the water and the listening to the commentators on television, that I can now hear.
“Now let’s look at today’s course and tide conditions.” The sportscaster states. “The ebb is starting and it will increase as the day goes along.” He continues.
Another left bank. Everyone screams when one of the boats looks as though it’s about to tip over. The noise subsides when the racing machine levels out as the two boats head to mark one.
The crewmen dash across the nets in between the two gargantuan hulls, tying off various lines and grinding away like their lives depend on it.