The Things We Do for Love

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The Things We Do for Love Page 17

by Benjamin M. Schutz


  Off in the distance, a small storm appeared. I watched the squall move like a veil between us and the next island, then quickly dissipate, leaving behind a perfect rainbow.

  Minutes later, we pulled into a small bay, bracketed by large outcroppings of rock. The narrow beach was empty and blindingly white. Behind it was a steep hill covered with dense underbrush.

  The pilot slowed the boat as we passed through a reef into the bay. “How long you be, man?” he asked.

  I looked at Jane and she replied, “How about three hours. Pick us up at four.”

  “Sure thing, Missy. One thing. You go snorkeling, watch out over there.” He pointed off to his right. “Pipe to the water plant over there. Big one. Suck you down, we never see you again. You hear me?” He looked at us gravely.

  We both nodded. He cut back on the engines and came to a halt, just beyond the surf line. Jane jumped out first and headed for shore holding her bag and the towels over her head. I jumped in and the pilot handed me the umbrella and lunch basket. I slogged toward shore until I heard the motor speed up. Turning back, I saw the boat turning toward the open sea with the other two couples aboard. The pilot waved happily at me standing there waist-deep in the water and the rising tide of my anxieties.

  I marched onto the shore. Jane took the umbrella from my hand, searched the beach for just the right spot and stabbed it into the sand.

  Standing there watching her push up the spokes of the umbrella, I said, “I thought there were going to be two other couples on this picnic. Where are they?”

  Jane spoke from under the umbrella. “I meant they were going on the boat trip. Each couple gets its own private beach.”

  “I see. Did you sign up for this anywhere?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Humor me. How did you get the lunches arranged?”

  Jane stepped out from under the umbrella, took the towels, unfurled them onto the sand and placed the picnic basket at the base of the pole. Brushing the sand from her hands, she said, “It was a last-minute whim. I ran up to the kitchen, told the guy I needed two lunches. He told me what he had. I picked something I thought you’d like and went back to the boat.”

  “Okay. Did you pay for this? Did you sign any sort of chit?”

  “Yeah. Just my name and the room number.”

  “What did the chit say?”

  “Nothing. Just picnic lunch and the date.”

  Jane reached into her bag. She pulled out my snorkel gear and my Travis McGee and tossed them onto a towel.

  “You’re welcome, grumpy,” she said.

  “Thank you.” I lay down on the towel. The only person who knew where we were was the pilot of the boat. And no one knew that we were coming out on this trip. I relaxed some and tried to convince myself that The Lucky Stiff wasn’t going to show up any time soon.

  Jane was on her knees, going through the picnic basket. “I’m starving. How about you?”

  “Whatever.”

  While Jane set out the lunch, I propped myself up on my elbows and scanned the area. It was beautiful in a stark fundamental way. Earth, sky and water, white and blue, and silent, except for the faint lapping of the waves. Alone, on the shore of this little bay, our privacy was complete. The next world war could be fought, decided, and peace would have ensued before this place would know about it. At least until the winds and the currents changed.

  “Ready to eat?” Jane asked, breaking my melancholy reverie.

  “Sure.” I discovered that Jane took me for a roast beef sandwich-potato-salad-Heineken kind of guy. Not a bad guess at all.

  “What was that guy on the boat talking about?” Jane asked, licking egg salad from a finger.

  “Probably a big intake pipe for a desalination plant. They don’t have enough fresh water on these islands. Have you noticed that they don’t serve water at meals and they put up those signs asking you to take short showers? So they purify seawater to use. I’d guess that the plant is centrally located on the island. They’d have to pump the water quite a way. That’s why the suction is so great.”

  After eating, we lay side by side, reading. I closed my book and adjusted myself to take some weight off of my ribs. Opening the book, a piece of paper fluttered out. I picked it up and stared at it. It was the lyrics I’d taken out of Jane’s trash.

  I passed the paper over to Jane. She looked at it, closed her book and looked at me.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From the wastebasket at the hotel.”

  “Why?”

  “I was curious. I wondered what you were writing.”

  “Do you often go through people’s garbage?”

  I laughed. “Hell, I used to steal people’s garbage. Then I’d catalogue it, photograph it, and weigh it.”

  Jane read over the lines a couple of times, then asked “Why did you keep it, though?”

  “I thought you might want to use them. Maybe you were too upset to make a good decision that night. I thought you might want to look at them later … Oh hell, what do I know? I like them. I think you should use them and I was going to give you a second chance to see the light.”

  Jane looked them over, then folded them up and slipped them inside the cover of her book. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’ll do with them. Maybe it’s too soon to write about this stuff. I’ll hold onto them. See if they look any better in six months.”

  We went back to reading. After a while I dozed off. When I awoke, Jane was still sleeping. Her top was undone. She shuddered and one eye opened. Then she looked around anxiously and reached up to touch one of her shoulders. “Would you mind putting some lotion on my back? I’m starting to get crispy.”

  I reached over her and took the tube of sunscreen out of her bag. I squirted some into my hand to warm it, a nicety Samantha had taught me, and rubbed it onto Jane’s back. I could feel the heat in her skin. First the shoulders. Then down her back. I ran my thumbs along her spine. My fingers slid along the white edge of her flattened breast. I pressed on down her flanks to her hips and then stopped.

  I repeated the movement down her back twice more, then stood up and walked into the water. To my amazement, I didn’t steam upon entry.

  I kept walking until the water was up to my waist, then pushed off and swam out toward the reef. About halfway there I felt the pull of the intake pipe. I swam away from the pull and then dove down to see the pipe.

  Only a couple of feet of pipe protruded from the sand. It was made of hard white plastic and had a mouth at least four feet across. There was a grid across the mouth to keep debris out. Because of its angle, the pipe didn’t create a whirlpool on the surface.

  I swam along the reef for a while, trying to put Jane’s warm skin out of my mind. I thought about what’s-her-name and how I felt about her. I took a moral inventory and was appalled. Disgusted, I floated back to shore like a piece of seaweed.

  Jane was in the water, splashing herself. As I walked past she put her hand on my arm.

  “Why did you stop like that? It felt so good.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “I don’t know. I thought we were having fun.”

  “We were on our way. But I can’t afford that kind of fun.”

  “Why not?”

  “I made someone a promise.”

  “Would she have to know?”

  When I didn’t answer right away, Jane said, “Don’t say anything. Let me think that there’s one good man somewhere.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  We disguised our regrets with smiles.

  “Let’s get packed.” I said. “The boat will be back any time now.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Around six, we dressed for dinner. Walking over, we watched the sun turn coral on its daily descent.

  Jane wore her pareo as a skirt, knotted at the waist and slit up one side. Her turquoise top had no sides or visible back.

  Up ahead, I saw some couples we’d seen
earlier at meals or on the beach. There was a wine importer from New York and his English wife. Sid was there with his blond companion. While he nattered into her perfect collarbone, she gazed off over his head with a look of terminal boredom. The Philly Flyer was wearing less than Jane. Her boyfriend, however, was sneaking glances at Sid’s young lady.

  The maitre d’ came up to us, smiled and showed us to a table. Sitting down, I noticed that the older couple next to us were the ones on our snorkeling boat. I nodded and said hello to them. They smiled back at us.

  I was beginning to feel like an old hand here and realized that leaving would be more of a jolt than I’d expected. I knew how the place ran and was comfortable with its rhythms. Real life was going to be disappointing after this.

  The waiter approached and said that the couple at the next table wanted to buy us a drink. We looked over, waved and said thanks. They were holding hands and beaming at each other. Jane ordered a Yellowbird and I asked for a gin and tonic.

  When the waiter left, Jane said. “That was nice. Why do you think they did that?”

  “I don’t know.” I did want to change the subject. “You know, this is our last night here. We go back tomorrow. Have you come to any decision?”

  Before Jane could answer, our waiter returned with our drinks. We raised them to salute our benefactors and took a sip.

  “I’m getting there. I had a dream about it today when we were on the beach. That’s what woke me up.”

  “What did you dream?”

  “I’m in my bedroom. It’s in California, I know that. It’s beautiful. Satin sheets on the bed. They’re all rumpled. I feel good. I’m wearing a silk robe. My skin is warm and the silk is cool. I have goose bumps. I’m doing my nails. They’re long and shiny and red. I hear my heartbeat. It’s strong. Then I put on some perfume and the smell makes me dizzy. I pick up my lipstick and look into the mirror to put it on. But I can’t find my face. I close my eyes and open them up but there’s nothing in the mirror. I start to panic and I change the angle of the mirror. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but no matter where I stand I can’t see myself. Then I panic and start to scream. That’s when I woke up.”

  Jane sipped her drink. “I have to remind myself that this isn’t Sophie’s Choice. I wish it didn’t feel so important but it does. I don’t want to wind up as some pathetic old woman boring strangers with stories of what a great talent I was and how I got fucked over. It’s in my hands now and that’s a luxury most people never know. I just haven’t decided which way to jump.”

  Our waiter returned with our dinners.

  “Do me one favor, will you?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “When you make your choice, let me know, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  After dinner we ordered coffee and dessert and sat waiting while the band set up.

  “Who has a financial stake in the group’s success?” I asked.

  “The four of us, Nicky, the record company. Why?”

  “My paranoia’s still acting up.”

  “Leo, are you stuck on that? We’ve been here three days and nothing’s happened.”

  “I know, but bear with me. It’s a harmless obsession. I’ll go for treatment when we get back home.”

  “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “What’s Nicky’s deal with the group?”

  “Well, he’s our agent, so he gets twenty-five percent off the top of any deal he makes for us. He gets a draw as our manager. He also handles investments for the other three members of the group.”

  “Why not yours?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I always figured to be odd man out someday. So I always kept my money separate.”

  I flashed to Jane’s brothers throwing her out of a car, and a suitcase flying out after her.

  “How does the group make money?”

  “Performances, record sales, endorsements.”

  “What about the use of your image? You know, the Jane Doe lunchbox?”

  “The one with the Bible instead of a thermos?”

  “Yeah, that one. Who sells the rights to those?”

  “Nick does.”

  “On concerts, who determines the venue, the lighting, the T-shirt sales, the souvenir programs, all the spinoffs. Who hands out those contracts?”

  “Nick.”

  “So he’s the conduit that all the money flows through. Coming in and going out.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. He’s been real good at that stuff. We sure as hell didn’t know anything about managing money. So when he approached us and said he’d take over all that, we said great. It freed us up to make music. He’s not stealing from us. Our books were audited just recently. We’re making money everywhere.”

  “Is there any money that doesn’t go through Nick?”

  “No.”

  “How’s Nicky been doing since he began managing you? Has he picked up any other bands?”

  “We’re the only band he manages. But he’s the agent for some other bands. Mostly out in L.A. Once we started to do well lots of people approached him. He’s got some people working for him now.”

  “How did Nicky find out about the band?”

  “He saw us doing a gig in D.C. Afterward, he came backstage, made his pitch and we decided to give him a try. Hell, we weren’t doing all that great on our own. When he said he could get a video made, that clinched it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They cost a fortune to make. Nicky advanced us the money, interest-free. He even got a Hollywood director to shoot it. That’s what he sent around to the labels.”

  Jane dabbed at her mouth and excused herself for a moment. When the waiter brought dessert and coffee, I asked him to leave a blank chit and a pen. I hastily scribbled some notes on the back of the chit. When I finished, I read them over twice before going to the telephone.

  In the booth I sat down and put my notes on the small shelf below the phone. Privacy outvoted comfort and I pulled the door closed.

  Rocky answered his private line. “Franklin Security Systems. Franklin speaking.”

  “Rocky, it’s Leo.” The line hissed and crackled.

  “Lousy connection, Leo. Where are you?”

  I gave him my location and the phone number, then said “I’ll talk slowly. When I’m done, repeat what I’ve said, to confirm. Okay?”

  “Okay, begin.”

  “First, I’m interested in your job offer. When I get back let’s meet and try to hammer out the details. Now, in the interest of protecting your investment I’d like you to check out some things for me. My neck hairs are on end and I can’t get them to lie down. Do it in this sequence:

  “Check the registration on a boat called The Lucky Stiff out of St. Thomas, U.S.V.I. I want the owner’s name, address and occupation. If it’s corporate, the names of the officers and what else they own.

  “There’s a guy on the boat calls himself Dick Richards. I’m sure it’s an alias. See if N.C.I.C. has anything on that name. If so, try to get the connection with the owner. Also get a physical description and photo if you can.

  “Call Martin Duncaster, ask him for the bill for the security suite. If he gives you any grief about it, tell him that I’m ultimately responsible for the bill because I booked the suite and that Ballantine’s check bounced. That should do it. See if any phone calls were made while I had the suite. Find out who to and if there’s any connection to Richards or the boat.

  “Call a D.C. cop name of Crawford, ask him if Ballantine called to tell him that we’d left the country.

  “If you’ve got anything on Richards or anyone else connected to the boat, take a picture to a woman named Anita Coxworth. She lives at the Cameron House. Let her look at them. Ask her if anyone looks like the guy who groped her at the Occidental Grill.

  “Take the descriptions and whatever else you have and go see a family named Trumbull. They live on Wabash Lane in College Park. They settled a lawsuit against my client for peanuts and I’d
bet they did it against the advice of counsel. Find out why if you can. Show them whatever you’ve got.

  “Call me here anytime, day or night, with whatever you find out. Tell the staff here it’s a life-and-death emergency. I’ll leave word where I can be found at all times. Read that back to me.”

  Rocky read it back and I had almost hung up when I thought of one last thing. “Rocky, if you don’t like what you find out, don’t wait to get back to me. Get Arnie Kendall on a plane down here right away. Tell him it’s a silent job.”

  “Be back to you as soon as possible, Leo. Get your back against a wall.”

  I hung up the phone and pulled back the door to the booth. The cool breeze chilled the sweat on my brow. I went into the men’s room, splashed cold water on my face, toweled it dry and tried to align the wrinkles in my suit.

  Jane was staring off at the dance floor when I came back to the table. She turned around quickly. “I was just about ready to send out a search party. Where were you?”

  “Just went to splash some water on my face. It got pretty still out here.”

  The band was playing mostly slow numbers. The couple that bought us the drinks glided by cheek to cheek. I wanted to believe that they were living proof that romance can endure the dings and dents of daily life.

  Sid came by, steering his young lady around the floor. He had his hands on her ass and his head on her breasts. She however had eyes on the Philly Flyer’s boyfriend. Eventually Philly caught on, followed the blonde’s eyes to the back of her man’s head and hauled off and walloped him. She spun on her heels and stalked out of the place. The guy looked back at the blonde but didn’t get enough encouragement to stay on. He left shaking his head.

  Jane asked, “How about one dance before I turn in?”

  “Sure.”

  Jane slipped an arm around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder. The band began to play and we swayed together. Jane slowly stirred the air with her hips. We were close enough to breathe the same air. Jane felt my tension. “Relax. You’re safe enough with me.”

 

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