by Bill Orton
The third figure sat upright and, joining the two others, weaved with the others caterpillar-like. “I see no reason to presume negatively this foundation so long as accurate and verifiable account is taken of all expenditures, obligations and receipts.” The aides wrote.
“Great,” said Ed. “Moving on to the cinematic investment. European content. EU produced. Stake may rise from single millions to as high as twenty million. Speculative. Seek a ‘clear and release’ to execute rights.”
The left seated figure sat up, looked into the soda tub, reached a hand up, and dipped rapidly, a moment later holding a Lipton unsweetened tea. Before the hand had lowered, a female voice said, “tea, here,” and the figure stood, stretched and handed the can to Lori before again plunging wrist-deep and this time pulling out a red Coke can. “I support yes on all questions.” A flurry of writing, silence, and Ed moved to his next points.
.
“And Mr. van der Bix, your signatures on this last set of papers will complete the distribution of your lump sum payment process,” said a tall, very well dressed woman in her 40s, standing at a wide desk centrally placed in the long office Larry and his team had stepped in to. Beyond the desk was an amazing view to the river, this being a corner office on the top floor of the building.
“This is it?” asked Ed. “After this, we can blow out’ta here?”
“That’s right,” said the tall woman. “Don’t spend an extra second you don’t have to....”
“Does that mean when I am done with this, then I don’t have any more business here?”
“Yes,” said the woman, straightening, smiling less.
“Then I have a request….”
.
Larry stood to the edge of a wide marble counter in the lobby on the ground floor. I looked at Larry’s reflection in the polished marble and mirrors, behind the counter, as he carefully lifted each sheet of paper, and used his Southwest Airlines pen to affix his signature. The woman with long red hair waited patiently for each signature and, upon the last one, lightly touched Larry’s hand with the tip of her finger. Larry looked up immediately. “You’re done, Larry. You’ve finished everything.” The woman put down her pen and just smiled to Larry. “Good luck.”
Larry looked at the woman for a long time, and with a faint smile, said, “Will you be in a picture with me?” A moment later, he was holding a stiff board, smiling widely, looking into her eyes and slowly, delicately reaching his hand towards her tangle of red hair.
And then the cameras were gone.
Finally Lori whispered, “Bix....”
Larry separated from the woman with the red hair and exited the shining tower.
Chapter Fourteen
Rowing the Whitehall
Larry van der Bix lay on the sand, his head resting on the red nylon covering of the flotation device from his rowboat. He pulled idly at a heavy cord wrapped around his hand that hung limply from the bow of the Whitehall, pulled far up onto the shore. Larry looked out lazily towards the palm trees lining the beach.
“Dude,” called out Ed Lossé. “Let’s get back on the water.” Ed, in long, brightly colored trunks and an equally colorful shirt, tossed the towel and brown bag he had been carrying into the boat, and started to gather up the four oars, flotation devices and several empty beer bottles from alongside the rowboat. He lifted the oar rings from each of the sides of the boat and slid one onto each of the four oars, laying the oars across the width of the rowboat.
Larry’s phone rang as he stood up. “Hey, Lori,” said Larry. “Naw, me and Ed are on the peninsula. We could row and meet’cha if you want. Might take us awhile.” Larry watched Ed as he grabbed two tie lines, pulling them together so as to slide the Whitehall towards the water.
“We meetin’ up with Swim Chick?” asked Ed, knee-deep in the water as he glided the 14-foot rowboat parallel to the beach, holding each tie line as Larry deftly climbed in, and carefully lifted first one and then a second oar so he could lower the peg of each oar ring into its mount, clinking brass upon brass. Ed tossed the tie lines into the boat and climbed in, taking the seat in front of Larry and also lifting and placing each oar into position. They gave a pull together on the starboard oar, turning the rowboat.
“Hey, see,” said Ed, “told’ja we’d get into a groove on this thing.”
Awkwardly, each pushed forward with both oars, sending the boat into the straight that separated the Peninsula from Treasure Island and Naples. When they had reached the center of the straight, each held their starboard oar motionless and pulled on the port oar. They then began pulling to move the boat straight, towards the main bay and beyond to the jetty leading out to the harbor shared by Long Beach, Wilmington and San Pedro. With two people rowing, the Whitehall made swift time through the half-mile across the main bay and into the jetty.
“Damn, that’s choppy,” said Ed, as the rowboat emerged from the narrow confines of the jetty, into the protected waters of the harbor. The bow of the rowboat began to lift and drop into the waters of the harbor. While the federal breakwater built during World War II to protect warships from being torpedoed by the Japanese kept the harbor from the full force of the Pacific’s waves, a 14-foot rowboat — even a Whitehall, with its wide hull and keel — impresses upon occupants a sense of puniness against the ocean. The two continued pulling, finding harmony, swiftly cutting through the low-but-choppy waves, towards the Belmont Pier.
“So, buddy,” said Ed, pulling as he yelled over his shoulder, “what’s the whole tit fascination?”
“What?” yelled Larry, rowing in time with Ed, their common view to the jetty in the distance.
“Tits!” yelled Ed, “what’s the big thing about tits… besides the obvious….”
“What?” yelled Larry again, as a wave smashed into the side of the boat, spraying both.
Ed half-turned his body, stopping his rowing, suspending his oars above the water. “Shit, there’s water in the bottom.”
“We gotta get Lori,” yelled back Larry. “C’mon. Row.”
A wave just a bit taller than the rowboat dropped several inches of water into the boat.
“Shit” yelled Ed.
“Let’s turn it!” yelled Larry.
Ed, trying first one oar in the water, and then another, succeeded at halting the movement of the Whitehall.
“Put yer oars up!” yelled Larry, who deftly maneuvered the boat into the direction of open sea. After half-a-minute, he angled to again be parallel to the shore. The boat took another short wave over the side
“Bail while I row!” yelled Larry.
Ed grabbed the only vessel able to hold water – a beer bottle – and pushed it into the water at the bottom of the boat. Ten seconds later, he lifted the bottle and poured out a few ounces collected in the bottle, as another wave lapped over the side, adding another inch of water.
“Keep bailing!” yelled Larry, as he pulled hard, moving the White Hall towards the shore.
Ed, holding the beer bottle under the water, started to retch.
The Whitehall rose and fell in gentle crashes, as Larry turned his head to see Ed bent forward. “Keep bailing!”
Ed came up with the bottle and poured out a few ounces. As he poured, he vomited over the side of the boat.
“Everything okay?” yelled Larry, not turning.
Ed continued vomiting.
Larry turned his head to see Ed, pale-faced, gripping the edge of the boat with one hand and a beer bottle with the other. Quickly shifting both oars so they could be held by one hand, Larry grabbed the bottle, struck it downward against the rail of the boat, shattering the neck off, and handed it back to Ed. Ahead, perhaps a half mile, was the Belmont Pier.
“Lori will be at the tie-off dock,” yelled Larry. “Almost there.” Larry returned to two-handed rowing, adjusting direction and looking over his shoulder to check his navigation.
Ed, now pulling up a full bottle at a time, kept bailing, while spitting out last bits of vomit. Several minutes
later, unable to draw out more water, Ed dropped the bottle beside him and grabbed the two oars that had been pulled in straight across the hull. He found Larry’s rhythm just before the boat arrived along side the boat dock at the end of the pier. Larry, slowing the rowboat with both oars, yelled for Ed to tie it off.
“Guys!” yelled Lori, on the dock.
“Swim Chick!” yelled Ed, to the tall blond in the olive-green bikini. As Larry drew the boat parallel to the dock, Ed tossed the tie line to Lori, who held it as Ed reached for a second line, which he then also threw.
“Clear out for the glass!” Larry yelled to Ed, who tossed overboard shards of green glass. “Watch your feet, Lori!” yelled Larry.
Lori turned and extended one foot into the rowboat as Ed watched her ass. Once she was in, Ed pulled in both ties lines, while he and Larry each held a cleat. Ed kept watching Lori’s ass, the word “ARMY” in small white letters across her backside. Lori slid onto the seat, next to Ed, and took up one oar, as Larry pushed off and swiftly had both his oars in the water.
Ed, unable to find rhythm with either Larry or Lori, pulled lamely at his oar, causing the boat to skip left and right as Larry’s pulling moved them ahead.
“In synch, man, c’mon,” said Lori.
Ed held his oar above the water, waiting for Lori to come forward for another pull. When she rose, he dropped his oar in and the two pulled together, in time with Larry, sending the Whitehall swiftly across the water.
.
Ed, taking Lori’s extended hand, stepped up from the boat, as Larry held the cleat on his grandmother’ s dock. Larry tied off the rear rope as Lori tied the bow. Before climbing up to the dock, Larry lifted each of his oars, removing the oar ring and handing the oars up to Lori, and setting the rings on the dock. Hs climbed to the seat ahead and did the same with the second pair of oars. He gathered the four flotation devices and shattered beer bottle and handed them to Ed, before climbing out.
“What were you asking out there?” said Larry. “I missed all that.”
“I’ll ask you later,” said Ed, walking wobbly.
.
December Carrera, wearing only a bikini bottom, lay on her belly on the lounger next to the breakfast table on Emma Mathilde’s balcony.
“Oh, December,” said Larry, as he, Lori and Ed made their way out.
“Hey, Dee,” said Lori.
December, turning her head, cooed, “Hey, Baby.... Hey, sweeties.”
“Where’s my grandma?” asked Larry.
“Your dad took her to a doctor appointment,” said December. “Just left.”
“Doctor?” said Larry.
“Dat’s what he said,” said December, “over and over.’
“Did she look okay?”
“She looked, fine,” said December. “I mean, she’s old, but other than that….”
“You want a towel?” asked Lori, stepping back out onto the balcony and handing a bath towel to December, who wrapped the towel around her, tucking the end into her deep cleavage.
“Good moment to take a break,” said Ed, stepping inside.
“Did’ya do lots of swimmin’, Baby?” purred December running her hands over Lori’s shoulders and arms.
“Six miles maybe,” said Lori. “Pier to the jetty and back.” Lori sat on the edge of the lounger and melted into December’s hands. When Ed reappeared, the two were curled together on the lounger, spooning under the shade of an oversized parasol.
Larry went in to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and began pulling out meats, cheeses, breads, condiments, veggies and several bottles of juices.
“Yeh,” said Ed, walking in to the kitchen as Larry prepared a spread. “About what I was asking….”
Larry worked at cutting a pork roast into thin slices, which he brushed with a gelatinous glaze and set onto slices of dark, brown bread.
“What’s the whole tit thing?”
“The what?” said Larry, briefly stopping his slicing to look at Ed.
“Just the whole tit thing,” repeated Ed. “The models. December. I mean, don’t get me wrong, tits are great, but….”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Larry, wrapping the roast back in butcher paper and then moving on to slice a red bell pepper.
“Ewa Sonnet, and the Italian chick….”
“Anekee,” said Larry. “And, actually, she’s Dutch, but….”
“Yeh, whatever,” said Ed, picking up a slice of meat from a piece of bread. “I mean, do you just have a thing for women with big tits? Or...,”
“Like I say,” said Larry, swatting Ed’s hand from the meat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dude,” said Ed, pulling his hand back, “you’ve asked me to contact some of the biggest-titted women in the world to see if they will meet with you about projects and investments. I mean, unless there’s something I’m not seeing, I’d assume you’re picking and choosing based on cup size.”
Larry stopped cutting bell pepper and turned to Ed. “You’re wrong.”
“Okay,” said Ed, “Fuck me. But why these women? Why not just call Warren Buffet or Don Francisco or some chick in a power suit?”
“I don’t like people like that.”
“Like what? Successful?”
“Cut-throat. Mean. Greedy.”
“And big-titted women somehow aren’t greedy or mean?”
“I don’t see the connection between people I choose to support and what you’re saying.”
“Dude, December and Ewa and Anekee make their living swinging their tits on the web,” said Ed, looking around the kitchen. “Odalys Garcia, same thing.”
“That’s not true. Totally wrong. Odalys is on TV and has her own show.”
“Which viewers tune in to so they can look up her miniskirt and down her cleavage,” said Ed. “Dude, she’s a sex bomb. Why else would anyone watch candid camera?”
“Lente Loco.”
“What-ev-er,’ said Ed. “I just don’t get how you know them. I mean, jeeze… you!”
“What?”
“Your model friends are sex bombs,” said Ed. “And you’re… Them knowing you….”
“They’re nice,” said Larry, moving plates and a platter onto the silver rolling tray. “They’re my friends, cuz they want to be, and I know it’s not fake.”
“You’ve never actually met them but it isn’t fake?”
“December drove up to Sacramento with me cuz she said I was nice,” said Larry. “Do you think someone like her would get in a car with a guy like me if it wasn’t real? I mean…. me?”
“Dude, yer rich now,” said Ed. “You can have pretty much any girl you want just by flashing the benjamins.”
Larry finished loading glasses and juice bottles onto the rolling tray and wheeled it past Ed, towards the balcony, with Ed following. Outside, Lori and December still lay on their sides, spooning. As Larry began loading the food onto the balcony table, December sat upright.
“Yeh baby,” said December, standing, and reaching for Lori’s hand. “C’mon, Hunny, let’s eat.”
Lori stood and stretched, while December watched her. As Larry loaded the last of the glasses onto the table, he looked to Ed. “That’s never what I’d do. I wouldn’t want someone who was my friend only for that.”
“For what, Baby?” said December.
“Money,” said Larry, sitting down.
“Pays the bills, but it’s dirty,” said December.
“So all the money the banks got, that was dirty?” asked Ed, across the table.
“Greedy pigs!” spat Lori.
“Money poured down a rathole,” said December.
“So the United States government shouldn’t have spent a penny to save the financial system?”
“Why?” said Lori. “So banks could keep ripping off the little guy with fees and shit? They don’t care about people. All they care about is money.”
“Shouldn’t someone care about money?” said Ed.
/> “Shouldn’t someone care about people?” replied Lori. “How about my bailout? I got shot at in Iraq. What about my buddies who shipped out missing a foot, a leg, an arm. Bet they could use a few bucks.”
“Didn’t Larry buy you a house?” said Ed.
“Larry’s not the frickin’ government,” replied Lori. “He paid off what was left on my folks’ mortgage and I love him for it. But Larry’s a little guy, the whole 99-percent thing.”
“He’s a One Percenter now,” said Ed.
“But I don’t behave like a One Percenter,” said Larry, “and when I’m done handing all this away, I’ll be back to normal.”
“You’ll always be normal,” said Lori. “Well, as normal as normal is for you.”
“You’re all deluded,” said Ed.
December stood over the platters of food, with her hands on her hips. “If you make me lose my appetite, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“Subject change,” said Lori.
“Yeh, anything…,” said Larry.
“Anyone watching, ‘Lonely Island?’ “ asked Ed.
“Watching what?” asked Lori.
“Lonely Island,” said December. “Reality show.”
“Oh, I don’t watch that shit,” said Lori, leaning back, eating a slice of bread and cheese.
“It’s getting good,” said Ed. “There’s a shark in the lagoon.” Ed piled a heap of meat and cheese onto a slice of bread and took an enormous bite, consuming almost a third one bite.
“How can you care about that stuff?” said Larry. “It’s so obviously fake.”
Ed chewed. “It’s not... fake,” he said between chewing. “They have to compete and no one knows which one’s gotta go in the water.” More chewing. “Someone’s gotta swim with the shark.”
“Hey, hot stuff…, granola girl,” said a booming voice. Calvin walked alone to the table and grabbed a slice of bread.
“Where’s Grandma?” said Larry.
“They wanted to keep the cow for a few days,” said Calvin, setting himself down next to Ed, with a clear view to December and Lori. Calvin scooped up cheese and veggies for his slice of bread and then took a bite. Bits of dark rye bread hung from Calvin’s lips.