Pink Jinx

by Sandra Hill

  Frank was on his other side, beaming like an idiot. You’d think he would be upset about all the unsuccessful dives so far, but, no, he was happy as a lark because Jake had finally arrived. Frank claimed that Jake would bring them good luck, guaranteed.

  To which Ronnie had snickered.

  Tante Lulu’s arrival was also a good omen, in the world according to Frank, because of her “in” with St. Jude. That remained to be seen, although John had already regaled them with stories of her famous St. Jude “miracles.”

  The air conditioner and high-velocity fan made the entire below-deck area cool and pleasant, something it apparently hadn’t been before their arrival. He wondered how Tony had known to bring them, but then recalled seeing him using his satellite phone.

  Everyone was tired after the day of diving, so there was a companionable silence at first. Steve and Tony, ever the loners, chose to stay up on deck and eat some Italian submarines that Tony had brought from a favorite delicatessen.

  Then, out of the quiet, Ronnie flashed him a glower and said, “For your information, they’re not sperm. They’re commas.”

  Every head in the room swiveled to gawk at her. He had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Come on, baby, rise to my bait. I’d rather have you screaming at me than ignoring me. “I’m no fashion expert . . . ,” he began.

  She guffawed at that.

  Someone ought to tell her that guffawing from a woman was not attractive. Maybe he would tell her, later. For now, he resumed his statement. “I’m no fashion expert, but I find it hard to believe that someone would put commas chasing commas on any clothing.”

  “It’s the trademark of that new designer Daphne.” Ronnie’s face was pink with embarrassment as she realized she’d stepped into a hole of his making.

  “Come on, sweetie. That is a streeeetch.” He knew he shouldn’t push the teasing, but, dammit, it annoyed the hell out of him to see her bracketed by those two homely studs. Homely, I wish.

  “It’s like little alligators on golf shirts.” Brenda was showing her friendship colors, coming to Ronnie’s defense. “And NASCAR is the worst. They’ve got so many company emblems on them, it’s a wonder they can even walk.”

  “I never could understand how some wimmen spend hundreds of dollars fer handbags with someone else’s name on ’em. ’Specially when you kin buy practically the same thing at Wal-Mart fer twenty bucks.” That was good ol’ Tante Lulu’s opinion, bless her down-to-earth soul.

  Flossie’s face lit up like lights on a Las Vegas strip. Apparently, this was a subject close to her heart. “I like to go on eBay and buy designer handbags, like Gucci or Coach, and they’re only a hundred dollars there.”

  “eBay again!” Frank exploded. “A hundred dollars!”

  Flossie gave him a glare that could cut concrete. “Do. Not. Tell. Me. What. I. Can. Do. With. My. Own. Money.” Flossie’s tone was pure ice, a bit of an overreaction to Frank’s remarks, in Jake’s opinion.

  Ah! The money issue. Jake had forgotten that Frank’s financial problems were the reason Ronnie was even here. Flossie must be grating under their tightened circumstances.

  Everyone quieted under the strain of Frank and Flossie’s open quarrel.

  But then the talking picked up again as Tante Lulu helped Brenda put some large bowls on the table—the jambalaya, which the old lady had brought in a cooler all the way from Louisiana; some beaten biscuits; okra—yeech!—and a green salad. The odd thing was, though, when Brenda sat down, there were two bowls, one of sauerkraut and one of baked beans, in front of her.

  Brenda glanced at him, saw his question, and said, “I’m on a diet. I need to lose twenty pounds this month.”

  “Whoo-boy, let me tell you about her diet . . . ,” Frank began with a snort of laughter.

  Brenda swatted Frank on the shoulder with a wooden spoon. “Say it again and you are dead meat.”

  Everyone laughed. Jake figured it must be some private joke.

  “I can’t believe Charmaine let you come back here, all by yourself,” LeDeux said to his great-aunt once she sat down.

  “Hah! Charmaine ain’t my mother. I kin do whatever I want to, without my niece’s permission. Talk about!”

  LeDeux gave her a suspicious look. “Does Charmaine know you’re here?”

  “Mebbe she does, and mebbe she doesn’t.”

  “Tante Lulu!”

  “Oh, all right. I left a message on her answering machine . . . once I got here.”

  “There’ll be hell to pay,” LeDeux remarked to no one in particular.

  Tante Lulu ignored his comment and asked, “What you been up to, Tee-John?”

  LeDeux brightened. “I have a date with Brenda. We’re going to her high school reunion. She wants to make her ex-husband jealous.”

  The old lady just nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Is that why yer eatin’ sauerkraut and beans?”

  “Yes, I only have twenty-seven days to lose twenty pounds, and, merciful heavens, that jambalaya smells divine.”

  Tante Lulu continued to nod. “Charmaine was on that diet one time, but had to stop ’cause it gave her too much gas.”

  “Hah! How come she’s allowed to say it and I’m not?” Frank asked.

  “She didn’t say it quite the way you did, dear.” Flossie patted Frank’s hand.

  “Anyhow, I gots some herbs that can melt the fat away,” Tante Lulu said. “Put it in yer tea in the morning and before you know it, pfffft!”

  The ears of each woman in the room perked up at that.

  “Maybe she’ll get some for you,” Frank told Flossie.

  Even though Flossie had appeared interested in the herb, she bristled at his mentioning it. “You think I’m fat,” she wailed.

  “Huh?” Frank said.

  “You think I’m fat and ugly and I hate you.” With that, Flossie tossed her napkin on the table, stood, and ran out of the room.

  Instead of rushing after her, Frank told the rest of them, “It’s the menopause . . . more like mental-pause. She’s got a split personality these days. Sometimes she reminds me of Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?”

  Good thing Flossie had left. She probably would have choked Frank if she heard him talking about her like that.

  “I don’t suppose you brought some of those herbs with you,” Brenda said to Tante Lulu.

  “Sure did. I allus carry herbs with me, jist in case. Those people at the airport were mighty testy about it, too.”

  “Tante Lulu is a famous traiteur,” LeDeux explained. “That’s a healer. Lots of people in the bayou come to her before going to a doctor.”

  “Did she ever give you a hope chest?” Jake asked LeDeux. Frank’s foot-in-mouth disease must be contagious. Note to self: shut up!

  Ronnie grinned at his discomfort.

  “Yeah, but we have a pact to fill it slooooowly. I’m not gonna be ready for marriage for a spell.” LeDeux elbowed Jake under Tante Lulu’s radar as if they were good buddies. “Did she give you one, too?”

  “No, but I’m gonna. That boy needs a hope chest to get his love life back on track.” Tante Lulu looked directly at Ronnie when she said that.

  Ronnie’s face went white. “Whaaat?”

  “Usually I gives my family hope chests when I think they’s ready for the thunderbolt to hit, even the men.”

  Way to go, lady!

  “The thunderbolt of love,” LeDeux interpreted for her.

  I love it! Batten down your hatches, sweetheart. My thunderbolt is a comin’.

  “But it’s clear as a bayou sky that you two already been hit by the thunderbolt so many times it’s a wonder you ain’t got ’lectricity comin’ out yer ears.”

  Jake grinned. There is that smoke.

  Peachey and Famosa frowned.

  Ronnie made a harrumphing sound, just like her grandmother did sometimes, usually at him, and said, “That was about as clear as a Starbucks cappuccino.”

  “You mus’ be thick or sumpin’,
bless yer heart. Girl, you look at this boy like he’s some kinda eye candy.”

  “I do not!”

  Jake continued to grin. I am starting to love the old bat.

  “And you,” the old bat said, pointing her finger at him.

  Uh-oh!

  “You look at her like she’s a cone of sweet praline ice cream you wanna lick up one side and down the other till she melts.”

  Yep! I couldn’ta said it better myself. Jake winked at Ronnie, whose jaw had dropped practically down to Sting’s forehead.

  “Speaking of ice cream,” Frank said. Ronnie’s grandfather always had been an ice cream aficionado. Apparently, that at least hadn’t changed.

  While everyone, except Brenda, sat eating various flavors of ice cream, Jake told Frank, “I have an idea how you might perfect your computer mapping.”

  “Really?” Frank put his spoon down and waited for his explanation.

  “I brought my laptop with me. I had a three-hour layover in Chicago. While I sat in the airport lounge, I thought of a few new programs that might allow me to overlay your grid with the magnetometer and sonar readings.”

  “Do tell,” Famosa remarked sarcastically.

  Condescending snooty prick college professor! I’ll show him. “I hit a WAP and downloaded fresh GODAR sets to overlay the GrADS. So I’m thinking if we can collect some virtual biological sludge for the GCMS, we might just be able to sniff out the wreck site. I downloaded some software, and, you know, it isn’t intended for this purpose, but it just might work.”

  “Huh?” Mr. Snooty Prick Professor looked like he’d been poleaxed.

  Everyone else just stared at him as if he’d sprouted three heads. Jake loved computers. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone shared his passion, or expertise. Other times, like now, he took immature delight in deliberately putting an asshole in his place.

  “Repeat that in normal language,” Ronnie advised him with a small smile.

  How many times has she said that to me in the past? Starting over, he explained, “I used a wireless access point and downloaded the latest data from the Global Oceanographic Data Archaeology and Rescue project to match up with the Grid Analysis and Display System. Once your divers are down there, it’s possible to take some samples near the ocean floor and run them through the gas chromatograph mass spectrometer, where any differentiation in microscopic sea critters and their chemistry that doesn’t match up with the climatological conditions could suggest the presence of the wreck, which might not have been noticed before.”

  “Is he speaking some foreign language?” Tante Lulu asked Flossie.

  “Geekspeak.” Ronnie sort of smiled again, which he took as a good sign.

  “Whatever he said, it sounds great.” Turning to the others, Frank added, “Jake is a computer genius.”

  Peachey and Famosa didn’t appear all that impressed, and Ronnie, no longer smiling, still put him in the same category as, oh, let’s say, a snake’s belly button. Tante Lulu was more interested in the long red fingernails sported by Flossie, who had slipped back into her seat a few moments ago, oblivious to the fact that she’d just thrown a hissy fit.

  “By the by, I have some herbs that’ll help yer condition,” Tante Lulu mentioned.

  “Condition?” Flossie accused Frank.

  He pretended innocence.

  “Oh, doan go gettin’ yer knickers in a twist.” Tante Lulu patted Flossie on the shoulder.

  “Back to that plan of yours, Jake.” Frank wisely changed the talk away from menopause. “How ’bout we go up into the wheelhouse where the computers are. Ronnie can show you what we’ve done so far, and you can explain your ideas to her.”

  “Whoa! Why do I have to be involved?” his contrary ex-wife protested. “Now that Jake is here, I’m no longer needed to handle the computers. In fact, Steve, or Tony, can take me back to Barnegat.”

  Jake felt a momentary panic that she would leave before he had a chance to make his moves. Not that he had any specific moves. But he was planning on getting some.

  “You’re needed, all right, missie,” Frank told his granddaughter. “Two sets of eyes are better than one when it comes to treasure hunting. Can’t tell you how many times one diver overlooks something another diver sees right off the spot.”

  God bless Frank’s badass version of Cupid!

  Ronnie probably would have resisted some more, except Tante Lulu asked, “Where’m I gonna sleep? It’s past my bedtime.”

  Everyone gawked at the old lady because, hello, it was still daylight.

  “You can sleep in the same bunk room with Ronnie and Brenda, I suppose,” Frank offered. “Ronnie, would you be willing to give up your bunk to Louise, I mean, Tante Lulu? You could put a sleeping bag on the floor.”

  Jake raised a forefinger in the air. “I have a suggestion.”

  Ronnie, Famosa, and Peachey all exclaimed, “No!” at the same time.

  Methinks she doth protest too much.

  On the other hand, methinks I better work on those moves, real quick.

  “Hope I doan wake you when I get up.” Tante Lulu was addressing Ronnie and Brenda. “I likes to get up afore dawn to do my jumpin’ jacks. Kin I use yer music player, Frank? I allus exercise to ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies.’”

  Frank looked horrified at the prospect of anything other than polka blasting from his CD player.

  The rest of them were horrified at the prospect of a woman as old as Tante Lulu doing jumping jacks.

  “Tante Lulu has a thing for Richard Simmons,” John explained. He pulled her to his side for a quick squeeze, then kissed the top of her head, which only reached his chest. But then, LeDeux turned to Frank and added, “Hey, if we’re gonna change the music on occasion, I vote for Cajun. We need a little zydeco to liven things up here.” He shimmied his shoulders to demonstrate. “I just happen to have a CD in my bag.”

  “Hah! Sting all the way.”

  Ronnie ignored him while everyone yelled out their choice of music.

  “Nobody’s touching my CD player,” Frank said. “You folks can exercise to polkas or whistling for all I care.”

  “Speaking of exercise,” Brenda interjected. “Some of us have been working out on deck right after dawn. Peach has been showing us SEAL exercises. You could join us, Tante Lulu.”

  “I ain’t doin’ any jumpin’ jacks without Richard.” She glared at Frank.

  Jake shook his head to clear it. This whole scene had taken on the aura of a slapstick comedy. The Three Stooges and then some.

  But then he realized that Peachey was addressing him. “What?”

  “I asked what kind of program you’re on. You’re reasonably fit.” He said reasonably, but he said it condescendingly.

  Well, news flash, bozo, anyone would look pitiful next to Your Royal Rambo. “I run.” Sometimes.

  “Oh, great! I run, too. Maybe we can do a morning run together sometime.”

  “Sure.” When hell freezes over.

  “I like to do twenty miles to loosen up, but I can shorten it to ten for you.”

  WHAT? “Oh, don’t do me any favors. I can do anything you can do.” Did I really just say that? Shit! I’m acting like a teenager facing off with the school bully. He noticed the grin on Ronnie’s face. She knew exactly what Peachey was doing . . . goading him. And she liked it. “Maybe you could join us on the twenty-mile run, honey.”

  She nodded her head at him in a touché manner.

  “Anyone like to play a game of poker before bedtime?” Come on, big shot. Welcome to my arena.

  Not surprisingly, Peachey and Famosa begged off. In the end, no one played. By the time he and Frank and Ronnie went over the computer data and new programs, it was eleven. They all turned in.

  Because of everything that had happened that day, he was wide awake as he lay on his sleeping bag on deck, under the stars, arms folded under his neck. Good thing the weather was holding. If it rained, he’d be forced to sleep on the galley floor.

  What am I do
ing here? he asked himself.

  Taking back my life, he answered himself.

  Ronnie asked me how it is different this time.

  I’m older, wiser.

  That’s debatable.

  Sometimes a man needs to reassess his life. Mine has been life with Ronnie and life with poker. There’s no question which one is more important. Somehow I lost the reality of that.

  I’m not buyin’ it. And neither will Ronnie. Gotta do better.

  But what?

  I need some grand gesture. Something so spectacular Ronnie will know I mean it this time.

  He thought for a long while. Staring up at the stars, he wondered if there really was a God up there, or St. Jude. He wondered how he could have screwed up his life so badly. And he prayed. He honest-to-God prayed for the first time since he was a boy back in Omaha.

  Then a grand idea came to him—a true-blue ace in the hole he’d forgotten he had—and he did a mental high five.

  In the pink . . .

  The next morning, they hit pay dirt—or, you could say, pink dirt.

  Adam was the first diver splashing down to a site Jake had suggested last night after studying all the data they had collected before. He really was a statistical computer genius, she had to give him that. The new site was north and a quarter mile west of where they had been diving.

  About twenty minutes after Adam’s splash down, two Styrofoam cups came floating to the surface, the signal that a wreck had been located. “Shiver me timbers! We got it, me maties! We got it!” her grandfather shouted, so ecstatic that his cigar flew from his mouth and went overboard. One less cigar was a good thing, in Veronica’s opinion. Frank gave Flossie a big, loud buss on the lips, then swooped her up in his arms and polkaed her around the deck, despite her feeble protests that he was behaving like “an old fool.”

  Veronica surmised that all treasure hunts resulted in this kind of exhilaration, but Frank must be feeling particularly ecstatic because this would solve his financial woes.

  Tante Lulu was jumping up and down, too, as she held on to her straw sun hat. “I tol’ you so. I knew I was gonna be good luck. I jus’ knew it. I prayed to St. Jude las’ night.”