“We’ve said the same thing, I think, but your illustration is vivid. Beat it, Tom. If there’s no work to be done, grab sack time. Or pool time.”
“Yes, sir. I want to inspect the starboard hull; it’s making extra water. Pump can handle it but I want to know why.” He touched his cap and swung down off the platform.
Jake cocked his own cap against the sun, relaxed and started to sing:
“‘A sailor’s wife a sailor’s star shall be!
“‘You ho, we go, across the sea!
“‘A sailor’s wife a sailor’s star shall be,
“‘A sailor’s wife his star…shall be!’”
His wife climbed up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. “Is that for me, dear? Or for ‘Nancy Lee’?”
“Always for you, my darling. Besides, I can’t remember the part with ‘Nancy Lee’ in it.”
“I wonder if you ever remember a girl’s name. You call all of us ‘darling.’”
“Merely because it’s true. But you are the only one I call ‘my darling.’ And I do remember your name—it’s ‘Salomon.’”
“Jacob, you must have been a prime menace when you were a bluejacket. With that Hebrew blarney you could talk your way into anything. Then out of it, with no trouble.”
“No, Ma’am, I was a sweet, innocent lad. I simply followed the ancient code of the sea: ‘When the hook’s up, all bills are paid.’”
“Leaving little Jewish bastards behind in every port…and thereby improving the breed. How about Gigi? Going to improve the breed there?” She dug her thumb into a spot over his hip where his slight pot bulged out from sitting “Some dish, eh, keed?”
“Madam,” he said haughtily, “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“‘Tell that to the Marines, the old sailors won’t believe you.’ Jacob my love, I feel certain that you know the second Mrs. Branca almost as well as you knew the first. But I have no wish to prove it; I simply offer my congratulations. Gigi is a darling, I love her to pieces. I was not throwing asparagus.” (Tell him she squeals, twin.) (I will not!)
“Woman, you get your exercise jumping at conclusions.”
(Then tell him it happened where Troy Avenue crosses Gay Street, near the Square—a neighborhood you know well, twin.) (Eunice, I want Jacob to feel easy about such things—I am not trying to harpoon him.) (You aren’t equipped to, Joan; Jake is the original Captain Ahab.) (Eunice, you have a dirty mind.) (Whose mind? I don’t have one. Don’t need one.)
Mrs. Salomon dropped the subject, opened her sextant case, took it out. “Will you give me a time tick, darling?”
“Are you going to shoot the defenseless Sun?”
“I’m going to do better than a Sun sight, dearest. The Sun, the upper limb of the Moon, and—if I’m lucky and can spot it again—Venus, for a three-star fix. Want to bet on how small a triangle I get?”
“Even money on fifty miles for the short side.”
“Beast. Brute. Cad. And me an expectant mother. I was more than ten times that close yesterday evening; I’m getting the hang of it. I could cheat—I could get a point fix by querying Point Loma, then fudge it on the chart.”
“Eunice, why this passion to emulate Bowditch? One would think that radio and satellites and the like had never been invented.”
“It’s fun, darling. I’m going to hit that nav exam for a flat four-oh and get my limited license. After I’ve unloaded this pup in the hopper and we no longer have to stick to coastal waters, I’m going to do a ‘Day’s Work’ every day all the way to Hawaii. Betcha I make landfall at Hilo under three miles. Oh, it’s not necessary, dear—but what if it turned out to be? Suppose war broke out and everything went silent? Might help to have a celestial navigator aboard. Tom admits that he’s hardly taken a sight since he got his mate’s ticket.”
“If he ever took one. Yes, it could be useful, my darling…because if war broke out in earnest and we were at sea, we would not go on to Hilo. We would make a sharp left turn and go south and get lost. The Marquesas. Or farther south, the farther the better. That way our kid might live through it. Easter Island if you think you can hit it.”
“Jacob, by then I’ll split it right down the middle. Or any island you pick. Sweetheart, I wasn’t playing games when I asked for the whole old-fashioned works—all the charts, all the pilots, three key-wind chronometers and a hack, this lovely sextant and a twin like it in case I drop this one…and please note that I always put the lanyard around my neck. All the H.O.s and the Almanac. I’m no use as a deckhand now—so I decided to become a real navigator. Just in case, just in case.”
“Mmm. My darling, I hope we never have to run for it…but have you noticed that I keep this vessel fully stocked at all times even though we anchor almost every night and can shop for supplies any time we wish?”
“I’ve noticed, sir.”
“Nor is it an accident that I gave Doctor Bob an unlimited budget and saw to it that he equipped for any conceivable obstetrical problem.”
“I did not notice that, quite.”
“You weren’t meant to, nor was Winnie—no need to give you gals something to worry about. But since you have been doing the same sort of planning ahead, I decided to tell you. Bob used the time the ‘Pussy Cat’ was being refitted in taking a refresher in O.B. And he spent twenty times more money on our sick bay than one would expect for a seagoing yacht.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, sir. With such foresight, money can do almost anything. Except turn back the clock.”
“It even did that in your case, beloved.”
“No, Jacob. It gave me added years…and this wonderful body…and you. But it did not turn back the clock. I’m still almost a century old. I can never feel young the way I once did—because I’m not. Not the way Winnie is young. Or Gigi. Jacob, I have learned that I don’t want to be young.”
“Eh? Are you unhappy, dear?”
“Not at all! I have the best of two worlds. A youthful, vital body that makes every breath a sensuous joy…and a century of rich experience, with the wisdom—if that is the right word—that age brings. The calmness. The long perspective. Winnie and Gigi still suffer the storms of youth…which I don’t have and don’t want. I’ve forgotten the last time I had a tranquilizer but I think it was the day they unstrapped me. Jacob, I’m a better wife for you than either of those two lovely girls could be; I’m older than you are, I’ve been where you are now and understand it. I’m not boasting, dear; it’s simply true. Nor would I be happy married to a young man—I’d have to spend my time trying desperately not to upset his delicate, youthful, unstable balance. We’re good for each other, Jacob.”
“I know that you are good for me, my darling.”
“I know I am. But sometimes you have trouble remembering that I am not truly ‘Eunice,’ but ‘Johann.’” (Hey! What is this, Boss? We’re both.) (Yes, beloved, always—but Jake needs to be reminded of Johann—because all he ever sees is Eunice.) “For example, Jacob, a while ago you thought I was twitting you about Gigi.”
“‘Thought,’ hell—you were.”
“No, dear. Close your eyes and forget that I have Eunice’s voice. Think back at least ten years when I was still in passable health. If your older friend Johann had twigged that you had kicked the feet out from under some young and pretty woman, would he have twitted you?”
“Huh? Hell, yes. Johann would have slipped me the needle and broken it off.”
“Would I have, Jacob? Did I ever?”
“You never caught me.”
“So? I might have congratulated you, Jacob, just as I did today—had I felt that I could do so without offending you. But I would not have twitted you. Do you recall a young woman whose first name was—or is—Marian? Last name had the initial ‘H’—your pet name for her, ‘Maid Marian.’”
“How in the hell?”
“Steady, darling—you let your helm fall off. That was sixteen years ago, just before I asked you to spend all your time on my affairs
. So I ordered a fresh snoopsheet on you before I put the deal up to you. May I say that the fact that you had dealt so carefully with her reputation was a strong factor in my deciding that I could trust you with anything, too?—including my power of attorney, which you have held ever since and never abused. May I add, too, that I wanted to congratulate you on both your good taste and your success as a Lothario?—for of course I then had to have her snooped, too, and her husband as well, before I could entrust my grisly secrets to you. But—also of course—I could not say a word.”
“I didn’t think any part of that ever showed.”
“Please, Jacob. Do you recall that you once told Eunice that you could hire a man to photograph her in her own bath—and she would never know it? As we’ve noted, money can do almost anything that is physically possible. Part of that snoop report was a photograph of you and Marian in what you lawyers call a ‘compromising position.’”
“Good God! What did you do with it?”
“Burned it. Hated to; it was a good picture and Marian looked awfully pretty—and you looked all right yourself, you lovable old goat. Then I sent for the head of the snoop firm and told him I wanted the negative and all prints now and no nonsense—and if it ever turned out that even one print had escaped me, I would break him. Get his license, bankrupt him, put him in jail. Were you or Marian ever embarrassed by such a picture? Blackmail, or anything?”
“No. Not me—and I’m morally certain she wasn’t, either.”
“I guess he believed me. Jacob, do you still think I was twitting you about Gigi? Or was I congratulating you?”
“Uh…maybe neither. Maybe trying to wring a confession out of me. It’s no go, wench.”
“Please, Jacob. Stipulating that I was mistaken but sincere—which was it? Now that you know how I behaved about Marian.”
“Eunice—Johann! You should have been a lawyer. Subject to that stipulation, I concede that it must have been a sincere congratulation. But one I can’t accept, I haven’t earned it. Now, damn it, tell me how you came by this delusion.”
“Yes, dear. But not this minute; there comes Gigi herself.” Joan put her sextant back into its box. “Sights will have to wait anyhow; this reach has taken us in so close I’ve lost my horizon for the Sun. Hi, Gigi, you pretty, pretty thing! Give us a kiss. Just me, Jake is on watch.”
“I’m not all that busy. Eunice, hold the wheel.” He accepted a kiss while still seated, then took the helm back from his wife.
Joan said, “Been swimming, dear?”
“Uh, yes. Joan Eunice, could I see you a minute? Mr. Salomon, would you excuse us?”
“Not by that moniker I won’t; you’ll have to call me ‘Jake.’”
“Stuff it, dear,” his wife said cheerfully. “She wants a hen conference. Come along, dear. Captain, try to keep us afloat.”
They found a spot in the lee of the lifeboat. “Got troubles, dear?” (Eunice, are we about to have a beef over Jake? Surely not!) (Can’t be, twin. That affair started over two weeks ago…and both Gigi and Joe were relaxed about it from scratch. Which means just what we thought: It actually is a return engagement—and Jake lied to protect a lady’s reputation. Predictable.)
“Well, sort of,” admitted Mrs. Branca. “Uh, might as well say it bang. Next time you anchor and send a boat in… Joe and I want off.”
“Oh, dear! What’s wrong, Gigi? I did so hope you would stay at least the month we talked about—then as much longer as you wished.”
“Well…we did expect to. But I got this seasickness problem and Joe—well, he has done some painting but…the light’s not right; it’s too bright and…” She trailed off. (Twin, those are excuses.) (Jake?) (Can’t be, I tell you. You’ve got to make her come clean.)
“Gigi.”
“Yes, Joan?”
“Look at me. You haven’t missed a meal since Roberto put you on the seasick pill. If Joe prefers floodlights to sunlight, we’ll clear out the dining saloon and it can be his studio. Put your arms around me and tell me what’s really wrong.”
“Uh—Joan, the ocean’s just too darn big!” Gigi blinked tears and said, “I guess you think I’m a baby.”
“No. It’s big. Biggest ocean in the world. Some people don’t like oceans. I do. That doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Well, I thought I would like it. I mean, you hear about it. What a wonderful thing it is to make an ocean trip. But it scares me. Uh, it scares Joe, too; he just doesn’t say so. Joan Eunice, you’ve been awful good to us—but this isn’t our scene. Joe and I, we aren’t fish—we’re alley cats. Always lived in cities. It’s too quiet here. Especially at night. At night the quiet is so loud it wakes me up.”
Joan kissed her. “All right, darling. I knew you weren’t having quite the happy time I wanted you to have. Didn’t know why. I’ll have to visit you at your place—where it’s nice for all of us. I don’t like the city, it scares me. But I like it, loads, in your studio—as long as I don’t have to go outside. But is that all that’s wrong? Has anyone upset you? Or Joe?”
“Oh, no! Everybody’s been swell.”
“You called Jake ‘Mr. Salomon.’”
“That was because I was upset—knowing I had to tell you.”
“Then you both feel easy with Jake? I know he’s impressive, he even impresses me. Nothing uptight there?”
“Oh, not a bit! Uh, knowing we were walking out on Jake upset us as much as knowing we were walking out on you.”
“Then may Jake and I both come visit you? Stay a few days?” (Will she duck this, Eunice?) (Why ask me, Boss? You just asked her.)
Mrs. Branca dropped her eyes, then looked up and said bluntly, “You mean a Quartet? All the way?”
“All the way.”
“Well, we would, I guess you know that. But how about Jake?”
“Well? How about Jake, Gigi? You tell me.”
“Uh, Jake is relaxed with us. But he’s a little uptight when you’re around, seems like. Joan Eunice, you caught on. Didn’t you? Or you wouldn’t have braced me for a Quartet.”
“I caught on, dear. It’s all right. No huhu.”
“I told Jake I thought you had. He said, Oh, no, impossible, you slept like a log.”
“I do except that I’ve reached the point in pregnancy where I sometimes get up to pee. But that wasn’t it—Jake could be most anywhere if he’s not in bed and I never check on him. What I spotted wasn’t proof. Just that a man has a way of looking at a woman he’s sure of. And vice versa. Nothing anybody could object to. Just ‘not uptight’ describes it as well as any. I’m not even mildly jealous of Jake, it simply pleased me. Knowing how sweet you can be for a man—remember, I used to be a man—”
“I know. But I don’t really believe it.”
“I have to believe it and can’t ever forget it. Knowing you, I felt smugly pleased for my husband. Tell me, have you made a Three Circle with Jake? Money Hum?”
“Oh, yes, always!”
“Next time—at your studio—it will be a Four Circle. Then our Quartet will harmonize perfectly and no one will ever be uptight again.”
“Yes. Yes!”
“In the meantime you’re not going to have to put up with this great big scary ocean even one more night. We won’t anchor, I’ll have Tom call for a copter—say for right after lunch. It’ll put you down at La Jolla International and you’ll jet straight home—copter pilot will see to things for you and Tom will have your reservations—and you’ll be home and flashing a pack in your own studio before you can say ‘Time Zone.’ Feel better?”
“Uh, I feel like a heel but—yes, I do. Oh, golly, Joan, I’m so homesick!”
“You’ll be home today. I’m going to find Tom and have him get things rolling. Then I’ll go tell Jake—and tell him why, he’ll understand—and relieve him at the wheel, and tell him he can find you in your stateroom. If you have the nerve of a mouse, little alley cat from the big city, you’ll bolt the door and tell him good-bye properly. Uh—Troy? Or twosome?”
>
“Oh. Troy. Of course.”
“Then find Joe and tell him. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. But Gigi—that painting of Eve. I must buy it.”
“No, we’ll give it to you.”
“We settled that long ago. Joe can give me anything else, but not paintings. I must pay for it because I want it to be a present from me to my husband. Now kiss me and run, dear.”
The Pussy Cat with her sails dowsed rocked gently on a light sea. Fifty feet above her tallest stick a copter hovered while again lowering a passenger-freight basket. Tom Finchley stood far aft and coached the copter pilot with hand signals. Mr. and Mrs. Branca had already disappeared into the copter cabin, having gone up on the first trip, but their baggage was on the weather deck, waiting to be loaded.
There was quite a pile. Joan had urged them to fetch along “everything you could possibly need for a month or longer—for painting especially, as there will be lots of bodies around—and any of them will model…or I’ll have them lashed to a grating and flogged, then make them walk the plank. Joe darling, you can do big romantic pix if you wish—pirate scenes with lush victims and leering scoundrels. Fun?”
She had sent the invitation by MercServ with tickets and an air-freight order and instructions to MercServ to supply a reader for the message. Joe had taken her literally; he seemed to have cleared out his studio—flood lamps, spots, easels, a heavy roll of canvas, stretchers, cameras, photo equipment and supplies, assorted impedimenta—and one bag each for clothes and personal articles. Seeing what Joe had fetched, Joan was glad that she had ordered a Brink’s to get them to the jetport and was careful today to have one meet them at the far end.
The basket took up a load of baggage, came back for the last. Fred and Della’s sixteen-year-old, Hank, an eager but untrained deck hand, were loading, taking turns keeping the basket from spinning while the other placed items in it.
Soon they had it all in but one large case, when a gust of wind disturbed the uneasy balance between copter and surface craft. The basket swung wildly; Fred let go and danced aside while Hank went flat to the deck to keep from being hit by it.