My stories are memoirs of my working in parent's guesthouse to make money for college, then progress to the time when I was an hotelier and culminating with me as sailing ship captain. I have collected them in a series of volumes entitled The Intimate Intercourse of a Hedonistic Hotelier, A Memoir. This Story is from Volume II, The College Years 1969-1973, Mmmm, Mmmm, Good!
Memory, however, is a faulty device, as any trial lawyer will tell you. No two witnesses to any incident relate the same series of events. Memories are colored by experience and imagination. I have been blessed with a surfeit of both.
As I write this memoir at the start of my eighth decade of life, I find the memories of some of the events related have dimmed. I find though, as I continue to write, many of the memories burst forth like a climatic crescendo in a welcoming grotto of pleasure.
Though these stories are, for the most part true; I freely admit that some of the stories are "more true" than others. I can say, however, that all the stories are based on true events. I have changed the names of the participants to obscure their identity and to give them plausible deniability, if they so choose.
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I was working at my parents business, The Captain Joseph Baker Guesthouse, in the summer of 1972 to earn money for college. I was attending Whatcom State College and was soon to enter my senior Year. I had married my high school girlfriend after getting her pregnant her senior year in high school and my freshman year in college. We married in June 1970. The baby was born prematurely on August 1st, Heather's eighteenth birthday and tragically died four days later.
My job that summer was evening host and manager of the property. I often worked from noon to past midnight. Late at night I'd return to where Heather and I were staying, in a cabin on her parents property past Fernwood. Fernwood was little more than a wide spot in the road with a post office and a general store about fifteen miles south of the guesthouse.
It was a quiet Sunday evening and looked like the bar was going to close up early that night. So, I thought I'd take the time to get to know one of our new employees. Sunday was often an early dinner night.
"Hey Sandi, would you like to go out for a drink after you get off work?" I asked the cute cocktail waitress secretively.
It was fairly early but the bar business had wound down. It was about nine o'clock.
"Sure Jacques, I'll be off in about half an hour, things have wound down in the bar. Ben can probably handle it." She replied.
"Let me know when you've signed out I'll be in the office." I said.
"Okay!"
About a half hour later she comes into the office and seductively said, "So... where do you want to go? We probably shouldn't go to Swifton or Port Arbutus; you're married and too well known."
This was true, I was married and I was well known locally, but I was just asking her out for a night cap, not for the night! I just wanted to get to know her a little. It didn't hurt that she was cute. At least I thought that was what I was doing.
"I don't know, what do you think?" I asked, truly at a loss, as we walked out into the parking lot.
"How about Cortez or Dunlap? I know! The Dunlap Tavern is kinda fun."
"OK, Dunlap, but that's about fifty minutes away."
"May be in your car, let's take my brother's Trans Am; it's a lot faster than your VW van." She said.
It always kind of irked me when people called this VW a "van," I don't know why. Chevy had vans, and the guesthouse had a Ford van. But, this was a VW Microbus! I guess I'm a little OCD.
"Sure, if you'd prefer." I said hiding my irritation.
"I'll drive." She said.
I expected she would, as it was her car. I got in on the passenger side. The Pontiac Trans Am was a sleek looking coupe with bucket seats, too big to really call a sports car, in my opinion. Off she zooms. We got to Dunlap in about 40 mins; shaving ten minutes off my time estimate. I think she exceeded the speed limit a mite.
The Dunlap Tavern gave last call after we got our first beer. We engaged in small talk about my growing up at the Guesthouse and my college. We only had about a half an hour to talk before they closed. When we finished our beers, we went back to the Trans Am.
"Do you want to drive? It's really fast and fun." She asked as she gave me the keys.
"Sure, where do you want to go?"
"I guess back to the island." She said. "Do you know a good place to park?"
"Uh, yeah, sure." I said, not knowing that our evening together wasn't over.
