I was in the cockpit of my boat, doing chores. I sensed someone on the dock and looked up. A small figure was looking down at me with a tentative smile.
"Hi, I'm your new crew. Brian sent me."
She was about five-six, slender, with dark hair and a very direct gaze.
Hardly anyone except Brian, who had been stolen from me by a wealthy Swedish yacht captain, knew I needed a new crew member.
The odds of my taking on a female crew were very low. My behavior when racing was crude and nasty. I was just enough of a gentleman not to inflict that on a woman. But if Brian sent her, I should let her make her case.
"Why don't you come aboard and tell me how you know Brian."
She stepped agilely down and seated herself next to me. "We sailed against each other in school."
"How often did you beat him?"
"Most of the time. He wasn't very nice about it until we went out on a date and I softened him up."
She added, quickly, "I didn't go down for him, either. I kissed him and hugged him and told him he was going to have a brilliant racing career and not to mind if a girl beat him now and then."
"You got him to buy that line?"
I was in the process of seizing the end of my mainsheet, and not doing much of a job of it. She noticed and took it out of my hands. "It's easier with smaller fingers."
"Do you have a name?"
She looked up and smiled. "Before I tell you who I am, I would like to go for a sail, so you can make a judgment without a name attached."
It was a blustery spring day. If we went out, it was going to be cold and wet. "That's why you have your gear on?"
"Yes. I was hoping you would be nice enough to give me a chance. Brian said you didn't think much of women sailors."
"Did he tell you about my foul mouth and evil Irish temper?"
"He said you could be fierce at times, especially in a close race. I'm pretty fierce too. I like to win."
She was charming the pants off me. Mystery girl, who probably didn't weigh much over a hundred ten pounds.
"How come you are so skinny? Even on a trapeze, I don't know how much good your weight will do."
"I'm a runner. We don't carry much extra. If you are sailing well, you don't need a ton of weight out there."
I looked at her and saw the challenge in her eyes. Sailing well, eh. She was at least going to get a trial.
"I have to go to the car to get my gear. The sails are under that counter. We'll use the small jib and the regular main."
When I got back, the boat was almost ready. "What's the best way to get out of here?"
She looked around and said, "The jib will take us downwind out of the basin and we can do the main in clear water."
"Right you are. Hoist it and I'll cast off."
I had barely got the stern line free when a big gust hit us and we scrambled for control. She was down in the cockpit with the jib sheet with no prompting from me. I aimed for a slot between two anchored boats and we zipped right through. In a minute, we were clear and I headed into the wind.
"Take the tiller and I'll do the main."
In a few minutes, we were reaching for the breakwater at a good clip. My 24' class boat was new, courtesy of a supportive dad who used to sail himself. It had all the new winches and hidden halyards and an adjustable back stay. Given half a chance, twenty knots on a reach was easy.
We were next to each other on the high side. "Give me something of a name to call you."
She turned and smiled. "Amy."
"Been out on one of these before?"
"No, but I spent a lot of time in the seventeens."
"Handling the light sails on this is a big deal compared to the smaller ones."
"I saw one cartwheel in Biscayne Bay last winter on break. It wasn't pretty."
I was warming up to this girl. "Want to take the tiller?"
"I thought I was trying out for crew?"
"So far, I like your instincts. Show me your winning style at the helm."
We changed places and she yelled in my ear, "This isn't fair."
"It's whatever I say it is, Amy." My voice was harsh.
"Yes sir," came back in a hurry and she concentrated on the wind and sail trim.
"Are we heading somewhere?"
"Take a line on the lighthouse. There's a buoy in front of it. We can go round and head back."
Small or not, I could tell I had a real sailor on my hands. Her touch on the helm was smooth and sure. Her instructions to me about jib trim, and her own handling of the main were perfect.
"If we were racing, and had competition within a boat length, how would you take the mark?"
"You think I give up my racing secrets that easily? Where's the offer to take me on?" Her smile was wide even as another wave doused us.
"You must be as Irish as I am."
"I don't swear as much."
She cut me off, calling "Ready about."
I ducked under the boom and we went around smartly, with a rattling of sheets.
I suddenly realized who she was. This was Amy McGonigle, whose dad had been World Champion in Stars several times.
We could relax a bit on the downwind leg back to harbor. "Did Brian tell you about my racing plans?"
"He said you had a new boat you wanted to campaign this summer and take to Nationals in the winter."
"You are prepared to sign on for that?"
"I'm graduating in June, and my folks are letting me take a year off before grad school."