Since getting the Trane Station going I haven’t had much time off and away from business. Not that that is particularly bad, I enjoy the place, but getting away sometimes is good too.
I suppose that’s why I kind of jumped at Page and Jeff’s invitation to go sailing with them.
Those in Memphis who sail are a rather small, tight group. Their boats are usually harbored on McKellar Lake. Some of them sail out onto the Mississippi River for trips north or south almost yearround. I’ve known a few of these people and like most of them. They’re not the snobs most people assume them to be.
My sailing expertise is simple: I do what someone tells me to do. But nevertheless I love being out on the water gliding along silently, slicing through water and air driven only by the wind.
So it was a beautiful sunny summer Memphis day and I was on the river sailing and relaxing with Page and Jeff. I did my best to stay out of their way and help whenever they asked. They worked together well on the boat, each knowing the other very well, anticipating each other as a team of two.
I have known the two of them for as long as I have been in Memphis, even before the Trane Station came to be. Jeff is a good bit older than Page, nearing an early retirement from Federal Express, I think. Theirs is a second marriage for Jeff. Page works in the city in an accounting firm downtown. They’re both active people, doing many things outside, so the three of us have quite a bit in common. They come by the bar several times a week and we always talk and catch up on what’s happening.
Page is an interesting woman, attractive, vibrant. Her short black hair is becoming, I think. Her dark eyes alert and full of fun. She talks a lot with her hands, in fact, she talks a lot period, but it’s always fun and she’s always laughing about something. I’ve always found her attractive and quite sensual, I admitted to myself long ago.
Jeff is an interesting guy, good sense of humor, a person who like to have fun. I can see how they came to be a pair. His passion is the boat we were sailing on. He reads sailing, talks sailing, breathes sailing. His retirement is going to put them on some coast, living for the sea.
We had pulled the sail down and were adrift in the middle of river somewhere off the coasts of Mississippi and Arkansas. Page was up lying on the front of the boat, sunning I thought, maybe napping. She was on her stomach, the back of her top undone for the sun. Her cut-off jeans were off, her bikini bottom creeping up. Page has a nice ass, I told myself for about the zillionth time.
“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Jeff said, watching me looking at Page.
He and I were in the back of the boat with two of the beers I had brought aboard.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” I started. But before I could finished he began waving his hands and smiling.
“No problem, Trane,” he smiled and chuckled, “No problem at all.”
We sat there not saying anything for quite a time. The sun was warm and I’d shed the tank top I’d worn. Jeff had done the same.
“Trane,” Jeff began, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I told him reaching for both of us another beer.
“Do you find Page attractive?” he asked.
“Of course,” I didn’t hesitate, “I always have. You’re a lucky guy.”
