The sun was just peeking over the horizon when I slid back the hatch cover and climbed up the short stairs to the deck of the Jenny Green. I had new clients coming on board at ten, and wanted to make sure everything was in order. Brandy had already cleaned the cabins, changed the sheets on the beds, and stocked up the galley. All that remained was to check the sails, rigging, and engine. After that, I'd make the short trip over to Fred's to top off her water and fuel tanks, and get a couple extra quarts of oil.
The Jenny Green is fifty feet of grace sculpted in fiberglass and teak. She's rigged to sail single-handed in a pinch, so the inexperience of my clients isn't really a factor. She's big enough to have two staterooms and captain's and mate's quarters, and carries a small galley with seating for six if they're friendly. I can weather almost any wind that may blow up, but usually that isn't a problem. The seas around Miami are pretty predictable except during hurricane season. When that time of year rolls around, I put her on her cradle and do my repairs.
One of the best parts of my job is the people who sail on my cruises. I get a feel for clients during phone calls and correspondence about the trip, and then, when I see them, I get to check out the picture I've put together. Sometimes, my hunches are on the money; sometimes, I'm so far off the mark it's embarrassing. Wanda Sanders and Marilyn Beech are an example of the latter.
They phoned to inquire about a weeklong trip around the Keys. I asked if they wanted to help crew the boat.
"Good heavens, no", said Wanda. "I'm fifty eight, and Marilyn's fifty-nine. We don't know the first thing about sailing. I just read this romance novel about a Caribbean cruise, and sailing seemed like it might be fun. Marilyn and I thought we'd try it out."
Since the two women didn't want to help, Brandy came along as my crew. Brandy's my twenty-five year old assistant. While I'm off sailing the deep blue, Brandy takes care of my bookings, pays the bills, and checks in a couple times a day by radio. If I need anything, she arranges for it to be delivered at our next port of call. Brandy's been sailing since she was old enough to hold a tiller and she can climb a mast like a monkey. She's a big help when the weather gets a little rough. She also looks really great in a bikini, so she's a big hit with our male clients. Unfortunately, I'm not her type. Brandy likes young, muscular guys. I'm forty-one, and the heaviest thing I like to lift is a scotch bottle. It's probably better that we don't have anything going. Office affairs never work out, even if the office is the cabin of a sailboat a hundred miles from the nearest port.
The first thing I noticed about Wanda and Marilyn was they looked a lot like our typical Miami senior citizens. It was pretty obvious that Wanda dyed her shoulder-length hair. I've seen a lot of redheads on these cruises, and natural red just doesn't come that color. It did contrast well with the loose green blouse she wore, though. Marilyn had a silver blonde bob that I figured was probably real. Both women had pretty good legs, too, at least, the part I could see below their knee length shorts. Wanda wore a big floppy Mexican hat, to keep off the sun, I suppose, although it looked a little ridiculous. Marilyn wore an oversized T-shirt that said "World's Best Grandma", but she didn't wear a hat. She had on one of those things that look like the bill of a baseball cap, but are just attached to a headband.
I noticed the second thing right after we'd passed the harbor buoy and I was setting the autopilot. I smelled perfume and felt the unmistakable swell of a breast pressing into my arm. Marilyn was looking over my shoulder and was leaning into me in the process. She wouldn't have had to lean; Marilyn was in an awkward position that she could have easily avoided. I was getting the feeling it was going to be a different kind of cruise.
"Captain Rick, what does that thing do?"
"It's an autopilot. I just set it for the compass heading I want, and the Jenny Green steers herself."
"Oh my. Is it safe to do that? I thought you had to steer all the time, like in the movies."
I noticed Marilyn was still leaning on me. Unless she was numb from the waist up, she had to notice it too, but it didn't seem to bother her a bit.
"Well, I'll still be here watching. The autopilot just lets me move around and adjust the sails if I have to."
Marilyn removed her breast from my arm and beamed a big smile up at me.
"It's a little scary, but if you say it's safe, I'll believe you."
I looked up because her eyes had a dewy look that was a little disconcerting. Wanda was just climbing out of the hatch.
"Mari', Brandy just showed me the tiniest little bar downstairs. I know it's still before lunch, but I just had to make myself a sour. You simply must see it." Wanda giggled. "You ought to go look in the drawer of your bed table, too."
As both women disappeared down the cabin hatch, I couldn't help but grin.
When you're on a boat, and out of sight of land, you can't just jog down the street to the nearest convenience store. Everything my clients are likely to need has to be carried on board. Some clients would be reluctant to ask for certain personal items, so Brandy came up with the idea of our "cruise survival kit". In the bed table drawer is a plastic bag containing sample size bottles of shampoo and hand lotion, a tin of aspirins, a comb, a razor and small can of shaving cream, and a sample can of spray deodorant. The bag also contains a purse-size box of panty liners and a dozen condoms – six plain and six with lube. I was pretty sure the condoms were what had Wanda giggling.
Brandy joined me at the wheel.
"They're down there having a great time. Good thing we've got two quarts of bourbon on board. Wanda apparently likes her bourbon. Marilyn's drinking scotch and water. They both seem like nice old gals. Wanda told me I was pretty, and said she wished her butt was as tight as mine."
"Well, they're friendly, that's for sure. And as for tight butts…," I glanced down at Brandy's little shorts, "I think I like a little more meat on a woman. It's that old thing about a cushion for the pushin', you know."
Brandy slapped me on the arm.
"Rick, they might hear you. They're nice ladies. Besides, if you don't like my ass, all you have to do is fire me and hire somebody's Grandma. She probably won't put up with your shit like I do, but her ass'll be bigger."
"Nah. I think I'll keep you. You got a little butt, but you can sail the pants off anybody else I know."
"And, you wish I'd sail yours off, right? Well, you keep hoping and I'll keep sailing, but don't hold your breath."
"There is always hope, but I've learned about holding one's breath. One is likely to turn blue if one waits for a certain deck hand to come to her senses."
"Oh, I've already got all my senses. That's why you're still hoping."
Brandy stuck out her little pink tongue.
"Well, it's about twelve, so I'll go fix their lunch. They're going to sunbathe after they eat. Maybe I'll put on my bikini - that little white number that always makes you get all google-eyed - and you can compare."
I ate lunch with Wanda and Marilyn while Brandy took the helm. They were a couple of fun women. Both were widows from Chicago, and seemed to be best friends. I could picture them walking laps around the mall on alternate mornings and playing bingo every Saturday night. They laughed at my jokes, and chuckled when I flirted a little. It was soon time for me to take over for Brandy, and I excused myself. Wanda touched my arm as I turned to leave.
"Captain Rick, will there be many other boats around on this cruise?"
