Dear Readers, this story is based on my Magazine Girl stories I wrote during the fall. Although this story stands alone, it does reference earlier stories about Gwendolyn that might make comprehension easier. As always, thank you so much for sharing your time to read this story.
The storm hit Nashville pretty hard. From the looks of it, folks would have just enough time to dig out and then get clobbered again. Generally, my village in north Georgia got less of the snow and ice, but it was gloomy at the house, especially since I was the only one in it with Christmas beckoning.
Cat yawned on her pillow on the desk, then arose, doing one of those arched back stretches before batting my pen to the floor. We both solemnly regarded where it landed. It was too far from where I sat to reach it. About then, Gwendolyn texted me. My recent roomie was in Nashville, getting started in the music business, thus the pattern of my thoughts.
She sent me a picture of snow blowing sideways on bundled up people, obviously waiting for the bus. The skies were dark grey and the street lights were on, slush building at the curb. Cat jumped down. Evidently the pen had said something offensive and she started batting it in earnest, then chasing it. She usually does this when I'm either on the phone or drafting a pleading.
Reluctantly, I got up and seized the miscreant pen. As I stood, I was face to face with the picture on the wall of my boat under power, outriggers set under an orange/red sun. Cat was reaching up my leg, trying to get that stupid pen. Loss of time. I was a thousand or so miles south, just imagining...
I got my phone and took a picture of the picture of my boat, shared it to Gwen, to see if she felt like fishing.
It was past four. I poured a finger's worth into my tumbler and threw some poplar on the fire. The phone chimed.
"!!!!!!!!!REALLY?!!!!!!!!!!YES,YES,YES!!!!!!!!!!
Obviously Gwendolyn was enthused. I grinned, suddenly feeling better than I had in a long time. Now to make things work.
I called my neighbor, Henry. He lives on the other side of Mitzi, here on our street. He also has a four place Cessna at the air strip near Rabun Gap. He was willing. I thumbed the phone.
"Private airplane to come get you tomorrow. Can you get to John Tune Airport and at what time?"
The weather was on the set, the woman waving her hand around the map. Tomorrow would be a good flight day between storms. Chime.
"I can get there by eleven, kind sir!!!
Kind sir. Cute, real cute. I chuckled, leaned back, looking at the old Hunter fan above. Let's see, leave food for Cat, get boat out of storage and serviced, plane reservations, how many days...
"Pack your rucksack for a week, worst case. It's hard to leave the Keys any earlier." I gave that a smiley, and started dialing.
Airplanes and Reuniting
Henry had an old International 4WD from the days of My Three Sons and it rode commensurately. But you couldn't get it stuck, ergo, good winter truck. Once at the airplane, I secured my luggage behind the rear seats while Henry did his check down sheet.
The flight was uneventful and quick. We were taxiing before ten, under low but calm skies. I'd warned Henry about how youthful Gwen was, since he'd never met her. I'd called her upon landing and we met on the tarmac with a big hug. She was wearing her parka, jeans and a big smile, way big for a size three girl. Henry opened the door for her and introductions were made. He talked to the tower for a minute, stealing looks at the radiant apparition in his aircraft. I got her luggage stowed, us settled and off we went. Gwen chattered nervously, not having been on a small airplane before. I could hear her breathing in my headphones. I reached back and took her hand during take off. It wasn't long before nervousness became wonderment.
All the way to Charlie Brown airport in Atlanta, Gwen alternated between telling us about life in Nashville and gazing out the windows. And between Uber and Delta we were boarding my boat just as the sun was flaming on the sea in Key Largo.
On the Boat
When they put Galena in the water and tied her up, they actually remembered to plug in the shore power, so the Subzero had already chilled a good bit. The Uber driver had waited and he took us in search of groceries and beer. Upon our return, we went below to stow the provisions and I gave her the nickel tour and how things in the head worked.
She giggled. "Why did you buy a boat that you don't fit in?"
Below deck, I had to stoop over, being a little too tall. "I didn't buy it. It was my uncle's and I inherited it. Even though I don't fit it, it fit him, and I'll always keep it." I didn't tell her about renaming the boat after a girl in Amsterdam.
"Who's that?" She pointed at a framed picture of a group of guys clustered around my uncle as he was shaking hands with some goomba.
I pointed out my uncle and Gil, both of whom would do anything for me in my youth. I still missed those guys a lot. They lived to an old age, unlike four or five of the others in the old photograph. In fact, Gil's prized possession, wrapped in oilskin was still aboard this boat.
I, (we) decided to change. It was eighty and jeans and sweaters was definitely outre in a Jimmy Buffet environment. I resisted the urge to ravish the little beauty as we got down to underwear in the stateroom. I was just too hungry.
I grilled some grouper, Gwen below doing veggies, me with the portable grill on the fantail. I could hear her singing, between breezes. I looked over the marina to where the palm trees swayed. I thought of Jackie Gleason, the Honeymooners, palms at dusk, just like now. How sweet it is. A big old Chris Craft glided by, barely rocking us, gents and gals at cocktail hour aft, Michael Buble, piano, tinkle of ice.
The moon was rising, waxing, nearly full, silhouetting a brown pelican on a nearby piling, done for the night.
Timing was good. We ate above decks, holding our plates and sitting in the fighting chairs, watching the moon ascend. I'd cast some songs from the Petersons to the Fusion system, bringing country to Key Largo. Dinner club ain't us.
She pointed at her plate with her fork. "Mmmmh, this is so good. Oh, I LOVE grouper!"
"It tastes better down here. Fresh caught, like our trout back in the fall."
"Oh, I know! And Mattie with her old wood burning cook stove. How're they doing?"
Gwendolyn was referring to our last fishing trip in the mountains. She was quite adept with a fly rod, might be fun to watch her catch a marlin by comparison. "She's fine, said to say hey. She's going to be checking on Cat whenever she can." I paused, watching her stretch to put her plate on the transom. She sure looked good in those shorts and I wasn't starving anymore.
She raised her arms to twist her long mane of red hair up with a scrunchie, the rise and fall of her beauties duly noted. "Do we have plans for dessert? Or is it, do YOU have plans for dessert, Mr. I'm Too Big for my Boat?" She giggled and getting up, reached for my plate, a soft peck on my cheek. In my ear, softly, "I'm going to go learn the shower while YOU get to clean up."
I nodded assent, "Sounds like a plan, girl. Remember to turn the water off when you're lathering up." She went below, me bending over and following.
Chores done in the galley, I heard Gwendolyn go forward to the stateroom. I doffed my shorts and shirt and ducked in for a rinse. My clothes were missing when I came out. In the stateroom was an unclothed girl with her hair wrapped in a towel laying on the bed on her stomach, looking at her phone and humming. She was waving her calves as she hummed but it was her beautiful dimpled bottom being admired by this old gent.
"Is there a man in here that can't find his shorts?" She asked her phone.
Right then I was having trouble focusing on conversation. Gamely, "My Polo shirt has walked off as well."
"I thought I heard a splash." Little giggle. "No, it was TWO splashes. Well, maybe."
I cleared my throat. "Obviously, someone facilitated them being thrown overboard." In my best Perry Mason, I intoned, "I'm going to need to view, uh, review the evidence to conclude my findings. I'll need your assistance."
"Nuh uh. Not me. YOU go rescue clothes. I'LL stay here. Besides, I've got a secret." She hummed mysteriously.
As I stood gazing up her slightly parted thighs, I beheld red hair at the terminus, the view hidden then re exposed by her waving calves. She parted herself slightly more and giggled, staring at her phone. It dawned on me that she was watching me by using the photo app on her phone. Also, I espied a blue stripe below those magnificent red curls.
Gwen saw my discovery and, reaching down, retrieved said Polo. "Hmm, where might the shorts be Mr. Investigator?"
