Gail King, a natural blonde with a figure sculptured perhaps by the sculptor's gardener employed to shape shrubs rather than by the sculptor himself was deposited on rickety jetty on Kismet Island where there was a small roof on four poles for shelter.
"Don't worry love," said the deckhand with an unusually soft Aussie accent as she steered the inflatable away from the jetty ready to roar over the reef to return to the mother boat, a rusting tub that looked ready to sink. "He'll come along later or perhaps sooner as he's probably on the windward side of the island beachcombing. We'll pass by tomorrow so if you are stranded just raise the flag and if we spot it I'll come in to retrieve you. Remember, these are shark infested waters."
"Help, come back!" Gail squeaked in terror, but not loud enough. The woman had gunned the outboard and was away in a roar and flurry of spray.
Gail sat shakily on the only chair. It collapsed, tumbling her on to its pieces. She reassembled it and sat down gingerly and safely and had her best cry in years.
The victim of two loveless relationships that had swallowed up ten years of her child-production life, Gail (36) was a partner in King, Kingston and Elk of Kansas, specialists in family law. Oh she'd been so brave sitting in a bar with her two senior partners Bess Kingston and Sally Elk -- those two also partners in bed -- planning her three-month sabbatical in seeking an unusual job in an unusual location with a touch of mystique attached. They had gotten drunk as they pawed through 'Unusual Jobs for Folk with Unusual Expectations' magazine.
Sally's pick was, "Big spender Sheikh Abdul Kabardino-Balkaria seeks American Blondie to tend to his personal garden. Six-month contract; satisfaction guaranteed.' According to Sally that was about as far away as an attorney in Kansas could get from her groove.
Gail rather fancied, "Mining community in Patagonia requires a temporary mayor for three months while its mayor tours Europe; only females need apply as it's traditional for our First Citizen to be a woman. The Mayor also acts as Chief Judge and head of the community's jail.'
But then after first selecting what obviously was a call girl opening in Egypt for 'a White America Woman of Mature Age' Bess found, 'Custodian on a island off the North Queensland Coast, Australia, requires female personal assistant of 40-plus -- i.e. past her use-by date -- interested in bird life, observing turtles and unafraid of sea snakes and sharks when bathing. A 3-month trial is mandatory. Must be expert in mixing cocktails.' Replies were directed to a postal box number in Cairns.
Gail was drunk enough to promise to apply for that position and promising to immediately begin night classes on bar tendering. Two weeks later she received a letter of rejection but continued with her bar tendering studies; she cancelled her sabbatical. Six weeks later it was all on again when she received the offer of the job from the island custodian because the successful applicant had resigned, unable to stand the isolation.
"And probably fearful of a cock up her ass that appeared riddled with STD's," cackled Sally. It was Friday night so the three partners we well away on cocktails again. Bess was adamant Gail should accept and they waited breathlessly as Bess tossed a coin; it deflected off Gail's ample shirt-front and spun madly on the table before rolling over to confirm Gail should accept. They laughed madly and Gail was allowed behind the bar to mix the three of them a cocktail called Whatwasthat! It was next afternoon before their headaches cleared and any of them could correctly focus again. Now Gail was in tears on a chair that would collapse any moment, sweating like a pig and with sharks swimming around the jetty piles hopefully waiting for a piece of Gail.
"Did the chair put you on your ass?" called a twangy comedian with absolutely no sensitivity in his voice.
Gail opened her tear-encrusted eyes and said, "Hi. I trust you are the custodian?"
"Yeah, that's me blondie but your hair needs a bit of bleaching -- the sun here will do that. You're somewhat overweight but the daily sweat will take care of that. But you don't look forty-five -- you've lied about your age, you're nearer fifty."
"Oh God, I'm going home," Gail said, collapsing the chair as she rose and walked blindly away from him to plunge into the temid water. She came to the surface spluttering and her heart stopped as she spotted a dorsal fin slicing through the water towards her.
"Don't worry," called the comedian. "It's just a courtesy visit but as a prudent precaution never go into the water beyond ankle depth between dusk and an hour past dawn otherwise known as feeding time."
Almost petrified Gail put her face under water and attempted to yell "Boo!" The hysteria in the call worked wonderfully -- the beast of the deep took off away from her like a rocket.
"How did you manage that?" enquired the custodian. "Did it smell an ejaculation loaded with fear?"
She climbed out up the slippery steps, shaking and feeling like sticking the guy's fishing rod up his ass.
"Nice tits," he said.
She burst into tears again, saying that was the first kind thing he'd said to her. She looked down and saw her white shirt -- recommended for the tropics -- had become transparent.
He offered her a dirty handkerchief.
"No thanks," she said, using her palms. "Sorry about this -- I'm tired from the long travel, the uncertainties, your unwholesome reception and guilty at lying about my age; I'm thirty-six with presumably my reproductive system still in working order.
"I thought as much," he grinned, holding out his arms.
She ran into them, almost smiling.
"Are you sure you're an attorney?" he asked seriously. "It was my understanding attorney's were the killer sharks of America's legal system."
"I think that's a matter of perspective depending what side of the transaction you are on and whether you are American or not."
"God, what an answer. You are an attorney all right. Lean against the shed post while I catch dinner. It will take less than five minutes."
In less that five minutes he's caught two sizeable fish with only a little triangle of red cloth as bait on the hook.
He pulled out a knife and she looked away. "You better look at what I do because from tomorrow part of your duties will be catching and preparing the fish and on other days netting and killing a small pig or if we want omelet finding gull or infertile turtle eggs; I'll show you everything -- once."
"Yes sir."
"Oooh, I like that tone of obedience. It's good that you have it because right now I'm the only thing standing between you and survival."
They had lightly barbecued white-fleshed fish for dinner, rice and two kinds of green vegetables that were unknown to Gail. She asked was their desert.
Digger (Duncan) Colby, custodian, pointed to a bush knife. "Go out and get yourself a pineapple but beware of the snakes fattie."
"S-s-snakes?"
"Well the last pair were trapped in 1988 -- supposedly the last pair. There are carpet pythons but they are more interested in rodents than you, not life-threatening if you keep preventing them from wrapping into squeeze mode."
"I'll skip dessert," she whispered.
They read by the kerosene lamps, Gail began reading Digger's first draft of a book called 'Lonesome Island' while he devoured two performance motor vehicle magazines she'd thoughtfully packed for him along with a monster jar of vegemite. She wasn't surprised to learn from him that it was not usual for custodians to be taken off the island and admitted to an institution for the insane while two had committed suicide by going swimming at night and one had been eaten by wild pigs, the theory being he'd became convinced he'd become one of them.
She decided he had a smooth and interesting writing style with considerable insight but his spelling, sentence construction and grammar were an editor's nightmare. She thought if she stayed beyond tomorrow she'd started editing his work if that's what he wanted. She looked at him -- knobby knees, flat stomach, lightly haired narrow chest, lantern jaw, stupid beard, incredibly blue eyes and abundant hair falling below his shoulders. Apparently he wore only khaki shorts and sunglasses and read without glasses. She figured he was thirty-six and probably homosexual which was a pity.
She was almost asleep in her chair when he dropped down his magazine and said thank you, she couldn't have brought him better gifts. "I better check through your bags now."
"You keep away from my bags."
"Sorry, in the powers vested in me I have to check any arrival for unlawful weapons, banned substances and place a levy on any alcohol."
"Oh."
He pulled out packs of batteries -- 100 in all. "What are these for?"
"For my laptop and my vibrator."
"We're putting these batteries in the communal store. Your vibrator is confiscated as an unnecessary drain on battery stocks. Next time the monthly provisions arrive I'll order you a couple of dildos; in the meantime tap me on the shoulder when you require release."
"As you say so," Gail sniffed. "Where do I sleep?"
"In my bed if you wish or else anywhere in this raised area but beware of ants."
"I'll think I'll sleep out on the beach."
