Текст книги "The Starboard Knife"

Автор книги: Ernie Lindsey

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THE STARBOARD KNIFE

ERNIE LINDSEY

©2014

Copyright © 2014 by Ernie Lindsey.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

The Starboard Knife / Ernie Lindsey. – 1st ed.

ALSO BY ERNIE LINDSEY

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June 2014

PART ONE

The Harlot sat gently on the open sea, twenty-one miles from the shoreline, on a cloudless, bluebird afternoon. The ocean was calm. Erica Masters, one of the two single women on board, one of ten randomly collected friends, took a sip of her margarita and readjusted her pistachio green bikini top. A cool breeze rushed past, pushing strands of loose, bottle-blonde hair across her forehead.

She said, “I think my strangest dream ever was the one where I was being chased by a shark on training wheels. Like, on land, you know? So weird.”

Alex, the yacht’s owner, leaned forward. The popped collar of his polo shirt framed his rugged metro features, made them stand out. It wasn’t unintentional. “Wait, you mean he was riding a bicycle with training wheels, or what?”

“No. The wheels, they were actually attached to the shark, like they were a part of its body.”

“Was it fast?”

“Not really. I got away, but seriously, where does stuff like that come from? What was my brain trying to work out?”

Terri, who’d spent a few years as a clinical psychologist before she’d left her practice to raise twin boys, said, “Being chased in a dream is a sign of anxiety in real life, and the fact that you were running from the shark generally means you have a tendency to avoid confronting whatever’s causing the problem.”

Erica tucked the persistent strands behind her ear again. Yet another futile attempt. “Yeah, maybe, but that was probably ten years ago. I can’t imagine what I would’ve been running from back then. I was barely out of high school. Now I just dream about baking cookies or finding an awesome pair of heels on sale at Nordstrom’s.”

Alex said, “That’s not a dream, Erica. That’s a Tuesday.”

Everyone laughed, but the jovial mood dissipated when Jenn Parker said, “I dreamed last night that some guy in a mask slipped into my bedroom. I remember seeing the moonlight reflecting off the knife in his hand.”

***

Earlier that day, Jenn walked up the small gangplank and boarded The Harlot, the world-class, one hundred and forty-eight foot, luxury cruising yacht owned by her friend and hapless suitor Alex Monts, who’d finally reached the age when his trust fund was able to do more harm than good. It was a somewhat wise move by his oil-magnate father, because the impetuous Alex surely would’ve blown his two-hundred-million-dollar inheritance before he reached the age of twenty-one.

He’d turned twenty-five last year, and, as it stood, half of it was already spent. He had houses all over the world: three in Europe, one in Thailand, two in the Caribbean, six in the US—one of which was a four-million-dollar condo overlooking Central Park. He’d bought a small private jet, then The Harlot, and more exotic cars than one person would ever have time to drive.

Jenn knew that, more often than not, it was an attempt to impress her, to woo her, to win her over. She often thought herself a touch crazy, not wanting someone with that much money to put a ring on her finger. Who wouldn’t, right?

She wouldn’t, actually, because, as much as she enjoyed it, she had morals—slightly roomy ones, but she wasn’t yet thirty, thank you very much—and wanted true love, even if it drove a rusty Yugo from the 80s. In the meantime, Alex, his desperate attempts, and his gaping wallet would do for Mr. Right Now.

Parrying his advances had become an acquired skill—it took calculated effort to keep him interested while maintaining a safe distance—and she looked at it this way: if he wanted to blow thousands of dollars or more to entertain her and her friends for her twenty-ninth birthday weekend, then it was his prerogative.

She was playing a game with him, a game that would eventually have no winner.

Alex didn’t seem to care, so Jenn let him waste his effort and money. He simply seemed happy to try.

Maybe one day she would finally pay him back—maybe with some fooling around or maybe let him kiss her—but not any time soon, because she worried that as soon as he got what he wanted, she’d be cast overboard. Figuratively. No, it was better to delay his gratification as long as possible, but how long was too long? His interest hadn’t waned yet, but it had to be soon. All men eventually gave up the chase.

Maybe not him, though. He was determined. It could be that she wasn’t just an unconquerable mountain.

Jenn spotted Alex leaning over the starboard railing, staring out into the ocean. He wore a white polo shirt, gray cargo shorts, and leather sandals. He was brown from head to toe—suntanned skin and windswept hair—with eyes the color of the water below; dirty green with something swimming underneath the surface. Maybe that was why Jenn had never felt truly comfortable around him. It was what she couldn’t see that worried her, yet it wasn’t enough to outweigh her enjoyment of his fruitless attempts to spoil her.

“Alex,” she called out, lifting her voice over the breeze and the sound of water slapping against the hull. She’d been on it a number of times already and the lush, exotic, garish nature of the yacht was starting to feel like old news. Still, the thing was impressive, even if it had lost a touch of its luster.

Alex turned, raised his sunglasses, and approached with his arms wide, moving in swiftly for a hug. “Happy birthday!”

She allowed him to hold the embrace longer than she was comfortable with, and then backed away.

“Thanks for the invite,” she said. “Everyone’s so excited.”

Alex nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “Of course. I love this thing,” he said, flicking his chin at The Harlot, “but it’s not much fun by myself. And besides, we can’t let your birthday go to waste watching Sex and The City reruns while you and Erica down pints of Rocky Road.”

Jenn giggled. “True.”

It was exactly what they’d planned before Alex suggested two days on the water.

“So who’s coming?”

“I hope you don’t mind…” Jenn broke eye contact and examined the tops of her feet, pink flip-flops matching her pink toenail polish. “I invited the whole group.”

Alex tilted his head to the side and groaned.

“I’m sorry. Look, I told Mark and Terri to behave—it won’t be like the last time, I promise.”

“Seriously, they hate me. Why would they even agree to come?”

“Their trip to Napa got cancelled and Terri didn’t want to waste the weekend watching Mark yell at the Giants on TV, so it was sort of a last resort.”

“Right, well, I’m glad they could grace us with their presence.”

Jenn smirked and shifted her backpack higher onto her shoulders. “It won’t be that bad. Besides, Erica’s coming, and you know what happens when she gets drunk.”

“And who wants to miss another naked supermodel, right?” It was a half-hearted attempt to sound enthusiastic. They’d all seen Erica drunk and naked so many times before that it was no longer a surprise or a bonus. “Come on, let’s get you situated. You need a drink in your hand.”

Alex walked down the stairs, into the belly of the yacht, where the walls were made of expensive mahogany and decorated with various nautical-themed paintings and curios. Surprisingly, he led her into one of the smaller side rooms that had a single twin bed and a footlocker made to look like an old treasure chest.

She’d expected him to lead her back to his room, the main cabin, where there was a big screen television that wouldn’t fit on the wall of her apartment; where there was a hot tub with a built in mini-bar; where he slept on red silk sheets in a king-sized bed.

He was often too forward with her, more than she was comfortable with, so the fact that he hadn’t immediately offered his bed made her pause and wonder if he’d finally gotten the hint. Or maybe he was angry with her for inviting Mark and Terri.

Or was he giving up? Would this be the last time she got to relax on his yacht? Would there be any more impromptu trips to Paris and Rome where she would have to creatively skirt around his suggestive attempts?

Was this it? Was she on her way out? Would he replace her with a new toy? Someone who would easily give him what he wanted?

Jenn couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed, and after so long, a year or maybe more, it was an odd feeling to have. On the one hand, it would be nice to be free of the burden, but on the other, she knew she’d miss being spoiled. Her friends called her a manipulative jerk—always in jest and with subtly covetous smiles—yet she couldn’t help thinking they were right. She knew they were right.

But it was so much fun experiencing all the things she’d never be able to afford herself. She’d had some mild success as a self-published author and her romance novels had even reached a couple of high-profile bestseller lists. Yet, as much as she tried to convince her friends that she wasn’t a rich and famous writer, sharing war stories with Stephen King and Nora Roberts, the royalties she earned barely paid the rent. Allowing Alex to treat her like a queen was the perfect escape from reality.

And if he had given up, at last, she realized that she wasn’t ready for the extravagant courting to come to an end.

“In here?” she asked, standing in the doorway. “But, I thought…” She looked past him, back toward the cavernous room where he’d made a number of not-so-discreet advances over the summer.

Alex leaned up against the wall. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I—yeah, I guess.”

He reached up and gingerly tugged on her earlobe—a small sign of affection. “Whatever Jenn wants, Jenn gets.”

There it was again—the look in his eyes—something swimming way down in the deep green, where no light penetrated.

Jenn ignored it. He doesn’t mean it, she thought. Not anymore. It has to be now or he’s done with me. “Maybe…I was thinking—I don’t know—what if I slept back there?” she asked, nodding toward the master cabin.

Alex studied her, staring intently, nibbling his bottom lip while Jenn waited.

She said, “If you don’t think it’s a good idea…”

“I can’t figure you out,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall, smiling a too-white smile. For a brief moment, Jenn imagined it was a shark’s mouth, and instead of a row of perfectly aligned teeth, he had a set of jagged, pointy razors, ready to sink into her flesh. She didn’t know where the thought came from, and quickly shook her head to rid her mind of the image.

Alex grabbed her upper arm and squeezed with an unfamiliar insistence. The upturned corners of his lips—the cute dimples in his cheeks—said one thing, but the wrinkled skin between his eyebrows said another; jovial malevolence, if that was a thing.

She allowed him to guide her down the hallway, past the bathroom, past the closet-sized kitchen and other sleeping quarters, and into his room. It smelled new. Clean. Fresh, with an underlying hint of cigar smoke that the air filtration system hadn’t completely scrubbed away and that a quick spritz of laundry-scented freshener hadn’t been able to mask. The extinguished cigar butt lying dead in a nearby ashtray confirmed what her nose had picked up.

“Here, let me get that for you,” Alex said, reaching for her backpack. She allowed him to take it, and when he turned to put it on the bed, she took a quick peek at the soft flesh below her bicep and saw the indentations where his fingernails had been.

His firmness, or frustration, whatever it was, made her wary. He’d never done anything like it before. He’d always been soft and gentle with his coaxing. Sure, he’d stepped over the proverbial line way too many times, verbally, but whenever he’d put his hands on her in the past, it’d been with a tender touch.

Maybe I deserve it, she thought. I’ve been toying with him for too long now…I’d be pissed, too.

She decided to let it go. She decided that yes, maybe his irritation was warranted, if only a little. For all that she’d put him through over the past year, teasing him, leading him on, the fact that it’d taken him so long to get annoyed with her was almost commendable.

Jenn knew she shouldn’t make excuses for him. Throughout her series of novels, her heroine had survived a series of abusive relationships only to find storybook love in the handsome man of her dreams. But Jenn had done enough research, reading news articles, visiting shelters, and reviewing case studies online to realize that more often than not, practically never, it didn’t end that way.

There were beatings, bruises, broken bones, black eyes, hospital stays, and funerals. So depressing, all of it, and she was baffled that so many of the women went back to the men that harmed them. Fear kept them imprisoned.

How did it start? When and why?

Had the genesis of so many horrible stories been nothing more than a stern grasp like the one Alex had given her?

You’re overreacting. Just a little more fun and then you’re gone. You won’t be around long enough to find out. He’ll be done with you by the time the weekend is over.

PART TWO

By the time Alex and Jenn had exchanged some more stilted conversation—it wasn’t their familiar, friendly banter—and made their way back up to the top deck, the others had arrived, all eight of them at once. They stood near the stern in a haphazard circle, chatting, ogling the yacht, and shielding their eyes from the sun. Dressed in all manners of bright, summer clothing, they looked like a bunch of confused tourists waiting for someone to tell them what to do next.

Wade wore a ridiculous looking, wide-brimmed hat that nearly provided as much cover as a beach umbrella. Terri and Mark had adorned themselves in shorts and long-sleeved swim shirts, along with thick, ivory white sunscreen covering their noses.

Jenn chuckled as she looked at their outdated fanny packs and Mark’s white tube socks. Socks and sandals—inappropriate accessorizing that should’ve embarrassed anyone who dared to leave the house that way. Either he didn’t care, or he didn’t have enough backbone to tell Terri no. Jenn suspected it was the latter. For as long as Jenn had known them, Terri hovered over Mark like a helicopter with her commandments. Eat this, don’t do that, your feet will get sunburned, and nobody wants to listen to you whine. Terri knew best—always—yet her own life was totally out of control. Unruly children. Deep, suffocating debt. And the godawful hoarding.

Jenn hadn’t been to their house in months, mostly because it was difficult to navigate the small, three-bedroom bungalow, stepping over stacks of magazines and newspapers and piles of clothes that no longer fit anyone in the house. There were empty moving boxes reaching up to the ceiling, because, you never know, maybe one day they’ll be needed. The weirdest aspect of Terri’s obsession was the once-empty third bedroom that had now been filled with row after row of spent wine bottles. The floor had been completely covered with them, except for a walkway down the middle. The last time Jenn had visited, Terri had placed a sheet of plywood on top of the bottles to start another layer. Neither of them exhibited the classic signs of alcoholism, so Jenn wondered just how long it’d taken the collection to accumulate.

Terri and Mark. Jenn and Alex.

Erica and her perfect body, home for two weeks after a photo shoot in Milan, and then she was off to Hawaii for yet another stint on the beach, looking gorgeous for the camera. Jenn had lost count of how many magazine covers Erica had graced over the past couple of years. She’d always been envious of her childhood friend—even as far back as first grade when all the boys pulled Erica’s pigtails instead of hers. But, those were old, faded scars, and Jenn had finally come to terms with being in second place.

Wade, the building contractor that she’d met while he was working on her parents’ home. All around good guy, lots of fun, easy to get along with. Evidently he’d come solo, because there was no sign of his wife. He was often dressed in lumberjack flannel and was the manliest man Jenn had ever met.

Next were Chet and Karen, childless, both former lawyers who’d grown tired of the never ending hours and left their joint practice to start a bakery and work even longer days. They didn’t mind, or so they said, because it was what they loved doing. Up before dawn, home after the sun went down. Everything was made from scratch and just as delicious as a professional, classically trained chef. It was a miracle that they’d loosened their grip on the store long enough to make it for the weekend trip. Only recently had they begun trusting their employees to handle the workload without constant supervision. And kids? Forget about it. Who had the time?

Sharon and Laura came together, and like Wade, they’d left their spouses behind. Jenn had suspected for some time that they were secretly involved. It was the way they looked at each other. Discrete touches; subtle, lighthearted flirting. A playfully tweaked nipple here, a pat on the bottom there when they thought no one was looking. Lingering gazes over the rim of their coffee mugs. It wouldn’t surprise Jenn if it was the truth, but she wasn’t sure either. They were two highly traditional, church-going, die-hard-hand-on-the-Bible conservatives who often had no trouble expressing their opinions over issues like gun rights and abortion. But, all the signs were there.

Jenn stepped up to the group and passed hugs around to everyone, while Alex kept a slight distance. He was familiar enough with them all to shake hands, except for Terri and Mark, who received a curt nod and a simple, “Terri. Mark.”

Jenn said, “Everybody left their cell phones at home, right?”

Each muttered their agreement.

“Good, because like I said, we’re here to have fun. No work, no worrying about the kids—they’re in good hands, and you know it, Terri—and we’re not sitting around on my birthday weekend with our noses buried in little screens, talking about who had what for lunch. We’re going to have fun, and we’re going to enjoy the company of someone five feet away from us. No tweets, no posts, no surveys about what Friends character you are. That’s my birthday present. Got it?”

They mockingly whined, but agreed, and Wade saluted, offering a hearty, “Yes, ma’am!”

“Then let’s go!” Alex opened his arms wide, and twisting at the hip, he welcomed everyone aboard The Harlot with a sweeping gesture.

Wade pulled his hat a little lower over his eyes, whistled, and said, “She’s an amazing piece of work, dude. How much she set you back?”

Alex shrugged, saying, “Twenty-five million,” like it was no big deal. “Let me show you guys around.”

A half an hour later, after they’d been shown to their rooms, oohing and aahing over how beautiful the yacht was and whistling at all the expensive additions that had been installed, they were on their way, out into the open water, with Alex up in the cockpit and drinks in their hands.

Terri asked Jenn, “Where’s he taking us?”

Jenn winked. “I told him to take us out to where our phones wouldn’t work, just in case any of you cheated.”

They all knew each other fairly well, except for Erica, who was the rare unicorn and only graced everyone’s presence occasionally, which inevitably led to discussions about her life as a model. They wanted to know if she had met anyone famous recently. They wanted to know which of the exotic locations she’d been to was her favorite—India, believe it or not—and how uncomfortable it must be to take her clothes off in front of strangers.

“You get used to it,” Erica said. “Mostly I’m in a bikini in front of the guys, and the only ones who ever see me naked are the wardrobe girls.”

Jenn laughed and pointed at Erica with her beer bottle. “Get a couple of drinks in her and it won’t matter what kind of inhibitions she has.”

“Being naked is liberating. There’s something about the freedom that gives you room to accept yourself.”

“I’m perfectly fine with keeping my parts to myself.”

Erica snickered. “Yeah, but the mirror is about the only thing that gets to see you naked. I’m fine with showing off what I’ve got.”

Jenn stuck up her middle finger, grinning.

Laura leaned forward on the edge of her chair. “With a body like yours, who wouldn’t be fine with it?”

Jenn took a quick peek at Sharon and caught a flicker of envy in her squint. No one else noticed. When she looked around at the men, Wade, Chet, and Mark casually pretended to be uninterested—especially Mark, who examined his fingernails like a jeweler studying a diamond. If Terri even remotely suspected that he might be drooling over the possibility of seeing Erica naked again, weeks of sleeping amongst the clutter in their living room would follow.

The conversation turned to Jenn’s latest novel and how well it had done. Sharon wanted to know when the sequel was coming out, and Karen complained about how the last one had ended. “All your books end on a cliffhanger,” she said. “What’s wrong with telling the whole story at once?”

“To keep you coming back for more. It’s better for sales that way.”

“Yeah, but don’t your readers complain about having to spend more money to find out what happens?”

“So far, you’re the only one.” Which wasn’t true, but it was more fun to watch Karen squirm in her seat.

They chatted, and drank, and dipped tortilla chips into some of Chet’s homemade hummus. It wasn’t long before the expensive homes on the shoreline shrank to the size of Monopoly houses and then shrank further to colorful specks among rolling sand dunes. The engine switched off and Alex came down from the cockpit.

“We’re about twenty miles out. Twenty-one, maybe. I say we just drift and see where the current takes us. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Erica said, “I don’t have anywhere to be for a couple of days,” and everyone agreed.

It’s always about you, Jenn thought, Erica first.

But, she had no argument and the twinge of jealousy was gone a beat later. Erica was right. Saturday and Sunday. Two days of freedom before they were back to work, back to raising children, back to hiding secrets from husbands and wives. Back to baking bread and sitting in front of a computer.

Surely, out here, the burdens of life would be kept at bay.

***

Once Terri finished analyzing Erica’s dreams about cookies and deals at Nordstrom’s—fifteen minutes later they were slouching with boredom—Alex suggested they go for a swim.

“Is it safe?” Chet asked. “I mean, out here, you know?” He put his arm around Karen’s shoulders. “I hate to be the greenhorn landlubbers, but neither one of us has ever been on a yacht before, much less this far out in the water. Aren’t there sharks or something?”

“I haven’t either,” Laura added, looking at Sharon. “Have you?”

Sharon shook her head.

Erica said, “Jesus, guys, every single one of you lives five miles from the ocean. How have you never been on a yacht before?”

It was said in jest, but Jenn could sense raised hackles among the inexperienced guests.

Alex said, “There’s nothing to worry about, but if you feel something nibbling on your toes, be sure to let the rest of us know.” He took off his shirt, revealing taut pecs and abs that Jenn had only seen once before. In all their trips together, she’d only allowed him to get as far as removing his shirt that time in Paris when they were slightly tipsy on French wine, and she’d dared him to strip at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

He ran toward the side of the boat, jumped, and executed a perfect flip into the water. At twenty-five, he was the youngest in the group, and sometimes it showed. The rest of them, ranging from their early thirties to mid-forties, except for Jenn and Erica at twenty-nine, walked to the edge, removed the clothes they wanted to keep dry, and hopped into the water like respectable adults who’d forgotten how to let go and have some childish fun long ago.

They floated lazily, bobbing along with the gentle undulation of the sea, until a piece of seaweed touched Chet’s foot. The childish squeal was shrill like a lifeguard’s whistle calling for everyone to get out of the water. He screamed something unintelligible, flailing and kicking, almost dragging Karen under the surface with him, and eventually regained enough control to slap-paddle his way over to the yacht and scramble up the ladder.

Seven bodies, some thin and getting sunburned, some plump and already red, thrashed at the surface and hurried back up onto The Harlot after Chet.

Alex laughed and Jenn joined him, floating with him in the sea, and for a moment, it was good. The two of them together, confident and unafraid, watching the spectacle play out on the lower deck as everyone scanned the surface, pointing at something, asking if the large, greenish-black mass of seaweed drifting by had been the culprit.

Treading water, the two of them bobbed side-by-side, waiting to see if anyone would be brave enough to come back in. Jenn felt Alex swim up behind her and put an arm around her waist as he maintained his balance with the other, kicking beneath the surface to stay upright. She let him keep it there.

Quietly, he said, “Bunch of freaking sissies. I’m glad you’re not like that. Look at Erica shaking. She’s almost vibrating.”

“Do you like her?” Jenn asked. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t know where they came from or why she’d even asked. Alex was hers, if she wanted him. Jenn had no reason to be jealous and she knew it, but the simple fact that he’d been looking at Erica sparked something inside.

“She’s okay, I guess. A little full of herself.”

“That’s not really what I mean.”

Alex squeezed tighter at her waist and pulled her closer. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers—a welcoming feeling against the chill of the sea. “She’s hot, if that’s what you’re asking, but I wouldn’t fuck her with Wade’s dick. Who knows what’s been in that thing.”

Jenn smiled. For the first time ever, she rewarded him. She reached down and put her hand on his crotch, squeezing softly.

PART THREE

By ten o’clock that evening, as they drifted on the Atlantic, thoroughly exhausted, happy, relaxed, and drunk, inhibitions loosened as they often do among friends with too much alcohol and too little food.

Erica, as promised and on schedule, was on top of the glass, mid-deck table, dancing in the nude. Everyone but Mark and Terri cheered her on, throwing paper napkins at her like they were dollar bills. Jenn had temporarily gotten over her jealousy, with the help of a few drinks, and spent the time watching the others as they encouraged Erica to keep going.

Some had seen it before, some hadn’t. Regardless, everyone seemed to be having fun with it, the men for obvious reasons—Sharon and Laura for the same, but less obvious.

Wade, Alex, and Chet relaxed back onto the cushions of their seats, holding pillows over their laps and trying not to look too eager. Karen whistled and yelled, “You go, girl!” while Sharon and Laura exchanged quick, furtive glances, as if giving each other permission to enjoy the show. Terri had her legs crossed, bouncing an impatient foot, with her mouth pinched in disapproval, staring intently back to the west, perhaps dreaming of home, while Mark polished his glasses over and over, occasionally sneaking a peek when he was certain his wife’s attention was elsewhere.

Good fun. Good, drunk fun.

Jenn got up for another beer, and as she walked past the table where Erica danced, her friend reached down and grabbed her arm. Shouting over the music, Erica said, “Come up here with me.”

“No way.”

“Seriously, come on.”

Jenn laughed and tried to pull free. “No!”

Erica squatted down, almost lost her balance, and bent over, naked rear in full view of the three men that were allowed to look. She put her mouth to Jenn’s ear and drunkenly slurred, “You’ve been screwing with him long enough. Let the poor bastard see what you’ve got under there.”