True Wind

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

To Dean

To Elizabeth and Jennifer

To Barbara and friends and family

For beach books and bookworms

And good memories all,

Thank you.

In real nautical terms of sailing there is a true wind and an apparent wind.

True Wind: The actual direction of the wind.

Apparent Wind: Sailors fight the apparent wind—the one over the deck.

CHAPTER 1

Julianna Latimer was drowsing on a float in the swimming pool of her home on a small island off Miami, Florida. She lay on her back in a white bikini and using one long, tanned leg, nudged off the end of the pool, and, thus, propelled by the force of the water pumps, slowly made another lazy circle.

Her dark hair streamed over the head of the float, and a white cloth hat covered her face. As the hat drifted away she squinted large brown eyes against the glare to retrieve it, placing it back, dripping on her face.

She heard her husband, Paul, through the patio screen door talking to his staff and clients on the telephone, his voice laughing, explaining, and concluding—thus far—most of his entire business life. It was finally the day of his semi-retirement.

She was languidly going over mental checklists for their sailing cruise when Paul jumped into the water next to her, and the wave caused by his six-foot frame knocked her off her float. She came up sputtering as Paul grinned behind his mustache, his serious brown eyes teasing her. She let him lower the straps of her swimsuit as he laid her against the inundating float, enjoying his tongue on her cool nipples and feeling the hot sun on his back.

After enjoying his caresses for a moment, she wrapped her legs securely around him, and laughing, Julianna rolled the float back over again and didn’t let go until, this time, it was Paul who sputtered up for breath.

In bed that night, their house-sounds already silenced like lonely banked coals waiting to pop and spark again in some distant morning, Julianna whispered, "I hope our friends like each other. Just because we like them is no reason they should like each other. Maybe it’s a terrible idea. Remember, only Stanley and

Rigmor have met before, and they never got along. And, each of them is so…well, different, and, sometimes, even difficult."

Not to worry: we can trust our friends. Just lie still, darling. As he turned toward her, she pretended not to move at all. Very funny, Julianna, he said. Not that still.

CHAPTER 2

At the Miami International Airport, 92 degrees in the second week of June, Julianna met Marjory as she deplaned onto the concourse through her gate. As she waited, Julianna smiled at Marjory’s walk, which was normal enough, except that it sort of bubbled and quivered with each step and movement. They hurried to their connecting flight—where Paul was meeting Stanley’s flight arriving from Chicago—and the bouncing of Marjory’s hair and the clicking of her red high-heeled sandals animated non-stop questions requiring no answers as Julianna heard her exclaim: Wow, it’s hot! Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve got to get this fake grizzly bearskin off—it’s waterproof and just the right thing for sailing. Where’s Paul; where’s my man? Lordy, you’re beautiful, Julianna. The first chance I get I’m taking my clothes off. Boy, is it ever hot. You told me not to wear pantyhose, but I’m so pale, I had to. Where’s Paul, I say?

As Marjory pulled on a long leash attached to her stuffed duffel bag, Julianna thought it looked like a bewildered Dachshund on four short wheels trying to keep up as it panted from side to side. When they spotted Paul, Julianna caught the leash from Marjory, who rushed forward to greet him.

Julianna walked slowly forward, smiling fondly at Stanley standing next to Paul, dressed in his old and impeccably preserved Abercrombie & Fitch safari suit with a multi-colored ascot tucked into a blindingly white cotton shirt. With his walking stick, he came forward, silently weeping as he often does when he is excited about something, and they embraced.

After Paul presented Stanley Brolinski, Jr. to Marjory Scott, Stanley seemed immediately affronted when Marjory neither offered him her hand nor spoke a greeting, but just stood purposely grinning up at him, seeming to take his measure and judging a late middle-aged man with a full pepper-and-salt beard, thick light brown-with-gray hair, and sharp blue eyes that were glaring down at her.

Julianna liked the way things were beginning, so she suggested, Stanley, I don’t think you should just simply shake the hand of a lady who wears a fake grizzly bear.

Haw! You are right! I shall give her a proper bear hug, he said, and did. When he released her, Marjory responded with a friendly grin, and seeming to size him up in ten seconds flat, kissed him right on his smile.

When their flight was called, Marjory announced ingenuously, Okay, everybody, listen up! First I want to sit with Paul, and then I want to sit with Stanley, and then I want to sit with Julianna. Is that all right?

Spirit mated beauty, and wisdom was their child, replied Stanley, tucking Julianna’s hand around his arm as he walked her to the waiting airplane.

Huh? What’d he say, Paul? What’s that spirit stuff?

It’s hard to say, Marjory, replied Paul. That’s just Stanley.

Paul began to stow their carry-ons in the overhead compartments, but Stanley insisted on being in charge of his own belongings. You’re handling your bags as if they were babies, observed Paul. "What the hell do you have in there, anyway?

Nothing, answered Stanley, haughtily.

Julianna knew that Stanley was hiding something, for his emotions always showed all over his face. Not liking his motives figured out—which he felt was an intrusion upon his privacy—he nonetheless insisted upon being understood. Stanley was difficult to understand, but she’d come to enjoy his affectations, and to expect his eccentricities.

She and Paul met Stanley at their hometown yacht club nine years before, and she smiled to herself, remembering the first time that he had complimented her.

Julianna, he had said, you look lovely this evening.

Thank you, Stanley, she’d replied.

No, I mean it, he’d fretted.

Thank you, she’d repeated, wondering what he wanted.

But I really mean it! he’d insisted.

Thank you, Stanley, she’d grinned, catching on.

But I mean it! he had finally bellowed.

Julianna had been momentarily embarrassed by his outburst, which close tables couldn’t help but overhear; but refusing to be taken aback, she told him, Stanley, it is my compliment. Shall I compliment you for complimenting me?

His eyes blazed in momentary anger, then he laughed and wept as he dabbed at his eyes with an immaculate linen handkerchief. He sipped his vodka, leaned back in comfort, and sighed as if it were he who had created beauty, wisdom, and compliments—his rightful due.

That was the first time they saw Stanley glare and weep, and through the years they came to expect it. And wherever he was, was the best place to be.

Marjory joined Julianna for the final half hour of their flight to St. Thomas. Sighing, she said, I’m so happy to see you two. Paul is so much the same: strong and laughing, bossy and protective. Tell me about Lloyd and Rigmor. Nothing you told me prepared me for Stanley; but he loves me, I can tell.

All men love you, Marjory.

Yeah, right.

"First, it’s pronounced Ree-more, which is a Danish name meaning ‘rich mother,’ which suits her well. It doesn’t mean material wealth, but—"

Scuze me, know what? Tell me more about Ree-mor later, since she won’t arrive until tomorrow, but Lloyd’s picking us up, so I’ll meet him first. I know that he’s a singer, that he was born in Jamaica, that he’s part Irish and part Japanese, and—

Part Chinese.

Oops. And that he travels all over doing gigs and that he’s divorced. But what else?

Well, he’s friendly and warm and everybody likes him. He wrote on his latest CD to us that we were his friends—’rare and loved.’ He has a touch with people, especially when he sings, and he and Paul like each other. Lloyd doesn’t invite people in much; still, he leaves me feeling that I know him better than I actually do. But I knew more about you, Marjory, right from the beginning, than I know about him, now after five years.

You know a bunch of stuff about me, alright, Marjory said, falling silent.

Julianna looked down at the cloud shadows moving over the water, and the long streaks of current in the shallow waters between the islands below her. She remembered how Marjory had always been taping and practicing new songs. She sewed her own clothes, paid the mortgage on her house, baked cookies, made dinners, went to PTA meetings, and cried over her second failed marriage.

Marjory was always fun and honest, and she put on her wig and sexy clothes and went to work six nights a week.

It must be hard being a singer, Julianna thought. The good ones make it look so easy, and they give us so much pleasure…

Lloyd doesn’t know you two as well as I do, said Marjory out of the blue. But, he probably knows you better than you think he does. It sounds to me like you’re really good friends.

With a touch to Marjory’s shoulder, Julianna said, Stanley was right; you are wise.

That what he meant about that beauty and spirit thing?

That’s what he meant.

Well, you know and I know that I’m a smart cookie, but being a dizzy blond is a load of fun; it weeds out so many jerks—and besides—

And besides, you’re a singer, said Julianna.

I don’t sing anymore; I told you. Not for eight years now, and I never will again. I’ve got a cute little part-time job in a small button factory that suits me just fine. The rest of the time I play tennis and go fishing with Billy. Life is easy now. The kids are grown, the house is paid for, no more money worries, no more treadmill, and hallelujah.

Hallelujah, for sure. I say, once a singer, always a singer, Marjory. Paul can’t carry a tune, but I think he’s a singer. Some people just seem to live bigger.or give more than others.

You always crack your noggin’ like that, Julianna? Anyway, what’s Lloyd doing in St. Thomas?

He had two engagements there at the same time as our cruise, so Paul invited him along. He’s already aboard seeing to things.

Hmmm.This sounds like fun.

You’re wearing one of your trouble-making grins, honey.

Who, Mai?:

Paul turned around and told them to put the seats upright and buckle their seatbelts, and then the attendant announced the same thing.

Marjory leaned forward and said, Paul, what would us po’ little children do without you? You wanna come back here and mess with my buckles? I jus’ don’t know how!

Haw! Haw! Haw! came Stanley’s laugh from the front seat.

They stepped onto the tarmac and into the island heat. Warm and fair at eighty-nine degrees, the pilot had drawled. Paul and Julianna were acclimated, but Stanley removed his jacket immediately, but not his ascot—something he was fond of wearing since the days when he was a major violinist with the Boston

Pops Orchestra—and Julianna wouldn’t be surprised if he wore one with his swimsuit.

Why the hell don’t you take that animal off your back, Marjory? asked Paul, referring to her shiny bearskin-thing.

I will, but Lloyd has to see it first. First impressions are everything. It sure knocked Stanley for a loop, right, Stan?

I was totally looped, my dear. Still am.

Hope you don’t melt into a puddle of bear fat, said Paul.

That was bear-ly funny.

Bear with me.

Then Paul saw Lloyd waiting for them, and they waved to each other.

Suddenly Marjory ran forward, grasped his hand, and exclaimed, Lloyd! Paul has decided to share me with you and Stanley! Can you believe it? And leading him to a nearby bench, she sat down and pulled on his hands until he knelt before her.

Looking into her playful blue eyes, Lloyd got her message of fun.

Marjory removed her longhaired vest and placed it gently over his head. There, let me crown you she cooed. This is a gen-u-ine fake grizzly bear directly from Cleveland, Ohio. Now, will you please, please remove Marjory’s terrible shoes?

With his crown draping off his head and shoulders, he smiled, said, It will be my pleasure, Marjory, and kissed her right knee. He picked up her foot and placed it against his chest, unbuckled her shoe, and let it drop to the floor. After he massaged her toes and instep, he asked, Does Marjory’s foot feel better now? When she didn’t reply, Lloyd put her foot down, then kissed her left knee, snuggled her foot against his chest, and repeated the process.

Marjory sighed. Are there any more feet down there? Do I only have two?

Lloyd rose and helped Marjory up from the bench. Still wearing her bearskin, he faced the men and shook Paul’s hand, then Stanley’s—who had been laughing his laugh throughout the ceremony. He hugged and kissed Julianna warmly as she took the vest from his head. Treating them to some rich Jamaican talk, he asked, "What dat ting areddi, anyhow?"

It may prove to be a talisman, remarked Stanley, understanding.

Returning to English with a normal slight Jamaican accent, Lloyd replied that every ship should have one, which pleased Stanley.

After collecting their bags they drove off in Lloyd’s borrowed van that looked as if it were painted by someone in dire need of psychiatry who had also flunked art. Originally a bright apple-green, it now had a side panel in streaky day-glow orange on the passenger side. Crude black palm trees were spray-painted all over the van, and it was dented almost everywhere with hundreds of nicks and gouges, although it was just a few years old.

I know it looks like an insane asylum, said Lloyd, "but it runs good. It was strange, though, because when I arrived last Saturday, I saw a man leaning against the van, and when I waved to him, he took off, and.well, there was something odd about the way he looked at me. Anyway, the Buffalo is ready and waiting; and she’s far more beautiful than I’d imagined."

They drove slowly along the waterfront capitol of Charlotte Amalie, looking up the steep mountain dotted with houses and buildings, then into the streets of colorful restaurants and duty-free shops. They swung around the graceful curve of the harbor, with its busy commercial and charter-boat fleets and colorful assortment of yachts of every description, then past the coast guard station, then to the slips at the St. Thomas Marina at the eastern head of the bay.

They found a handy cart and loaded their duffels while Paul checked in with the dock master; then they walked down the dock to their slip where the Buffalo was tied.

I’ll go below first and get things stowed away so our Yankee friends can get their suits and pantyhose off, teased Paul. He unlocked and pushed back the hatch cover and removed the companionway boards, then asked Marjory to please remove her spiky-heeled shoes. Lloyd and Julianna handed the bags down to him.

Marjory sat on the full-length couch on the port side across from the roomy banquette and looked around. Wow, this living room glitters!

You have a proclivity for keen perception, remarked Stanley. However, I believe that you are in the grande saloon, not the living room, my dear.

Whatever you say, pops.

They saw round brass ports and long windows, swivel lamps and hatches for light and fresh air. The cabinets and side panels were polished ask, the teak and holly cabin sole was varnished, and the overhead was lined with white tongue-and-groove patterned fiberglass.

Rocking gently, open spaces whirled light off highly polished surfaces, and placed in he middle of the mirror-finished table was a plastic pitcher holding stems of riotous fuchsia-colored bougainvillea.

Lloyd, did you do that? asked Julianna.

Sure. I borrowed them from a bush no one be using.

Okay, listen up everyone, announced Paul. For your safety and comfort, you all have to learn where everything is, where everything goes, and how things work. First, Stanley and Marjory, I’ll show you your berths so you can change your clothes—Marjory, you first.

Oval bulkheads separated the two forward cabins, and he led her starboard. You’ll share this with Rigmor, and yours is the top bunk.

He pointed out the hanging locker, her share of the drawers beneath the bottom bunk, the shelves and cabinets next to the top bunk, the cabinets of the head, and how the head and shower worked. Make sure you clean up your hair from the shower stall and around the sink and cabin sole so it doesn’t clog up the drains. Somehow, there seems to be more loose hair on a boat than you ever notice in your own house.

He showed Stanley his quarters, saying, You have the port cabin and head to yourself as Lloyd has taken the pilot berth and head back of the galley. Lloyd has his musical instruments lashed to your top bunk, so unless you find some room up there, the cabin is all yours.

As Marjory and Stanley changed their clothes, Paul mixed drinks for himself and Julianna, Lloyd popped a beer for himself and they felt the motion of someone boarding. Then came a thunderous, Hello, love! Here I am! I know I’m a day early, but I had enough of hot air balloons. How you doing, love?

Rigmor! I’m so glad you’re early, said Julianna. Come on below. Paul was just starting a tour complete with instructions, and after a while we’re all going out to dinner—give me a hug.

You bet! Rigmor hugged Julianna, then beamed and tucked her bright orange shirt into her wrinkled green and white striped linen trousers. She looked as if she’d dressed in a hurry and ran all the way from Arizona.

Julianna introduced Rigmor to a smiling Lloyd, reminding him of Rigmor’s membership in the Circumnavigator’s Club. Rigmor’s handshake is firm, her posture as straight and solid as her ample girth. Though no fine beauty, her face has no hint of hiding and she is proud of her great Danish nose. Her short-cropped gray hair frames in tufts a face with sharp blue eyes and a happy mouth.

Paul brought Rigmor’s duffel bags down and after giving Marjory two more generous minutes to clothe herself, he showed Rigmor to her cabin, introduced her to her cabin mate, and said, Now, I’ll rehash for you.

Hash is hash, Paul. Rehash is redundant, informed Rigmor, enjoying one of her quips.

Stanley emerged from his cabin, and hearing Rigmor’s laughter, said, "Good God, Rigmor has arrived. I’ve been so intent on my own concerns that I missed her entrance. Lloyd, that woman you have just met is an impossible teller of platitudes and homilies. She sings in a craggy old voice with no rhythm, yet she believes that she is the great protector of songs. She brays them out! I shall have vodka."

Lloyd just smiled and showed Stanley where the drinks and glasses were.

Thank you, said Stanley. "And, as Paul might say, ‘This is un-be-effing-liev-able!’ Julianna, Lloyd, here’s to the Buffalo and to all her fine friends."

They clicked unbreakable plastic glasses and beer can, and Stanley asked, Lloyd, tell me, what were the occasions for the parties at which you entertained? I have been told that you are a very fine entertainer and musician.

Lloyd smiled and nodded, knowing Stanley’s past history as a major violinist with the Boston Pops. I really am not a musician, Stanley, certainly not like you. My guitar playing is not really fine—in fact only average. My harmonica is okay, as is my whistling. But I will say that I’m a good singer and entertainer. My first job.

I always called it a gig!