As with all movements, it wasn’t long before the dynamic energy of the women’s movement deflated like a slow-leaking balloon. They won some ground but lost some too. Nancy witnessed some of her friends, the very same women who marched on campus, finding themselves at odds with their own ideas. Love came calling. In some cases, fear came calling. For every successful Mary Tyler Moore or Laverne and Shirley, there was an unnamed divorced woman who was on the verge of poverty, hanging on by her unmanicured fingertips, unable to get a decent job to feed her children, unable to open a checking account on her own, unable to survive without help from family or a man.
So, some put down their signs and walked into marriage. They hid their battle scars and their pride, bowed their heads, and towed the line. They had children and mortgages and school plays to attend. Before they knew it, they were making meat loaf, sewing Halloween costumes, and setting their dreams adrift, just like their mothers before them. Their ideas and hopes for change faded like construction paper left out in the sun. It was all so depressingly inevitable. Once in a while, a woman just like Nancy Hadley, part of a legion of unfulfilled housewives, would drink too much Chablis after making another tuna noodle casserole and remember her once bright and burning desire to be more.
And that was why she had to win this race. It represented a larger, long-forgotten struggle. She wasn’t there for that first public fight. But she was here for this personal one.
She had to stand up to Roger. Face-to-face. Or, in her case, bow to bow.
She needed Roger to know that she could.
She needed to know it too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ALLIES UNITE
Nancy was deep in thought when she saw Suzanne the Cat hop up and walk on the edge of the boat, alerting Nancy to an impending visitor. She rose up to look over the side and saw the small frame of her granddaughter, clad in a hoodie, denim shorts, and her checkered Vans, walking toward the boat. She waved and then hopped up. She took a seat across from Nancy.
“So what’s the plan?”
“I take it you heard, then.”
“I heard that Grandpa Rog faked a heart attack to get you back and that it ended in a massive fight and winner-take-all bet on a sailing race.”
“That about sums it up,” Nancy said with a heavy sigh.
Charlotte sighed too. “Well, bright side is that the truth is out there.”
Nancy nodded. Truth can set you free. And completely destroy a family in the process.
As if sensing Nancy’s guilt, Charlotte said, “Gran, this isn’t on you.”
Nancy sat there petting Suzanne, not buying Charlotte’s point of view. “It doesn’t matter. Things will never be the same again.”
“First of all, if this is your fault, I’m the Queen of TikTok. Which I am not. And second, as any teenager can tell you, that’s the thing about life. It changes. Take me, for instance. One day you’re playing trumpet in the school band with your nerdy best friend Janey; the next you’re trying out for a jazz band with the coolest kids in school. Change isn’t always bad, Gran.”
“Are you telling me you tried out for a jazz band?”
Charlotte grinned.
“And you got in?”
“I’m lead trumpet! We call ourselves the Low-Key Love Trio.”
“I love it.” Nancy reached out and hugged her granddaughter.
“But I digress.” Charlotte grinned as if she knew exactly how smart she sounded—and was. “I ask you again, what is the plan?”
Nancy slumped back in her seat. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My boat isn’t as sleek or as fast as Bucephalus. Roger has Mac and Tony, who know each other so well they speak in shorthand, and I’ve got the girls, who have never been sailing further than Palos Verdes point. The odds are against me.”
Charlotte sat and thought about that for a moment. She looked out at the horizon and then shook her head at Nancy. “That may all be true. But you have something Grandpa Rog doesn’t have.”
Nancy squinted at her Charlotte, waiting for her to finish the thought, at a loss to what she could mean. Roger had every advantage.
“You don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“Go on.”
“It’s all new. Grandpa Rog is going to do his same race. You can tackle it with new thinking. Isn’t that how some teams win the Super Bowl or the World Series? By doing it in a way that no one ever has. Plus, you’ve got the heart of a lion, Gran.”
Nancy’s smile grew slowly.
And then Charlotte added, “You just need a plan.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
HOW TO LIGHTEN UP
The familiar, warm breeze rustled the nautical map Nancy studied as she tried to figure out the fastest route to sail to Ensenada. She had ordered stiffer race sails for the main and the jib. She had ordered a special spinnaker too, had her keel inspected, and scrubbed off any latent barnacles that might slow her down. Now she was trying to ascertain if her boat, given perfect conditions, could actually beat Roger in the Border Dash. She tossed the map down in frustration just as Suzanne headed above. Nancy looked up and heard Santiago softly speaking to her.
“Hello, little love,” Santiago cooed to Suzanne.
“Santiago,” Nancy said warmly as she went up.
“Good morning, Nancy.” He smiled, and the dimple in his chin disappeared as he did so.
Nancy relaxed as soon as she saw him. Santiago picked up her cat and gave her head a rough, loving rub. Nancy could hear the cat purring from across the cockpit.
“I’m glad to hear that Senor Roger is okay after his … incident.”
“How incredibly civil of you. I think Ruthie put it more accurately when she said Roger’s bullshit finally caught up to him.”
Santiago chuckled and sat down in the cockpit. Suzanne nestled in his lap.
“So, I take it you’ve heard about the bet,” Nancy stated.
“Ah, yes. Good word travels fast. Good bets travel faster where I’m from.”
“Where is that again? The Yucatan?” Nancy said, angling for any inkling to Santiago’s past.
“No, not the Yucatan, Señora,” he replied.
Thwarted, Nancy changed topics. “I don’t know what I was thinking in the moment, a bet like this, with the crew I have. But I’ve no choice now. I have to find a way to win.”
“You are far from a long shot, Nancy. Your skills and your instincts are strong. Your crew is green, but they respect you and they can learn fast.” Santiago looked around at her boat, then added, “But the Gypsea, she needs to get in racing shape.”
“What do you mean?”
“She needs to lose a little weight.”
Nancy was a mixture of hopeful and skeptical. “My sentiments exactly. But how?”
“I have an idea,” Santiago said with a wink.
Nancy went below to get them some wine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ALLIES ABOUND
After Santiago left, Nancy felt a glimmer of optimism for the first time since she had challenged Roger to the race. She was also a little giddy from the wine. Or maybe it was Santiago and his penetrating gaze. Or both Santiago and the wine. Either way, she was feeling great, polishing off some leftover Thai food from the galley fridge, when her cell phone rang. She looked down and grinned at the name that came up. She picked up before the second ring. “Pray tell, mi amigo, what crusade are we going on?”
“God, it’s like having my own bat phone. You are always at the ready,” said the steady, low voice of Glenda Hibbert. “I was going to ask you the same thing, old friend.”
“However long it’s been, it’s been way too long. The last time we spoke, you were heading up the Heal the Bay Foundation and had begun a quest to save the marine sanctuary around Monterey.”
“Ah yes, Monterey Bay. That was three years ago. We managed to expand the sanctuary to six thousand square miles right where Exxon wanted to drill for oil. Those were better times for us environmentalists, w
hen the feds really stood by us. It’s now the biggest marine sanctuary in the world. Although, with the new administration, there has been talk of offshore drilling again, but I don’t want to bore you with my problems.”
Nancy sat back against the couch in the salon and smiled and sighed. Ah, the memories of their younger days as passionate firebrands out to save the world. “Damn, that’s impressive. They should have named it after you.”
“I’m not that noble. I’m just a sucker for the otters. And the marine sanctuary has been my one true passion for a long time.”
“So, what’s up? Are you in town?”
There was a pause before Glenda responded and then said awkwardly, “Actually, Nance, I’m returning your call.”
“What call?”
“You called me a few days ago. Or I guess technically it was Roger who called me, but I was under the impression you two wanted to get together for dinner with Donnie and me?”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t aware that Roger called you. I wonder why?”
“Beats me. Maybe he was hungry? Anyway, I’m coming down to the beach next week for a series of meetings in your area—perfect timing for a catch-up.”
“Uh-huh,” Nancy said, distracted. Why would Roger call Glenda? He didn’t even like Glenda. He incessantly poked fun at her hippie, tree-hugging, otter-saving ways.
“Nance, what’s up? Why are you being so weird?”
Nancy paused for a second before realizing that this moment was as good a time as any to spill her news. “Roger and I split up.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Glenda said, with no small hint of astonishment in her voice, “You left Roger?”
“I can hardly believe it myself as I stand here with this carton of pad thai in my hand, but yes, I’m filing for divorce from my husband, who was, as it turns out, a cheating, lying dirtbag. But first I have to win a boat race so I don’t have to hire his divorce attorney. Oh, and I also own a sailboat with Ruthie, Lois, and Judy that I live on now with my cat.”
“And I was going to tell you about my new succulent garden,” Glenda said.
Nancy laughed quietly and then sighed. “Yes, well, as you know, Glenda, one can only be complacent for so long before one loses one’s shit.”
“I daresay, I’m a bit proud of you.” Glenda said, then added, “It’s brave.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said rather quietly, because the last thing in the world she felt like was brave. “So, how are things with the Heal the Bay Foundation?”
“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t have heard. I’m no longer there.”
“No, I hadn’t heard. What lucky critter has you on their side now?”
“I’ve just been appointed to the board of the California Coastal Commission.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, and ironically, my first assignment is in your own backyard, Redondo Beach,” Glenda said. Then there was a long pause. “Nancy? Are you still there?”
Goddamn that man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
FULL STEAM AHEAD
“So, did you tell her what he was up to? Jesus, he’s like a Bond villain,” Ruthie said as she cranked the winch to tighten the jib.
“I told Glenda Hibbert the entire ugly truth, not only about our split but also what Roger was up to behind the backs of all his friends and fellow sailors. The greedy fool. He’s willing to forsake everything and everyone for money.”
“She had to have been appalled,” Judy said as she stowed Ruthie’s winch.
“She was. And I can assure you, her Coastal Commission vote is not going in favor of Roger and his hideous project.”
“I mean, Pave the Bay can’t be a good slogan, right?” Lois asked, as she tied off the mainsail sheet.
“So, the marina is safe? She told you that?” Ruthie asked.
“I’ve known Glenda Hibbert for thirty-seven years. She and I used to stand together to protect every otter and giant sequoia from San Diego to the Oregon border. Protecting the California environment is in her blood. There is no way she would vote to destroy King Harbor for more parking. Ain’t happening.”
“That’s a relief,” Judy said, “I love our little marina.”
Nancy had set up a training schedule for her crew in the twelve short days they had left before the Border Dash. The plan was to sail out beyond the buoys every evening so that her crew could practice drills on handling the sails and get more comfortable with the much faster pace that the Border Dash required.
On the first night of training, Ruthie, Lois, and Judy arrived at the marina, ready to sail. At the end of the dock they saw Nancy standing next to a handsome young man no more than thirty years old, wearing a pith helmet, a hat usually reserved for those headed on safari.
Nancy began the introductions. “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Jerome Temple. He was the sailing instructor at the Bitter End Yacht Club in the North Sound of Virgin Gorda for the last five years. Unfortunately, the Bitter End was completely destroyed by Hurricane Irma, but nature’s havoc is our good fortune. While it’s being rebuilt, Jerome here is going to help whip us into sailing shape over the next ten days.”
“What makes you so special, sport?” Ruthie asked, a hint of playfulness in her tone.
In a soft-spoken, Maine-tinged accent and with a hint of pride and a touch of good humor in the curve of his mouth, Jerome answered, “I solo-circumnavigated the globe last year on a thirty-two-foot sailboat past the five southern capes.”
Lois whistled low and said, “I guess you’ll do.”
Ruthie raised her eyebrows and murmured, “Great. An overachiever. We shall go forth and disappoint you.”
Judy loved the idea of professional training, anything so that she didn’t have to tie herself to the boat in abject terror. “Welcome, Jerome! I love your hat!”
Jerome smiled and tipped it her way. “My pleasure, ma’am. I’m here to share little tips and tricks that make sailing joyful, easy, and intuitive instead of clumsy and scary. That’s all.” He paused and looked the women over. “Oh, and also to help Nancy here kick Roger’s ass.”
The women all hooted at that.
“I like him,” Ruthie offered.
“Honorary merman,” Lois quipped.
“He’s just what we need,” Nancy said with confidence.
“In ten days, I’ll help you develop your own sailing style, and you’ll be able to read each other’s cues to work together seamlessly,” Jerome added. “That’s the plan.”
They all climbed aboard Gypsea, and Jerome assigned each woman her tasks on the sail. Lois was strong and fearless, so she worked the mainsail and the rigging. Ruthie was a little calmer and slower, so he put her on tacking with Judy. Nancy was at the helm and in charge of decision-making on the water.
“Okay, let’s see how we do,” he said, and then began to whistle the tune to Gilligan’s Island.
“Not exactly reassuring, Jerome,” Ruthie quipped.
He changed his tune to “Son of a Son of a Sailor” by Jimmy Buffett.
“Much better.”
They headed out into the bay, past the breakwater, and cut the engine. On their first tack, things went haywire. Lois had cleated the wrong line, so the mainsail fell slack. Ruthie had arranged the jib lines counterclockwise, so when she let it out, the lines were instantly tangled. Judy panicked and dropped a winch, which fell into the galley. She scrambled below to get it, and upon her return, Jerome merely gave her a thumbs-up and continued whistling.
Nancy knew it was messy. It was the worst they’d had since their first sail.
After the minor disasters were corrected and the Gypsea was on the right tack, Jerome assessed their performance. “Okay, not altogether terrible. From what I can tell, you need to get more familiar with the equipment, but more importantly, you need to trust in yourselves and each other. Sailing should feel natural. Just like your friendships. Trust it.”
Ruthie looked at Nancy for the first time and mouthed the words not bad
.
The practice went fairly well after that. The girls began to understand the basics of sailing by feeling rather than instruction. They pulled lines and took tacks smoothly and eventually sailed with a gentle poetry intertwined with the sun, wind, and waves.
Nancy’s novice crew were shaping up to be seaworthy sailors. She knew that the competition was not only going to be fierce, it was also going to be personal. Roger was gunning for her. Rumor around the yacht club was that he had denied Mac and Tony their customary places on his boat this year in favor of a couple of ringers. Apparently, he’d found a pair of Swede racers who had just crewed for an America’s Cup team in Bermuda the previous year. Nancy groaned when Pete told her the news.
Her team had to work like a Swiss clock. Every tack had to be fast and clean. Every sail flawlessly trimmed. And the wind had to be on her side. Everyone and everything had to be perfect. It was a tall order for a small group of women in their late fifties. Even if they were faultless, Nancy knew it might not be enough to keep up with the younger and stronger men. She would need a daring plan if the Mermaids were going to pull this off. They couldn’t outmuscle the men, but they could outthink them.
The Gypsea returned to port with a happy crew singing the words to “A Pirate Looks at Forty” while Jerome whistled along.
“Yes, I am a pirate …” Lois crooned. Judy and Nancy joined in the next line, singing with a fervor usually acquired only after a few rounds at the bar. Today, sailing was all the shots they needed.
Ruthie looked over at Jerome, gave him a wink, and said, “Impressive, kid.”
“Aye, you had it in you all along,” he replied.
They tied up to the dock, and Jerome turned to the crew of the Gypsea. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, where we will deal with the dreaded spinnaker. Until then, ye mermaids.”
The physical nature of pulling lines, cranking on winches, and unleashing jib sails made even the sturdiest of them, Lois, moan as she stretched her hamstrings. “Damn. The only thing that’s going to sooth this weary body is a hot tub and a margarita.”
Beware the Mermaids Page 22
