Beware the Mermaids

by Carrie Talick

  “This might all be over.”

  Santiago reached for her hand, held it in his, and then kissed it. “That’s what the caterpillar thought—”

  “—just before she became a butterfly.” She finished the famous line and smiled.

  Nancy looked into his eyes then, and the glint that she had always taken for friendliness shone in a different way. There was something behind it, something like a promise.

  She reached for him but ended up losing her footing on a loose dock board. She almost tumbled when he reached for her so she wouldn’t fall. They gripped each other tightly for a second, and then the grip loosened to a touch that brought them nose to nose.

  As Santiago held her, the stars seemed to brighten just for them. That same warm wind drew them together. The closer he came, the more she could feel the warmth of his body next to hers. The scent of his Old Spice aftershave mixed with the salty air. He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and brought his soft lips to hers. His kiss was slow and intense. She surrendered to the joy of it, and it made her feel light-headed. She caressed his cheek and felt the roughness of his beard under her fingertips.

  Later that night, Nancy Hadley realized she hadn’t been kissed by a man in the way Santiago had kissed her in decades. Roger’s rough, lipless pecks could barely be considered contact, let alone kisses. But this kiss, it left her giddy, warm, shaken. How she had missed indulging in this simplest and most luxurious of pleasures. But perhaps it wasn’t the kiss but the man behind it. What a fool she had been for depriving herself of kisses and everything else that came with a man like him.

  Santiago had shared a kiss and a secret with her.

  As she had watched him stroll down the dock, hands in his pockets, she’d heard him whistling a slow, melancholy tune that reminded her of a siren song, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ANCHORS AWEIGH

  The early-morning sun had started to warm the decks of the Gypsea as Nancy readied the lines and stowed the sail covers. Suzanne supervised from the upper deck while giving herself a bath.

  “Ahoy!” Pete Ellis called from the dock below.

  Nancy had asked him to watch Suzanne while she was gone for the race, and he had happily obliged. She looked down and saw that he had a large bag of cat food in one arm and about a dozen cat toys dangling in his other hand.

  “You think she’ll like these?” Pete held up a handful of bright-pink mice-shaped toys.

  “Pink is her favorite color.” Nancy grabbed Suzanne off the upper deck and gently put her in her carrying case. She handed it over to Pete, who took it gently. “Thank you so much for looking out for her.”

  “I can’t wait. It’s been a while since I’ve had a copilot on my boat.”

  “She has her moments. The pelican might follow you. They’ve become fast friends.”

  Pete chuckled.

  One by one, the girls showed up, bright-eyed and chatty, ready for the lazy sail down to Newport in time for the skippers’ reception at four PM.

  Ruthie, her auburn hair curled and perfect, was clad in bright-peach capri pants with little starfish all over them. She sashayed down the dock as her eyes came to rest on Pete.

  Pete stood there with the cat case, a bag of cat food, and pink cat toys. He smiled in slight chagrin when he saw her. “Hi, Ruthie,” he said softly.

  Ruthie walked over without a moment of hesitation and drew him into an embrace. She kissed him and hugged him tightly again before letting him go. Pete couldn’t quite return the hug with everything he was carrying, but he whispered, “I’ve missed you. What happened?”

  Ruthie stood back and looked at him. Nancy thought she saw tears well up in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

  “I thought I did something wrong.”

  “Never. You’re my kind of cowboy. I will explain later.”

  “I’m just glad to grab you again, hot stuff.”

  Ruthie returned his hug and then whispered, “I’m all yours. As soon as we get back.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Pete said as he cleared his throat and carefully carried Suzanne over to his boat.

  “Thanks again,” Nancy said to Pete. “We should be back on Tuesday.”

  Ruthie climbed aboard and gave her friend the reassuring hug she needed, a sign that all was okay between them after Nancy’s emotional call the previous night. Lois followed with provisions from Boccato’s Deli, including sandwiches and pasta salad. Judy fixed her sailing scarf and carried aboard the ice, wine, and water. Nancy had given the girls strict orders to pack as lightly as possible, and that included no heavy wine bottles.

  Lois held up two canvas bags with nozzles at the end. “Gifts from Chris! Canvas wineskins! Super light! Each filled with an entire bottle of Chardonnay. He bought them on Amazon.”

  “Brilliant,” Judy said, making a mental note that she eventually had to buy something on Amazon.

  “I deem those acceptable,” Nancy said with a wink.

  “I deem those necessary,” Ruthie added.

  The sail from King Harbor to Newport Harbor was going to be a leisurely, all-day sail down the coastline. The weather was on their side, warm and sunny, with a gentle, steady wind that would carry them effortlessly all the way to Newport.

  “I made a Jimmy Buffett playlist on Spotify,” Ruthie said. She connected her phone to the stereo, and soon the famous barefoot songwriter was singing “Tin Cup Chalice” through the speakers. Nancy heard a familiar pop of a cork as she turned and saw Lois, who was sipping the bubbles from a newly opened bottle of champagne.

  “Just a mini celebration,” Lois said, returning Nancy’s approving gaze.

  Judy was ready with the plastic glasses. Lois poured, Ruthie cast off the lines from the dock, and they were off to the opulent harbors of Newport Marina.

  Nancy noticed the difference in the Gypsea’s speed almost instantly. Without the heavier items on the boat and with her new sails, she moved much easier. She seemed to glide over the water instead of pushing through it. The balmy wind was blowing a steady twelve knots and the Gypsea was traveling at over seven, whereas typically she’d be doing only about five and a half. A noticeable improvement. The Bucephalus ran roughly seven and a half knots in this wind. The Gypsea might still be a tad slower than Bucephalus, but close enough. Nancy’s technical skills could make up the difference.

  What worried Nancy was what she didn’t know. Roger had dominated this race for the last four years. He knew the way down the coast to Mexico, whereas she did not. While Nancy had always raced with him locally, she had never accompanied him on Bucephalus during the Border Dash. It was his last bastion of camaraderie with his male friends, and she’d let him have it.

  Of course, thinking back now and considering all of his recent indecent behavior, it cast a pall over his happy stories of sailing glory. He had probably been hoisting up the skirts of half the cougars in Ensenada.

  As Nancy quizzed the girls on all the necessary safety precautions and what to do in case of any conceivable emergency, she was impressed by their collective knowledge.

  “A crewmate goes overboard. What do we do?” Nancy asked.

  “Keep an eye on the man overboard at all times,” Lois said.

  “Throw the life preserver to the man overboard,” Judy added.

  “Bring down the sails, initiate the figure-eight maneuver to retrieve man overboard,” Ruthie said, then looked heavenward. “And Sky Chief, if you’re listening and I have any credit left with you, please don’t let that be me.”

  “Well done, crew. We may not be swarthy or weather-beaten, but we are well prepared, and we smell much better.”

  “Aye, aye!” they cheered in unison.

  They had marine-grade duct tape in case of a sail tear, an old-school nautical map in case the navigation system failed, emergency backup batteries for the walkie-talkies. And in the case of any other disaster, she reckoned they’d have to rely on their wits. Or
the Coast Guard, God forbid.

  For a large part of the day, the Gypsea stuck close to the coast as they sailed southward. They were accompanied by several dozen dolphins who raced under the bow of the boat. Seals poked their heads up as they passed by, heading toward fishing grounds, and pelicans flew like an armada overhead in search of lunch. When they came upon Surf City USA., also known as Huntington Beach, with its unmistakable pier, they knew they were closing in on Newport Harbor.

  They were assigned to dock slip 143, a smaller part of the marina tucked behind the ostentatious yachts owned by ex-presidents, NFL stars, and the enterprising man who had invented Simple Green. The massive yachts dwarfed the humble Gypsea, and some even cast a shadow over their entire boat. They reached their assigned slip without a problem, plugged into shore power, and began to clean themselves up. The skippers’ reception started in an hour. They had recently learned they were the only all-female crew to race in the Border Dash.

  People had been talking.

  The Mermaids had to represent.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR

  Roger climbed on board Bucephalus armed with some last-minute provisions (bourbon, Fritos, cigars) just in time to see Claire showing off her cleavage and flirting with the young blond Swedes he’d hired as ringers. Magnus was smiling with his perfect Swedish teeth and flexing his tanned biceps for Claire while purportedly readying the lines. Linus was checking the winches, which presented the perfect opportunity for his crotch to be directly at Claire’s eye level.

  “So, how do you say warm welcome in Swedish?” Claire asked in a girlish voice as she fixed her cleavage and ogled the young studs.

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re picking that up,” Roger said as he hoisted the bag of goodies onto the boat.

  “Oh, Rog, there you are! Did you know Magnus and Linus are both from Gothenburg?”

  Roger didn’t know, nor did he care where the Swedish meatballs came from. Nor did he care that Claire was obviously hitting on them. What he did care about was how fast they could sail Bucephalus so as to ensure a win against Nancy and her merry band of silly hens. He’d heard about the Swedes from his billionaire New Zealand investor, who had watched the pair compete in the America’s Cup in Bermuda the previous year. They spoke very little English, but they were strong as oxen and understood racing terminology. That was good enough.

  Claire came up to Roger and put a hand on his shoulder. “I just came to wish you bon voyage, tiger.” She bit his earlobe, and Roger winced. “Good job, by the way. You’re more ruthless than I thought.”

  Roger gave her his shark grin. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

  “Indeed. I’ll meet you down at the skippers’ reception. Can’t wait for the fireworks.” She leaned in for a kiss.

  Roger grabbed her ass cheek and gave it a healthy squeeze, making sure the Swedes saw. The strapping towheads merely laughed and busied themselves with their deck chores.

  He was the captain of this boat. And now everyone knew it.

  * * *

  From across the marina, Faye Woodhall waited on the dock for her driver and observed Roger Hadley crassly grab the buttocks of Claire Sanford, a backside she had had the misfortune of observing in all its naked glory. Good god, the man had no class. And curiously, no scruples either, as she had just learned from her last phone call. She was shocked to discover that the BURP, the very project that would spell certain ruin for the King Harbor Marina, was being piloted by the same man who was captaining the Bucephalus, none other than Roger Hadley himself. Curious, she thought, that he could hide his diabolical nature so well, for so long. It reminded her of her father, who had single-handedly destroyed their family, their legacy, and their reputation, to the point where she and her now-dead husband had needed to abscond to Southern California. An unforgivable chapter in her story. But Faye Woodhall had paid attention to the hard lessons of the past. Unlike love or loyalty, she knew greed had no boundaries.

  She tapped her cell phone with her perfectly manicured nails as she pondered and watched Bucephalus set sail with two strapping blonds manning the lines and Roger at the helm. She surmised that Roger had gotten away with a lot of dirty exploits over the years, including his depraved debauchery with that low-class hussy, Claire Sanford, without punishment, or repercussions, or pain.

  Perhaps he was due.

  Faye dialed a number on her phone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  THE SKIPPERS’ RECEPTION

  When the Mermaids arrived at the Corinthian Yacht Club for the skippers’ reception, it was already a bustling hive of activity. The Border Dash had clearly gone all out this year, bringing in several ice sculptures in the forms of anchors, mermaids, and starfish. There was also a chocolate fountain and a full mariachi band to keep the crowd of roughly three hundred people entertained.

  The main hall had crystal chandeliers hanging elegantly over marbled flooring, a huge buffet table with every type of seafood imaginable, and a prime rib table that flanked an entire wall. Large floor-to-ceiling glass windows looked down over the grounds, where sailing flags from all over the world were strung above the sprawling lawn that led down to the docks. Twinkle lights gave the scene a warm glow.

  Nancy had her silvery blond hair pinned up and was wearing a classic navy silk shift dress with a low-cut back. In contrast, Ruthie’s auburn hair was blown out like a lion’s mane, and she wore a deep-purple A-line that showed off her shapely legs. Judy was wearing a conservative houndstooth jumper with two slips (just in case), and Lois wore white jeans with a bright-yellow linen top, her gold earrings glimmering from beneath her soft-permed blond locks. They hit the doors like an aging version of Charlie’s Angels.

  Nancy scanned the crowd to see if she could spot Roger so as to avoid him, with no luck. The last thing she needed was a surprise attack by him and his bimbo. She did, however, see Faye Woodhall, who was dressed handsomely in a black linen pantsuit, her hair up in a silver turban. She was looking over the raucous crowd like a disappointed queen who could no longer control her kingdom.

  “I’m starved. Should I get the prime rib or some scallops?” Judy wondered.

  “I’ll help you decide. Go by the starfish sculpture. I saw champagne,” Lois said.

  “What a bunch of codgers.” Ruthie looked over the room. Some of the older men had channeled Thurston Howell III as inspiration for their outfits that evening. The room was marked by navy-blue blazers and white patent-leather shoes.

  She looked over at Nancy and saw her stressed expression. “A room with this many ascots cannot possibly make you nervous.”

  “No, not by ascots. Just by assholes.”

  “We need drinks,” Ruthie mumbled, as she flagged down a server with a tray of martinis.

  That’s when Nancy saw Claire Sanford. Her dress was shiny, with silver petals pointing downward. Upon first glance, her unfortunate choice of dress gave the impression of fish scales, not helped by the fact that she stood near the smoked-salmon appetizer. Claire sauntered toward Nancy. Nancy felt herself become rigid.

  “Well hello, Nancy,” Claire said coolly. “Roger told me you were going through with this ridiculous wager anyway. Seriously, why waste the energy?”

  Ruthie appeared with two cocktails and instantly said to Claire, “Tell your story walking, harpy.”

  Claire looked Ruthie up and down disdainfully and said, “Oh my, I’ve never seen a dress that purple. It’s like coffin purple.”

  “Yeah, well, your ass has never seen a foot like mine, so move on.”

  Claire’s jaw dropped.

  Nancy snorted midsip with laughter.

  Ruthie took a sip of her drink through the tiny straw, eyebrows raised, still staring at Claire, who finally slunk off to the other side of the room.

  “What would I do without you, Ruthie?” Nancy said rhetorically.

  Nancy scanned the room and saw something that made her stomach flip. Roger had entered the room with Glenda Hibb
ert on his arm. Her Glenda Hibbert. Her eco-warrior buddy from college. Nancy stood agape, trying to make sense of it.

  Roger then let go of Glenda’s arm, and she looked back at him with a gracious smile as she walked away to greet another set of people. He caught Nancy’s eye and smiled triumphantly. He actually bowed. The bastard.

  Ruthie, however, was still observing Claire, who was slinking around the room like a hungry cat. She had stopped to chat with a man who looked to be 110 years old. Ruthie shook her head in disgust. “Look at her. She’ll chat up anyone who can still fog up a mirror.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Nancy walked through the crowd to where Roger was, and then she motioned for him to meet her on the deck outside. He followed, a gin martini in hand. They met on the lush lawn and stood near a beautifully maintained boccie ball court that was set up for play. Nancy picked up one of the boccie balls, considered its heft, and then toyed with it as she figured out what she wanted to say.

  Roger spoke first. “Well, well, if it isn’t my competition. Hope you’re up for it. The weather is supposed to turn.”

  “Did you come here with Glenda Hibbert?”

  “No,” Roger answered. “She and I just have a business deal, that’s all.”

  Nancy squinted at him. “You cannot possibly mean that Glenda Hibbert is voting in favor of your BURP project?”

  A low, rumbling chuckle bubbled out of Roger as he put a hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “So you did work it out! The Bayside Urban Renovation Project is yours truly’s. It is my biggest achievement to date.”

  “But that plan is a disaster. It’ll ruin the beach community as we know it and turn it into a pretentious mall. A mall that could exist anywhere. It might as well be in Milwaukee.”

  “Oh, don’t be so naïve. Someone needed to renovate that garbage heap we call a pier. You should be thanking me.”