by Elyse Riggs
Fi and I squeal in delight. “That’s the venue that has the little huts over the beach, right? Oh, I’ve always wanted to stay in one of those huts over the beach.”
Kaylee nods. “Damn right. That’s the one.”
I grab a chip. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to your wedding, Kaylee. In fact, let me know if you need anything. I'm getting sick of my own personal drama lately and I'd love to join you in your happy drama."
Kaylee smiles, very much aware that she's known for drama. "Speaking of which, girl, how did your meet and greet go? Did you confront Jake? What did he have to say for himself for showing up unannounced after leaving you high and dry?"
Oh boy. That’s a lot of questions. "About that. He kind of has an excuse."
Fi shakes her head and gives me a sympathetic look. "Not possible. I’ll bet he just made something up and that not a damn thing he says five years later is true. He's just playing you. Don't fall for it."
"I hear you, Fi. And a few days ago, I would have whole heartedly agreed. Except it's not a lie."
Kaylee gives me side eye. "How can you be sure?"
I sigh. "He told me a story about Sherriff Baker and my daddy and a shotgun."
"Uh-oh," Kaylee says, her expression changing from absolutely sure-of-herself to concerned.
"Yep. That’s what I’m saying. It all rings true. He did try to say goodbye. Instead, daddy ran him out of town with a shotgun and an ultimatum. Give up your pro career, get the hell on the plane already, or say hello to my little shotgun."
"Andy did that?" Fi asks. She loves my dad. He’s a sweetheart to me and my friends. The guys I used to bring home. Not so much.
Fi looks surprised my daddy would pull a stunt like that, but she doesn’t know him like I do. "I gotta tell you, Angie. Your dad was pretty damn slick back in the day. You think he really did that? What'd he tell you?"
"He told me he’d be gone fishing all day. He never said a damn word about it either. I moped around for six solid weeks before college started, and he never bothered to clue me in. Not then, not ever."
Kaylee slurps her punch. "Oh Angie, I'm so sorry. Mostly because it makes that jerk, Jake, right about something. Well, what did he have to say for himself about coming back like this?"
"We never got that far," I answer as I zone out and watch all the customers scattered around the bar wearing their pirate gear.
Normally, I’d be enjoying the atmosphere more than I am tonight. It's going to be a hell of a pirate season this year. Usually we're further into the affair before people are at this level of participation.
Then I remember the Pirate Ball and lean forward. "Fuck, you guys. I told Jake I was going to the ball."
Fi spits out her drink. "You're going to the ball and you didn’t tell us? Why would you do that? We haven’t gone to the ball in years. It's a total make out session in ball gowns and pirate outfits. Hey, wait, that kind of does sound hot now that you mention it. I guess we all just got busy with our lives."
"I didn't say I was going to the ball, I said I told Jake I was going. And that I had a date. So now I have to go. And also, I have to find some man candy to have on my arm to rival whatever stupid underwear model he ropes into going with him."
Kaylee raises an eyebrow at me.
"Fine, I did keep up with him. Enough to know that he's only interested in me because he's bored. And injured. And starved for attention in his hometown. Scratch that last part, it’s not true. Everybody else in this town is busy kissing his ass except for me.
"Oh, what about Brad?" Fi asks. "I think I still have his number. Maybe he can take you to the ball."
"No, he's from way back. Jake will remember him and know he’s a last-minute pity date. I need a new guy; somebody he doesn't know."
We all sit in silence. Then Kaylee finds something on her phone. "Hey, what about this guy? He's really hot. And you only have to pay him by the hour."
I sigh. "Kaylee, I didn't mean an actual man-whore. If that's what I wanted, I'd have said yes to Jake."
That brings the three of us into a sand-stomping, tears streaming down our faces, howling fit of laughter that takes a full ten minutes to die down and leaves me oddly feeling a little bit better about the whole situation.
Kaylee takes her napkin and wipes the tears from her cheeks with it before moving a stray hair from her face. "I didn't mean by the hour that way, obviously. Look, this is a dating service. You make an appearance at the ball with this well-dressed hot guy and show Jake you have a real date. Hang around for the free wine and snacks for a while, and then you're out of there."
"That could work, let me see." I take Kaylee's phone and look at the guy she has up on the screen. Apparently, his name is Tristan. Of course it is. Even though I'm guessing that's not his real name, which is just as well.
He has green eyes and thick, wavy dark hair. Not bad at all. I swipe through to the other dozen or so pictures of available guys. Luckily, dark wavy hair is available for the night of the ball. "Okay, Kaylee, will you send me that link?"
Chapter 16
Angie
I grab a wrap after work and head down to the dirt lot behind the old Malachai Herdstrom house. It’s time to decorate our Pirate Festival parade float.
We’ve never actually won the parade float decorating contest, but that doesn’t dampen the fun. Plus, I’m fully decked out in my best pirate garb today. Eye patch, check. Black skull and crossbones shirt, check. Red bandana? Check. I’m ready. Yo ho ho and a bunch of rum and all that sort of thing.
Pulling into the dirt parking lot, I walk over to the gate. Everybody works on the parade floats inside of a secure gated parking lot. The Quartermasters have keys because there are always last-minute things to get done, especially toward the end.
But some early evenings leading up to the parade are open for everybody. Well, almost everybody. There’s a guard, of course.
“Special Pirate Angie Houtz, reporting for parade float duty.”
The guard is a skinny guy in his late teens. He has curly hair and glasses. He’s holding a clipboard, but judging by his gaze, he’s mostly concerned with the monkey perched on his shoulder.
“Stop it, Shark. That hurts.”
The monkey’s hopping slightly from side to side.
The guard turns back to me. “Team?”
“Port Royal,” I answer.
Shark screeches at me, shaking his fist. I take a couple of steps back. “That monkey hates me. You keep that monster away from me or we’re going to have a problem.”
The guard sighs and looks resigned to his fate until the end of his shift. “The monkey hates everybody, lady. Don’t take it personal. Okay, Angie. Port Royal. Got it, go on in. You guys are in orange twelve holding area” he says putting a check mark on the clipboard and taking a few steps back so that I can cut a wide angle around, avoiding the shrieking monkey.
The complex is made up of a medium-sized dirt parking lot next to a much larger but also gated dirt lot. There’s an aluminum, open air roof over it, and a perimeter gate covered in plastic to generally protect whatever is inside from the elements.
The setup works well for decorating dozens of parade floats on flatbed trucks. I have no idea what it’s used for the rest of the year.
Orange twelve. As soon as I get in there are cardboard signs with the layout posted everywhere. I stare at one of the signs, unsure of why they don’t just use the same layout from year to year. It’s not like the inside of the giant warehouse changes. No matter, orange twelve is easy to find.
Once I get over to our brand-new blank canvas flatbed, I see Fi and Kaylee got here first. Again. I grin. “Am I the only one of us who ever works anymore?”
Kaylee throws a wadded-up piece of paper at me. “Funny. Some of us can be on time to things.”
“Yeah, that’s never been my style, has it.”
Fi laughs. “Like the time you were late to toilet paper Mrs. Harris’ house that one night and almost got arres
ted?”
“Well, that, sure,” I admit, “but also that time I was fashionably late to Jimmy Wilson’s party after they let the snake loose. Sometimes being late can be a good thing.” I look around. “Are we it for tonight? Nobody else wants to plan the Port Royal float?”
“I think we’re it, girl. And we’re enough,” Fi says, showing me a drawing from a notebook she has in her hand. “What do you think?”
“Wow, Fi. You really think we can pull that off?”
“According to the plans I found, this will be even easier than last year’s version.”
“No kidding.” The drawing is beautiful, of course. Fi has gorgeous handwriting and a knack for drawing. The parade float sketched out on paper looks both simple and gorgeous.
A cross between Pirates of the Caribbean and National Geographic. There’s the traditional wood boat frame and then a colorful paper mache coral reef with a shark and a jellyfish.
“Wow. The color contrast is going to be fantastic.”
“Right?” Kaylee asks. “And I’m going to make some candy-coated chocolate that’s resistant to melting and put them into little doubloon bags. We can throw them from the float.
I join Fi and Kaylee who are sitting down on upside down five-gallon buckets that are scattered around the expansive dirt floor. “Sweet. Literally. Chocolate and colors? We’re going to be the most popular parade float for sure.”
“Okay, let’s go get the stuff.” Each team in the Pirate Festival has a budget for things that they get to use from the adjoining warehouse. Wire mesh, paper mache, synthetic flowers, wooden planks, all kind of materials that the parade floats might use.
There’s also a small budget for extra, unique items that might come up. But the warehouse has everything we need and then some to get started on Fi’s plan tonight.
As we walk through the crowded warehouse with the high aluminum ceiling, I look around for Jake, like he is going to jump out at me from behind a dark corner. Then I tell myself to stop it. Get it together, Angie.
The giant room is noisy, with ongoing conversation bouncing off the walls and the ceiling, and Kaylee overhears me cursing at myself.
“Everything okay, Angie?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Don’t mind me, I’m just kicking myself for wondering where that jerk Jake is and what he’s up to right now. “I guess I’m just not used to having to worry about Jake being everywhere. He’s like the fucking boogeyman. I’m going to start having to check my closet before I go to sleep.”
Kaylee laughs out loud. “Oh hey, speaking of trying to move on with Jake continuing to pop up everywhere, were you able to book that guy for the ball on Friday?”
“Oh yeah, Tristan. Thanks for that. Should work out fine.”
“Any time.”
We get to the storage area. It’s lined seven feet high with shelves of supplies. If we need anything from the top shelf, one of us will have to stand on a bucket. Fi reads the list of things we need, and Kaylee and I get busy collecting them.
“What’s new with the wedding stuff?” I ask. “What exactly does the girl with the perfect Maldives Wedding plan have to do to prepare?”
“Lots,” she grins. “Speaking of, I’m going to need you two soon. Wedding dress magazines.”
Fi screams. “Wedding dress magazines!”
“Yes,” she says. “My place. Drinks. Take-out food. A romantic comedy on the television. Dozens of magazines. Circle the good ones, cross out the bad ones, and we’ll vote on the top ten.”
“Sounds like the best girls’ night ever, but it’s going to have to be a vote to find the top twenty dresses,” I correct.
Kaylee frowns. “You think we really need twenty?”
Fi jumps in. “Yes, girl. You look good in everything. We’re going to need twenty dresses. Minimum.”
“Okay,” Kaylee answers.
“Alright, Fi. What’s next?”
We’re already building a sizable pile of supplies. We’ll probably need a hand cart to get them over to our float. So I volunteer to go get one.
I walk out of the storage area to the main warehouse.
Normally, hand trucks are picked up and dropped off wherever. There’s no rhyme or reason to it as long as they aren’t taken off property.
Before I see a free hand truck, I see a girl volunteer pirate who I’m not familiar with. She has a nametag that says Lila and a shirt that says ask me.
That gives me an idea. So I ask her. “Hi, Lila. I’m lost. Can you point me back to the Tortuga area?”
She nods and pulls the phone out of her back pocket. Then she taps up the information. “Okay, Tortuga is in area black, thirteen.” She points across the room and to the right.
“Thanks, Lila. You’re a lifesaver.” Damn. According to the map I saw posted earlier, black thirteen is the best spot. It’s in a prime spot in the corner. Figures.
Lila smiles at me and then cocks her head to the side.
“What?” I ask.
“Aren’t you going to go to black thirteen, it’s over there?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Just grabbing a few supplies first. Thanks for the help.”
I re-enter the supply area.
“Um, did you forget something?” Fi asks.
“Huh?”
Kaylee squints at me. “You know, the hand truck? The one you went to find?”
“Oh yeah, listen guys. I figured out where Tortuga’s float is. Black thirteen.”
“Of course,” Fi deadpans, “because you think Jake’s going to help us carry the supplies?”
“No, so we can sabotage his float.”
“Okay,” Kaylee says, “that makes a lot more sense. For a minute there, I thought you were actually looking for him or something.”
“Are you insane?”
Kaylee holds up her hands. “Hey, I just admitted sabotage makes a lot more sense. And it’s a lot more pirate-y too.”
Fi smiles broadly. “Black thirteen you say? Damn, that’s a very good location.”
“I know, right? Stupid Jake gets all of the cool things. He deserves a little sabotage. And tonight is perfect because it’s the first night and there’s barely anybody here.”
So the three of us leave our stacked-up supplies in the warehouse and venture out onto the main floor to find black thirteen. It’s in the corner, and Jake’s not there. Nobody is. The perfect crime.
We poke around, but they haven’t started yet, so there’s not much to sabotage.
“Oh, I know,” Fi pulls a small bottle of perfume out of her purse. “I’ll stuff this tiny glass bottle into their flat bed. There. You can hardly see it. They’ll be walking around placing things and boom. An anti-stink bomb. They’ll smell fabulous. That’ll show them.”
I stare at her for a moment.
She shrugs. “Hey, it’s all I’ve got.”
“Then it works for me,” I say with a grin.
The rest of the night goes well. We get our supplies and start the building process. And the best part is there was no sign of Jake.
Chapter 17
Jake
In the end I decide to go to the Pirate Festival Ball with Emma, the doctor's office receptionist who wrote her name on the back of the business card.
She answers on the first ring. I'm pretty sure I hear her squeal on the other end of the line before she says yes.
Sure, I'd rather have gone with Angie, but she's so damn stubborn. I'm not sure if it makes me love her more or if I want to punch her in the arm. Probably both.
Either way, I pull up to the beautiful Cairn Event Center and hand the keys to my black Escalade to the valet, who's face brightens when he sees me.
"Jake Mann!" He takes my keys and holds up his hand hoping for a fist bump.
"Thanks, man," I tell him as I fist bump him back. It's corny as hell, but I get it. I was as starry eyed as can be when I first went into the league. Hell, I was star struck by the upperclassmen at my college who were on their way into the league.
I didn't know for sure that I would follow in their footsteps, but I always hoped. I'm happy to pay things forward any way I can.
Then I hold out my arm for Emma and we go inside. The Cairn Center is a beautiful ocean-front, pre-colonial historic mansion.
It belonged to Malachai Herdstrom, one of the founders of St. Tropic. The Pirate Festival began just before he was born and he spent his life obsessed by pirates. As he grew up the festival waned in interest and community involvement.
When old Malachai hit it rich, in ways that have never fully been revealed to the public, he vowed to make the Pirate Festival a St. Tropic cultural centerpiece. And he did.
After he passed, he left a lot of the festival mainstays and the cottage mansion to the city on the condition that they be used every single year for the festival without fail, or they would immediately revert back to the squabbling heirs and grandkids who were for now busy fighting each other for a supposedly buried treasure.
And there’s no way in hell the mayor of St. Tropic is ever going to let that happen.
And just in case one thought there was ever a dull moment in St. Tropic, the new owner of the mansion is technically Malachai's pet monkey, Shark. Yes, the Pirate Festival Ball will be hosted by a monkey in a suit.
Emma and I cross the wooden porch decorated to look like a plank that leads to the entrance doors so that we can be officially announced into the Ball, one of the premier events of the year.
Inside, everything is decorated for the occasion with mini cannons on every table, pirate hooks and hats and doubloons stacked on every surface and hanging from the ceiling. As far as balls go, at least this one is not stuffy.
As I look around, everything is as I remember. The rum is tasty and plentiful, the snacks are top notch, and the glass doors in the back of the room are thrown open to the gigantic back porch that overlooks the sea.
Emma stops as we pass a table that has doubloon party favors stacked up on it. "Aw, these are adorable," she says, picking one up.
"Uh-oh, look out, Emma, it's Shark!" I tell her.
