ALEC: An Action & Adventure Fantasy Novel (Alexander Trilogy)

by Stan I. S. Law

  Now he learned that his Sandra was sharing some other pod with others of her kind. This wasn’t fair. He had a right to keep her.

  “She is mine!” he almost shouted. “Mine and mine alone!”

  But at the same time he knew in his heart of hearts that no one ever owns a Princess. It was the Princess who owned him. Entirely. Lock, stock and barrel.

  ***

  The Baldwins were back on board that same evening. With Alec being OK they could afford an extra day or two. And this time they really would go to Nassau. The first outing was a try out. Not just how well Alex and Alicia could crew—Don could handle the boat alone—but if they would stand each other for a whole week.

  Life on board is different. At home, if you don’t like somebody’s company, you just leave. Here it would be a very wet experience. And, of late, sharks have been reported not just in Florida, but also in the vicinity of the Leeward Islands. Well, around Puerto Rico, some thousand miles away, anyway.

  Still, neither Alicia nor Alex felt like walking the plank, here or anywhere.

  At first light, they were already on their way. Once in the open sea, Alex took over the wheel. Way back when, he’d had plenty of practice. Now he made up in chutzpa for the dwindling experience. Although even the last day’s he’d already spent at sea restored a lot of his previous confidence.

  Don trusted him to take good care of the boat. Last night, when the Baldwins returned to Singer Island to call Alec and collect some more of their stuff, he had been invited to a party in Palm Beach, which lasted till early hours. Now he went below for a quiet nap.

  Alicia looked at Alex at the wheel.

  He hasn’t change a bit, she thought. He looks just like the man I fell in love with some fifteen years ago, she thought. Perhaps a little heavier, with grey just touching his temples, but that made him look more distinguished. She liked that.

  Also, the first few days in Singer Island, and then the wind and the sun on board the Catalina, had already turned his skin to dark bronze. If his hair were to be just a tad darker, he’d make a splendid Latin lover. Or French?

  No matter, he was all the lover she’d ever need. He always was. Is.

  Don emerged from the quarter berth rubbing his eyes.

  “Are we there yet?”

  He didn’t specify where ‘there’ was.

  “Naah, we’re well past it,” Alex replied in kind.

  The Catalina, beamy as she was, healed considerably when beating into the easterlies. It gave the impression of great speed, possibly around 7 knots, but is felt like 12.

  Don sat next to Alicia.

  “How’s he doing, young lady,” he asked. Don may have been ten years older than she was.

  “He rammed a few broadsides, but apart of that, he fired only the two rounds,” she replied with straight face.

  “Which reminds me,” Alex joined the nonsense talk, “where do you keep all your artillery?” After earlier assurances, he expected at least a dozen firearms to be stashed on board.

  “Artillery? Ah, yes. You believed my story, I see. Most Americans do, but I thought you were a Canadian?”

  “Yes, but you are not.”

  “I stand corrected,” Don said, stretching on the side bench. “Well, to be quite honest, I have some firearms. That’s mostly why I keep away from Texas. Too many of them out there. But on board…” he left that hanging.

  Don seemed to look slightly embarrassed.

  “Back home,” he resumed, “if you don’t tell people about your firepower, they think of you as half-a-man. It’s as if you had no,” he stole a quick glance at Alicia, “as if you had no cojones,” he finished in a loud whisper.

  Alex spoke some Spanish. Tener cojones meant the same in almost any language. And they spoke a lot of Spanish in Texas—mostly with illegal immigrants.

  “You don’t carry protection even in the open sea?”

  Don rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He then looked Alex in the eye. “Did you ever have a SOS distress flare fired into your stomach?”

  Alex was beginning to put two and two together.

  “I guess it would be quite a hot experience?”

  “You’ve got it my friend. I don’t need anything else. And we’ve got two of them. You can reload one as you fire the other… never had to use either,” he added, with just a trace of ruefulness.

  It was a superb run, with the easterlies filling the sails set mostly in broad reach, easily clearing 7 knots. By late afternoon they left the Little Bahama Bank on their port side, and with the dying rays of the setting sun, they dropped anchor in the lee of Grand Bahama Island, south of Freeport. They were careful to avoid frequent shoals that pepper the ocean all the way to Turks and Caicos Islands. After all, the Commonwealth of the Bahamas consisted of more than 700 islands, cays and islets scattered over a vast area.

  It was clear from Alicia’s facial expression that she had absolutely no intention of sailing during the night. After all, this was her first outing into the open waters of the Atlantic. Alex’s seconded the motion, which allowed him to take a swim.

  Being a retiring macho, Alex had to dive in, of course. Alex wouldn’t dream of entering the water from the steps at the stern of the boat. That would be much too easy. He was determined to dive from the side. Don, a Texan gentleman that he was, reached over Alicia who was taking in the last rays of the sun on the port side seat, and undid the lifeline to allow Alex a free and easy passage for his dive.

  Alex thanked him, stepped over Alicia’s legs and dove head first into the crystal clear waters. As he’d obviously climb on board through the stern steps, Don, once again a gentleman, reached over Alicia to reattach the lifeline.

  And that’s when it happened.

  Alex’s dive splashed water on the edge of the seat on which Don placed his hand to reattach the lifeline. His hand slipped and landed on the upper portion of Alicia’s naked thigh. If that weren’t enough, in an attempt to restore his balance, and as the fickle finger of fate, or in this case the whole fickle palm, would have it, his other hand grabbed her right boob. Quite unwittingly her thigh jerked upward unbalancing poor Don who, just as unwittingly, followed Alex into the drink.

  There was a momentary confusion when Alicia realized that she was alone on board. Forgetting that the anchor was down, she gasped, screamed, wailed and, in an attempt to be as close to Alex as soon as she possibly could, rather than being left alone on board she followed both men into the water.

  A very refreshing interlude, they all agreed.

  Back on board, Don treated them to superb single malt that tasted older than Alex was himself. In fact, such as Alex hadn’t tasted since he was toasted at his fiftieth birthday at the Beaver Club in Montreal. They leaned back, reminiscing, with the stars twinkling above them and in Alicia’s eyes.

  There was peace in the air.

  Alex had to smile. It seemed to him that after a single day Alicia was sold on sailing. Her reservations evaporated into the clear sea air. Finally she looked totally relaxed, as though christened by the beneficial if unpremeditated swim. Whatever the dive did to her, she looked even younger than she did that very morning.

  Later Alex examined the flare guns, just in case he’d have to use them. Unbeknownst to Alex, American Coast Guard and other local authorities usually require that boater carry at least three signal flares. Don carried two-dozen that he could fire from two flare guns. After all, he often sailed solo, and might have been in need of help from afar. Don didn’t like firearms, but he was not foolhardy either.

  “A flare gun can save your life at sea,” he murmured, almost as if embarrassed for taking such precautions.

  They’d spent the next five days on open seas, without firing a single shot. The pirates must have retired and were tucked away on some desert island living off their old age pension. It didn’t really matter. At each anchorage around the Bahamas Alex dove overboard, flexing his muscles on return. Don was careful to leave the lifelines alone. In fact, while Alex swa
m, Don preferred to concentrate on Alicia, checking first if her surrounding were perfectly dry. He did so with such charm that Alicia didn’t seem to mind at all.

  Nor did Alex—while swimming.

  8

  Home Again

  He slept until ten. Actually, the last hour or so he wasn’t asleep, but stayed in bed trying to work out yesterday’s discussion with Sandra. After careful negotiations with his ego, he decided that what Sandra did when she was not with him was her business. After all, when he went to school, or anywhere, he didn’t ask Sandra for her permission. Sandra was as old as he was, and she seemed to know tons more than he did. Maybe she had to attend classes in some kind of a school of her own. Who can tell what Princesses do with their time?

  And he had seen her quite a few times. Well, seen and heard. He couldn’t really accuse her of not sparing him enough of her time. For all he knew, she might have to hold court, or something, every day. Princesses could be very busy.

  Only she’d said she was always with him. Trust girls not to make sense. She couldn’t possibly be in his ‘pod’ and some other pod at the same time. Could she?

  Could she...?

  ***

  Alex would remember those few days for a long, long time. The intrepid trio spent the second night in the lee of Berry Islands—three times almost getting stuck on a shoal. With a badly hidden embarrassment, if not actual disgust, Don had to fire the engine to get them free. Neither Alex nor Alicia shared his apparent discomfiture using the occasions to get yet another swim. On the last such occasion they actually dragged poor Don overboard, which broke down his mortification in an explosion of laughter.

  By early evening of the third day, they came into the Paradise Island Club Marina, where apparently Don was already well known.

  The lobster was everything Don had promised. Not as large, perhaps, but beautifully delicate, and delicious as only that Bahamians can do it. The Pouilly Fuissé complemented the feast to everyone’s delight.

  “They think they know it all, about lobsters, I mean,” Don put in after sucking on the final claw. “But I strongly suspect that all the Caribbean nations know all there is to know about frutti di mare. Fruits de mer, I think you call it, don’t you?”

  Alicia’s appreciation of Don grew in hops and leaps. He was not just rich, generous, and friendly, but also knowledgeable.

  “My second wife was Italian,” Don put in as an afterthought.

  The return trip was an ongoing frolic, in which Alicia took active part. No longer worried about her stylish hair, she dove overboard each time they dropped anchor in the lee of the tiny islands. The starlit nights were just as enchanting with not s single drop of rain marring their pleasure.

  All three had splendid time. On return to Palm Beach, they exchanged cell numbers and emails, and agreed to repeat the same in the future.

  Less Alex diving from the side of the boat.

  Alex soon discovered that he was right. Alicia was sold on sail. Body and soul. He wondered what would be next.

  ***

  By ten o’clock Alec decided that, whatever Sandra did today, he had to take a shower and then have breakfast. This afternoon he had promised to go to a tennis match with Pete who lived next door. Pete was his good buddy. If Alec ever went anywhere, it was with Pete. Or with mom and dad, of course. Pete was his tennis partner, and they played twice a week. Once after school and once on the weekend. Normally, on weekends, and weather permitting, Pete and Alec would play singles for an hour, and then they would face any other two guys for one hour of doubles. They never lost a match against anyone their own age, and they often beat boys seventeen and older. The gym teacher, Mr. Grimm, who doubled as the school tennis pro, told them that they could play doubles at the junior pros, but Alec resisted. He preferred to play in friendly matches, where he could serve as Laver, or McEnroe, or that Brazilian guy with as much hair on his head as Alec himself. He’d learned to copy their style of serving. So much so that Mr. Grimm would shout from the sidelines, “Show me AB, for a change.” AB stood for Alec Baldwin, which was the name Alec had inherited from his father, and his grandfather before him. There was also some film star of that name, but absolutely no relation. There were also over two-dozen other Baldwins in the telephone book; and as far as he knew, they were no relations, either. Except for Aunt Martha, but she died last year.

  They would have played today, but Pete’s dad had got them tickets for the pro match final. A chance too good to miss.

  His own dad always preferred cricket and soccer, and Alec thought both games a bit dumb. Dad only looked occasionally at baseball as it was the nearest he could get to cricket, and football to rugby. For Alec the Canadian pros were just a bunch of guys dressed up in funny tight pajamas, who did a lot of spitting and patting each other on their rear ends. Alec would never allow anyone to touch his behind. Never.

  In the shower, he stood at the helm of a large sailing vessel, a brigantine, his strong arms firmly on the wheel, his mother and father cringing below deck, while he fought off the waves. His jaw set in defiance, his face awash with the sea spray. By the time he was finished, there were pools of water all over the bathroom floor.

  Later he made himself a boiled egg with toast and a glass of milk. The egg came out much too hard, but a little mayonnaise took care of that. He had four eggs left and some TV dinners. He had to do some shopping if he was going to survive till his parents returned. Unless he resigned himself to eating only food wrapped in plastic. He was already seeing himself stranded on a desert island, bereft of food and drink, casting a long, thin, emaciated shadow on the sand, when he remembered that he still had six Minute Maid orange juice concentrates. Well, bereft of food, he at least would not die of thirst. Two hours later his shopping was done and, armed with a twenty-dollar bill in his pocket, he knocked on Pete’s door.

  After the match, he invited Pete home for an orange juice. They played some games on the computer, tried to play chess, but it was getting late, and Pete still had to do his English essay. By six Alec was alone again. By six-thirty, he couldn’t get his mind off Sandra. By seven he gave up trying. By seven-o-five, he heard her voice.

  She sounded different.

  Her voice was friendly, but, well, it sounded a little guarded. As if she weren’t as spontaneous as before. As if she’d decided to choose her words a little more carefully. Alec didn’t like that. He wished they could get back to the old trust. He’d already forgiven her for not being with him all the time, at his every whim, even though, he reminded himself, he’d never had any rights in that department to begin with. That it was she who was essentially the giver. He, the taker, the recipient of her gifts. Except for his saving her, of course. Suddenly an idea struck him.

  “Am I forgiven?” he asked.

  In that instant the tone of her voice changed to the old familiar, almost conspiratorial intimacy. “I was never angry,” Sandra replied. “I just didn’t want to hurt you again.”

  Alec breathed deeply. Wasn’t she something? He was nasty to her, and she didn’t want to hurt him. The Princess was definitely something else.

  “Do you remember our visit to the Far Country?” she asked.

  “Of course. The big sun, the big, big planet, the clouds, the mountains, the...”

  “That’s the one. Do you know why I took you there?”

  He had no idea why Sandra had taken him to the Far Country.

  “I thought so.” Her voice smiled. “Do you have any suspicions?”

  He thought for a while. “Well, there is one thing. The place, the planet and the moons, I mean, well... they looked familiar. They looked as if I’d seen them before.”

  “Just seen...?”

  What was she trying to do? What else was he meant to say? They looked familiar. That’s it. But—just a minute. How come I remembered the planet from the top down and from the bottom up? I really remember looking up at those soaring mountains disappearing into the clouds above, reappearing again, and again hiding t
heir crowns in even higher clouds. How could I possibly have seen that from below? But, for that matter, how could I have seen them from above! That’s even more ridiculous.

  “Not if you obey the laws of that reality.”

  “Reality?”

  Alec’s pulled his thoughts back from the mountains. One of the most beautiful sights in the Far Country, Sandra knew.

  “Yes, Sandra. It did look familiar. But that’s not possible.”

  “It was your home for many years.” Her voice came as a mere whisper, as though she thought that the idea might be too much for him.

  He knew, intuitively, that Sandra couldn’t lie.

  “I am thirteen years old,” he said, nevertheless.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Well, why didn’t she explain? Was he supposed to figure it out himself? How can I be thirteen, actually thirteen-and-a-half, and have lived somewhere for many, many years? Come on, Sandra...

  “Were you there with me? I mean on that planet?” he asked instead.

  “Of course, I am always with you.”

  She had said that before. The pod.

  “How old was I then?” The question didn’t make any sense but had to be asked. There are some different rules out there.

  “On that particular occasion we stayed there for one thousand three hundred and twenty-three years.”

  “What! How long? And we were together?”

  “It’s always we. It cannot be otherwise.”

  This wasn’t getting any easier. One thousand three hundred... for crying out loud, I’m only thirteen! And suddenly Alec remembered the shadow he’d cast on the sand on the Desert Island. The place he had been going to starve to death on before he went to the grocery store. It was a long, long shadow cast by a tall, lanky man. He must have been at least as old as his father. Only taller and much thinner. Were all things so flexible?