by Cooper, Doug
Robin says, “I ran into Captain Rick today. He brought the boat down from Detroit a week early to get a good spot for Memorial Day. He told me to stop by after work.”
Dawn turns to me. “Rick’s a friend of ours who’s also the captain of a seventy-five-foot boat called Moderation. His job is to take the boat wherever the owners request and make sure it’s clean when they arrive.”
Cinch says, “It’ll be my first trip to Moderation in some time.”
Moderation, which is docked at a private club next to the Boardwalk called the Crew’s Nest, has two guest cabins, a master suite, a dining area with a full bar, a galley, crew’s quarters, and two bridges, one inside and one up above.
Rick is the host now. Cinch, Brooke, Dawn, and I go to the upper bridge. Looking at the stars reminds me of last night, and of Astrid. Why do I feel guilty? She’s the one who said she doesn’t want a relationship. The reason I am here is to indulge my appetites, wherever and whatever they are.
We go up to one of the bridges, and I sit next to the wheel. After a moment, Brooke coerces Cinch to escort her to the restroom. Cinch recognizes it as an excuse to go for another drink.
Dawn moves in between my legs and leans back against the steering wheel. I lift my legs to the dash, trapping her. “I thought girls always went to the restroom together.”
She kisses my left cheek, following through to my ear. “Not when we have ulterior motives.” Her lips are soft and gentle. She continues down my neck and back up to my mouth. Her tenderness paralyzes me. Releasing a stunted breath, I pull her close to steady myself.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, folks.” Cinch extends a drink as an apology. “I told Robin and Lea we would see the girls home. Judging from what I see here, I think you agree. Are you ready to go?”
Dawn turns to face him. I wrap my arm around her waist, keeping her close. “I think we’ll stay here for a bit.”
Cinch is indifferent to her suggestion. Probably because he has his own agenda, one that doesn’t involve us. Before he leaves, however, he tells Dawn that Brooke wants to talk to her downstairs. She lifts my hand to her lips, promising to return with another delicate kiss. Cinch waits for her to depart. He says, “Let’s hit one before she gets back.”
I say, “I’ll pass. Think I’ve had enough. I don’t want to go overboard.”
“Consider me your life preserver.” Cinch dumps out a mound and divides it. “You watched too many after-school specials. Trust me. It’ll help during sex. Right here on the dash.”
Ssshhhump.
Ssshhhump.
Cinch leaves when Dawn returns. I try to think of a smooth line to recapture the mood, but all I come up with is, “Where were we?”
Dawn follows the script. “Right here.”
We both know it is cheesy, but the whole night has been. The flirting, the lines, the games, all of it leading to a meaningless one-night stand. It’s a trade-off, a barter of services for services. Morals and values are cast aside for the pleasure only another human being can provide. The last thing I’m going to do now is fumble around waiting for the perfect moment. This deal is done. I know it and she knows it.
Dawn pushes me back on the seat and climbs on top of me, thrusting her tongue in my mouth as the waves lap against the side of the boat. Her tenderness transforms to wanton thirst. She claws off my shirt and devours my chest, moving down to my abdomen, stopping at my belt line. She slides my pants to my ankles then drops to her knees, embodying my words about service.
I am getting close. Need a distraction. I reach down and lift her sweatshirt. “My turn.”
“No, it’s too cold,” she says. “Just the bottoms.” She lifts her right leg to allow me to slip her shorts and panties off, leaving them anchored around her left ankle. She shudders as her ass touches the chrome steering wheel. And again I return to my commitment to service. After a while, she pushes me back on the seat and climbs on top, carefully choosing her resting point. I taste the sweat on her lips and feel the vulnerability in her skin.
Finally she turns around and places one hand on each side of the wheel. I slide in behind her. Gentle rocking escalates to fevered thrusting, until I drop back into the seat in exhaustion, and Dawn falls back on top of me. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze for no other reason than sheer appreciation. What else is there? I really don’t know her at all.
The next morning Cinch is sitting in the recliner with the bong between his legs when I return from dropping off the girls. He says, “How’d your night go?”
“Full steam ahead, Captain.” I flop on the couch. “Man, I feel like shit. Let me hit that.”
“Whuuuht? Mr. Non-Smoker, I thought you didn’t do this one?”
“It’s bad when you gotta party just to stand yourself. You know they’re coming back next weekend? I had fun, but the last thing I want to do is get involved with someone. If I wanted that, I’d be with Astrid.”
“So what’s going on there?” he asks.
I pass back the bong. “Nothing. We don’t want to ruin it.”
“Then what’s the problem? You haven’t hooked up with Astrid because you wanted something like last night to happen. You just got the post-party blues. Nothing worse than someone who goes to the dance, is excited to dance, dances all night, and then complains all the next day about his feet being sore.”
“You’re right—screw it,” I say. “I’m entitled to have some fun. I’ll go punch us in while you get your game face on.”
At work Haley stops me on the way to the porch. “Shep, you trying to break up a marriage?”
I do an about-face and head back toward the bar. “Dawn, engaged? How would I know? No one told me. Nice, really nice.” I continue to the back room and confront Cinch as he comes through the door.
“I didn’t know,” he says, laughing. “She didn’t say anything? Oh man, you got played.”
“I don’t care about that. I don’t want to deal with an angry boyfriend. I don’t need that drama. That little bitch.”
Mad Dog cracks his third bottle of wine by four thirty, predicting it might be a four-bottle day. If excess leads to the palace of wisdom, Mad Dog is the supreme ruler. And he surely won’t disappoint this weekend. If people have fun, they’ll return throughout the season.
I move out to the porch. The second hand doesn’t move fast enough. People come and go. I only reveal what I want them to see because I’ve returned the veil to my face, the one I’ve been trying to remove. Only time spent sober will dispel this mounting chaos. Fun is fun, but when fun becomes work, a person needs to take a time out.
Stiffness seizes the back of my neck as the heavy partying from the past days catches up with me. I roll my head from left to right, listening to each crackle and pop as if it’s a cryptic message.
“You look like you had a rough night.”
It’s Dawn. I don’t even look at her. I mutter an emotionless, “Hey.”
“What? After last night all I get is ‘hey’?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right. Where are my manners?” I walk over and embrace Brooke and Cinch standing next to her. “It’s good to see you both.”
“Very funny.” She turns to Cinch and Brooke. “Will you two excuse us? Brad and I need to talk.”
“I’m working,” I say. “In case you haven’t noticed. I wouldn’t come to your job and bother you.” I walk back on the porch and sit on the stool. “You lied last night. Plain and simple. Spare me the drama and keep your distance. I don’t need to catch heat from your fiancé.”
“Things have been over with him for a while.” She steps up on the porch and stands in front of me. “I needed last night as a way out. Lea recommended that Brooke and I come with her to get away, which is exactly what I expected. What I didn’t expect was that I’d meet you.”
I say, “Let’s just pretend the whole night never happened.”
“No. I don’t want to forget it,” she says, not letting me off the hook so easily. “Our time together was wonderf
ul. Don’t get the wrong idea about me. Before last night I’ve never had sex with someone I just met like that. I know I have changes to make. Granted, you figure into the whole situation, but I’m making those changes for me. You just provided a push. You made me feel special again and showed me there’s more to life than what I was settling for.”
I try to avoid eye contact but she is too close. I stare impassively at her. “Glad I could be of service.”
She clutches my hand. The electricity of her embrace escalates the emotion. “Listen, I don’t need anything from you. I don’t expect anything from you. The last thing I want is to get into a serious relationship again. I have fun when I’m with you. What’s wrong with that? Besides, I know one area in which we seem compatible. Any chance of you sneaking away for fifteen or twenty minutes?” She leans in and touches her forehead to mine. Our eyes lock. I glance away, but our close stance and her penetrating stare offer no chance of escape.
Game, set, match. How can I argue with that? In a matter of minutes she has changed my outlook from never wanting to see her again to wanting to take her up to the red barn and reconcile in a more suitable way.
“Do you realize the position you put me in?” I say to her. “Last night you had every opportunity to tell me the truth, but you didn’t. I don’t even know your fiancé, but no one deserves to be cheated on. That’s got nothing to do with me, though. I’m in a weird place right now, but I’m allowed to have fun. Still up for that hug?”
Cinch returns with drinks. “It’s good to see you kids getting along again. It was a little chilly out here before. What do you want to do for our break?”
Dawn says, “We’ll catch up with you. Brad and I need to run up to the barn for a few minutes.”
The day I have been laboring through becomes easy, and the night stands poised, ready to accept and conceal me. Once darkness falls and the band starts, my energy will increase and carry me through. Unfortunately I’m not quite there yet. Post-release, I scrutinize my actions. There’s nothing like an orgasm to force a person to think—and, more often than not, to think too much.
At the Boardwalk every sip of my drink pulls more alcohol than the last. The faster I get to the bottom, the sooner an answer will come, or the sooner I won’t care. Either way, I will resolve the problem for now.
Since new people are working on the porch, Cinch positions me inside for the evening in the front chair opposite the band. Seniority after only one week. At this rate, I’ll be managing by the Fourth of July.
The space between people diminishes. With their elbows tucked in and drinks held to their chests, patrons stand shoulder to shoulder in groups of three to four, hovering around their buckets, allowing just enough room to raise and lower their elbows. Not only is the bucket of beer economical, it’s also functional: people can carry one large beverage rather than three or four smaller ones. Although the bucket might spill, three-quarters of a bucket lasts longer than four half-full cups.
Robin flashes his light, directing me to turn on the jukebox. I descend the chair and weave through the crowd. AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” blares out when I flip the switch.
A girl stops me on the way back to my post. “You should be more careful how you sit, or wear tighter shorts. With your leg propped up, it’s obvious that you don’t wear any underwear.”
Her friend says, “Not that we’re complaining, but you could scare somebody. I looked over Meadow’s shoulder and there it was, staring back at me. Anyway, I guess introductions are in order—that is, unless you want to be known as Rod.”
“No, but you’re close. Brad.”
The girl who stopped me introduces herself as Meadow and her friend as Lynn. In the fifteen minutes before the band returns, I learn as much as I can without really knowing anything at all. It’s last night all over again, only instead of Dawn and Brooke, these talking heads are Meadow and Lynn. I know where they’re from, what they do for a living, where they’re staying, and where they went to school, but I can’t say I feel any closer to them than when I first walked up. It isn’t really conversation; we’re merely exchanging words. True conversation is its own experience, and experience, not words, is the thing that brings people closer.
I direct our talk to a topic that is always well received. “You know, I used to be a teacher.”
“Does that mean I have to call you Mr. Shepherd?” Meadow asks.
“Only if you want to be excused. Besides, you’ve seen my penis. There’s no reason for formalities.”
Cinch strolls over, and I relay the event leading to our introduction. He says, “At least our training program is paying off. It takes just the right positioning to execute a successful flash.”
I now understand his comment about the faces changing but the roles staying the same. Tonight I’m following the same protocol: flirting, attempting witty innuendo, trying to determine which girl might be interested in me. So primitive. Worse yet, I didn’t even notice these girls before they singled me out. Is that all it takes for a girl to snare a guy? Just pick him out of a crowd and make him feel like he matters, and from there, just get him talking about himself. A man is so self-absorbed that a woman doesn’t even need to steer the conversation in his direction. He’ll do it all on his own. He might as well say, “That’s nice, but what about me? No seriously, what about me?” or “That’s funny, the same thing happened to me. This one time I …”
“Let’s not mess with this,” Cinch says after the girls go to the restroom. “We’re just asking for trouble. We’ve got our hands full with Dawn and Brooke.”
“Do what you want with Brooke,” I say. “But I think Meadow is my way out.”
“Well, before you get too involved, I need a favor. I forgot to make a delivery to the Beer Barrel, and I can’t break away.”
No way. I’m not ready to turn my new hobby into a part-time job. I say, “Just go. I’ll cover for you.”
He says, “Can’t. Have to shut down the front and count the money from the cover. I’m the only one who can do it.”
“I don’t know.” My eyes scan around the bar. “I don’t want to get involved in that side of things.”
“Wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” He hands me a Marlboro Lights box. “Give this to that fat bouncer at the front, and he’ll give you a buck-ten.”
I stare at the box. “That’s all there is to it?”
“It’s a simple drop,” he says. “In and out.”
I slide the box in my pocket. “No problem. It’s the least I can do.”
The intended recipient looks like a boxer after a ten-round fight. I remove the package from the box and cup it in my right palm. I say, “Cinch couldn’t make it.”
My mention of Cinch is like smelling salts. Ding, ding, ding. He’s ready for another round. Leaning forward, he says, “One-ten, right?”
I nod then scan the area for spectators. “Got it in my right hand.” He slaps the money in my left. I shake his right hand, but I can still feel it in my palm when I let go.
He shakes his head. “It’s stuck to your hand. It better not be all fucked up.”
I switch it to my left hand and drop it in his breast pocket. “I’m sure it’s fine. Catch you later.”
Back at the Round House, Cinch asks how it went. I hand him the money. “I won’t win any awards for that performance.”
“Nothing is ever smooth with that guy.” He thumbs through the money once, twice, then a third time. “That cocksucker shorted me fifteen dollars.”
I say, “Maybe I’m not cut out for the business side.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cinch says, playfully slapping my cheek. “Just need more practice.”
CHAPTER SIX
OTHER THAN THE FEW HOURS OF SLEEP THIS MORNING, I HAVE PARTIED FOR ALMOST TWO DAYS STRAIGHT, AND IT DOESN’T APPEAR TO BE SUBSIDING ANYTIME SOON. I am two people. One goes through the motions, rolling from one thing to the next; the other is withdrawn, watching a complete stranger.
It probably would’ve been more mature just to talk to Dawn, but look where maturity got me before. How pathetic. I used to go straight ahead and overcome whatever was in my path. Now I weave through obstacles, allowing them to dictate my course. I’m like a fish in a pool, turning quickly to avoid what challenges it. My only decision is whether to go right or left to sidestep confrontation. I barely recognize myself anymore.
Stein cruises up on his bike on my way back to the red barn and reveals a cigarette cellophane containing five small pills. He says, “This ecstasy should provide a nice boost tonight.” He hands me a pill. “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, keep them doggies rollin’.”
In the red barn we split a beer to wash the ecstasy down and do a bump to carry us through until the roll begins. Why wait? At this point I have to flow from one buzz to the next and not let myself come down.
A warm tickle spreads through my torso; my fingers relax and lips tighten; my thoughts and movements become concise. The red barn is no longer a suitable environment. Time to head back to the Round House.
The activity in the street energizes me. Stein pulls up a stool next to me on the porch. We’re at the top of the big hill, looking over the edge, ready to rush down.
Meadow emerges from the crowd, fanning herself. “I think I’ve sweated myself sober.”
“We purposely turn off the air,” I say. “The more you sweat, the more you drink. It’s all about selling alcohol. Where’s Lynn?”
“She wants to go,” Meadow says. “I know you’re busy, have work to do, people to see, blah, blah, blah, but after work come to the Skyway. If it’s too crowded, we can go back to the pool or to our condo.”
On the same seat six hours later, falling for a similarly direct approach. I’m so easy.
