Didn’t I just fire her? Lawyers, always looking for a case.
“Allison, how do you know about that, uh, unfortunate accident. Do you legal types have a So Sue Me Hotline?”
“I never reveal my sources. Boy, I wish I’d ’a been there to see the show. You never let me in on the good stuff, only your corporate crap and murder. Is Garrison still hanging around?”
“Haven’t seen him. I heard he moved in with some gal from the Berkeley Yacht Club.”
“Good, he was a flea.”
“Does that make me the dog?”
She laughed. “No silly, you de dame. Say, when do I get to see your boat?”
“How about tonight? I’ll be busy soaking myself in gasoline the rest of the week, in the event I get stood up Friday. Not that it’s a date or anything.”
“I’ll come tonight then. I’m hydrocarbon intolerant. Can I bring someone?”
Allison never dated either, so I wondered aloud, “Any old someone, or someone someone?”
“Someone someone,” she said.
“Well, day-yam. Of course. Want to give me a clue who?”
“Nope.”
I hung up and felt a tug of jealousy. Our old maids club was disintegrating. All of my friends suddenly coming up with someone. But, I reminded myself, someone had invited me to dinner. Friday.
To my THINGS YOU CAN’T LET SLIDE LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO list, I added: Buy gasoline.
I was ensconced on a yacht club barstool late that afternoon when, to my stupefaction, my ex-Beemer, driven by Allison, screeched to halt in Garrison’s ill-fated parking spot. More astounding than Allison at the wheel was her passenger: the Trob.
Fidel Wontrobski’s black clad form unfolded from the car like a carpenter’s rule. He rounded the car, opened Allison’s door with a flourish and flapped towards the club with three long strides before he realized she wasn’t next to him. Allison caught up, took his hand, and I almost dropped my drink. Her someone was the Trob? This had to be the most unlikely match in the history of the world. Several worlds. Pluto came to mind.
What I had originally envisioned as a girlie gripe session turned into a threesome, with me as the extra some. Most of the time I sat, boggled, while the lovebirds cooed.
Well, Allison cooed. Trob, even in the throes of passion, still looked like he should be sitting on top of a cactus waiting for something to die. It only proved one thing to me. The old adage, “there’s someone for everyone” is true. Maybe even for me.
Which brought me back to Friday’s looming dinner. It’s not like I hadn’t broken bread with Jenks before. We’d shared many meals, drinks and the like, but by accident, not on purpose.
Complexifying my concern was the fact that I still hadn’t heard from him. By Friday morning I was considering leaving town, maybe scooting on down to Cabo for a few days. Yessiree, that would be a truly mature way to face my problem, one I’d employed successfully many times over. When in love or trouble, blow town. Before I could make airline reservations, Jan called.
“I hate Florida,” she said. Actually, she whined.
“Told you so,” I singsonged.
“It’s full of Yankees and bugs.”
“Yup.”
“Nahner-nahner to you too. Thanks for your characteristic compassion.”
“Sorry. So come back.”
“I can’t leave Lars here. I love him.”
“Speaking of love, wait until I tell you…” I related the Allison and Trob story. Jan was as amazed as I was.
“Wow, that’s beyond belief,” she said. “She looks like a miniature fashion model and he favors a large carrion eater. Scary, Hetta, very scary. What’s the attraction do you figure?”
“Damned if I know, but they are one hot item. He gave her my Beemer, for cryin’ out loud. We know for sure Allison can’t be bought, so it’s not that. Godiva chocolates would’a sufficed from the looks of them.”
“Seems love is in the air. Speaking of, I understand you’re having dinner with Jenks tonight.”
What? How in the hell did she know that?
“What? How in the hell do you know that?” I demanded.
“He called us from Vegas. Said he’d asked you to dinner and had gotten an e-mail ‘yes’ from you. Where are you going?”
“Gee, why don’t you tell me? Since you know so much.”
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you so grouchy?”
Why am I so grouchy? “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Oh! My! God! You really do have the hots for Jenks!”
“Do not.”
“Oh, yes, you do. I know the symptoms. Does Jenks have any idea how much trouble he’s in?”
* * *
“Am I in trouble?” Jenks asked when he called ten minutes after Jan and I talked. Was there something telegraphing through the ozone layer I didn’t know about?
“What do you mean?” When in doubt, deliberate denseness always works for me.
“The system. I put more features on your security system than I originally planned, but I won’t charge you full freight. I’d like to use your boat as a model. Didn’t you get my note?”
Note. Note. I looked around, saw nothing. “What note?”
“On my website. I sent you more instructions. Tuesday.”
“Sorry, I haven’t logged onto your system since Monday night.”
“That’s okay, I’ll show you what I did when I pick you up for dinner tonight. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Was he kidding? Gosh, now I could put away the matches, and pour the gasoline into my VW’s tank. “What time will you be here?”
“Five okay?”
“Sure,” I said casually. I hope I sounded casual, anyway. “We can have a drink here on the boat before we go out.” I tried visualizing his glass at the yacht club, but only came up with ice cubes. And something darkish. Damn, Paul wasn’t on duty until six tonight, so I couldn’t ask him what Jenks drank. “Uh, what do you drink, Jenks?”
“Scotch. See you at five.”
He hung up and I raced to a nearby liquor store. By five, my liquor cabinet held Chivas Regal, Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, Johnnie Walker Red, Johnnie Walker Black, Cutty Sark, Haig and Haig, and several others. Luckily for my credit limit, it was a smallish liquor store. And that Jenks didn’t say, “Beer.”
And it would have been way too easy for me to ask Jenks something further, like, “Where are we going?” Nope, not my style.
Since he didn’t ask what color my dress was so he could bring a matching corsage, I got to go through my entire wardrobe, guessing what to wear. Too dressy, too eager. Too casual, too uninterested. I settled for semi-uninterested, donning slacks, silk shirt, blazer. It didn’t matter, for I could have worn a muumuu and gone unnoticed. He took me to The Willows, a gambling establishment faraway in distance, décor, and dress from Casino Royale.
Who knew that droves of Chinese are clamoring to chow down on hofbrau fare while placing thousand dollar bets at a Pai Gow table? Or that tall African Americans dressed in full tribal robes played Pan? Or housewives in hair rollers spent their milk money on poker? Or that I’d have the best five dollar corned beef ever, right in downtown Emeryville?
Jenks played Pai Gow like a pro. Not the Anglicized card game offered in Nevada casinos, but real Pai Gow, with tiles. The dealers knew Jenks, the only non-Asian at the table, by name. I demurred learning their game and since no one in the room seemed interested in playing my game—Dr Pepper: tens, twos, and fours wild—I watched Jenks win for an hour, then we went back to the boat for a nightcap.
No euphemism here, a nightcap is what we had.
I curled up on the settee with a brandy while Jenks folded into a director’s chair with a Chivas, which he’d graciously settled on after learning I didn’t stock his brand, Dewars. Ten minutes later, he left and I was left stunned. And angry. With myself. Somehow I had to learn to lower my expectations instead of raising my hopes. Most people learn this by age eighteen or so.
&n
bsp; And what were those expectations? Had I actually planned to break a five year sexual hiatus tonight? I mean, there was a day when it was okay to hop into bed with a guy on the first date. Who was I kidding? Instead of a first date. But that was then, before scary sex. What had I expected from Jenks? I don’t know. What I had not expected was, “I got somewhere to go. See ya.”
He took off before I could slam my mouth shut, leaving me alone and frustrated at nine thirty on a Friday night. This is not good. I tromped up to the yacht club in one rotten mood.
Alan, the British hunk, spotted me at the bar nursing my second champagne in ten minutes and tore himself away from the covey of women he’d been entertaining. “Hetta, how delightful to see you again. May I join you?”
“What do you mean by join, ” I growled.
He smiled and sat down. “I’d venture your evening, up until now, hasn’t been satisfactory?”
“You’d venture right. Look, Alan, I’m not very good company right now, so maybe you’d better go back to that gaggle of silly geese and leave me to my foul mood.”
“Was that a poultry joke? I can never tell with you Yanks.”
I barked a laugh and relaxed. What was wrong with me? A gorgeous man was hitting on me. A gorgeous, charming man who probably wouldn’t feed me corned beef on a first date.
“Sorry. So, Alan, what are you doing here in the States?”
“I work for Trans-Pacific Maritime and will be here at the Port of Oakland for a couple of years. I plan to buy a sailboat and thought joining a local yacht club would be a good way to meet people. I hear you live aboard yon powerboat.” He lifted his perfectly chiseled chin towards Sea Cock. “Interesting name, that.”
“I’m going to change it real soon.”
“To what?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Hmmm, something suitable that captures your very essence. Beautiful, yet feisty. Independent, yet vulnerable. Maybe a little naughty. Something like Muy Salsa. Very Saucy.”
Now, I’ve spent a great deal of time and money perched on ginmill barstools all over the world. Yes, even in Casa Blanca. I’ve flirted with and chatted up men from many different countries and cultures while wearing a groove into the insteps of my shoe soles. Trust me when I tell you I can spot a world-class rotter when I meet one. And this Alan had all the makings of a candidate for president of Roues Internationale. My kind of guy.
There was something vaguely wicked about him, something familiar. His kind usually meant trouble. Unfortunately, my kind of trouble. With guys like this you know what to expect, namely eventual grief, preceded by a great deal of dodgy dalliance. Who needs steadfast and dependable when the Alans of the earth still skulk and charm? How could I have even considered falling for someone like Jenks Jenkins?
“Haven’t we met before, Alan?” I slurred, then ordered more champagne. A lot more champagne.
Alan and I careened back to my boat, bouncing off the dock ramp’s handrails and narrowly avoiding a midnight dip in the estuary. When I stepped onto Sea Cock, he started to follow and for one moment I almost let him. But warning bells clanged loud enough to penetrate my boozy brain and I sent him on his way.
I am not always stupid.
Nor am I always smart. Which I knew the minute I came to the next morning. I didn’t wake up, I came to. A second of dread washed over me, until I felt the other side of the bed, found it empty and forced myself to sit up. Relief replaced apprehension. I was alone, fully clothed. And the phone was ringing.
“Mrffsg,” I said into the mouthpiece. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth by something truly horrid.
“Hetta? Jenks. Can I come by and show you something I’ve set up for you on the security system? I didn’t get a chance last night.”
Hell no, you didn’t get a chance last night, you were too anxious to escape.
“Umm-humm,” I said.
“Good, be over in ten minutes.” He hung up and I headed for the shower and Mentadent. The next boat I buy is going to have a hot tub.
Steam still rose from my body when Jenks rapped on the hull. I yelled, “Come on in,” threw on an oversized tee and leggings and wrapped my hair in a towel. I didn’t care if Robert Redford was waiting for me, I needed coffee and I needed it now. I trudged up the stairs to the main saloon and found, not Robert R., nor Jenks J., but Alan, Brit. Merde.
“My, don’t you look delicious this morning, Hetta.”
“Alan, what are you doing here?”
“You told me to come in.”
“I wasn’t expecting.…”
The boat dipped slightly and I heard Jenks call out, “Ahoy, Sea Cock.” Jenks stopped short when he saw Alan in the cabin.
Alan took the lead and stepped forward with his hand held out. “Alan Whitcombe here. We haven’t met, but I’ve seen you around the yacht club.”
Jenks shook his hand. “Robert Jenkins. Nice to meet you. Uh, I can come back later if you like, Hetta."
“No!” I yelled.
“No?” Jenks said.
“I mean, don’t leave. Alan stopped by to, uh, Alan, just why did you stop by?”
“Oh, to tell you how very much I enjoyed last night. Perhaps I’ll call later?” Alan exited without my answer, leaving me openmouthed. I hate it when someone uses my own tactics.
Jenks grinned wryly and said, “I could have sworn you were out with me last night.”
“I was. But then I went up to the club and ended up talking with Alan. He’s new in town and he really did just stop by.”
“Hetta, you don’t have to explain what you do with your time to me. Besides, I saw him when I stopped at the club on the way down. He beat me down here. And I owe you an apology for leaving so early last night without an explanation. I’m not used to telling anyone what I do, because I usually don’t give a damn what they think. In your case, I do. I went to my daughter’s in San Jose. She has a nasty flu bug and I thought she needed a little chicken soup and fatherly love.”
“Chicken soup?” I said dumbly.
“With stars. Her favorite. She’s feeling a lot better today. Now, would you like to go get some breakfast before we go over your new system?”
I almost swooned with relief and gratitude. “Let me dry my hair. I would love some brunch.”
“Breakfast, Hetta, not brunch. Real food,” he said. He took me to The Hideaway, home of greasy home fries, biscuits with cream gravy, and corned beef hash. Jenks, it seems, has a thing for corned beef.
While we finished off about a gallon of coffee, Jenks told me more about the security system he’d installed for me. “If you feel uneasy with what I’ve done, I’ll take it out. I give you my word I’ll never activate the system myself, nor will any of my employees, unless you push the PANIC button.”
I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. One thing I was more and more assured of, though, if Jenks Jenkins gave his word, he meant to stand by it. What a concept in a man.
We went back to the boat and he accessed his website to show me the options available for my security system. Despite ten gallons of coffee and several thousand calories worth of carbohydrates, I was still a little foggy brained from my champagne overdose the night before, but he was patient. Finally, while he was showing me how to change a camera angle, it suddenly dawned on me I didn’t know where the cameras were.
“Camera number one is right there,” he said, pointing to what I thought was a smoke alarm. “We call it a covert system, meaning not obvious to an intruder.”
“Is it legal?”
“Sure, as long as it’s in your home, being operated for your own security.”
“Wait a minute, can you turn this system on from your office?”
“Technically, I can. That’s what I was talking about earlier.”
“You could turn this on when I’m here and watch me?” This was getting kinky.
“I could, but I won’t. That’s what I was telling you about the PANIC button. The way I’ve set it up, my staff
can’t activate the system unless you hit the PANIC button first, and then don’t answer our phone call. On the other hand, I could override the system, but only me. And I won’t.”
“How do I know that for sure? Christ, for all I know I could be a new Internet star.” Then I giggled, “But who in the hell would want to watch.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Hetta.”
“I guess I have to trust you and your people not to spy on me. Anything else I should know?”
Just Add Water (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 1)) Page 23
