I forked into the meat loaf with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Tell me about the meeting. Tell me everything. All Harry said was that Reddy is going to take a look at the boat tomorrow at four.”
“Not just look at it,” Granddad said, pouring whiskey into a chipped juice glass and topping it with water from the faucet. “He wants to take it out for a spin.”
“No!” I said quickly. “We can’t do that. It’s too chancy. What if something goes wrong with the boat? Or Reddy tries to pull a fast one and steal it?”
“It’s called a sea trial, and it’s purely routine in this business,” Granddad said, offering me the glass of Scotch.
I took a long, calming sip. “How do you know what’s routine in the yacht business?”
“You’re not the only one who does research,” Granddad said, preening a little. “I stopped by a very nice establishment on Seventeenth Street on Monday, Case Marine Sales, and had a long talk with one of their brokers. Very illuminating. They answered all my questions, and I looked at several nice midsize yachts. My favorite was a fifty-four-foot Bertram. The Lucy Goosey. Beautiful. And only $750,000.”
“You’re not really considering buying a yacht,” I said. “You’re too old. Anyway, Grandmama would never allow it.”
He sighed. “I know. Lorena barely allows me to buy flashlight batteries, even. But a man can dream. And now, I’m all set to deal with Reddy, or Roy Eugene, or Rory, as he’s now calling himself.”
“I can’t believe you met with him,” I said.
“He’s very convincing,” Granddad said. “Very presentable. If I didn’t know different, I’d swear he really was a semiretired orthodontist.”
“An orthodontist!” I hooted. “He’s really getting brazen.”
“Semiretired,” Granddad said. “Since he invented those new invisible braces all the kids are getting these days.”
“Such a liar,” I said, grinding my teeth. “What else did he tell you?”
“Just that he’s been in the market for a yacht for some time now, and that he’d narrowed his choice down to a Sea Urchin. He’s been up to Michigan and seen the manufacturing plant and everything.”
“He probably tried to hijack one from the factory,” I said.
“He claims he’s also shopping for a waterfront house,” Granddad said mildly. “Moved down here from Charleston, and he was visiting friends who have a boat at Bahia Mar when he saw the sign on the bow of the Reefer Madness.”
“Good,” I urged.
“He asked a lot of questions. Wanted to know how long the current owner has had her, who he is, how many hours the boat has logged, why it’s being sold.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Told him I couldn’t discuss it over the phone,” Granddad said, chuckling. “That’s when he offered to meet with me for a drink. Which we did this afternoon.”
“And?”
“I was pretty cagey with him,” Granddad said. “You’d have been proud of me. I told him the owner’s name was confidential, but that I could tell him the fella is in the entertainment business. He’s owned the boat for three years, bought it new, and the engines have only about four hundred hours on them.”
“That is good,” I said admiringly.
“He asked me point-blank if the owner was Doobie Bauers,” Granddad said. “I hemmed and hawed, but finally admitted it and swore him to secrecy. And then I told him my client was selling the yacht because his business doesn’t permit him enough free time to enjoy the boat properly.”
“You’re good,” I said. “I never knew you had it in you, Granddad.”
“I surprised myself,” he admitted. “Never knew lying could be so much fun.”
“Take my advice,” I said. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
“Anyway,” he continued. “Rory, or whatever his name is, already knew quite a bit about the boat, and about Doobie and Anya Bauers. He even knew they’re currently staying aboard it.”
“Good,” I said cautiously.
“And he insisted that they be along for the sea trial tomorrow,” he added.
“Huh?”
“Claims he’s a big fan of Meat Loaf.”
“No,” I said flatly. “That’s not possible. Reddy’s not the type. He’s too young to know about Meat Loaf. Anyway, Harry looks very convincing. Weezie too.”
“I certainly hope so,” Granddad said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s five million dollars riding on this thing tomorrow.”
“Five million? I thought we were asking $4.8.”
“I upped it,” Granddad said. “After I looked at those other yachts, it seemed to me the Reefer Madness should fetch a much higher price.”
“How did Reddy react to the price?”
“He tried a little horse-trading,” Granddad said. “But I told him it wasn’t negotiable. And I also told him to bring a cashier’s check for $50,000 tomorrow.”
“What! Are you trying to scare him off?”
“Not at all. It’s standard practice. Earnest money. Just like in real estate,” Granddad said serenely. “Besides, that way, if his deposit check clears, we’ll know he really does have the money. We’ll be one step ahead of him.”
“You’re scaring me, old man.”
Granddad just grinned and sipped his whiskey.
52
Weezie
At three-thirty I was having heart palpitations. My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty, even my eyeballs itched. “I can’t do this,” I told Harry. “I can’t pretend to be a real person. I’m not like BeBe. I’m not ballsy like her. I cannot do this.”
“You’ll be fine,” Harry said, his voice surprisingly low and soothing. “You’ve been Anya Bauers all week. Such a raging bitch, just the sound of your voice makes my balls shrivel. Poor old Doobie,” he said, shaking his head.
“That’s just with you,” I whined. “You act so much like I imagine Doobie does, I want to throttle you. I totally get that woman’s motivation now. But I can’t do this in front of Reddy. I’ll fall apart. He’ll never buy it. And then what? What if he’s got a gun or something? I’ll ruin everything and it’ll be all my fault.”
We were down in the master cabin of the Reefer Madness, getting ready for our meeting with Spencer and the man calling himself Rory Mason.
I’d put on my shortest, tightest sundress, full makeup, big flashy fake jewelry, and my showiest hat, which happened to be a hot pink Helen Kaminski number.
“You’ll do great,” Harry said, looking me over. “Just keep telling yourself you really are Anya. And I really am Doobie.”
He leaned over the marble sink in the mirrored dressing room, wet his hands, soaped them up, and then proceeded to wipe the soap in his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Tears ran down his face. He blinked rapidly, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again.
“Christ, that stings,” he muttered.
“Oh,” I said, catching on. His eyes were now totally bloodshot and red-rimmed. He rubbed his chin, which was covered with a nasty half-inch-long stubble. And then he picked up a Corona bottle and chugged about half the beer, letting it run down his chin and onto his shirt front. He belched loudly.
Today’s wardrobe selection included a red Van Halen T-shirt that had faded to a dull pink. He wore shapeless wrinkled khaki shorts and no shoes.
“You really are revolting,” I said admiringly.
“Hold that thought,” he said, slapping me on the butt.
We went up to the galley to check with Emma to see how preparations were going for our little sea cruise.
She was whirling around in the gleaming stainless-steel space, sprinkling parsley on a silver platter of mini quiches, setting out champagne glasses, and piling exquisite little brownies on another plate.
Harry snitched a quiche, chewing rapidly, and letting the crumbs drift down on his shirt. “These are damn good,” he said. “Crab?”
“Crab and avocado,” Emma said. She was all busine
ss in her white chef’s coat and tight white jeans. “The brownies are amaretto espresso.”
I helped myself to one and pronounced it divine.
“Tell your friend,” Emma said. “After this goes down, I’m gonna be in serious need of a new job.”
“If BeBe says you’ve got a job, then you’ve got it,” I told her. “We’ve been best friends for years. She won’t let you down.”
“Just don’t let us down, okay?” Harry said. “And forget you ever heard the name BeBe.”
“I never heard of her, Doobie,” Emma agreed. She brushed a crumb out of Harry’s beard. “My God, you look more like him every day.” She sighed. “Poor Doob. He hates rehab.”
“Where’s Liam?” Harry asked, checking his watch. “Spencer and Rory ought to be here pretty soon. We want to get underway as soon as possible.”
“He went to pick up more ice,” Anya said. “He’ll be right back.”
We heard the thud of footsteps from above deck. “That’ll be him,” Emma said.
“I’ll go give him a hand,” Harry volunteered.
My stomach lurched again, and I hurried back to the master cabin, where I popped two Tums that I found in the medicine cabinet. I promptly threw them back up again.
As I was brushing my teeth, I heard voices overhead and my stomach took another nosedive.
“Hey, Anya baby,” Harry called. “Get your ass up here. We got company.”
I blotted my face and reapplied my lipstick, then slipped into a pair of high-heeled sandals and put on my hat.
I could feel the yacht’s engines churn to life. I glanced out the cabin’s porthole, and saw the foam of water. We were underway. Showtime.
Spencer and the “client” were standing on the sundeck in the stern of the boat, watching as we slid smoothly away from the dock.
“Here’s Anya,” Harry called when he caught sight of me.
I walked slowly and deliberately toward them, hoping nobody would notice that my knees were wobbling and my hands were trembling.
“Anya,” Spencer said warmly, taking my hands in his. “I’d like you to meet Rory Mason.”
Mason held his hand out and took mine and held it just a millisecond too long.
It wasn’t difficult to see how BeBe had fallen so hard and so fast for this guy. His hair was much lighter than it had been in Sabrina Berg’s video. It was now a pale blond that made his golden tan look even more glamorous. He was taller in person, with pale blue eyes behind horn-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses. He wore white linen slacks and a blue silk T-shirt that just matched the color of his eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” I managed to say. I was having a hard time concentrating, because at that moment I was so scared I thought I might wet my pants.
“Thanks for having me on such short notice,” Rory said. He had an authentic Southern accent, upper class, educated, not too exaggerated. “I have to tell you, I’ve been coveting this boat since the minute I set my eyes on it.”
My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. What if I blew it? Was he already figuring out what a fraud I was?
More footsteps. I turned to see Harry lurching toward us, a half-empty beer bottle hooked in his right hand, and a lit cigarette in the other.
“Goddamnit, Anya,” he bawled. “Get those fuckin’ heels off my teak decking. How the fuck many times do I gotta tell you—no fucking heels!”
I whirled around and looked at him, then deliberately turned my back on him, so angry I could feel blood rushing to my face.
“Excuse my husband’s manners, Rory,” I said evenly. “He’s just distraught over facing the reality that we really are going to have to part with the Reefer.”
Without warning, Harry jerked me by the arm and shoved me down into a deck chair. He reached down, grabbed the shoes off my feet, and chucked them overboard.
“Doobie,” I screamed. “Those shoes cost $200.”
“Hey, look,” Harry said, turning to Spencer and Rory, who stared openmouthed at my loutish husband. “Now the bitch is just like she was when I met her. Barefoot and ignorant.”
Spencer laughed nervously. “Doobie’s always kidding around. Always the entertainer, right, Doobie?”
Harry shrugged. “Whatever.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette, then flicked it over the side of the boat. “So, Rory. What do you think of our little floating palace?”
“Nice,” Rory said, trying to sound offhanded.
He was still staring at me, expectantly. I took a glass of champagne from the tray Emma was still holding, and downed it. Maybe the alcohol would steady my nerves.
“Of course, I need to look at the mechanicals and the electronics,” Rory said.
“Liam can help you with that shit,” Harry said carelessly. “Right, Spencer?”
“Shall we?” Spencer said, gesturing toward the stairs to the pilothouse. “If you don’t mind though, I’ll stay here. My knee has been giving me the devil lately.”
“Fine,” Rory said, turning and heading toward the wheelhouse.
When he was out of sight, I gave Harry a quick kick. “Go with him,” I whispered. “I don’t want him alone with Liam.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, but he did as I suggested.
“What’s wrong with Liam?” Spencer whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably nothing. I’m just nervous. I want off this boat. I want this whole thing to be over with.”
Spencer patted my shoulder sympathetically. “It won’t be long. We’re just going out about three miles to a place called the Hillsdale Cut. Out and back. Keep doing what you’re doing, kiddo.”
I gave him a weak smile and made myself sit back down in the deck chair instead of bolting for the stateroom and locking myself inside.
Thirty minutes later, Harry and Rory climbed back down the stairs, and headed for the bow of the boat, to inspect the engines, I assumed. Harry was being loud and obnoxious, and Rory Mason looked as if he’d like to slug him.
It was a beautiful afternoon for a cruise. The seas were calm and emerald green, and the late-afternoon sun was warm without being brutal. I was the mistress of a $5 million yacht. And I wanted to hurl.
Harry and Rory came up from the engine room and joined me on the sundeck, where Emma soon appeared with another tray of drinks.
“Appetizers in the main salon?” she asked. “The wind is picking up a little.”
“Good idea,” I said, getting up quickly.
“Fuck appetizers,” Harry mumbled. “That fancy shit’s for phonies. Bring me some tequila and nachos.”
“We’ll have the appetizers in the salon,” I told Emma firmly. “And you can bring Doobie some mineral water. He’s had quite enough to drink today.”
“Bitch,” Harry snapped. He collapsed into a deck chair beside mine. I got up and gestured for Spencer and Rory to follow me to the main salon.
“I want to apologize for Doobie’s behavior,” I told Rory, after he’d seated himself right next to me on one of the black leather banquettes in the salon. “He gets this way when he’s getting ready to go back into the studio to record. I thought having the boat would help him to relax, but instead it seems to have aggravated his, um, well, certain behaviors. Which is why we’ve decided to sell the Reefer.”
“He’s a drunk. A mean drunk,” Rory said mildly. “And if I’m not mistaken, he’s on drugs too. And yet you seem like a lovely lady. Why do you put up with it?”
I took a crab quiche and forced myself to nibble slowly, trying to think of what to say. I gave Spencer a pleading look.
“Anya is committed to helping Doobie,” Spencer said. “And speaking of that, maybe I better go up on deck and make sure he’s all right. We wouldn’t want him getting up and falling overboard.”
Rory watched Spencer leave. “Seems to me it would be better all around if your husband did take a fall.”
“Don’t say that,” I exclaimed. “You don’t know him. He hasn’t always been like this. He’s
creative. High-strung. His therapist says he needs total, unwavering support.”
Rory leaned back on the banquette cushions and looked around the salon. The pale eyes took in Doobie’s framed album covers and platinum records, the plush carpet and the mahogany paneling, the flat-screen television and the cabinet full of glittering crystal and silver.
His hand brushed against the back of my neck. “You keep talking about what he needs. What about you? What about what you need, Anya?”
I swallowed hard and chewed my bottom lip. This was unreal. Was he hitting on me? Where the hell were Spencer and Harry?
We heard footsteps again. “Come on now, Doobie,” Spencer said. “Nobody’s mad at you. We’re all friends here. Come and have something to eat. Anya’s getting worried about you.” Rory’s hand casually dropped back down to the banquette.
Get in here, I willed. Anya is mostly worried about herself, alone with a shark.
Harry staggered into the salon and collapsed into my lap. “Hey, baby,” he crooned, stroking my face. “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you another pair of shoes. I’ll buy you a dozen pairs of shoes. How’s that, baby?”
A look of disgust crossed Rory’s face as he jumped up. “I’m just going to have a look in the staterooms now, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Spencer said. “I’ll show you around.”
I felt limp with relief once he was gone. “Don’t you dare leave me alone with him again,” I whispered.
Harry straightened up immediately. “He tried something with you?”
“He would have,” I said. “He’s a slimeball. And he thinks you need killing.”
Somehow, we got through the rest of the cruise. Spencer kept Rory busy, pointing out all the yacht’s bells and whistles, and I kept as far away from him as I could.
By the time we glided back to the dock at Bahia Mar, I could tell from his conversation with Spencer that Rory had made up his mind. The Reefer Madness would be his.
I managed to keep a smile fixed on my face as we gathered back on the sundeck and exchanged pleasantries.
Savannah Breeze Page 33
