My buddy Captain Clam called one evening to
announce that he’d just delivered a fifty-five foot sport fisherman to its new
owners and been offered the job of permanent captain. “They’ve got another boat—a
seventy-foot gin palace—and they’re looking for someone to run it. I’ve
arranged for you to meet the owner tomorrow.”
“I’ve never driven anything bigger than a
fifty foot sailboat,” I protested. “I don’t have a clue about power boats.”
Clam--the good-looking one is Lobster |
“They’re easy,” says Clam. “We’ll take her for
a spin tomorrow. You’ll get the hang of it.”
I wasn’t really looking for a job at the
time—I’d made a bunch of money on the futures market and considered myself
semi-retired. But I figured this thing might be a bit of a laugh with Clam
and me working together.
So the next day I showed up at the address
he’d given me in Boca Raton ,
a ritzy enclave on a network of canals north of Miami . I always considered it an odd name for
such an upscale location—Rat’s Mouth in Spanish.
To me, a sailor, the boat I was supposedly
taking over seemed like a floating house. Fortunately Clam was there to assist
in the starting of engines and other stuff powerboats required.
As we cleared the dock with me at the
wheel, I was flanked by Bill—one of the owners—and Clam. The canal was narrow
with huge houses and expensive boats on either side. A lot of damage could be
done here.
Up ahead, the canal dead-ended. Obviously
the vessel had to be turned around. I spun the wheel and very little happened. Clam
leaned into my ear and mumbled. “Use the throttles.”
This gem of enlightenment saved the day.
With reverse on one engine and forward on the other, the thing turned easily on its
own length.
Having changed direction, I frowned
professionally and spun the wheel a few times to show that, prior to the turn
I’d been merely testing the rudder system.
So I got the job. Bill and I went to his
tailor who made up a snappy uniform for me.
Most of the time, the work involved steaming
up and down the intra-coastal waterway ferrying a bunch of drunks from bar to
bar. At times, I must confess, I wasn't far behind them.
One time when Clam and I were headed up the
intra-coastal to West Palm Beach where we were to meet a bunch of freeloading bankers and their wives, I spied a familiar dark blue catamaran up
ahead. I looked through the binoculars and who should be at the helm but my old
friend Rob from Gibraltar . I quickly changed into my uniform.
Towering
above the cat, I began to crowd my old shipmate to the edge of the canal as I
leaned on the horn, occasionally darting out to the bridge wing to scowl at him from under the peak of my hat.
Camera-shy Paul and Rob |
Poor old Rob didn’t know quite what to do. Being a bit of a scoundrel himself, he was always a trifle nervous around uniforms.
I finally let him off the hook when Paul, who owned the cat, emerged on deck. Once they recognized me there were hoots of derision directed at my mode of dress—neither of my old shipmates had seen me looking so ridiculous.
Rob came aboard for a couple of beers and a
bit of a catch-up then Clam and I had to scoot so we could tie up and get the boat
ready for our cruise.
Dusk was just coming on when the guests
began to arrive. I stood on the dock by the gangway greeting them as they
boarded.
Much as I detested this part of the job, I
tended to give it my best. I could usually manage to dredge up a compliment for
the wives and something vaguely ribald for the fat, balding husbands.
As fate would have it, my old
buddies on the cat had chosen this particular marina to spend the night. As soon as they
saw me—again bedecked in full uniform with a smarmy smile pasted on my face—a
bray of coarse laughter erupted.
The bastards manoeuvred in close so there was
no mistaking who Paul was pointing at when he shouted out, “Lawson, you f-----g wanker!"
Being Americans, the well dressed group of bankers and wives clustered around
the gangway at the time probably didn’t understand the meaning of ‘wanker’. But
the preceding expletive made it abundantly clear that I was not being complimented.
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