Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

Rose got crocked the night she handed me the money and I told her, “I should be back in about ten days, or sooner.”

“I'll keep a fight burning in the window for you.”

I grabbed her and shook her hard as I said, “I don't like what you're thinking. I don't need a fight to come back to you. Remember that.”

She gave me a long kiss and we put in quite a night.

I felt like a big shot stepping off the plane in St. Croix with all that money in my pockets. The boat was a dream. Some rich joker who must have been a little like Mr. Decker had her custom-built abroad, and because he didn't have too much confidence in sails, had installed the two Diesels so she could cut water like an express cruiser. The guy and his wife, along with a friend, had taken her down the inland route from New York, then island-hopped to St. Croix, where he'd had a heart attack. They flew back to New York and left the boat with a broker. They were asking $18,000, claiming the boat had cost $25,000. I offered six grand in cash, came up to eight thousand and told the broker that was all I had. Glancing at my clothes, he must have been astonished I had over two singles in my pockets. Perhaps because it could only sleep four in double bunks—and only two comfortably—there hadn't been many offers. After a day of cabling back and forth, I had the boat for eight grand.

I took her to San Juan to register her as the new Sea Princess with the Coast Guard station. Exactly eight days later I sailed the new Sea Princess over the reef into our cove.

Rose swam out, followed by Ansel and his wife in their rowboat. I showed Rose around and saw she was crazy about the ship. Giving her $1675, I calmly said, “Here's your change,” like a kid returning from the store.

She cooled it, too. “What took you so long?”

“Had to straighten out my Coast Guard papers in San Juan. I registered her in my name. Okay?”

Grinning at what her wet bathing suit held, I pulled Rose to me. “See, I didn't run off with the dough—you can put out the light in the window.”

There was a slight odor of stale whiskey in her kiss, and then we had to go back on deck because Ansel and Mrs. Smith were climbing up the ladder.

I had an uneventful sail to Georgetown, crowding on all the canvas I could handle and making good time. But after the usual early morning chat and drink with the custom officials, I wondered what I'd been rushing for. True, I was in a hurry to see Rose, but I was punchy from being up nearly twenty hours, and what I wanted with Rose... well, being bushed wouldn't help. I tied up at the dock and called a pretty good mechanic over to see why the oil temperature had shot up so high, and hit the sack for a few hours of deep shut-eye. When I'm not drunk I can wake up whenever I want to. I was up at noon and found the mechanic sleeping in the cockpit.

I shook him awake and he said, “I was waiting for you. I have found the trouble. I checked the water jacket cooling, the fuel circulation, the timing, and the crankcase for...”

“I know you worked yourself to death,” I cut in. “What's wrong?”

He wasn't to be rushed. He stuck a cigarette into his dark face and took his time lighting up. “All these things, and a clogged oil cooler, would account for the overheating of your port engine. The oil cooler is clogged.”

“What's that mean, bad news?”

He blew smoke up at the bright sky. “In time. You can use the engine for several months without danger. But it should be taken care of. If you like, I can send to the States for a new cooler and install it. Or, you might be able to get one in Kingston, although I doubt if anybody in the islands carries parts for these particular Diesels. Maybe in San Juan. I'd like the job, but easiest thing would be for you to sail to Miami and have a new cooler installed.”

I paid and thanked him, hoisted sail, and started the final two hour run to our cove. When I dropped anchor I was surprised Rose didn't swim out and for a bad second I had this uneasy feeling I'd never see her again. Mrs. Ansel rowed out with the baby to tell me Ansel was over at the store, and to see what I'd brought. I asked where Rose was as I handed her some copper pots I knew she wanted.

“Oh, my beautiful, beautiful pots! Look at the bottoms. Rose—sick womon.”

“Sick? What happened?” I had a feeling of trouble.

“Nothing. Bad stomach—too much worry about you. The storm and you a whole day late. That womon get most nervous. My Lord, I very glad when she try get drunk. I swear I never see no womon worry about one mon so much. She carry big love you, very big. You lucky fellow.”

“Where is she?” Big love—like when I'd gone out after the money in the hurricane, Rose was afraid she'd lost her boy. There'd be so much explaining—and looking—if she had to start all over again with another John.

“She best place for gal wait for mon—in de bed. I tell her, it really not bad storm. Rain and lightening and de sky breaking wind. All we lose is few hands banana.”

I put the outboard on the dink and towed Mrs. Ansel and the baby boy ashore. I ran to the hut. It was cool and dark inside, full of the smell of Rose: a great perfume. Opening the bedroom door, the streak of mild sunlight following me through the front door seemed to spotlight Rose's tumbled hair, her beautiful face on the crumpled pillow. Blinking, she sat up. “Mickey?”

“Yeah.” She was sleeping nude as she always did, and the sheet half fell away from her big body. We stared at each other—a grin of relief on her face. I don't know what was on mine. Maybe wonder. I didn't care what I was to her. How many men come home to see a half-naked movie queen smiling at them from their bed? In the odd lighting, almost as if it was staged, Rose looked fantastically desirable.

“What happened to you, Mickey?”

“I had to wait the squall out. And I overslept. Also some motor trouble. We'll have to get a new oil cooler...”

“I've been sick with worry.”

“Come on, you knew I'd be back. Relax.” I sat on the edge of the bed, aware of her warmth on the sheet. I reached over and touched the soft hair tumbling to her good shoulders.

She put her hand over mine, stroked it. “I had a nightmare. All sorts of wild nightmares about you being...”

“But I'm back, everything's okay, babes.”

She gave me a long look as she nodded slowly. And suddenly Rose did something I'd never seen her do before. She began to weep. I'd seen her cry with anger and frustration plenty of times, but this was a kind of tender, happy weeping.

“No tears, honey,” I said, taking her in my arms. We kissed fiercely and I thought what a lucky character I was to come home to a moment like this. Even if I ended up in the chair, it was well worth it.

Later as I was sleeping, a tired and contented sleep, Rose shook me awake. I sat up fast. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” she said softly, pushing me back on the pillow, snuggling against me. “Mickey, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

Her lips formed words but nothing came out. Then she blurted: “Listen, I think I'm in love with you! Don't wisecrack, I'm serious.”

“I'm not wisecracking.”

“I think I knew it last night. I almost went crazy worrying about you. I was scared I'd never see you again and I suddenly knew I'd go off my rocker if that happened. And just now, oh, Mickey, I never felt so... so... good. For the first time I know what a man and a woman can be to each other. You must think I'm nuts, but it's the truth. I've told you I've been with a lot of men. But... what I'm trying to tell you is, up to last night—just now—you were only another guy to me. Kinder than most I'd known but... I hated all men. Sex didn't mean a thing to me but a way of getting something from a male slob. It had to be that way, Mickey, otherwise... well, if each guy had meant the smallest... I'd have gone crazy. I'm able to say this to you now because when you walked through the door a little while ago, I was excited as a teenager. Mickey, I've never known anything so wonderful!”