Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

After Ansel left, Rose started ferrying the stuff ashore. I washed down the decks, cleaned out the cabin, and made the Sea Princess ship-shape. I took care of the engines and the sails, then I helped Rose. It was twilight and the air thick with heat by the time we got everything into the hut. We were both sweating and as we started for the water and a final swim, the rain hit. We stripped and took a fresh water shower.

I thought it was going to be a long rain but in the morning, or rather at noon, when we awoke, the sun was out bright. I still hadn't caught up on my sleep. Rose started opening cans and we stuffed ourselves with tins of tongue and beef, even caviar, along with fancy cakes, corn—anything else we felt like eating. We went back to bed and slept some more. Some time in the middle of the night we got up and took a dip. The sky was lousy with stars and we returned to the hut and started playing the new records, keeping the sound down, drinking a little. We awoke in the middle of the next afternoon. It was hot and sunny and we did a lot of swimming and some spear fishing. Rose decided she wanted pancakes so we cooked and ate stacks of them, finished with ice cream, and went through the records again. Rose sang with some of the older numbers, told me about the time she lost twenty-six pounds in a week for a part she never got. She didn't eat a thing but drank coffee all day long and by the end of the week her nerves were so raw she was ready to be put away. She said, again, “I sure was a simple broad, in those days.”

When we got up the following morning it was raining, hard. It rained steadily for the next five days. I didn't mind, I can sleep fine in the rain. Rose started playing her records, but the hi-fi set would hardly work: too many people were using the island current. At Ansel's store you had to play the rundown jukebox during the day, when the single island generator didn't have much of a load.

On the second day of the rain, the lights were too dim for reading. Also gnats and other bugs came to life in the muggy weather and made us miserable. We ate up most of the canned goods—all the fancy stuff making us slightly sick—so we got a little drunk and went back to the damp bed. It was raining just as hard when we awoke early in the morning, and I could see Rose was getting the blues. She never can get accustomed to being cooped up. Twice a day we ran to the water to check on the boat, take a bath, and get some fresh vegetables and fish at Ansel's house. Then we'd return home, our feet covered with mud. There wasn't enough juice to read by or even play the radio. I wanted to go out to the boat, run the motors and get some music, but Rose said the bay looked too dreary. Instead we went up to Ansel's and by candlelight played whist. Mrs. Ansel acted like she had a fortune going on every card, which made a dull game even duller.

On the way home Rose slipped in the mud and cursed when I laughed. We took a swim and she was still in a bad mood, snapping at me. Sleeping was a Turkish bath and when I suggested I go out to the boat to sleep, she said she didn't want to be alone. I told her on the next trip I'd see if I could pick up a generator for our own use, but Rose wasn't listening. In the middle of the night I heard her get up and kill a bottle, then reread the papers by the fight of a single candle.

Most times I could bring her out of these moods but now I didn't try. I had a plan going for me and the rain was my sidekick. I wished it would rain for a month, as it did in the rainy season.

Instead of keeping out of her way, I yelled back at her, acted like a real pain. I was waiting for her hysterical tears, a sign she was truly down in the dumps. It made me feel like a heel, but I had to do it—or so I sold myself. The next morning she got into a huff and we didn't talk all day. I thought that would do it but Rose didn't seem to mind. The thing that broke her up was this: Mrs. Ansel came to the hut and Rose whispered to me she wasn't going to play another boring game of whist or checkers. But Mrs. Ansel only asked if we had some cotton to spare. The baby had the measles. Rose said we must immediately sail the kid to a doctor in Georgetown: but Mrs. Ansel said nonsense, she wanted the cotton to rub the boy down with bay rum and keep the fever from rising. She was quite calm, said to let nature take its course and the sooner the kid had the measles and got over them, the happier he would be.

We went up to the house and Rose helped her sponge the kid, who was running 102 and looked sick. I smoked a cigar with Ansel and said maybe I should get a doctor. He said it was nothing, the spots and sores were coming and in a week it would be all over. In the kid's room I could hear Rose arguing with Mrs. Ansel, their voices growing louder. Ansel winked at me as Rose screamed—Mrs. Ansel didn't know or care what she was doing—and ran out of the bungalow. I left a few minutes later. I found Rose sitting on the steps of the hut, wet and muddy... and crying loudly. I took her inside and undressed her, toweled her down, and turned on the gas boiler for a hot bath. She took a big shot of whiskey and in the faint light from the gas range I started reading the night club ads from one of the old New York papers, innocently asking if she'd ever been in this and that club, what did it look like, how was the food and music, and all the rest of the jive. I read most of the ads and nothing happened. Then all of a sudden she became hysterical and savagely tore the paper to bits.

This was the right time to pull the string. I told her to relax and she told me where to go. I asked, “Honey, how about getting away from here? For a few weeks? Be a change.”

Running a hand over her wet face Rose mumbled, “What's the diff? Raining all over these goddam islands.”

“I don't mean island-jumping. I mean a real change. How about sailing north, putting in at cities like Jacksonville, Charleston, Atlantic City, or even New York?”

“Are you punchy? I can't show my face anywhere.”

“Listen, we'll only spend a few days in each town. Buy us some new domes, live in hotels, see all the shows and movies we...”

“You want to get me killed?” she asked coldly, forgetting the tears. “I told you...”

“Rose, honey, we haven't a thing to worry about, if what you told me is true.”

“If?” She screamed, picking up a kitchen knife and viciously sticking it into the table top.

That was okay, it was merely the first thing she could put her hands on. “Take it easy, Rose; if I didn't believe you I wouldn't suggest this. Island living is great, but it takes time to get used to the slow pace. It's fine for Ansel, he was born here. It works out for us— except for a few short days like now. If we could spend several weeks each year in a big city, get the... the desire for excitement out of our systems, we could live here the rest of our lives and do it well. But if we don't—we have nothing here if we blow our tops.”

“I can take this.”

“Can you? Look at yourself, hysterical, almost on the verge of flipping. And my nerves are ragged, too. For all we know it might rain for another week or more.” My voice was as smooth as a salesman's.

“Don't worry, I won't break. I was in a mood but that's over.”

“Maybe I need a change.”

“You just came back from Port-au-Prince. If you want to go for another trip, get the hell out—but alone.”

“Honey, in Port-au-Prince I walked the streets with crowds, I ate in a few restaurants, took in a movie. And all the time I felt more jittery than I do now. It doesn't mean a thing if you're not along. Don't you know that? Times Square would be a drag without you.”

For a long moment she stared at me, her face changing—losing its hardness, its tension. For a second I thought my plan was backfiring. I didn't care, it was worth something to see her smile again. Rose came over and sat on my lap, kissing me, whispering, “That's the sweetest thing a man ever told me, Mickey.”