Running Under Sail Page 4

  Her eyes closed as she pictured the woman, Frankie, walking into the barroom, "to fetch herself a bucket of beer." She nodded her head in time with the guitarist's syncopated rhythm, tapping a foot without realizing it.

  "The bartender said, Miss Frankie, you know yo' lovin' man been here. He was yo' man, but he was doin' you wrong."

  She imagined the way her vocal cords would move, her throat contracting and opening, her diaphragm forcing the air from her lungs or drawing it in at the end of a phrase. The sound flowing, at first like liquid silver and then with the harsh, tearing tones of raw whisky. The rush of anger when Johnny "left with that hussy named Nelly Bly," and the fury when she drew down on him a few verses later with her "long .44."

  "She said, now, Lordy, what have I done? I done give enough love to my man; he done took my love and run. He was my man, but he done me wrong."

  Sadie felt tears on her cheeks, conscious of the sudden quiet. She opened her eyes, surprised to see that she was standing up in the cockpit. Connie sat across the table, a look of awe on her face, and Paul stood at the foot of the companionway ladder, looking up at her, thunderstruck.

  She shook her head, frowning. Then the applause began. At first, a few sharp claps, growing, rising from around the anchorage. That was when she knew what she had done. The applause died, and the night hung with an expectant silence. She waited a few beats, but there was no further sound from the guitar. She swallowed and looked down at the table, avoiding Connie's gaze, reaching for the wineglass. She took the last swallow and sat down.

  "Wonderful," Connie said, after a few seconds. "That was utterly amazing; I've never heard anything like it before."

  "Nor have I," Paul said. "It was pure magic."

  Chapter 5

  "More coffee?" Connie asked, looking at Sadie.

  "Sure," Sadie said.

  "Me, too," Paul added, pushing his mug across the table.

  They had just finished breakfast in the cockpit and had been discussing what Sadie wanted to do with her day when a beat-up inflatable dinghy with a sputtering outboard pulled alongside, interrupting their conversation.

  "Good mornin'," a young man with a neatly trimmed beard said, as he shut off the outboard and stood up, grasping Diamantista II's toe rail.

  "Morning," Paul said.

  "I'm Tom, from Tropic Tramp," the visitor said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the small white sloop anchored off their starboard side.

  "I'm Paul, and my wife's Connie." Paul nodded in her direction. "This is our guest, Sadie."

  "Nice to meet y'all," Tom said. "Which one of you ladies is the singer, if you don't mind me askin'?"

  "She is," Connie said. "I can't carry a tune. Wasn't that something last night?"

  "Sure was," Tom said. "Gave me goose bumps. It was all I could do to keep on playin' once you chimed in, but I was afraid if I stopped, you'd stop."

  "Your playing was the magic," Sadie said. "You took me right on into that barroom with Frankie. I didn't even realize I was singing until it was over and people started to clap."

  "Would you like to join us for a cup of coffee?" Connie asked.

  "Oh, thank you, ma'am, but no. I need to get on in; got to buy some pump parts. Old boats, you know." He smiled. "I just wanted to see who belonged to that there voice." He shook his head and grinned. "Amazin'. You could do that for a livin', you know?"

  "You think?" Sadie said, smiling at him.

  "Yeah, I do. I been around lots of professional singers that ain't got what you have. So easy goin', I reckon, but there's more to it than that. You got some kind of special voice." He nodded.

  "You're very kind," Sadie said. "Thank you."

  "Um, I don't mean to be forward or nothin', Sadie, but I got a gig at the Italian place there in the harbor tonight. It's no big thing; they just feed me and give me a beer or two, but it's fun. I was wonderin' if you might like to join me, sing a set or two, maybe."

  "I'd like that a lot, Tom. Thanks for asking. We were just talking about where to go today, though. Can we stay here?" she asked, turning to look at Connie.

  "Of course, if you'd like. This is your boat, Sadie. You call the shots."

  "Then we'll stay. What time, Tom?"

  "Around 7:30, 8:00. It's an island-time kind of place. Why don't y'all come, too, Paul, Connie?"

  Connie looked at Sadie and raised an eyebrow.

  "Please?" Sadie said.

  "We'd love to," Paul said. "Want us to pick you up?"

  "Nah, thanks. I'll need to get there a little early; I help 'em set up, get the sound system goin'. I'll see y'all there." He smiled and turned to start his balky engine. After a couple of pulls on the starter rope, it sputtered to life. He sat down and motored away, looking back to give them a wave after a few yards.

  ****

  "He seems like a nice guy," Paul said, as Tom motored into the harbor entrance.

  "Do you suppose he lives on that boat?" Sadie asked.

  "People do," Connie said.

  "But he seems young," Sadie said. "What would someone like that do for a living?"

  Connie and Paul traded smiles.

  "He may have money," Connie said.

  "Or he could just live inexpensively," Paul added. "You know, just pick up work along the way. A lot of people do that."

  "But that's such a tiny boat," Sadie said. "How could somebody live on a boat like that?"

  "It's all what you get used to," Connie said. "If he's by himself, there's probably plenty of room."

  "But is it safe? A boat like that, out in the ocean?"

  Paul studied Tropic Tramp for a moment.

  "That's an Alberg 35, I think. It's a good, seagoing design from the '60s. That's a 'go anywhere' boat."

  "Go anywhere?" Sadie asked. "What's that mean?"

  "Plenty of those boats have circumnavigated. 'Go anywhere' is another term for seaworthy. There was a time not long ago when a boat like that would have been considered a big boat in the cruising community, especially for a single-hander."

  "Wow. I guess I don't know a lot about boats," Sadie said. "I thought you had to have a big boat to go out in the ocean — at least as big as Diamantista II."

  They were quiet as they finished their coffee, and then Connie broke the silence. "Tell me if it's none of my business, but I'm curious about why you didn't tell him you were a professional singer."

  Sadie looked at her, frowning, and thought for a few seconds. "I'm not sure. I'm struggling with this whole thing, you see. It all happened so suddenly. One minute, I was a spoiled rich kid, or thought I was, and then I was kicked out on the street without a penny to my name. I'm not exaggerating; I had nothing. Nowhere to go, no money to even eat. I took any kind of job I could get, trying to just stay alive. I ended up working as a waitress in a couple of cheap nightclubs, and before I knew it, I got talked into becoming a stripper. They called it being an exotic dancer, but it didn't really matter whether you could dance. Anyway, one place let the girls pick their own dance tunes, and I like jazz. I started singing during my sets, and pretty soon, I hooked up with Leana, and I didn't have to strip any more. I guess maybe I'm even rich, overnight, just because I can sing and I got lucky. I ... I can't believe I just told you all that. God, I'm so ashamed ... I ... " she sobbed.

  Connie gave Paul a hard look, and he said, "If you ladies will excuse me, I need to clean up the galley."

  When he had gone below, she put an arm around Sadie's shoulders, and the girl collapsed against her, crying. After Sadie's breathing evened out, Connie said, "You know, you shouldn't ever be ashamed of doing what you have to do to survive. Nobody worthwhile will think less of you for fighting to stay alive, Sadie."

  "But it was so awful, so ... I mean look at you. You and Paul ... how could you know what that felt like? Sweating under the spotlights, breathing the stale cigarette smoke. Those slobbering drunks, trying to stick dollar bills to my ... "

  "We all have our stories, Sadie. Sometimes you don't have
a lot of options. I can't know what it was like for you, any more than you can guess at the twists and turns life's thrown my way. But it looks like you're making the best of it, and that's what matters. Tell me about singing; you must be proud of that, aren't you?"

  "I can't believe it. One day a few months ago, I had my first recording session; I didn't even have but one pair of shoes — flip-flops, at that — to wear to the studio. Now I'm famous. And rich, I guess, from what Leana says, anyway. She's booking me in all the big name places; it's like a whirlwind. That's why she thought I ought to come down here."

  "That's great; you deserve it. I'm no expert, but your singing brought tears to my eyes last night, and most people think I'm a hard woman."

  "I don't deserve it. That's why I don't tell anybody. I like to sing for people, and try to make them feel what's behind the music. I want them to like that, the feeling, the music, because of what it is. I don't want them to like it because I'm some big-name pop star. That's why I didn't tell Tom. And I don't think you're a hard woman. Why do you say that?"

  "I'll tell you about myself another time, if you want, but I don't think it's fair for you to not tell Tom. Let him decide what he thinks about the real you."

  "But I like him; he plays the guitar as well as I sing, and he's not famous or rich. It's not fair that I am; he might be put off by that, jealous. I wouldn't blame him."

  "Rich and famous mean different things to different people. He may have everything he wants, Sadie. That's all that matters, that he's happy with what he has. You run into a lot of people like that in the cruising community, people who're comfortable with themselves and not overly worried about other people's attitudes and expectations."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yes. You'll see. But anyway, I think you should tell him."

  "You mean, who I am?"

  "Yes. He might feel, I don't know, like you're playing him for a fool if you hide your identity from him and he finds out, don't you think?"

  "But I like it that he likes me just for my singing."

  "I don't think that will change if you tell him. He's already decided about you based on what he heard last night; don't insult him by not trusting him to know you're a star."

  "But what if he's ... I don't know ... intimidated, or whatever?"

  "You aren't responsible for his reactions; only for your own behavior, right?"

  "Yeah. You sound like Leana. That's the kind of thing she says. And you're right; I should tell him."

  "Before you start your performance tonight, right?"

  "Yeah. Give him a chance to cut and run."

  "I don't think that'll happen, but if it does, it'll be his loss."

  ****

  "Looks like the Barrera woman started the charter business three years ago," Pratt said, studying the fax that had just come in from the private investigator. "She owned a boat called Diamantista by herself for about a year. Bought the current boat, this Diamantista II, with this Russo guy around a year and a half ago. They had a couple hundred grand worth of work done on it right after they bought it, someplace up in Maine."

  "They ain't been at this too long, then," Freddy said.

  "Wonder where she got the bread for a million-dollar yacht?" Pratt mused.

  "From Russo?" Freddy offered.

  "I meant the first boat she bought. She was solo on that one."

  "Why would she sell that and buy another one with that guy, then?" Freddy asked.

  Pratt shook his head. "Who knows why women do the shit they do? Maybe the first one was a piece of shit, and this guy helped her buy a good one. But I'd still like to know where she got the money. There was no mortgage recorded on either one."

  "She looks like a Mexican to me. Or some kinda spic. Maybe she's hooked up with one of the cartels," Freddy said.

  "You're a fuckin' bigot, Freddy. You know that?"

  "Why do you say that? I had a lot of spic girlfriends. They're — "

  "You're gonna wake up with your damn throat cut one mornin'. Them people all carry blades, and Miami ain't no place to be callin' 'em spics. I mean, shit, Freddy, one day you gonna screw up and say somethin' like that to one of Guzman's guys, and that'll be it. You may be my cousin, but I can't bail your ass out with them; they're my fuckin' partners, man. Clean up your act, okay?"

  "Yeah, boss, okay."

  "Says here that she owned a few small businesses over the years, was a partner in a diet clinic up in Savannah that went bust. Dropped out of sight a few years ago, and then surfaced again when she bought the first boat and got herself a captain's license."

  "She sure didn't keep that boat very long. Wonder why?" Freddy asked.

  "You back on that again? When's Sol gonna have a full report for us? Maybe there's an answer comin'."

  "I don't know," Freddy said. "He said this was from the credit check place. The other might take a couple days."

  "Shit, lookit this." Pratt stabbed the paper with his right index finger. "This Russo asshole's a retired Miami cop. No fuckin' wonder he looks familiar."

  "Think he was one of ours?" Freddy asked.

  "I dunno. Get hold of Louie and find out what the skinny is on Paul Russo. If he was on the pad, this might work out okay, after all."

  Chapter 6

  Connie had rigged the hammock on the foredeck while Paul cooked lunch. Sadie had tried to assist, and Connie had graciously accepted her help, but Sadie could tell that it would probably have been faster and easier for Connie to do it all herself. Once the hammock was in place, they had stretched an awning from the headstay to the mast.

  Sadie felt drowsy after lunch, an emotional letdown from having unburdened herself, she thought. After they had eaten, she excused herself, thinking she would nap.

  Settling herself in the hammock, she replayed her conversation with Connie. That woman was easy to talk to, and Sadie hadn't shared her feelings with anyone since she'd lost her parents 18 months ago. With a shock, she realized that she trusted Connie. That would bear some study; she hardly knew her. But she'd come back to that; she had other things she wanted to think about.

  An only child, Sadie had always been introspective, at least until her parents died. Then life had become far too demanding to allow her the luxury of self-analysis. She reflected upon what she'd told Connie, surprised at how much she had revealed. She'd stopped short of the most embarrassing part, but her instinct was that Connie could guess that. Connie was a good listener and clearly a savvy student of people; she would fill in the missing pieces. She might not get the details right, but she'd come close enough.

  Connie wasn't just a good listener; she was a safe listener. She and Paul were isolated, cut off from Sadie's world. Sadie couldn't see any harm in baring her soul to Connie. She decided to take full advantage of that; she was desperate for a friend. She'd had friends in college, or had thought at the time that they were friends, but none of the friendships had survived her fall, as she had come to characterize the change in her situation.

  Talking to Connie had dredged up forgotten memories. Sadie had been so busy surviving for the last few months that she hadn't allowed herself to ponder her lot. Her folks had been killed in a plane crash. Sadie had one surviving grandmother, but she was senile, in a nursing home somewhere. Sadie didn't even know where, and in any case, the woman couldn't offer Sadie either emotional or financial support.

  Growing up, Sadie had thought her parents were wealthy. Private schools, her own car, expensive family vacations, a house on Fisher Island in Miami, and a penthouse in Manhattan had been parts of her life for as long as she could recall. When her parents' lawyer had told her about the crash, she had been devastated by the loss, but she'd had no inkling of what was to come.

  The drama had played out with relentless speed. Within a few weeks, she'd learned that while her parents had been high earners, they had accumulated no wealth. Once the accounting was done, their debts far exceeded their assets. Their properties were heavily mortgaged; there was nothing left for Sadie. No
insurance, no investments. Two high-earning MBAs who were experts at managing cash flow, her parents had left her penniless and ill-equipped to cope.

  She'd done what she had to do, including sleeping with that filthy bastard, Jonas Pratt. She hadn't told Connie about that, though Connie had probably surmised that something like that happened. The thought of Jonas brought to mind the email from Leana. That creep, Freddy Thompson, had been looking for her. She had not expected that Jonas would accept her departure gracefully. Leana had stalled him, and even arranged to warn Jonas off, but she'd still sent the email to warn her. Jonas Pratt wasn't the kind of man to be easily dissuaded. She should keep moving, because he would eventually pick up her trail.

  ****

  "Did you get her settled down?" Paul asked.

  Connie nodded, keeping an eye on the foredeck where Sadie was snoozing. "Yes, I think so, poor kid. I don't know what precipitated her problems, but she told me quite a sob story. I don't mean that the way it sounds; she wasn't playing for sympathy, or at least it didn't seem that way. She found herself on her own by surprise, without a penny, after being brought up to think she was a rich, privileged child. I can't fathom what that would be like, but it had to be a big shock."

  "Come on Connie. You started out at rock bottom and did it all yourself, and you were a lot younger than she is. How can you say you don't know what it's like? You were there."

  "I don't think so, Paul. I started out with nothing, that's true, and then I lost my parents. But I didn't know there was any other way. I knew from the start that whatever I got out of life would be what I could score on my own. My folks never gave me anything except a place to sleep and food, such as it was. They couldn't. They didn't have it to give. I think it would be much harder to have a life of luxury and then lose it all unexpectedly, like Sadie did."

  "What happened to her? Did she do something that caused her parents to cut her off? She doesn't seem like that type, you know."

  "No, she doesn't. But I don't know what happened. She didn't get into that. You heard what she said, right? About the stripping?"