Captain Dave’s Folly

Stepping onto a gorgeous baby blue Eastbay 44 at the Liberty Landing Marina with “It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere” by Jimmy Buffet playing, our spirits were high. The sun loomed large in a cloudless sky and shone like a new penny. The marina docks were full of boaters arriving, departing, tending their boats, and having cookouts on the dock—all telling one another what they were up to and well satisfied with their exploits. There was a slow and steady breeze over the Hudson River. It was a perfect August afternoon.

As we boarded, Maria was complaining about our Uber not being fancy enough, and I was ignoring her. She said, “Baby, I need to get a solid photo for my social media coming out of a black car, you know this.” I smirked, “Baby, I may be a lawyer, but I’m not made of money, and this isn’t a promo video—we are boarding a yacht—that should be enough for your social media.” All I wanted was to have a good time with Jo-jo and Christy, a couple of my favorite people, and to forget about all the problems I was having with my soul-sucking career and my money-sucking girlfriend. These two succubusses consumed all my waking hours and competed against one another like jealous mistresses. Something had to give. And I knew it was coming soon. The problem was that I loved Maria and I loved helping people—I just hated being a lawyer and hated being treated like a human ATM.

Jo-jo was wearing a Johnny-O shirt, crisp chinos, and Ray Bans. Grabbing my hand and patting my shoulder, Jo-jo said, “Thanks for inviting me. Our daughter Ava is a terror. I really need this.” Christy was tall and elegant. She wore a fresh white sundress over a black bikini. All her features were dark and capable, which contrasted Jo-jo’s soft and affable manner. But make no mistake, Christy was a pistol. The two of them shared a love for getting into trouble—that and stray dogs. She was on the phone asking her mother-in-law, “Did Ava’s fever come down,” walking back-and-forth in front of the gang-plank while Jo-jo and I caught up. 

Zoltan came over and grabbed our luggage to bring it below deck. I saluted him and said, “Oh Captain, my Captain.” He laughed and said, “remember that trip up to Yale with Sean Dowd and his Korean mistress where we were calling him Captain the whole night?” I said, “Remember when you just walked up and made out with that blonde outside the movie theater?” We both laughed. After stowing the luggage, Zoltan gave me a conspiratorial glance as he poured two strong gin and tonics and said, “A quick splash for the road?” It was more than a splash. We toasted. The girls shot disapproving looks. 

Before we reached the palisades, Zoltan was puking off the side of the helm of the Captain’s deck. Whatever stomach bug he’d contracted had laid him low, and in his weakened state he couldn’t fight it off, even on the open seas. It was a shame because Zoltan was not only our Captain but also the life of the party, and it looked like maybe the whole trip would need to be abandoned. 

“I can’t carry on Johnnie,” he said steadying himself on the rail, “but I have a plan, we are going to scoop up Captain Dave for a tag-in at the Dyckman Marina in Fort Washington Park. It’s a little bit out of the way but will give us a chance to take a quick trip up the palisades and get a view of the West Side of the City—the girls will eat that up—and can get some sun since we will be taking it slow.” I nodded. What the hell. As long as someone knew how to drive the boat, what did I care.

* * *

When we docked at Fort Washington Park, Captain Dave was waiting for us like he was reporting for duty.

Even from a far off, Captain Dave gave off the vibe of someone who shouldn’t be trusted. Captain Dave was a big Irish fella, a solid 6’4” and then some, with a regal aspect to his Captain’s uniform. Captain Dave wore a Captain’s cap with a traditional gold embroidered wreath on the lid. He had a full white beard like Hemingway in Havana, Cuba. He wore the barrel gut of a lifelong drinker. The way he strode up to the boat, you’d never know he was a clean 750 ml of rum deep. I could tell that there wasn’t a thing about him that inspired confidence in the girls.

“Is everyone ready for a voyage they’ll never forget,” Captain Dave asked as he gave Zoltan a big hug, stepped aboard, and took the helm. Zoltan shuffled off to get medical assistance and we shoved off back down the Hudson River.

“What are we drinking,” Captain Dave said as he revved the engine, in earshot of the girls who were sunning themselves on the bow. I stood out on the bow holding the railing and overheard Christy saying to Maria, “Ever since we had the baby, I do everything, and he only wants to go out with his friends and leave me alone with the kid—I’m tired. I talk to myself, I just keep saying, I love my life, I love my life—as if saying it will make it true.” And Maria said, “I really want a little girl, but John is so busy, and I love him, that he never even has time for me—and I want a man that adores me, that is low-key addicted—I’m used to being the center of attention. It’s crazy that men stand in line for hours to see me perform and it’s pulling teeth to even set a date with my man.” I ducked back inside with a sigh to hear Jo-jo debating with Captain Dave, who had a little Yeti rambler cup in seafoam he was shaking, which smelled of rum.

“You think you should be drinking while you’re driving the ship,” Jo-Jo asked.

“Ohh, sonny,” he laughed, “you wouldn’t deny a salty old sailor a drink of water out on the open seas, would ye,” Captain Dave said.

The skipper sat down at the cockpit bench and looked out the three cabin windows at the pink splashes threading the horizon. Maria and Christy began to make their way in as the rush of wind kicked up. Captain Dave pushed the throttle over 25 knots. He headed South toward Staten Island and zoomed beneath the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and out to the Bay and turned East by Breezy Point.

The light blue hull popped against the steely blue hue of the water it sat in. We sat on leather couches in the cockpit, the girls were draped in their beach towels. I dashed down to the saloon to grab some seltzers for the girls and gin and tonics for Jo-Jo and me.

When I turned around, Jo-Jo, Christy, and Maria had all scuttled down to join me. Maria said, “This is not ok.”

“What, babe?” 

She pointed at Captain Dave.

“It is still drinking and driving, you know, even if you’re driving a boat—and it is a lot more dangerous.”

“I think we’ll be ok,” I said, “he looks like he knows what he’s doing.” But he really didn’t if I’m being completely honest.

“They’re not wrong you know, Jo-jo said,” and patted my arm as we all headed back in.

* * *

Captain Dave gazed at Christy as if the two of them were alone in the cabin and said, “I’d never guess you were a mom with that figure.” He gave a big toothy grin that revealed two rows of slightly crooked teeth. “Don’t mind me, I don’t mean to offend you, I am just accustomed to speaking my mind—you know us old sailors can jabber on.”

Christy smiled politely and looked over at Jo-jo for help but he was engrossed in conversation with me.

The three of us had all been in a writer’s group back in college. I’d gone on to get into law. Jo-jo had gotten into marketing for the ASPCA, and Christy was an Editor who worked at a publication that put out exclusively Yong Adult Fiction. Fortunately for her, with her job she could work from home most days. They’d adopted three stray dogs that had been abused before finally making the leap and having their own kid, Ava. Maria was the odd man out, but she was spending most of the boat ride alternating between texting, taking selfies in the magic hour lighting, and working on her social media posts. She had her phone raised and was making duck lips and then switching to a composed profile photo, to see which came out better.

“You know, you remind me of a special Guyanese lady I met in the Bay of Biscay in the ‘90s. A mesmerizing creature, that one. I was taking tourists on voyages along the coast between France and Spain. But I washed up at a watering hole off the Cantabrian Sea. I found her at a, uh, Burlesque Show… and she spoke in both French and Spanish... and seduced me with her charms. To hear her sing during the show was to be transported. Later, walking on the beach, she began to speak in what she claimed was Mermish. It carried the sounds of whistles and clicks—muffled as if underwater. I don’t know if such a language exists. And to this day, I debate whether she is just some crazy con-woman or if she could be an actual siren. What I do know is she follows me and haunts me to this day; always showing up in various sea side towns. And every time she leaves me with not a dollar to my name and not a care in the world.”

“Wow,” Christy said, not knowing what to make of this strange story.

“I had to take extreme measures like leaving talismans with voodoo practitioners in hedge shanties by the sea, as a means to neutralize her charms. But she always finds her way back to me,” he said.

“I don’t believe in mermaids,” she said.

Christy’s towel slipped down her shoulder and Captain Dave looked over and said, “What’s the story with you and the young pup,” referring to Jo-jo.

“What do you mean,” she said.

“Nothing really. Just noticed the two of you have barely said one word to each other. A spry fireplug like you, if you were my girl, and I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I always speak the truth—I’d hardly be able to keep my hands off of you, especially in that bikini.”

Christy looked back at Captain Dave in uncomfortable silence. Then she looked back over at Jo-jo and said, “Hmmph. That’d be the day.”

* * *

Our motley crew toted our luggage from the dock of the Davis Park Marina down the boardwalk to our hotel. I thought Captain Dave was just helping with the luggage.

The Palms Hotel, where we were staying, had twin white stucco two-story townhouses with pink awnings and a huge communal patio—one for Maria and I, and one for Christy and Jo-jo. The girls oohed and awed and said, “cute” as we approached. Captain Dave took his free arm and put it on my back and said, “I’ll be bunking up with you two, ehh?”

Maria and I both looked back at him but didn’t know what to say. I had assumed he’d bunk up on the boat in the marina, but I guess I’d assumed wrong.

Maria started getting dressed, and said, “honey, can you help me tie the back of this dress up?” It was a low-cut shimmery dress with sparkling sequins.

“Babe, I haven’t seen you in nearly a month, you know,” I said.

“And you have so much free time—you don’t even check-in on me while I’m on the road. I’m lucky if I can even get you to return a phone call,” Maria said.

“You’re not in your twenties. I want you to be successful, but how long are you going to keep this up. You talk about marriage and kids. But where does that fit in to your life,” I said.

“I know, hunny bunny. It certainly is tough, but what can we do. Look at Jo-jo and Christy. Are they really different? Ok. They tied the knot and had a kid, but they can barely even look at each other. It’s like Jo-jo didn’t even notice that booze-swilling lech was all over Christy, or he just didn’t give a f**k,” Maria said.

“Something has to give, babe. You live on the road. I live in the courtroom and live by deadlines. Something has to give,” I told her.

She finished her makeup and turned dramatically, pursing her lips, and said, “I’m ready. Let’s go have some fun.”

“Sure babe.”

“Can you ApplePay me forty bucks, I need to get some cigarettes and supplies,” she said. I smirked, knowing that supplies meant weed, and took out my iPhone.

Just then Captain Dave came out of the bathroom and called up the stairs, “We’re all waiting outside.”

* * *

It was just a short walk down the boardwalk to the night life. A band was playing at the deck of the Casino Bar. They were covering “Hey Ya” as we arrived and singing, “What is cooler than being cool—” and the crowd screamed back “Ice Cold!” 

As they got to the part that went “shake it, shake it, shake it [shake it like a polaroid picture]” two girls were shimmying back-and-forth with their breasts nearly touching one another, to the general amusement of the crowd.

We sat out on the deck and enjoyed the cool night air and the upbeat music and drank our sorrows. Captain Dave was in the middle of a Conga line and making fast friends of all the party girls out on the town.

Christy got up to dance, leaving he three of us at the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Captain Dave being cheeky and giving Christy a twirl and shook my head. He’s absolutely shameless.

“What’s up with the two of you,” Jo-jo said.

“Did you notice Captain Douche trying to make a pass at your girl,” Maria said.

Jo-jo nodded and said, “It didn’t escape my attention.”

“What a creep,” Maria said.

“I guess the man knows what he likes,” Jo-jo responded.

“And you aren’t even going to do anything about it,” Maria said.

“Honey, it’s not like anything happened,” I said.

She crossed her arms as if it was really eating her that Jo-jo let this violation slip. Christy came back from the dance floor and plopped down next to Maria, saying, “Why so glum guys?”

But none of us were in the mood to do anything but drink and listen to the music.

Captain Dave stumbled back to the table, arm-in-arm with a Guyanese woman. She had deep espresso colored eyes, full lips, and thick black hair and moved in a captivating rhythm.

“Hi, I’m Marta,” she said in a melodic voice, shaking hands with Christy and Maria a little longer than was comfortable, and making introductions.

“This is the lady I was telling you about,” Captain Dave said to Christy, tipping his hat and chuckling. “She’s gone and found me again!”

“Oh stop,” Marta said, punching Captain Dave’s arm. “You will ruin my surprise.”

There was a bonfire going down by the ocean. The orange flames pulsed with the slow roll of the black and inky waves, kissed by the thin light of the moon as a layer of wispy clouds dappled the moonlight. Marta began singing and humming to herself, clinking her shell bracelets against the wooden table like shaking Morocco’s. Every movement of her body was fluid and seemed animated by some underlying music.

“I love your jewelry,” Maria said, petting Marta’s arm. Captain Dave was massaging her shoulders and leaning forward and hugging Marta around the shoulders. Christy, who was usually more reserved, said, “where did you get that bathing suit?” Jo-jo said, “You remind me of someone I work with, she also has a really good voice.”

As I looked into Marta’s eyes, I felt stunned. It was like I was standing on the edge of the shore on a starry night looking into the star-filled sky, frozen in awe. I felt like she had released a desire inside of me that I couldn’t put a name on, that desire that wells up at the end of spring when the first warm days of summer stir something inside.

Marta said, “our desires are like questions. We can satisfy them by answering. But we can only answer once. So choose carefully.”

We were all feeling really good all of a sudden as we headed back to The Palms Hotel. I was pretty sure this was going to be my last trip with Maria. Might as well enjoy it. I saw her kissing on Marta’s neck as we all walked back along the boardwalk, but I didn’t care.

In the eerie moonlight, I was pretty sure I saw Captain Dave necking with Christy too. 

Everything was a blur. We stumbled back into our rooms. Maria fell into my arms, or was it Marta?

* * *

I woke up with a cottony taste in my mouth. I saw my wallet lying open on the dresser.

Jo-jo walked up the stairs and into my room.

“They get you too,” he said.

Maria sat up and said, “I feel like I’ve been drugged.”

“Jo-jo, where’s Captain Dave,” I asked.

“Long gone compadre. We’ve been played,” he said.

Christy said, “Can’t say it wasn’t fun though.”