An Evening at the Carnival with Mister Christian

"So, why get another dog, and why name her Charley?" Elizabeth asked.

"Why not? Parents pass on names to their kids, people have more than one dog," he said, adding, "I can't imagine not having a Springer with me now. Too much a part of my life, I guess. In a way I can't quite explain."

Whittington looked at him again. "I heard someone playing the guitar out there this morning. Was that you?"

"Nope."

Deborah looked away, smiling, then stood up. "Anyone want more coffee?"

"Maybe more rum for me," Rod said.

Whittington too held out his cup. "Coffee, if you please, Deborah."

"Fresh scones if anyone's interested," she added.

Everyone wanted those too, it turned out, and Deb smiled. Elizabeth went with her, and they started on the dishes.

"Sumner," Whittington asked, "just how long are you here for?"

"Oh, I'm working my way through a list of repairs," he said. "Dropped off the staysail this morning near Portsmouth, want to change the belts on the engine and generator, all the fluids too, then I'm going to cross over to Honfleur, run up the Seine and bunk over 'til April or thereabouts."

"Oh really? I'm leaving in two weeks. Going to Paris."

"The marina by the Bastille?"

"Yes. You too?"

Collins nodded. "Then we'll be leaving about the same time."

"Want to caravan across. Better for the traffic separation scheme that way."

"Sure, sounds good. Going on holiday?"

"Retiring. Going to the Med, in fact, where I intend to kill myself slowly, with whiskey and loose women."

Rod nodded. "Probably the best way to go out, all things considered."

"So, is that a Nauticat you've got?" Collins asked. "What's the draft?"

"Shoal draft option. Draws less than five."

"You'll ship the masts at Honfleur?"

"Cheaper across the river, but yes, probably."

"I wanted to stay in the inner harbor there."

"It's charming, not so overrun with tourists this time of year, but still kind of busy. How long will you stay there?"

"I don't know. A week or so."

"'Bout right. You going to hunt with that dog?"

"Nope."

"'Shame. They're good here in our brush. Done much hunting?"

"Only submarines."

"What?"

"Navy. I flew ASW aircraft."

"What? A helo?"

"S-3 Viking."

"Oh, the real McCoy. Ever get to chase Ivan?"

Collins shrugged.

"Ah, just so," Whittington smiled. "Miss it? The flying, I mean?"

"Every day."

"Yes, it's hard to get it out of the system, isn't it?"

"Did you..."

"Yes, RAF. Jaguars."

"Bet that was fun."

"Never saw combat, went on to school and that was that."

"And you miss it...?"

"Every day. Yes."

Elizabeth returned with scones and put them on the table, and a bottle of rum mysteriously appeared and was as quickly emptied. 'The boys' went up to the cockpit and looked over charts for Honfleur and the Seine estuary, Rod getting more worked up by the minute, while 'the girls' repaired to the aft cabin and began talking about how the devil were they going to adapt to life on boats -- after all they'd been through together.

"Rod hasn't stopped talking about it since we got in last night. One look at this boat and he went out of his mind."

"At one point you looked pretty interested yourself."

"Well, look around, would you? This is insanely nice, so who wouldn't want to travel around like this?"

"Would you?"

"After the way Rod talked last night I may not have any choice in the matter, but truthfully, I like the idea."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I mean, the bad weather, always having to adapt to strange new ways of making do...sure, that's a stretch, but so too is living on that farm for the rest of my life. Constant change versus the same thing day after day. We've been out there ten years and I feel like the walls are closing in all around me again, so yes, maybe this is the thing to do."

"I know," Deborah said. "But things fall apart, don't they?"

"You two have grown close, haven't you? So quickly?"

"You have no idea."

"Quite sudden, don't you think?"

"Sudden, unexpected, but he's such a breath of fresh air. And I'm mad about him. Out of the blue, yes, but just completely bonkers."

"You think you'll go with him then, when he leaves?"

"If he'll have me."

"You are kidding, aren't you? That man is so completely smitten...I'm surprised he hasn't asked you to marry him yet."

Deborah smiled. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh Lord...did you say yes?"

"I told him I love him, Liz. And I do, too."

"Have you told him about Steve, about all the other stuff?"

"That was so long ago, Lizzie. What would he want to know about all that? Ancient history, water under the bridge."

Elizabeth nodded. "Okay. How have you been doing otherwise?"

"I don't know. Too lonely for words, still depressed, then Sumner was there. That's it. End of story."

"Vulnerable. We'll always be vulnerable."

"Yes, but I feel strong right now. I guess that's all that matters."

"Sometimes that's all we have, Deb. How's the shop? Business still good?"

"Yes, very. Almost too good now, so I've been very tired."

"That's good too, though, isn't it?"

"Too a point," Deborah added.

"So, if you leave with Sumner, then what?"

"I don't know. Sell the shop, I suppose."

"Do you think that wise?" Liz said.

"No. But if the choice is wisdom or following my heart? Wisdom has been very lonely, Liz. Like living on that farm for the next twenty years, maybe, would be very difficult for you."

"We're in the same place again, aren't we?"

"No, not quite the same," Deb said. "We were young. Impressionable. We took too many chances, stupid ones at that?"

"And we fell apart."

"We did," Deb sighed.

"What if we...?"

"Fall apart again? Well, then, we'll have a much longer way to fall this time, won't we?"

"I can't go back there, you know. Not again."

"I know."

"It's not fair of you to not tell him. You know that, don't you?"

Deborah looked away, winced as Liz's words hit home. "Maybe."

"There's no 'maybe' about this, Deb. None at all. He'll find out someday, and what if he finds out from someone else? You know what happens then, don't you?"

They looked at one another, and they both knew what would happen.

Because it had happened before...on the same Merry-Go-Round that brought them together. It all started on a summer's evening, now almost thirty years ago...

+++++

Life seemed like a magic carpet ride that night.

Walking through Soho, streets hot and thick, people moving like molten lava. Packed clubs and bouncers on sidewalks, hookers and pickpockets slipping through the steaming mass like hissing vapor, heavy metals playing through the night.

The word was out: George Harrison was going to play one of the clubs that night, and everyone was there. Limousines cruised the streets like sharks prowling a reef, and when word spread Harrison was in one of them speculation grew more heated: something big was in the air tonight, something big was going to happen. Magic was in the air, the wild magic of rising expectations drifting over fetid, bitter-sweet memories of London in the 60s.

Deb and a friend were on the prowl, too, looking for fun in what they hoped were all the wrong places. Up from the country, looking for some magic of their own, looking to have the time of their lives. They slipped into one of the clubs, went down the twisted stairs into a basement crawling with punks and goths, and in their fishnets and leather and PVC they fit right in. But she realized this wasn't THE place, it was too boho, too frantic, no connections to be had -- so they split, went back into the molten flow of the night. Deb followed the clothes this time, the tailored suits and women in heels, and she latched onto a well-tuned group, followed them into another club. A more laid back, upscale place, with roadies setting up on a stage, evening jackets and furs on the dance floor, and while she felt out of place Deb knew this was it. Drinks in hand they slipped into the shadows and watched, waiting for the action. A drummer was at his set and started a raucous solo and the frenzy set in, bass and rhythm guitars joined and then Harrison was on stage; Beware of Darkness set an ominous opening tempo, but then Wah-Wah hit and everyone was suddenly delirious. Harrison's set lasted a half hour or so, then he was gone and another vocalist appeared, a keyboardist too, and an hour of Prog followed...and by that time Deb and her friend were hooked up and dancing.

Her partner held her close at one point, asked if she wanted to go to another gig. He was playing, he told her, and it would be cool if she came.

He was, as it happened, lead guitar in one of those 'super groups' that popped up in the 80s, and while famous was an understatement she'd hardly recognized him at first. After his concert they went to his place, a farm out in the country south of the city, and things soon went from cool to far-out. She became a part of the group's inner circle, traveled with them to concerts in Asia and Australia, was swept along inside their whirlwind existence and started to lose herself inside the glitterati of the moment. Drugs and booze and private jets, sex anytime and anywhere, time passed in a purple haze until one of the boys overdosed. The group ran home to England after that, and though there was talk about returning to the studio everyone was too bummed to think straight.

Steve wanted to get away from it all, went with her to Brighton. He hid behind sunglasses and they stayed in a hotel for a while, then he bought a flat with a view of the sea and they moved in together. They tried to get off the drugs but were hooked, and one day she was arrested in a sting and he got her out, his lawyers got her a deal in rehab and she was home soon enough. He fell even deeper into the scene, was strung-out on heroin all the time, hashish for a nightcap any time of day.

Then she knew she was pregnant and he seemed to come back to her after that, for a time, anyway. The group went into the studio, and their next album was even more successful than the first, with a couple of number ones to kick off their U.S. tour. He was there when Brie was born, when they found out she was not going to live, and then she felt him pulling away -- and it wasn't long after that he left.

Her father died and she saw her 'mum' for the first time years, and knew she needed help to get through his passing. She stayed in the flat now, alone, and her mother came down almost every day, just for a visit, she said. In spite of their differences they grew close, closer than they ever had before, and they talked about all the things they'd never done together, talked about maybe opening a tea shop and baking things together.

Then out of the blue her mum passed, a stroke that hit without warning -- and Deb spiraled away from the world after that. She went out for a walk one afternoon and woke up days later in a sanitarium. Weeks passed, then months, the only sunny ray of hope -- a new friend. Another Brighton girl, another girl fighting drugs and depression. That girl had tried to find the night -- and failed.

Her name, Elizabeth. Liz. Lizzie.

They became the best of friends, the kind of friend you make when you're fighting the same demons, and their months passed in close combat. When Deb got out her mum's solicitors settled the estate, she bought a little place and started the tea shop. Steve came 'round and signed over the flat to her then was gone again. For good, this time, as it turned out, and life began to take on new contours. She drifted along listening to Scheherazade and Prokofiev, baking scones and arranging flowers and living her life as far away from 'the scene' as she could -- and that other life obliged and stayed away from her. Her loneliness grew into a wall and she kept everyone out and away, on the far, far side of her wall. As life took on quieter hues, no one was allowed close -- if only because she felt safer that way. She thought of her parents and her daughter if she thought of anyone at all, and so she danced in the dark, always alone, when she bothered to dance at all.

Liz got out months later and moved in with her, helped get the shop off the ground -- then she met Rod. He liked dogs, had inherited his family's farm and worked at an engineering shop in Southhampton. Stuff for the navy, big ships, not interesting but Liz didn't need interesting anymore. He was smart and steady and had a quiet wild streak and dreamed big, but Liz loved him all the same and that was that. They got married though she still worked in the café from time to time, but in time and as with most things, Liz and Deb drifted apart.

Years passed as such between the two, with their time together in hospital a kind of dark secret, their very own scarlet letters to tuck away out of sight -- but never far out of mind, because both seemed sure if word ever got out they too would be doomed to burn at the stake.

+++++

And life aboard Gemini settled into new rhythms of it's own. Collins rented a car, Deb drove to work or drove him on errands. She baked at the shop and often took Charley with her; he stripped down to shorts and -- belly deep in the engine compartment -- changed fluids and belts and packing glands. She'd come back to the boat for a late lunch and Charley would bounce all over the deck, whizzing on her astro-turf, always getting underfoot, then, after a last trip to Portsmouth to pick up the staysail, all that remained was to top off the tanks and do the bureaucratic shuffle at Customs.

Whittington came by and told Collins he was ready to go, and his old Nauticat did at least look seaworthy and shipshape, then Rod and Liz came down with their duffel bags -- and new boat shoes -- both ready to go, they said. Deb had dozens of breads and cakes ready and packed, and Sumner had to laugh at the sight of so much food for so short a trip.

They all hiked into town and had dinner, talked about the looming adventure, about more mundane things -- like when the tide was going to turn in the morning. After two drinks Whittington was talking about women and whiskey and how much fun he was going to have in Paris...

"Were you ever married, Whit?" Deb asked.

"Yes, but there are many other forms of self-abuse I have yet to enjoy, Miss Hill, and Paris is the best place, hell, maybe the last place left on earth to enjoy them all. I have ten cases of Scotch on board and a pristine liver. Really, what more do I need?"

"I don't know," Deb said, smirking. "Rubbers?"

"You have hidden depths, Miss Hill. I think I shall like you after all."

"Glad to hear it," she said. "Liz? You ready for this?"

"What? For our great sea voyage!?"

Collins laughed, shook his head. "You know, the weather in the forecast tomorrow is sunny and warm, with zero wind. The channel is a lake right now. We're going to motor across a ninety mile wide mill pond...so don't think of this as Shackleton's last journey!"

"Famous last words!" Whit roared. "Right now there's a giant wave forming out there with your name on it, Collins, and halfway across it's going to come barreling right up the channel and we're all going to surf our way to Amsterdam!"

"That'll be fun," Rod said. "Can't wait!"

"So, think your fish will go with us?"

"Fish?" Sumner asked.

"That dolphin!"

"I hope so, but she hasn't been around lately. I think she saw the pup, and Deb, and saw I'm okay. My guess is she left for the open sea, but, well, I kind of hope she's still around."

"Me too," Deb said, and Liz nodded her head too.

"Funny how we've attached ourselves to this story," Whittington said. "And that dolphin's, too, I suppose."

"What do you mean," Deb said suspiciously.

"Oh, not trying to be offensive, Miss Hill. It's just that Sumner's story about his wife and dog is now a part of our story too, isn't it? So now that dolphin has become a part of our story, she has personal significance to all of us; she's not just another fish out there in the sea. We hold her close, she means something to us. That's all I meant."

"I guess that's part of the bigger picture, isn't it," Liz said. "We don't empathize with other people or animals unless or until they become personal to us in some way."

"Oh, sure, but now that she is," Whittington added, "I'm hoping she's out there with us tomorrow, as well."

After dinner they walked back to the marina, stopping to wait for the green flash, but it was a no-show and they walked on as the evening closed in around them. The air was a bit cooler than it had been the past week, and Collins saw a bit of mackerel sky overhead...

"I wouldn't be surprised if we woke up to fog in the morning," he said, and Whittington looked up at the sky then.

"Yes indeed. By midnight. That's my guess."

"Your radar? What's the range?"

"Sixteen miles. Yours?"

"Thirty-six."

"Shipping lanes start about five miles offshore, the heavier stuff is mid-channel, however."

"Nothing like fog to spice up your life," Collins sighed.

"Is fog a problem?" Liz asked.

"Only if there's a problem," Collins said, grinning at her.

"Which means what?" Deb said.

"It's no big deal with radar," Whittington said confidently as they resumed walking, but he moved in close to Collins then. "I haven't noticed. Do you have reflectors in the masts."

"Yup, on the shrouds, port and starboard. You?"

"Yes, of course. I think we should be out the breakwater just at slack water. 0440, I think it is, and get an early start on it. Sun should break it up by ten or so, and we can beat a lot of shipping out of the Solent that way."

"Sounds good to me. We'd better get some rest," Sumner said, looking at his watch.

"You decide when we're going to leave yet?" Rod asked as he came alongside.

"Pull out of the slip around 0430 or so," Whittington said. "Say about ten minutes to get all the lines aboard, so up on deck around 0415."

"Six hours of sleep if you're lucky," Collins added.

They walked down the long sloping drive to the marina, then out to the boats. Collins helped Liz and Deb aboard, then turned on the spreader lights and walked around the deck, checking dock lines and genoa sheet leads, then the safety lines on the anchors. He went below and checked the bilges and float-switches, made sure the gear Rod and Liz had carried aboard was safely stowed, then he bid them a good night. Sitting at the chart table by the companionway, he pulled out the Ship's Log and got it ready to update, the charts too, then went over breakers on the panel. He heard Deb in the shower and made a mental note to top off the water tanks first thing in the morning, then went forward and told Rod and Liz to keep any showering to a minimum -- at least until they were safely back ashore.

"What about now?" Liz asked.

"Deb's showering now, but as soon as she's through. Rod, let me show you how to get it going..." 'Five hours now,' Collins sighed as he thought about the short night ahead, but he was getting the same butterflies he had before every trip and wasn't sleepy, so he went in when Deb finished showering and brushed his teeth, then took his evening meds and waited for her on the bed.

"I'm beginning to know that look in your eyes," she said when she came in and lay beside him.

"Oh?"

"Horny?"

He grinned. "Every time I look at your legs."

"Sleepy?"

"Not at all. You?"

"Wide awake. Nervous -- and wide awake."

"Not much to be nervous about, not really."

"I've never been sailing, I seem to recall telling you. Matter of fact, only boat I've ever been on was a dinner cruise somewhere when I was a kid."

He smiled. "First time for everything, I reckon. Can you swim?"