Chapter 2. Crossing off my List.
I packed up my stuff, my laptop and cell charger, some clothes, and drove to the marina Friday evening after the office closed for the 4th of July weekend. We re-opened Wednesday morning, but there were people signed-up to take emergency client calls. They used an answering service but still needed someone to deliver messages to. Once in a while we got a call that needed an emergency response, but those were rare. Mostly our clients were businessmen and wealthy retirees. We generally did not take cases like drunk driving or major crimes like murder or larceny, but if the client paid a large annual retainer fee we'd defend them from nearly anything and that's why someone had to take calls even at 3am on Christmas Day. The office manager usually didn't make me take calls, he said I am too direct with people for that, like the Robot on the movie Forbidden Planet.
With two food delivery apps on my cell when I got to the boat (still named Susan, the previous owner's daughter that drowned in a wreck diving accident at age 19) hunger was my middle name. I was ready to order but changed my mind and walked around to the Yacht Club, the bar was super busy and painfully loud. I bought two bags of ice and a 12-pack of Coors Banquet in bottles. I also ordered a pizza and told the bartender I'd be right back. I carried the beer and ice to the boat and walked back to the club, arriving just in time to see my pizza arrive. Two older guys at the bar cheered (with huge smiles), so I sat down and flipped open the box and started to eat and shared my prize.
My last slice of pizza disappeared before I could grab my second so I ordered another pizza and a second pint of beer. Luckily they had regular Coors on tap.
Lesson learned: if you ordered a pizza to-go and sat at the bar with the box that was a signal to everyone that you were sharing.
Turned out the guys I shared my pizza with were all divorced and lived here on their boats too. I heard several comments that when it was time to choose they kept their boats instead of their wives, we all laughed as the pizza slices flew from the box and the music blasted from the juke box. The guy that sat on the stool next to me didn't look poor judging by his Rolex and clothing I'd guess he made a decent living. Anyone that could afford a slip at this marina and membership in this club had to earn well over 100k a year to afford the fees and a yacht. I think thirty feet was the shortest boat I saw here.
Advice from the doctor reminded me to be careful, he could be a poser. Over in Scottsdale they called 'em $20,000 millionaires: fake Rolex, suits and dresses from Goodwill. They rode the bus but said they drove a Bimmer and all the poser women had herpes too. The most pathetic parade of posers I ever saw was at their Car Show and the Golf Tournament, I called it the Alcoholic Open.
Luckily Florida had no state income tax, but on the down side it was thick with a-holes that got run out of New York City, so you always had to be on guard for people who instinctively became aggressive and rude. People like that were the reason why I refused to go near New York City or do business with companies there. They were the type of people that verbally abused everyone and had no friends and their relatives all hated them, but Manhattan Island had a lot of them.
Tim pulled a business card from his shirt pocket for me then tried to trade cell numbers but I kept ignoring his requests. I never told him what I did but he tried a few times, I knew eventually he would learn my secret. All I hoped was he wasn't invested in a company we just sued! I didn't even have a card to trade so I offered my handshake, "Nice to meet you, name's Steven." At a quick glance I think his card said Private Investigator (licensed in Florida). I left it on the bar and used it as a drink coaster.
It turned out Tim also owned a Bristol, but his was 35 foot and was two years older than mine. After three pizzas and six glasses of beer I paid my hefty bar tab and we left the club and all the noise and walked outside, he pointed out his sailboat from the pier. Then I led us around the marina to show him mine and admitted I just got my mariner's license and only owned her for a couple months and was spending my first weekend onboard. He slapped me gently on the shoulder and warned me that's how it started.
"How what started?" I asked.
"If you're married it's the beginning of the divorce, and if you owned a house you'll even consider burning it down! There's something truly primal for men living on a boat, breathing the sea air, it activates something inside our brains."
We both chuckled, but it seemed like this guy was very perceptive. There was something about life aboard a sailboat that represented freedom, simplicity, individuality, and happiness in our brains. I'd be getting rid of all the stuff that trapped me in one place and complicated my life. Living on the boat meant most of my daily routines would vanish and my life would be like living in a very expensive floating camper. Life on a sailboat meant I could live anywhere, for as long as I wanted, like a magical flying motor home.
"Yeah but be warned," he continued, "it's not for everyone and can turn into another trap. You give up lots of nice stuff like: a master bathroom, flush toilets, most kitchen appliances, UPS delivering to the doorman, maid service, satellite TV, indoor parking, and privacy. At the marina everyone around you knows your shit. If you bring a lady over everyone'll hear her moan and see the mast rock side to side. I guess you get used to it over time."
"Yeah, I can see all that but I was actually thinking about leaving Florida," I confessed.
"Where you looking?" Tim asked as we carefully stepped on board the back deck of my boat in the darkened marina.
"California, maybe Marina Del Rey."
"What you do?"
"Insurance," which was only half the truth but I didn't feel I owned him any explanations.
"Divorced too?" He asked sitting on a cushion a few feet from me.
"You ready for another?" I asked pointing at the bottle in his hand hoping to distract him.
"Yeah, sure." Then to keep his mind distracted I asked him how many we'd had so far, he paused and stared off in the distance they said, "Maybe six each." I would have guessed a higher number.
I got up and went to the cabin door, unlocked it and slid the door and hatch open and went down the steps. The galley was right next to the stairs. Reached into the ice box I got out two Coors bottles and opened both. While I was there I grabbed a steak knife from the drawer and set it on the counter just in case, then I carried the beers to the back deck. As I stepped up the stairs into the fresh air I saw Tim was standing up holding the steel cable to keep his balance, while he pissed over the side. I smiled and pretended to ignore him. We both sat down and sipped our beers. Since he was pissing in public I felt it was okay to belch out loud. While he was faced away I told him I was dating a lady that lived across the street from me, which was sort of true. I sort of had the idea our friendship had run out of steam and we were drifting apart.
"That was a great pizza." I told him after he sat back down.
"Yeah, thanks for dinner, I owe you." He replied politely, I could tell from both our voices that we were both pretty drunk.
"Sure, I always got time for pizza. Their pan crust was pretty good, what's the favorite style down here?" I asked.
"Big slices of thin crust, many of our brothers are former New Yorkers."
"Ahhhh yes, that's right. I never had a slice of pizza in New York City."
"The Yacht Club has one if you ask for it by name, it's not really on the menu. Just ask the bartender, they know what to order. It's basically a large thin crust with sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, but the crust dough is different from the pan crust dough. They're pretty authentic but it only comes in 14 inches."
"Obi-Wan, you are the pizza lord!" I remarked with a smile and a happy sounding voice, we both chuckled again. When he stopped laughing I heard his voice echo off the boats across the waterway. Suddenly I noticed how very quiet it was out here. The wind was totally calm and the only sounds were the soft clanking of mast ropes and cables.
"You been here during a bad storm?"
"Yes, I was here for a Cat-1 in 2009, lots of guys took boats out of the water and stored 'em in the parking lot across the street, like this one. They're vulnerable to damage from flying debris but at least they can't sink on land. Mine did well, this harbor is protected and we only got wind around 70mph, most of this part of town has hurricane proof buildings now, the old wood ones were blown away decades ago and the state got strict on building codes starting in 1971, so we do rather well." As he talked I glanced over at downtown Saint Petersburg and looked at the red lights on the tops of the high-rise buildings, I could probably see the chair on my apartment balcony from here if I put the red LED flasher up there instead of down here.
We talked about the Bristol Yacht Company for a time, too bad they went out of business around 1995. Tim asked me if I knew of the RV camper brand called Airstream, the ones with the aluminum skin outside. He said if they had ever built sailboats these Bristol sailboats would be what they would have made. With so much attention to detail and quality, they were about the most expensive brand built in the USA, except for some new newer motorhomes around today for the super-rich. I saw in some files that my employer sued them years ago and won so maybe his statement about their quality was based on popular misinformation.
Tim and I talked for about two hours after we left the club, by then it was 1am and I was tired, we were both yawning and I needed to pee soon, so I told him I needed to call it a night. We both walked back to the Yacht Club. We both used the bathroom then went to our boats. His was on Pier-B, mine was on Pier-K so we're at opposite ends of the harbor.
The large men's bathroom sometimes reminded me of my college dorm years at UCLA but here everyone was at least middle aged and most of these guys were probably hiding something or from someone.
That night I slept on the bare captain's bunk and used an uncovered old pillow that looked like it had a beer spilled on it back in the 1990s.
The next morning I got out a fresh yellow notepad and a fountain pen and started making a shopping list for today. I needed the basics for everything and a bucket of quarters for the coin-op machines too.
I made a list of canned stuff to stock the galley, and cooking gear too. I also needed towels, and a complete second set of bathroom gear, and stuff for doing laundry in their coin-op. I looked in every drawer and cabinet and found the boat had been emptied of nearly everything, not even a can opener was left in the kitchen drawers. I needed a zipper case for bathroom stuff to take with me across the marina to the large men's bathroom in the mornings. All the guys used 'em. Maybe I'll get a small leather backpack instead so there's room for towels, clean clothes, and TP.
At 8am I headed around to the bathroom again with my stuff in a Ziploc bag. The yacht club had a large men's bathroom with two showers, three stalls, three urinals and four sinks but not much privacy. They also had three self-cleaning paid bathrooms that were like the ones at fancy truck stops. Here you inserted a five dollar bill and the door opened to a small private bathroom with a toilet, sink, mirror, bench, and shower. The entire bathroom was waterproof. After you left the room it sanitized itself for several minutes with hot water jets then dried with a powerful fan that vented outside. Every time you went inside it was usually some degree of hot and wet from the self-cleaning cycle. Water jets blasted every inch of the bathroom module. It was kind of like a restaurant dishwasher inside.
You got up to fifteen minutes then it beeped and showed a countdown clock. When you left it locked the door and cleaned itself then the display said it was ready for use, the next user inserted a five dollar bill and it was ready to use again. Or you could use the dorm style bathroom and only have privacy in the shower and toilet but you never knew who used it before you or when it was cleaned last, or maybe the toilet paper was gone. In the pay unit they always had toilet paper but you had to bring everything else. A sign on the wall said the men's room was closed daily from 4am to 5am for cleaning, but the pay showers were always available.
That morning I drove to Target and got myself another cell charger, some bedding, bathroom gear, towels, and kitchen supplies. Then I picked out groceries for the weekend and this time I got another case of beer in bottles and a case of wine too. While I was looking at bed sheets I considered the dilemma of the front bunk, which was a V-shaped bed for two, but nobody sold V-shaped sheets. The bunk was a single large foam mattress, zipped inside some kind of soft fabric, but how was I going to put sheets on it? I'd probably try a set of California King sheets and try to tuck the excess underneath it. I considered using that bunk because it had a bedroom door and a hatch to the front deck for fresh air, it was rather warm and stuffy in the captain's bunk, very little air circulation in the corner of the cabin unless I had a fan running. The front bunk looked longer than the captain's bunk if you slept diagonally. Instead of sheet sets I got two king-size flat sheets, a tape measure, and three large pillows instead. I also got a stack of heavy paper cups like the largest ones from Starbucks since I didn't have a dishwasher or stuff to wash dishes on the boat yet.
I spent the rest of the morning unpacking all the new stuff, measuring my bed and starting another list of stuff I'd need. I decided to buy a small charcoal grille made of cast iron for the back deck and thought about getting some nice camping gear too like: flashlights, headband flashlights, life jackets, batteries, and I ordered a 12 gauge semi-auto shotgun too. It held one in the chamber and five in the tube.
I wrote my email address on a Post-It Note and stuck it on the steering wheel on Tim's boat, which looked empty. I'm sure he googled my name by now and knew where I worked since I appeared on the company web page. The best way I had of knowing if he investigated me would be if he stopped asking and started making dead lawyer jokes.
All around my slip I gradually met the neighbors, most of them were married couples but a few looked to be singles. As far as I could see I was the youngest one here by at least twenty years. Most of the people here and at work had white hair.
The sailboat beside mine was a 45 foot American made fiberglass hull like mine but you could tell it was designed to be more of a floating party boat. It had a back deck that was bigger than the cabin, which made it a party boat in my mind. I guess that was something sailors took seriously about other sailors. I wanted to be an actual sailor and not a weekend Gilligan party boy. And I've never invited people over for a party, I doubted I would be doing it anytime soon. Straight across Pier-K from me was a 52 foot cabin cruiser, which looked very expensive but I haven't located a plaque on it to see what brand it was.
I introduced myself to the couple (Bill and Sandra Peterson) from the sailboat beside mine, they looked to be in their early 70s. They looked and talked educated and wealthy, she looked like she'd had Botox injections (parts of her face looked paralyzed), and he looked like he had plugs. I told them I was in insurance when he asked what I did. The problem with telling people you were a lawyer was it often lead to legal questions or people seeking free advice, which was risky to give anyone that was not a client. Bill explained a lot about the marina, and two way marine radios. She showed me the walkie-talkie they used, it looked expensive. He said marinas were like small airports, you had to announce your route and movement over the radio since boats had no brakes and all of them were on the large side. I wrote down the model and brand they owned, but she said all I needed to ask for was an Icom marine radio, they only made one model. And she suggested: 'don't buy one of the cheap China-made marine radios on E-Bay because they were junk and impossible to program.'
They said the best place to see the fireworks tonight was on the back decks of our boats, looking to the northeast. Bill said they were here for the weekend too but had no plans to sail anywhere, they used theirs like a weekend retreat cabin.
I saw a few boats around us come and go during the day while I got things situated. A lot of those folks just motored around Tampa Bay and went no further than that. At 2pm I made another run to Target for more household stuff like two more fans, paper towels, wet wipes and other cleaning supplies. I got Tylenol, ear plugs, sun screen, bottled water cases, two boxes of 12 gauge bird shot for the weapon that would be ready to pick-up next weekend. I bought two sailing magazines and two foot-long submarines on Italian bread to put in the ice box which still had over half the ice left.
I also bought a second ice chest, a really nice one and loaded it with ice and then filled it with water bottles, beer, and some fresh fruit. It's been years since I cooked meals at home, my food delivery apps were all set for my apartment address, not here at the marina. I asked the Petersons in the boat next door about delivery food, how you specified where to deliver.
"Use the marina's street address, our pier letter, and your slip number, most of the drivers knew where to go or they'd ask in the club." When he said it I remembered the numbers painted on the pier (mine said K4) and felt stupid for asking, but it suddenly made sense. So I tried to see if I could add a second location for the food apps and found one of them would do it, so just as an experiment I ordered dinner hours ahead of time. I walked over to the street entrance to the yacht club and took photos all the way back to my boat so if a delivery guy asked for help I had the entire route photographed. I wrote down the address and programmed it into my cell: 1108 3rd St, Pier K-4, St. Petersburg 33701. I thought if I gave it out over the phone I might clench my teeth as I said it, it was a ritzy place.
Bill said fireworks started about 9:20pm tonight, so I changed my dinner order to pasta with meat sauce, a side salad, garlic-cheese bread, and a side of grilled asparagus with their house hollandaise sauce. It came with tomato based and cheesy hot dipping sauces and a two litter-glass bottles of cold beer, delivery time 8:30pm.
I spent rest of the afternoon scrubbing every inch of the bathroom and kitchen. I took all the cushion covers off and took them to the coin-op at the yacht club, and went back an hour later and moved them to dryers. They were a real bitch to get back on their bare foam cushions after drying because they shrunk in the dryer! The lady next door watched me struggle to put the cushions back in the covers and suggested having them dry cleaned and treated to make them stain resistant and water repellant, then we all laughed!
Inside the cabin the overall musty smell had faded and I realized I needed to get a small vacuum cleaner and added it to my list. Several times I went to the back deck to ask Bill Peterson for advice and asked what was the best vacuum cleaner to get, but I had to grab my notepad because it was a brand I never heard of before, it was available at nicer marine supply shops and was expensive but tiny and powerful and tolerated sand just fine. Sand and boats were common together like fleas and cats. He showed me how his had straps to wear like a backpack and vacuum the entire boat with the super long power cord.
I asked him if it was okay to swim in the harbor and he said: "No, it's not allowed, there were a few fish bites in the past so only swim in the pool, never in the harbor." The yacht club had a nice pool but no diving board. The pool-patio was bathing suit optional 11pm to 5am, all year long. They had a large in-ground twenty person hot tub too which I guess was a real party spot some nights according to Bill. He hinted at seeing groups of elderly swingers swapping partners in the hot tub, she rolled her eyes as he said it. I wondered how it would go over if the hot tub was full and two guys started kissing.
Bill's wife, Sandra Peterson asked my marital status and I told them I was 'dating' and she gave me 'the look.' That was the look I've seen since high school, the 'what's wrong with you' look. I've dated girls before but always considered myself bisexual or gay, but part of what made me a very successful attorney was my autistic brain preferred work challenges to relationship challenges. Let me say that when I masturbated I usually fantasized about strong quiet guys like me. I wanted to tell my neighbors the truth but did what I usually did which was to ignore the question because I didn't like telling lies, I just figured it was none of their business.
I graduated from UCLA School of Law, magna cum laude, but I graduated from relationship school with a GED.
Something in the water caught my eye during her cross examination and I interrupted her to ask about the Manatees. Bill said it was very illegal to even touch them, they ventured into the marina once in a while in search of grass to eat but soon left since very little grew here. We walked to the side of our boats and watched three Manatees swim by. They looked fat and prehistoric and moved very slowly. I asked Bill how much they weighed and he said the females were the biggest they could easily hit 1,200 pounds.
After they were gone the questions about my private life ended, I went back inside and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.
I'm mixed race and looked olive skinned, especially if I'd been running during the day. My grandmother was Native American which caused my hair and eyes to look black. My skin looked tanned all year and my lips and penis were darker. I'm slender, 6'2" and 180lbs. I'm in good shape and usually ran a mile or two a day, usually when the sun was close to the horizon. Running in the late afternoon got me the heat I liked and the less intense sunlight too. I figured out most people were busy that time of day so I was less likely to get mugged between 6-7pm because all the crooks were focused on dinner and the all important early evening meth dose.
After I got all my chores done I got into my shorts and running shoes and went for a run. After I got back to the marina I made a quick pass through the free shower and drip-dried on the 1,000 foot walk back to my boat. The sun was low in the western sky and my watch said dinner was due in 45 minutes. I checked my cell, they confirmed my order, delivery time, and location. It appeared adding my second location worked in the app, the order confirmed the marina, pier, and slip, with instructions to ask at the club bar (or text me) if directions were needed. I doubted I could give directions to a delivery boy over the phone, some of them spoke very poor English. My Spanish was good but not always good enough for a fast talking Cuban teenager driving in traffic with a cell in the other hand.
The evening of Saturday July 3rd, just before sunset.
Next door a steady stream of partiers arrived and judging by the festive volume it seemed their bar was wide open and serving endless refills of mixed drinks. Sandra shouted over an invite to join them but I really didn't care to be around drunks, and most of them looked old enough to be my grandparents, and everyone looked thoroughly marinated. Everyone had white hair and those slacks popular with the Lawrence Welk generation that came up higher than their belly buttons.
It was very festive next door, they had strings of patio lights up and a nice propane fire pit, lots of lawn chairs and padded benches like mine. They played old Hawaiian music and many of the woman slipped fake grass skirts over their bottoms. Laughter was loud but not the music. As the booze supply got lower their volume got higher, but the good part was it seemed like a well behaved crowd that was having a fantastic time.
A few of them arrived using walkers and canes and had to be hand loaded into the party boat, the back deck was full and the cabin too. I think I saw about twenty visitors on board and everyone was well dressed. They all looked Vietnam War era (early Baby Boomers), maybe one of them actually attended the Woodstock Festival in 1969. It's amazing how that group changed politically since then.
And I saw a couple obviously young ladies that could have been hired companions, most of them wore very different clothes with belly buttons on full display and enhanced breasts. A 35 year old looking woman, that appeared to be from Vietnam or Cambodia with D-cup breasts was very obviously man made, and in my mind it was sad too, but it's a free country!
A lot of gay men like me (gay-wealthy-young-healthy) had fantasies about renting a houseboy. Maybe he'd look like a 16 year old twink from South Korea, but was actually 21, and had a nice dick and a smooth body I craved and we could do nothing or everything anytime we wanted. And just like the hookers next door I could have him wear his birthday suit all day long. But like I said, it was just a fantasy!
I should do that sometime, take a week off work and fly to Inchon, rent a boy for a week, and spend that time eating, drinking, and blowing each other. I wonder if such a service existed.
My dinner arrived two minutes early, I gave him a ten dollar cash tip for good English and on-time delivery. I twisted open one of the big beer bottles and filled a tall glass, I sat on the back deck in the dark by the steering wheel and faced the bay to watch the fireworks shows when they started. I saw lots of other boats had parties too. Lots of them had strings of party lights and several had music blasting. At 9:20pm the fireworks started (with a rather startling deep BOOM) the show lasted 25 minutes, it had a tremendous ending burst with one huge shell that exploded higher than all the others and formed a flower burst in red, white, and blue. The entire harbor was full of cheers and applause. The problem with the big show fired from the NFL stadium in Tampa was the sound was delayed by about five seconds which sort of ruined it for my autistic brain which noticed each boom was out of sync.
The party next door was loud before, during, and after the fireworks so I went inside and sat at the table with the lights on and worked on my shopping list while listening to the college radio station that played jazz/blues all night. I connected to the marina's wifi and ordered some expensive nautical charts of Tampa Bay and the coastal waters from Naples, Florida up to Cedar Key. I also ordered another sailing course on DVD about the west coast of Florida and selecting a marina to spend the weekend. There were videos for new boat owners I watched on YouTube too. While I was online searching for videos I heard the party slowly ending next door as designated drivers assisted drunks onto the pier then the long walk to the parking lot.
It occurred to me that what this marina needed was something like a courtesy transport, like a golf cart to pick up and deliver people to the parking lot. For some of us it was a very long walk. I even considered something like an electric 2-wheel scooter, like a motorized skateboard with a throttle on a handlebar.
I checked my dating app, I haven't touched it in weeks. Most of the messages I got on it were bullshit from telemarketers trying to sell subscriptions to Viagra (which I didn't need) and I could tell all they were really trying to do was harvest my personal info to sell to marketers who tried to flash ads on my screen, but I used an adblocker so I wouldn't see them anyway. One contact on Grindr looked interesting, he lived north of St. Pete and worked at a car tire shop, he was (29-a few years younger than me) and said he was born in northern Mexico, raised in Texas, lived in Florida for the past nine years. He was close to my size and weight and he was cut too. He had pix of himself in gym shorts that looked very inviting, so I sent him a short message, his message on my app was nine days ago. I thought it was unusual to find a cut Mexican boy, but that's what his profile said, cut at age two.
I have something I need to confess, I'm concerned about my cell tracking my location to the inch and how I drove (and that information being stored forever on someone else's computer), so I hired a guy to open my Samsung phone and locate the GPS chip and destroy it, so the GPS no longer worked in my phone. I got an error message every time I re-powered my cell back on that the GPS had failed, but as far as I was concerned that was a good thing.
I looked at his photos on the dating app and got turned-on but when I got up to walk across the cabin I realized my cabin windows weren't covered and I could be seen by the neighbors or people on the pier, so I crawled around and shut off all the lights then I could walk around with my boner sticking out without showing it to the neighbors.
After opening a water bottle I got back in my bunk and added curtains to my shopping list.
Contact the author: borischenaz gmail