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PART IV: Day one

We finally get checked in. We pull up the anchor and the highly functional anchor alarm and move the boat to our assigned ball, which happened to be in the row closest to the beach and bars. We get cleaned up and decide to go to Margaritaville or Zelda’s for lunch. We take the dinghy to the pier, walk towards town and decide to cut across the beach to the bars. This was not a good idea for someone with bandages on their feet, trying to keep them clean. But it was worth it when we walked past a children’s sand-castle building contest and one of the kids yelled at Paul, "Hey Frankenstein, where’d you get them feet?" All I could think was jeez, is it wrong that I’m having this much fun at Limpy’s expense?

We had lunch at Zelda’s and took advantage of their signature drink special always offered by one of the many babes employed there. "Make it a double for a dollar"! How can you say no when you turn your head and you’re face to face with semi-exposed breasts? A good sales tactic. After Zelda’s, we swaggered on down to Margaritaville for their famous drink, Jamaican Vacations.

As I mentioned before, people asked about his foot injuries. The first was our waitress at Zelda’s. I could tell Paul couldn’t wait to tell her about his idiot crew member who put knives on the floor, but before he had a chance, I dropped the bomb. I just pointed across the water at the foulies hanging on the boat, and told her he just cut his feet on the toe rail while hanging his soiled fouly-pants to dry. Paul quickly understood the gesture, and desperately wished he had taken them down before coming ashore. The next people to ask about his feet were sitting next to us at Margaritaville. When asked, I would willfully interject the answer with something like, "Yeah, you should’ve seen him. We were at this beach party last night with this huge bonfire, and Paul got so butt-faced he showed everyone how he could walk on hot coals". We’d all have a good laugh and Paul would give me one of those fake-smile glares which meant: You’re a dick-head, enjoy it now because you’re gonna pay dearly for this. That didn’t matter. All I had to do was look out the window and see those yellow foulies swaying in the breeze like the blackmail beacon that they were.

While at Margaritaville, we met a couple of ladies who were also spending the weekend in Capitola. We agreed to meet back at the bar in a few hours, and we’ll take them to Shadowbrook for dinner. Paul and I went back to the boat, cleaned up a bit, changed into nice clothes and went back to meet the ladies. When they arrived we grabbed a taxi to take us to the restaurant. Normally we could’ve walked, but Paul’s feet had already taken a beating with all the walking we did that day. Paul began working it good with the sympathy angle with these gals. His injuries just greased his silver tongue a bit.

These girls seemed fun, they were good-looking, it was obvious who was pairing with who, this was shaping up to be a pretty good night! Paul and I were always pretty good when picking which woman of a pair we would want. Our tastes differ enough so that my favorite wouldn’t be his favorite. And for once, these girls’ choosing preferences matched ours. So all was well.

The girls had never been to Shadowbrook. The restaurant is down in a ravine on the edge of the river feeding Capitola bay. They have beautiful gardens as you descend the 520 steps to get to the restaurant. They also have a small cable-driven, 6-person gondola/tram thing that rides on steep tracks that will also take you down to the restaurant. That’s good for Paul. But the girls wanted to walk down so they could check out the gardens since they’ve never seen them. So the three of us go down the stairs while Paul spies us from the descending gondola.

We get to the bottom and wait for Paul, but the gondola never comes. There’s frantic whispering by the staff at the hostess desk, I see the manager and a few cronies tear up the stairs. This can’t be good. The three of us walk back up the stairs part way, and sure enough, the gondola is stuck. Broken down. Not moving. Whatever. Paul is stuffed in with five others and he’s looking down giving me the palms up ‘whassupp’ gesture. I reply with the ‘I don’t know’ gesture. He gives the ‘my feet are killing me, you ass-hole’ gesture. I sign the ‘calm down dick-head, I’ll find out something’ gesture. He replies with the ‘lick my hairy scrotum’ gesture, to which I respond with the ‘you better behave because I have two women and you’ve got nothing’ gesture. By this point the two ladies must’ve been wondering what neanderthal language we’re grunting.

I go back to the top of the stairs and at the same time a fire truck shows up. I try to listen in as the manager talks to them with their maintenance guy. All I hear is hydraulic brakes. I ask how long, nobody knows. I run down and gesture to Paul ‘hydraulic brakes’. He gestures ‘Fuck’. I go back to the top of the stairs which are now crowded by lookie-loos and people just trying to leave the restaurant. Nobody seems to know how long these people are gonna be stuck. I run back down and gave Paul the ‘Nobody seems to know how long these people are gonna be stuck’ gesture. It was funny watching Paul interpret gestures to the other people in the gondola.

Poor bastard, Paul’s feet have got to be killing him. If not from pain, probably from blood loss. Hey wait! There’s an idea! I gesture to Paul ‘how are your feet doing?’ He lifts up one foot and shows me that his foot is completely red with blood. Perfect! I run back to the top and tell the firemen that my buddy has severely injured feet and he’s bleeding profusely and is about to pass out. A fireman follows me back down, I gesture ‘show him your foot’. Paul gestures back ‘tell the mother f…kers to get us the hell outta here’. I tell the fireman Paul says they’re doing a great job, keep up the good work. Paul lifts up his foot to show the fireman. The fireman walkie-talkies the captain and orders the ladder truck to be sent down from Santa Cruz. By now there’s cops, an ambulance and another fire truck. Fifteen minutes later, the ladder truck is there, ladder extended down, the gondola door pried open and six unhappy people are back up to the street being given their free dinner coupons. Little did we know that the ambulance was there to take Paul. I thought I might need it after running up and down those frickin’ stairs so many times.

The paramedics just didn’t understand! They wouldn’t let Paul leave. They stated their liabilities and legal responsibilities. I stated they’re full of shit and they’re just a private ambulance company trying to make revenue. Paul told ‘em no way are they taking him anywhere. We’ve got two beautiful women who now just love us, who want to come out to the boat to help us drink away a harrowing experience. Paul’s got the mega-sympathy thing going for him right now. I have the who-knows-what thing going for me, but it’s working and I’m not gonna let some 24-year old zit-faced paramedic tell me I’m not gettin’ some tonight. The paramedics finally gave up. We convinced one of the cops to give us a ride back down to the waterfront. We picked up some pizza to go from Pizza My Heart, then we all went out to the boat. Once on the boat, Paul removed his red socks, which were protecting his perfectly sterile white bandages.

PART V: Paul’s revenge

The next day didn’t start for us until it was half over. We got up at noon, got cleaned up a bit, went to shore and said goodbye to the girls, not before exchanging phone numbers of course. The rest of our afternoon was uneventful as we had lunch, went and snoozed on the beach, occasionally watching our future ex-wives walk by.

Our evening plans were to grab a taxi, go over to the Santa Cruz harbor and go to the Crow’s Nest for dinner, drinking and dancing. So, we got dressed up again and did just that. On the way into the restaurant, we noticed the huge, beautiful old time square-rigger type of sailing ship in the harbor. It must’ve been 150 feet long. Anyway, after dinner we walked upstairs to the bar which was fairly crowded. The band was just setting up. Sista Monica and the Essentials were our featured entertainment. What an awesom R&B band! They got the place jumping! The lead singer was an Aunt Jemima look-alike, and she could really belt it out.

As the place got jumping, we were looking around for potential girls to go dance with. There were no tables to sit at so we were just standing in what we hoped would be a target-rich location. There were a lot of women, but most were with somebody. Including the georgous blonde sitting at a table for two against the wall just to my right. Of course, she was with somebody. The guy she was with got up and went to the restroom, I presumed. The place was so crowded that my ass was nearly on her table. Some time has passed, and I mentioned to Paul that there really aren’t any women in this place to dance with. Suddenly, the georgous blonde to my right said, "So what am I, dog-meat?" I said hell no! I told her I thought she was with somebody. She said he was just a friend and he left to go back their boat. So I gladly asked her to dance and we did, for 4 or 5 songs. She was really nice, and she was hot! Her name was Muriel and she sailed up from the LA area, and her boat was in the harbor. Cool! She sails and has her own boat! I’m liking this.

So here I am, some lowly schlepp hitting on a famous hot-babe. So I said that really is your ship? She explains it’s a training ship for oceanography and historical stuff, mainly for under-privileged kids that belong to some society. Wow. I had to ask if she is Muriel Hemmingway and she confirms. What do I do now? Hell with it, I’m gonna keep the rap going. We danced a few more times, then she asked if I would like to come down and see the ship. Duh! So we walk down to the docks. The ship is on the opposite side of the harbor, so her tender with crew are waiting for us. The give us a short ride to the other side and I get a small tour of the ship. Couldn’t see it all, because the crew has their private areas, but it was impressive. Of course now I’m thinking, I wonder if she’ll invite me to her stateroom! Wouldn’t that be great! Unfortunately, she says she has to turn in, they’re setting sail early in the morning and the crew will be happy to take me back. Damn. We exchange pleasantries and off I go.

As I walk down the angled gang-plank to get in the dinghy, I stepped on the hard varnished edge with my hard-soled dress shoes, slip and ker-plunk! In the drink I go. How embarrassing. All I could think was good thing Muriel didn’t see that. I went all the way in, hair wet and everything. Crap. The smirking crew member dropped me off and I went squishing back toward the restaurant. I’m freezing, dripping sloshing wet, what the hell am I gonna do now. What choice did I have? I had to go back upstairs to get Paul. We didn’t have our cell phones with us. I shamefully go back inside, go upstairs to look for Paul. Just my luck, Paul found a table in the far corner of the bar. No, it couldn’t be the one closest to the exit. Yep, people are staring or snickering. So what, I danced all night with Muriel Hemmingway!

It’s Paul’s turn to laugh now. I said let’s go back, he said no way in hell! He’s ordered another drink, and just starting talking to this girl he had just danced with. Paul was eager and quick to point out to everyone sitting around us that I had just fallen in the harbor. I wish I could’ve crawled under a rock. What a dick! How could a friend do that to another friend? I was beginning to get pissed, but then I realized it’s payback time. So I had to stick it out until I got kicked out. You see, the bar staff didn’t appreciate the lake I left on the dance floor when I danced with Paul’s friend’s friend. So I had to wait downstairs for half an hour until the bar closed and Paul was ready to leave. All the people walking by leaving the bar, I just had to sit there and take it. Bastard.

It was long, cold ride back to the boat.

PART VI: On the way home

After getting home at 2:00am, we had to get up and set sail at 5:00 am if we wanted to catch the tides right going home through the (Golden) gate. We cast off, headed out to sea and rounded the point heading north. Unfortunately, I had first watch. Paul went back to bed, the lucky bastard. It’s still dark, and we’re heading out into the night. We had a following wind, blowing north, which made the southerly-heading swells a bit sharper and wetter. Naturally, the wind wasn’t strong enough to sail with but, it was just strong enough to blow the lingering diesel exhaust fumes back into the cockpit. There must’ve been a storm out there somewhere because the swells were larger than normal, running about 15-18 feet. With the fog literally "on the deck", I couldn’t even see the bow so I had no visual frame of reference except for a dimly lit and bucking boat. Ever try reading in a car? Feeling queasy yet?

It only took a short time before I felt it. Homey here wasn’t feeling too good. Mind you, I’ve never been seasick, and have been in some rough seas. Next thing I know, that $35 dinner I had at Crow’s Nest was donated to the fish. Again and again. I know that dehydration is your worst enemy is situations like this, so took appropriate measures. The large swells, the constant smell of diesel, and the hangover got the best of me. It was the longest 4-hour watch of my life. I couldn’t wait for the shift change. Finally it came.

Paul got up, and during the shift change I had to go upstairs for hopefully one last time. I told Paul about my disease and he asked, "Why didn’t you wake me up, I would’ve covered for you". Like hell! No matter how bad off I was, I sure as well wasn’t gonna give him that pleasure of covering for me. I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, if we were on a long journey to the Marquesas or something, having somebody cover for you is not acceptable. So I stuck it out and did my watch.

I went to sleep expecting my watch to come again in 4 hours, hoping I’d feel better by then. It seemed like my sleep lasted forever. I finally woke up on my own about 7 hours later. Paul didn’t wake me up for my watch. It was warm out, the fog was gone, we had just passed Half Moon Bay, and I felt great. I thought, that bastard didn’t wake me up on purpose just so I owed him one.

Nope, it was simply a best friend caring about a best friend.

Here’s to Captain Paul!