Just Add Water (1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

spent the previous morning slurping champagne.
My candy apple red Beemer convertible sat unmolested except for a polite note
on the windshield from the Night Owl Security Company reminding me that this
was not a public parking lot. We parked RJ’s Volkswagen and piled into the BMW.
    “RJ, just because I’m feeling a bit
guilty about leaving you in Craigosaurus’s critter clink next week, you may
ride in my car. There will be, however, no scratching, farting or throwing up
on my white leather upholstery.”
    I put down the top, hit the CD’s PLAY button, and half of
Berkeley learned that Jeremiah was a bullfrog. As we sped toward a fresh
tortilla, RJ’s ears flapped in the breeze and an occasional rope of doggie
drool spattered cars’ windshields behind us.
    At Jack London Square I parked in the loading zone in
front of a Mexican restaurant where the friendly staff tolerated RJ’s presence
on their patio so long as he didn’t steal too much food from other tables. I
ordered cheese enchiladas with refried beans and extra sour cream for me and a
beef burrito, no beans, for RJ.
    “Champagne?” the waiter asked, a knowing smirk on his
face.
    “No gracias ,
Carlos, I’ll stick with ice water.”
    Carlos reeled back in shock, then refilled my water glass
while Jan grinned from behind her newspaper.
    “I love doing that to ‘em once in awhile. Keeps ‘em on
their toes,” I said. “Besides, now we’ve got two cars to get home, so no
taxicabs today. You can use RJ’s car while I’m gone this week if you want.
It’ll save you the indignity of public transportation. It’s so...public.”
    “Snob. I will, thanks. Did you call the V-E-T yet?” For
some reason Jan thought it necessary to spell in front of my dog. RJ looked
suspicious.
    “Remind me to call him later. Hey, gimme the Entertainment
section when you get through with it. There’s something good on the back.”
    Jan flipped over the paper. “Boat show? I thought you were
drunk yesterday. I hoped you were drunk.”
    “I was, but some of life’s major decisions are made while
imbibing stars,” I said loftily.
    “Yeah, some of your major worst ones.”
    “True. But this is different, there’s no man involved.
Besides,” I said, sweeping an arm towards the packed marina at Jack London
Square, “how much can a boat cost?”
     
    * * *
    “Fifty-nine will get your name on
her stern,” the blue blazered salesmen told us, pinching a pleat to hitch up
his white polyester pants. Inside his open shirt collar, curly black hair
almost obscured at least five heavy gold chains. As I was opening my mouth to
comment upon his fashionable ensemble, I received a preemptive jab in the ribs
from Jan.
    “Fifty-nine hundred?” I said,
moving my attention from his white patent leather boat shoes—no socks, of
course—to the thirty-two foot sailboat in front of us. “That’s dooable.”
    The salesman lost a little of his
toothy smile. “Good one,” he said, smoothing his gelled poof with a heavily
ringed hand. He looked like a skinny Italian Elvis.
    Jan gave me a look, then turned to
Captain Elvis. “You meant fifty-nine thousand, didn’t you?”
    The salesman’s head bobbed. His
hair didn’t.
    “What?” I yelped. “You people been
smoking funny cigarettes?”
    The smile faltered completely and,
with the resignation of one who knows he’s wasting his time, he handed me a
specifications sheet on the boat. “You’ll find it’s a bargain. Of course, that
price doesn’t include any add-ons.”
    “Add-ons?”
    “Accessories.”
    “Like what?”
    “Sails.”
     
    * * *
     
    “Who in the hell would consider
sails an accessory on a sailboat?” I groused four hours later as we sat in a
waterfront dive munching on double cheeseburgers with avocado sauce. I sipped
sugarless iced tea while looking through a stack of brochures, magazines, and
other freebies given out at the boat show. “I cannot friggin’ believe it.”
    “Pricey little buggers, eh?