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a little more than I was expecting to see. I’d like to believe that housecoat’s ‘grand opening’ was an accident, but I soon learn that no matter how drunk she gets, Laverne doesn’t do anything accidentally. After my third drink and her third ‘reveal,’ our conversation turns toward more personal matters and I discover that she really doesn’t drink that much. Her tolerance for alcohol must be very low because after just four or five glasses of wine, she’s totally plastered, but not too drunk to remember courtesy towards her guest: she suggests that it would be safer if I stayed over, to avoid any accident trying to make it home at such a late hour. Not wanting to be a rude guest, I accept.
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    Depending on how you judge success, the meeting at Laverne’s is hard to rate, but I do remember that most of the pumping was to get information and I never learned what Laverne does all day. She did tell me that neither she nor anyone else on the dock knows the inside information on that cute little Asian girl, except for the fact that she never speaks to anyone. That may be because she doesn’t speak English. I also learned that another dock tenant with a forty-two-foot Californian Motor yacht is a retired eye surgeon with a bad back, who is reputed to espouse that the mere existence of a female’s curvaceous rear end is proof that there is a God. Maybe that’s why his nickname on the dock is ‘Snatch Adams.’
    Some lecherous sixty-something lawyer named Unger who works for Melvin owns that fifty-foot Grand Banks I admire so much. He’s probably the L. Martin Unger who volunteered to help with my petition for re-instatement. I thought it would be nice to be able to visit with my new attorney on his boat, but Laverne said he was out of town for a couple of months, making a semi-annual trip to his personal Mecca – some smorgasbord hotel in Thailand that offers its clients all the young Thai girls they can eat. A fantasy races through my head: if L. Martin can afford that big boat by working for Melvin, then maybe I’d better get that petition through as soon as possible so maybe I could move up from my old wooden junk to fiberglass luxury.
    The evening wasn’t a total loss - she made some breakfast for me. I guess it’s for me because the table is set and it’s on the plate waiting for me. She’s already been picked up for the day… to go wherever she goes and do whatever she does. Not wanting to be a rude guest I finish the greasy French toast, do the dish, and then go to my own boat to shower off the evening’s experience. She isn’t exactly a raving beauty, but you could tell that about twenty years and twenty pounds ago she must have really been something to look at. I don’t plan on making a steady thing out of this, but at least I know that as long as I live on the dock, Laverne will see to it that my complexion is kept clear.
    Stepping off of her houseboat I notice a Norman Rockwell scene taking place down the dock in front of Melvin’s houseboat: the huge Saint Bernard is sitting up next to the dockbox, and standing on a milk crate to reach all the way to the top of its head is the little Asian girl, complete with floppy sun hat and sun dress, using a Flowbee type combination comb & cutting device. She’s softly singing some foreign song to the dog, while giving it a haircut. I’m not the only one watching… the small cat is on top of the dockbox, half asleep and half watching the haircut – and me. When she finishes with the dog, there are several dock neighbors waiting to sit on the milk crate for their monthly trims.
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    My next assignment requires going to the Courthouse to research some civil suits there, and while in the filing room I run into a few attorneys I’ve known over the years. Several of us went to school together, so they know Melvin. Each one has a different story to tell, but averaging all their information and gossip together, it goes something