Pretty Woman

by Roger Arsht

Note: This is part two. Read the previous episode here.

       The date recovered because Annie found Bertie attractive even if she didn’t believe a word he spoke. His entire story and his invention of Secrets Kept puzzled her because the whole contrived scheme was so transparent. He seemed like an intelligent man. He should have been able to invent something more sophisticated…or…there were other forces at work. She decided to stay because it was a two-and-a-half-hour drive home, and she wasn’t ready to get behind the wheel of her car. Surprisingly, the two strangers started to relax with each other as the drinks flowed. Their earlier skirmishes were put on hold as they sought to sort things out.  

       “You told me that your work exhausts you.” Bertie had returned to questions about Annie’s job and away from Secrets Kept and how she had gotten to Quincy’s Grille. 

       Annie liked that Bertie’s eyes never left her face when he talked to her. “The work is challenging. Sometimes I feel like I’m being ground into a fine white powder.” 

       “The sexism?” Bertie asked. 

       “Perhaps. Mostly it’s the constant pressure to produce positive returns. Sometimes it can’t be done. Our clients are driven and demanding. They want to see their portfolios grow even if the markets are not cooperating.” 

       “Wouldn’t driven be an accurate way of describing you?” 

       “Yes, but not at all costs.” Annie smiled at Bertie’s perceptiveness. “Madoff got caught because he was showing positive returns when there were no investment instruments in the black. My clients want me to do the impossible. I’m not willing to lie or engage in insider trading.” 

       The talk of her work and being driven made Annie suspect that Bertie was a Bernie Madoff or Sam Bankman-Fried type who was running a Ponzi scheme as well as a dating scam. Since she wasn’t planning on spending more than her half of the check, Annie decided to entertain his questions. 

       “Will your firm hire someone else if you’re unwilling to compromise your integrity?”  

       Annie hesitated before answering. “It’s possible. Though, I’ve developed a loyal roster of clients. Most of them would follow me if I left.” 

       “Can’t you…what’s it called…do hedge investments or shot putts?” 

        “Do short investments or short putts? You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Annie laughed. 

       “You caught me.” 

       When the check came, Bertie reached for it. The two engaged in another spirited conversation before deciding to split the bill.  

       “What happens now? What does the Secrets Kept script say we should be doing?” Annie asked sarcastically. 

       “We walk a little.” 

       Annie stood, draped her silk wrap around her shoulders, and looked down at her shoes. “I’m embarrassed. I can’t walk far in these. I rarely wear heels.”  

       “Once we get outside, you should take your shoes off. Just watch where you step. We’re only walking two blocks to the waterfront.” 

       “Where are we going?” 

       “To my home.” 

       “I don’t recall agreeing to go home with you.” 

       “Sorry, I should have been more descriptive. I thought we could go on an evening cruise. I live on a boat.”  

       “Oh,” Annie replied as if she were surprised even though she wasn’t. Bertie might be proficient at keeping secrets. Brooke wasn’t. She had taken this strange journey a few weeks earlier and had shared this portion of Bertie’s dating rituals not knowing that Annie would be on a date with him. She thought, as Annie did, that Secrets Kept had more than one man in its database. Annie bent down, slipped out of her high heels, and cautiously walked on the stained and uneven Annapolis sidewalks. The couple walked two blocks until they came to the marina. “These aren’t boats. These are yachts,” Annie was shocked that Brooke hadn’t told her that Bertie’s boat was so large. 

       Annie and Bertie crossed through security gates and walked the last hundred yards to the ramp that took them aboard Bertie’s yacht. Annie could see the name painted on the stern. Secrets Kept. "You named your yacht Secrets Kept?” Annie tried not to laugh aloud. She failed. “It’s huge. What is it?” 

       “It’s a one hundred and thirty-two-foot Ferretti.” 

       “You can afford this as an editor and a ghost writer?” 

       “We all have our secrets.” Bertie looked toward the deck. “Captain Ed. May we come aboard?”  

       “Please do,” said a man wearing a blue sport coat with the name of the ship embroidered on the breast pocket. He was in his late fifties and had the bearing of a naval officer. The captain extended his hand to Annie and helped her maneuver the last few steps in her bare feet before she was on the yachts’ polished teak deck. 

       “Welcome aboard.” Captain Ed’s voice had the tenor of a fine baritone.  

       “Captain Ed. Please escort Annie to her stateroom. I have a few things to do before we set sail.” Bertie said to the captain before the yacht’s owner disappeared into the ship’s salon. 

       Even though Brooke had returned unscathed from this same adventure, Annie couldn’t believe she was going on a cruise to who knows where with a man she barely knew. She couldn’t restrain the wild thoughts of having cinder blocks chained to her ankles. She also couldn’t believe she was following a man who purported to be a captain through lounges and hallways. The fact that the walls were paneled with inlaid pear wood and cherry couldn’t displace her fears. Eventually they reached her stateroom. Captain Ed pushed open the door to a suite that rivaled one at a five-star hotel. 

       “You’ll find swimsuits, a bathrobe, and slippers in the closet. When you’re ready, Bertie hopes you will join him in the spa.” Ed walked to the side of the bed and pointed to a series of buttons. “This panel controls the television and sound system. This button will summon me. Please do not hesitate to call for me at any time. Lastly, internet service is available anywhere onboard whether were in port or at sea.” 

       “And the password is Secretskept.” Annie said snidely. 

       “No. It’s summersail.” Captain Ed said as plainly as his other instructions and then pivoted to leave the stateroom. 

       “Could you please stop? I’m sorry for being surly. I’m a bit confused,” Annie stuttered. “I thought we we’re going on a short evening cruise. Why would I need the internet? My phone gets internet service as long as we are in the Annapolis region.” 

       The captain turned back. “Bertie sometimes forgets to tell guests that he has changed plans. We will return to port at four o’clock on Sunday. However, we can return to port whenever you wish. It’s always your choice. I can arrange a driver to take you to your car when we get back or I can have your car brought to the marina. Which would you prefer?” 

       Having her car nearby when she dated usually gave Annie a small sense of security. For obvious reasons, the car was of no benefit since they would be on the water for two days which further confirmed for her that she was far outside her comfort zone. It would take hours for the yacht to return to port if she were unhappy with the company. She studied Captain Ed’s face and clothing. There was nothing that indicated any type of red flags, other than the peculiarity of the situation in general. 

        “Please bring my car to the marina. Will you be able to give me my keys before we set sail?” 

       “Of course. We won’t leave port until your keys are in your hand,” the captain said as he closed the door behind him. Once he left, Annie exhaled. She had imagined several scenarios for this evening. This wasn’t one of them. Brooke didn’t say anything to her about a yacht. She described Bertie’s home as a boat. She also didn’t say anything about going on a weekend cruise. From what she remembered from their conversation, Brooke said something about spending one night aboard. She was being told, not asked, that she would be spending the weekend aboard the yacht.  

       Annie dropped the shoes she had been carrying and toured her stateroom. The marble bathroom was larger than her bathroom at home and certainly more luxurious. Her fingertips touched the edges of the Egyptian-cotton towels before her eyes came to rest on a selection of soaps and lotions she had read about but never experienced. In the closet she found bathing suits of assorted sizes and styles. They were all two-piece swimsuits. She tried a few one and when she couldn’t find a top that fit properly, Annie decided to throw caution to the wind and wear only the bottoms, something she had done maybe once in her life when she was in her twenties, and not with a stranger. Maybe it was her experience earlier in the restaurant lady’s room where she was reminded she was in a competition. Annie inspected her figure in the bathroom’s floor length mirror. Even though she was forty-three, she was the same weight as she was in college. She had always had an athletic build, and she was better toned now because exercise was now part of her daily routine and she drank less. Annie shrugged. “He can take it or leave it,” she said aloud because nothing was going to change about her appearance in the next few minutes. 

       Annie pulled the full-length bathrobe from the closet. She only had to hold it for a second to know that it was truly something special. She couldn’t tell if it was cashmere, the softest cotton she had ever felt, or a combination of both. She knotted the sash, pulled the collar up around her neck, and headed for the upper deck. Bertie was typing furiously on his laptop when Annie passed his study.  

       “Good, you’re here,” Bertie, already in his swimsuit, said when he saw her. “He closed the computer and moved to take her hand.” 

       “Holding hands? A little old fashioned.” 

       “I read a story where the late sportswriter, Frank Deford, and his wife were at a theatre in Westport, Connecticut where Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were in attendance. Newman was suffering from cancer and his health was failing. Deford and everyone else at the theatre tried not to stare at one of the world’s most famous couple and wonder how much longer he would live. Deford noticed Newman and Woodward, who had been married for fifty years, were holding hands. Frank wrote later in one of his columns how he then took his seat and grasped his wife’s hand. She was surprised by his act of affection. She asked him why he was doing that since he hadn’t held her hand for years. His answer was simple. If holding hands works for Newman and Woodward, then it’s something we should do as often as possible.” 

       “That’s quite a story. So why are you holding my hand?” Annie asked sarcastically. 

       “Captain Ed is about to push us away from our berth. Sometimes it takes a moment or two to adjust to the motion of the boat, and it’s romantic.” 

       “Why didn’t you just say that? Why the whole story about Newman and Woodward?” 

       “I love that story,” he said, genuinely. “I wish I had written it.” 

       Annie shook her head as they walked together to the upper deck where the spa was already bubbling. This man she could tell was only loosely connected to reality, but he did appreciate the best parts of life. Her thought about Bertie was confirmed when she saw the champagne bottle in a silver bucket, crystal flutes, and a bowl of the reddest strawberries Annie had ever seen. Next to the bowl of strawberries were her car keys in a small dish.  

       “Don’t tell me. You liked the scene in Pretty Woman with the champagne and strawberries. You do remember that Julia Roberts’ character was a prostitute.” 

       “I wasn’t thinking of a movie when I asked Ed to make these arrangements. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you.” 

       “This whole situation if offensive, and it’s not romantic.” Annie said quietly to herself. While Bertie was opening the champagne, Annie stood next to the spa knowing that if she removed her bathrobe the tenor of the date would change radically. She thought about everything that had happened from the time she arrived at Quincy’s Grille to now. She surprised herself by acknowledging that the situation was exciting. When Bertie handed her a flute of champagne, Annie started to question if she would have gone on this date if she knew ahead of time what Bertie had planned. She realized it was an easy question to answer as she let the robe slip from her shoulders and slide to the deck next to the spa.