P.S.- Part Two
By Roger Arsht
January 19, 2021
Note: This is part two. Read part 1 here.
Their conversation was spirited and the drinks flowed as the two strangers started to relax. “You told me that your work exhausts you.” Annie like 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. Most of 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.” 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.”
“If you don’t produce or you’re not willing to compromise your integrity will your firm hire someone who will?”
Annie hesitated before answering. “It’s possible. I’ve developed a strong roster of clients. Most of them would follow me if I left.”
“Can’t you…what’s it called…do short investments or puts?”
“Do short investments? You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Annie laughed.
“You caught me.”
The check came, and they split it. “What happens now?” Annie asked.
“We walk a little.”
“I’m embarrassed. I can’t walk far in these shoes. I rarely wear heels.”
“Take your shoes off. Just watch where you step. We’re 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 take a night cruise. I live on a boat.”
“Oh” replied Annie, not quite sure what to say as she bent down and slipped her high heels off. His response had taken her by surprise. She loved boats but had only been on them a handful of times. The couple walked two blocks until they came to the marina. “These aren’t boats. These are yachts.”
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. “The Saint. You named your yacht The Saint? It’s huge. What is it?”
“It’s a one hundred and thirty-two-foot Ocean Alexander.”
“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 appeared to be in his late fifties, and he had the bearing of someone who had been a naval officer. He extended his hand to Annie and helped her maneuver the last few steps before she was on the teak deck.
“Welcome aboard.” Captain Ed’s voice had the tenor of a fine baritone.
“Please escort Annie to her stateroom.” Annie’s head was on a swivel as she followed Ed through lounges and hallways paneled in pear wood and cherry. A minute later, Ed pushed open the door to a gorgeous stateroom.
“You’ll find swimsuits, a bathrobe, and slippers in the closet. When you’re ready, Bertie would like you to join him in the spa.” Ed walked to the side of the bed and pointed to a series of buttons. “This controls the television and sound system. This button will summon me. Please do not hesitate to call for me at any time. Lastly, this laptop has internet service whether we’re in port or at sea.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a bit confused,” Annie stuttered, “I thought we we’re going on a short evening cruise. Is that correct?”
“Not exactly. We will return to port at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Maybe later. It’s completely 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?”
There was something about having her car that typically gave Annie reassurance and safety. But being on a boat was already past her comfort zone. It would be impossible for her to leave 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. “A driver will be fine. Thanks.”
The door closed and Annie exhaled. She had imagined several scenarios for this evening. This wasn’t one of them. Annie dropped the shoes she had been carrying and toured her stateroom. The marble bathroom was larger than what was in her apartment 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 various sizes and styles. She chose a two-piece. Unfortunately, the top was a bit more revealing than she preferred. The full-length bathrobe was truly something special. She couldn’t tell if it was cashmere or 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 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 play in Westport, Connecticut when they saw that Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were in attendance. Newman had been recently diagnosed with cancer and his health was failing. Deford and everyone else at the theatre didn’t intrude or stare. However, the main thing he noticed was that the famous couple, who had been married for fifty years, were holding hands. Frank wrote how he 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. His answer was simple. If holding hands works for Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, then they should learn from one of the great romantic couples of all time.”
“That’s quite a story. So why are you holding my hand?” Annie asked with a bit of sarcasm in her voice.
“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.”
“Why didn’t you just say that? Why the whole story about Newman and Woodward?”
“I love that story.”
Annie shook her head as they walked hand-in-hand to the upper deck where the spa was already bubbling. Next to the spa was a champagne bottle in a silver bucket, crystal flutes, and a bowl of the reddest strawberries Annie had ever seen.”
“Don’t tell me. You liked the scene in Pretty Woman with the champagne and strawberries.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that movie when I asked Ed to make these arrangements, but it’s a good scene.”
Annie had just undone her bathrobe’s sash when the yacht rumbled slightly as it moved away from the dock. Bertie moved quickly to embrace her so she wouldn’t lose her footing.
Bertie brushed her long hair out of her eyes. “Let’s keep your bathrobe on for a few more minutes. We’re still in port. We don’t need prying eyes or cameras recording what we do.” Bertie released her and opened the bottle of champagne and poured each of them a glass.
“That’s interesting advice. So, what are we celebrating?”
“Life. One without complications or conflict. It’s why I live on a yacht. When I feel stressed, I take The Saint to sea.”
Annie stood there quietly. There was something fascinating about Bertie. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she knew she wanted to find out more. She looked at him seductively, bit the corner of her lip ever so slightly, and gazed back into Bertie’s eyes. Her suggestive glance must have caught him by surprise. She could see that something was bothering him. “What is it?”
Bertie took a deep breath. “Honestly.”
“Yes.”
Bertie took a step back while his eyes panned Annie's bathrobe wrapped body. After his eyes centered and paused on Annie’s chest, he finally looked up and replied, “The suspense is killing me.”
Annie was surprised when she blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had been so open and honest about his desires.