The Marital Corporation Ch. 04

Kathy perched on her father's lap, clutching the tiller in both hands. Gordon showed her how to change course, and then had her sit by herself in the helmsman's seat. She quickly tired of maintaining a straight course, and began experimenting by alternately pushing and pulling on the tiller.

Traffic was becoming thicker, so Peter reclaimed the tiller. "What do you say we go on across the Sound to Port Blakely?" he asked Marge.

She nodded. "That's a good idea," she said. "Anyone want a beer?"

Gordon stretched out on the lazarette with his sons while Kathy went below with her mother and Marge to fix lunch. It was quiet, and Peter sat back, enjoying the day, hearing the murmur of voices in the galley against the backdrop of water gurgling under the boat's counter.

Their passage across the Sound was uneventful. They arrived in a small, seemingly deserted, cove early in the afternoon, and Peter dropped their anchor over the side. He then rigged the awning which shaded the cockpit. The boat rocked gently on a back swell that came around the point. "Who's up for a swim?" Marge asked.

"I am," Anne said. "How about you, Gordon? And you, Pete?"

Peter shook his head. "Someone has to keep an eye out for sharks," he said.

"You're kidding. Isn't he kidding, Marge?" Anne asked.

Marge laughed. "He's kidding. There are lots of dogfish here, and we see a thrasher shark from time to time, but they aren't dangerous. Last one in is a you-know-what!" Marge stood, unbuckled her belt, wiggled out of her shorts, then pulled her shirt over her head and dove cleanly into the water. Anne was right behind her. Kathy slipped out of her shorts and blouse, and followed her mother into the water.

The men sat quietly watching their mates and the children cavort in the water. Gordon turned to Peter. "This is so great, I can't believe it," he said.

Peter nodded. "Anything in particular?"

Gordon waved his hand expansively. "Everything," he said. "I'd throw my golf clubs away if I had a boat like this. Think of the quality family time we could have."

"I would think," Peter said, "that as the CEO of an up and coming software company, you could afford a toy like this, if you're serious about it."

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. "It isn't so much the money," he said slowly. "It's all the rest. You've been sailing how many years?"

"I can't remember when I didn't have a boat of some kind," Peter said.

"That's my point," Gordon said. "It's in your bones. This boat is 28 feet long, did you say?" Peter nodded.

"With my growing family, for safety's sake," Gordon said, "I'd want a bigger boat than this, but I'd guess the bigger they are, the trickier they are to handle. Am I right?"

"Not necessarily," Peter replied. "However, there is one thing you can bet on. The cost of owning and maintaining a boat goes up exponentially with the boat's size. I'd like to have a bigger boat, too, but old Love Boat, here," Peter slapped the cockpit combing for emphasis, "is about all the boat I can afford."

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. "Do you have plans for this evening?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Peter said.

"I'll have to talk with Anne, but maybe we could spend some time this evening looking at numbers."

"Suits me," Peter said, "but look. I have a better idea. Let me check with Marge first, but maybe you guys could stop at our house after we get back to Seattle. That's where the numbers are. Perhaps we could pick up some of the Colonel's chicken on the way and have supper there. The kids will be tired out, but they can catch a nap while we grown-ups visit."

When the swimming party returned, the three females toweled vigorously, but only Kathy dressed. Gordon had already retrieved his son who, like most boys, had remained in the water until he was shivering and beginning to turn blue.

"Next time, let's anchor closer to the beach," Marge said. "The water inshore is much warmer, and I can't see that we'd have much company."

Peter explained the tentative arrangements he and Gordon had made. Marge seemed to happily second Peter's invitation, but unseen by the Schaefers, she pinched him hard. When their guests were distracted by Billy's cries as he woke from his nap, she glared at him. "What were you thinking? Do you want them to know about Kenny?" she hissed.

"What about Kenny?" Peter asked. "It's not as though you two were wearing scarlet letters or anything."

"Well, I suppose not," Marge admitted grudgingly. "I guess I just feel funny about it; that's all."

Peter said, "I know. But even if the worse happened, what do you care? Would it make any difference?"

"I guess not," she said slowly, "but it would make me feel funny."

As if to prove that his interest in boating was genuine, Gordon asked to haul the anchor and set the sails without supervision. He and Anne, assisted by Kathy, and for a short time by Jimmy, sailed Love Boat back to the marina.

After they secured the boat, Peter suggested that Marge ride with the Schaefer family to guide them to their home. We might get separated in the traffic, Peter said, and it's a bitch trying to give directions concerning those winding roads on the hill.

Anne promptly said, "Then I'm going to ride with Pete. You children behave, now!"

Peter unlocked the Toyota and led the Schaefer's car out of the parking lot. As Peter had feared, the cars were separated by a traffic light near the Civic Center.

As Peter and Anne waited at another light, Anne broke the silence, saying tentatively, "I'm glad we have a chance to be alone for a few minutes."

"So am I," Peter said. "Did you tell him about us?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I think he's got something in mind for the four of us. Plus -- I'll be honest with you -- it never hurts a junior partner to bring an up and coming software company's legal business into the firm."

"Well, he knows I had lunch with you; that's all. I don't know what he may suspect, because he didn't question me like he usually does."

Peter was still puzzling over that cryptic statement, when they pulled into the driveway.

The Baylis home was a solidly built, three story brick Tudor dating from the mid-1920s. It was firmly anchored to a very steep slope near the southeastern crest of Queen Anne hill, and overlooked nearly all of downtown Seattle. When they stepped from the car, Anne was visibly awed. "You must have the best view in Seattle!" she said.

"It's pretty good," Peter admitted. "Wait until you see what it's like from the living room." He unlocked the front door and ushered her inside.

The city lights had come on, and Anne stood transfixed in the living room, staring out the old fashioned picture window at the panorama spread before her. The view was stunning. The entire city, from the University district on the left, past Lake Union and downtown Seattle, to Alki Point on the far right, a sweep of over 250 degrees, lay before them. The Space Needle's lighted windows gleamed against a backdrop of downtown streets, broken by vertical towers of lighted glass, that looked like rows of orderly Christmas lights as motorists switched on their lights.

The conical massive shape of Mount Rainier, its 14,000 foot, snow-capped top glowing pink from the reflected sunset, loomed behind the city.

"God," she breathed, "I'd never leave the house if I had something like this to look at!"

The door behind them opened, and Marge showed Gordon and the children into the room. I heard the boys', "Oh, man!" and Gordon's whispered "Jesus Christ!" as the view's dramatic impact sank home.

"How did you ever find this?" Gordon demanded.

"Like Goldwater found his department store," Peter replied, "I inherited it."

"Do you have any idea what this view is worth?"

"I sure do," Peter said grimly. "Every time I open a tax statement. I also know what it costs whenever I have to call the furnace repair people. We're enjoying it while we can," he added, "because I'm not sure how much longer we'll be able to hang on."

"It can't be that bad," Gordon said sympathetically.

"I'll tell you the truth, Gordon," Peter said earnestly, "if it wasn't for the 40 mill tax limit, I'd have been sunk long ago. Even so, I pay nearly $30,000 a year in property taxes. This old house is perfectly sound, but we've had to upgrade the plumbing and the electrical system. The furnace is next. But here; let me give you the grand tour."

He led the way up the carpeted staircase to the second floor, then opened a door in the upstairs hall and climbed a steeper flight of stairs to the third floor. "This was the ballroom," Peter said. "Notice the hardwood floor."

Gordon peered around the single large room. Two dirty dormer windows on the street side admitted a feeble light from the gathering dusk outside. The floor was, as Peter said, polished oak. The low walls were decorated with faded wallpaper. The vaulted ceiling supported two small chandeliers. Simple benches lined the walls.

A small jumble of cardboard boxes was piled in a corner. A gentle wave of nostalgia washed over Peter as he remembered a little boy who used to play with his lead soldiers in that corner on rainy days.

"Boy, you don't see one of these every day," Gordon said, clearly awed.

Breaking the spell, Peter said, "Second floor, next stop. Ladies lingerie, bedding, notions." He led the way down the stairs to the hall.

The master suite, including their bedroom and a cozy sitting room, separated by a large tiled bath, occupied the entire east side of the house, replicating the view of the city from the living room on the first floor. Three additional bedrooms and another bath lined the hall.

The men returned to the ground floor. "There's a third bath and a bedroom for the maid in the basement," Peter said, smiling, "only we're between maids right now, and have been for the past 40 years or so."

He led the way into his study, a former music room, off the living room. He motioned Gordon into a chair near his desk, and picked up a yellow lined pad and a pen. "What'd you think of the house?"

Gordon's face split into a broad, admiring grin. "I don't know when I've been more impressed!" he said. "You've really got everything a man could possibly ask for. I'm very envious."

Peter was accustomed to hearing admiring comments about the unique view his home afforded, but he hadn't expected that Gordon would be quite so effusive, and he was mildly embarrassed. "You might think differently if you saw my tax bill or the bids I've gotten for a new heating system. But you wanted to talk boat numbers."

Gordon nodded. "Tell me what I'm looking at," he said.

Peter picked up an old copy of Sail Magazine, and opened it to the classified ads. "You said you wanted something bigger than Love Boat, but still within reason, right?" Gordon nodded.

"OK, here's a ten year old Westsail 32. Same rig as Love Boat. She'll sleep only four adults, but considering the age of your kids, you'd have plenty of sleeping room. These boats are serious ocean cruisers, strong as hell. They are asking $55,000 for her. I'd offer $45,000.

"Or, here's a 32' Herreschoff ketch. A split rig isn't quite as efficient as a sloop's, but the sails are smaller and easier to handle. This boat is wood and is 35 years old. The ad doesn't say anything about accommodations. You could probably pick her up for $15,000."

"What would you get if you were me?"

Another ad caught Peter's eye. "You don't see one of these on the market very often," he said absently.

"What's that?"

Instead of answering directly, Peter went to the book case, where he found a tattered copy of Roger Taylor's "Good Boats." He sat and opened the book. "One of these," he said, handing the book to Gordon.

"Murray Peterson," Gordon read aloud, ". . . Silver Heels . . . Coasting schooners. God, she's beautiful. You say there's a boat like this for sale?"

Peter nodded. "But remember what J.P. Morgan said about buying boats: `If you have to ask the price, you can't afford it'."

"OK. Now, I'm really curious. What are we talking about?"

"$110,000, maybe $115,000."

Gordon whistled. "Yeah, that's a little rich for my blood, all right, but tell me about her, anyway."

After scanning the ad, Peter said, "She's a big boat; 46 feet on deck, carries a 15 foot beam, displaces over 20 tons. This boat was built in Maine in 1982. She has a diesel auxiliary. They claim she sleeps eight, but they don't say how comfortably."

"Just for the hell of it," Gordon said, "what would be involved in owning a big boat like that?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Where shall we start? Maintenance? You're looking at an annual haulout. Some people stretch it to one every two years, but I don't recommend it. Different boat yards have wildly different rules and rates. The yard I use lets me do my own work, gives me three rain days, and charges $5 a foot up and down. Lay days are $15 per day. For a boat this big, a haulout would cost $225 plus seven lay days for a total of $330. Say $400 by the time the boat was washed, blocked up, and your staging was in place. You'd need at least four gallons of bottom paint at $75 per, and two to three gallons of topside paint at $35 per. That's another $400, just for paint.

"What I'm getting at is that assuming you, Anne and the kids did most of the work, routine annual maintenance on the hull would cost $1,000. Adding periodic sail replacements and annual engine work, I'd guess you're looking at an average maintenance cost of $1,200 to $1,500 a year. That's the easy part.

"You'll have to find a place to keep her. Good places are very expensive; in Seattle you can expect to pay between $7.50 and $15.00 per foot per month. That could run you as much as $5,000 to $6,000 a year just to rent a hole in the water. If you keep her at Shilshole, it will cost a little less, around $4,500, or so, but you'd be at the end of a very long waiting list, especially if you wanted a berth that was easy to get in and out of. I pay $2,360 a year to tie Love Boat up.

"OK, we're already up to $7,000. Now it gets rough. If you borrow the purchase price, or go into some marinas, you'll need insurance. On a $100,000 boat, you could be looking at $10,000 annual premiums for very limited coverage. I can't afford to insure Love Boat, and I haven't even mentioned property taxes yet.

"Where does that leave us? Owning that beautiful schooner could cost you as much as $17,000 to $20,000 a year. Are you still interested?"

"I'm really taken by that boat, Pete," Gordon said slowly. "It feels right, and I know it's what I want. The problem is, I don't know enough about boats or sailing to take the plunge by myself." He paused, looking thoughtfully at Peter. "What would it take to get you to come in with me as a limited partner?"

Anne chose that moment to poke her head through the doorway. "Darling, the children are tired and are getting restless and cranky. I think we had better forget supper and take our brood home."

Gordon stood. "You're probably right, honey. I think Pete and I have gone about as far as we can tonight, anyway. We'll just take a rain check on supper, if that's all right with you folks."

Marge had joined Anne in the doorway. "You'll have to eat somewhere. I didn't have anything planned; we could just order out, or Pete could go pick up a bucket of chicken at the Colonel's . . ."

Anne shook her head. "Let's do it another night," she said. "I really need to get these little monsters fed, bathed, and into bed."

Marge stood to one side as the Schaefers gathered the children. Gordon carried little Billy, who had fallen asleep, over his shoulder as they walked to their car.

Marge kissed Anne. "Could you come over Saturday night? Bring the children and plan to stay the night. As you see, we have scads of room. Then we could get an early start Sunday morning."

Anne returned her hug and said, "Thanks for everything. Let me talk to Gordon and get back to you during the week."

Marge and Peter stood in the doorway, watching their friend's car disappear around the corner. Marge gave a little shiver. "It's getting chilly out here."

Then they went back into the house. Peter sat at the kitchen table telling Marge about his conversation with Gordon, while she prepared two omelets.

"How do you feel about Gordon now?" he asked.

"I know you don't think much of him, but I like him." Marge said.

"At the moment, I just don't know what to think," Peter said. "Tonight, when it was just the two of us, I liked him very much. He's a different person, though, when he's around Anne or you."

"I should hope so," Marge said coquettishly.

"Come on," Peter said, "You know what I mean."

"Well, what did your girl friend have to say?"

Peter had mentioned the brief interlude he had shared with Anne the previous week at the Ambassador Hotel, but he had not mentioned Gordon's impotence. He decided this was as good a time to tell her.

"I hate to disillusion you," he said "but I think you ought to know that his coming on to you was mostly smoke and mirrors."

Peter repeated what Anne had said. "Obviously, he's sensitive on the subject," he added, "so for God's sake, don't rag him about it." Marge gave Peter the look wives reserve for husbands who act as if they had only one oar in the water. "What sort of idiot do you take me for?" she demanded.

Peter then told her about Gordon's interest in the big schooner, and his astonishing offer. Marge smiled.

"It looks as if the genie is out of the bottle," she said. "What did you ask for?"

"Nothing, yet." Anne interrupted us at that point.

Marge nodded. "That's just as well," she said. "Let's review the bidding. What does he have that we want, and don't already have?" she added in an oblique reference to Peter's budding relationship with Anne.

"I'd like to bring his company business into the firm."

"OK," Marge said, holding up a hand and ticking off a finger. "That's one. What else?"

Peter shrugged. "You might be more comfortable sailing on a bigger boat."

Marge smiled. "You get only half a finger for that one."

"OK, it's your turn. What do you want?"

"Just what every girl wants: a desert prince, a new furnace."

Peter laughed. "You'll get a finger for that, all right. Besides, you've already got a desert prince, only he's a wet one you fished out of the sea."

"OK, but what about the furnace?"

"Don't be silly. How do we get a furnace out of this?" Peter was beginning to lose patience.

"That isn't any further off the wall than your dumb idea about corralling his legal business for the firm," she said defensively.

Realizing it was time to change the subject, Peter said, "Speaking of desert princes, where's Kenny?"

"There's a rock concert down at the Civic Center. I gave him $20 and told him to have a good time."

Peter didn't like the sound of that, and said so. "You didn't give him enough money to have much fun," he said. "The hell of it is, he knows how to make fast money on the street, and it scares me to think what souvenirs he might accidentally bring home."

Marge sighed. "You're right," she said. "But what can we do? I don't want to lose him. I get weak in the knees just thinking about that young cock of his!"

"Maybe that's what the genie can give us," Peter said. "A good job with strong upward mobility potential for Kenny. Anyway, it's my turn tonight."

(to be continued)