The Short Happy Life of Island Bill

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There are four good reasons for getting into the teaching game, May, June, July and August. Those are the months you are off contract but still getting paid.

In addition, I had arranged for a year's paid sabbatical which meant that I didn't have to be back at the salt mines until the fall of the following year.

And I knew where I was going, St Lucia in the Windward Islands.

You're absolutely correct. It was her last wish as my wife. So YES, it was an homage to our marriage.

What can I say? I'm sentimental.

I actually saw Janet once before I left.

I have a big morning lecture, nearly 300 students. I DO love an adoring throng.

They were all sitting there listening to me and frantically taking notes, while the Teaching Assistants circulated around amongst the seething mass like herding dogs.

I was in full stride when I looked up to the very top of the auditorium and almost swallowed my tongue.

Janet was standing timorously by the door. She looked destroyed. It was the first time I had seen her in the flesh since I watched her board the train with shithead. Her beauty was incandescent.

I felt like 40,000 volts had just passed through me. It took me totally out of my game.

I stopped talking and just stood there at the lectern like an idiot. I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of seeing how much the sight of her affected me. But my mouth was moving like a fish out of water. Nothing came out of it for a good two minutes.

The students were all looking puzzled at me. I was almost afraid that one of them was going to raise his hand and ask me if my "gulping" was going to be on the test.

I took a drink of water and a deep breath and continued. When I looked up again she was gone.

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I felt like I needed somebody to love and who would love me back unconditionally. So of course I did the only intelligent thing. I went down to the DC pound and got a dog.

The one I picked was perfect. He was what people call a "brown dog" meaning he had so many breeds in him that his chief characteristic was that he was brown.

He was big and he looked like he might have some mastiff in the family tree. But he had a Labrador face and the long ears of some kind of hound. He had short hair, a very broad back and his tail was docked.

The rest of the dogs were barking at the front of the cage trying to get my attention. This guy had his back to me projecting total mortification and misery.

It was like he was saying, "Don't look at me boss. I'm too ashamed."

My heart went out to the guy. He and I were a lot alike.

I picked him up the next day after his bath and his veterinary check.

The delay was mainly so that they could relieve him of his balls.

I was thinking with grim humor, "Janet did that to me. Now we are COMPLETELY alike."

He had a wonderful temperament. Slow, gentle and loving but not in any pushy kind of small dog way. He just sat there in the passenger seat looking devotedly at me, pant-pant-pant-drool, "Thanks for getting me out of that place Boss. Anything you need from now on you can count on me."

I decided to call him Buddy, because he was my buddy. He spent a couple of days getting acclimated to the boat. We were going on a long trip and I wanted him to feel comfortable.

We were already packed and fully provisioned so it was just a matter of casting off. A 40 can be a little tricky for one man to sail. But I had the diesels and once we got into the open water I could get the mainsail up from the cockpit with the power assists.

We made it down the Potomac under engine power and when we got out into the Bay I coasted around to Norfolk and the Intercostal under sail. May is good sailing weather and Buddy and I made good time down the coast toward Miami and the open ocean beyond.

I was leaving a wounded man. But I was going to spend the next 16 months healing.

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CHAPTER TWO: ASCENT

We were tied up at the Rodney Bay Marina. The place is one of those "full service" marinas that offers everything from diesel to high end shopping. So, it attracts a lot of tourists.

Buddy and I were sitting in the cockpit in the already blistering midmorning sun. I was having coffee and watching the parade. He was watching whatever dogs watch when they are staring blankly off into space and panting.

In the ten months since my divorce Buddy had gone from companion dog to best friend. I had let my lawyer Bernie handle all of the details of separating me from Janet. And Bernie ensured that both of us got through that sad event with a modicum of dignity.

More important, he did it quickly and without bothering me. As a result, I now only thought about Janet twenty times a day.

In the year since I had shoved off from the Marina in DC, I had totally deconstructed the boring guy I used to be. And I had replaced him with the inner boat bum that I always knew was lurking in there.

I was outside in the tropic sun, doing all the chores that you have to do to keep a boat shipshape. Which gave me a deep water tan. My naturally blond well barbered hair was long and shaggy and it had been bleached almost white. And my sedentary body had been leaned down to the bone.

I even sported a 43 year old's version of a six-pack.

I lived in a pair of boat shorts. I added a t-shirt and sailing cap when I was dressed for public consumption.

Looking in the mirror I would think, "If Janet could only see me now." I didn't recognize myself.

I was supplementing my generous University stipend by doing offshore tours in the boat. I'd take tourists out for a day of sailing and poking around the nearby islands.

I had enough to live on with my regular salary. But I had no luxuries unless I did tours.

It wasn't making me rich but I could have probably lived down there the rest of my life at a certain level of comfort. Meaning I could afford the REAL Cuban Cohibas.

And staying on St. Lucia was getting to be a very tempting prospect.

Jean-Claude was my agent. He was a happy rastaman who lived somewhere up near Soufriere and spent his time on the beaches hawking outings for the tourists, among his other products.

Actually, tours were one of Jean-Claude's more savory lines of business.

I gave him twenty percent of anything that he brought my way.

I had met him my first week on St. Lucia. I had reserved a slip in Rodney Bay for the duration of my stay and there was a place just off the dock called Spinnakers that had the right insouciance. It was also handy enough that I could crawl back to the boat if I had too much to drink.

The feature that sold it though, was that they let Buddy sit with me on their outdoor patio.

The island IS French after all.

I had been in that place every night since my arrival, drinking and trying to figure out the local scene.

Buddy would sit next to me, pant-pant-pant-slobber-slobber-slobber, looking attentively for anything that dropped on the floor.

I had just come down from the States. And I was a pasty-faced tourist back then. But I was quickly getting the lay-of-the-land and I was becoming a whole lot more comfortable in St Lucia.

Jean-Claude came over and introduced himself about a week and a half after I had arrived and started to hang out there.

He was coal-black. And he had one of those animated personalities that would have made Bobby McFerrin seem downright Un-"happy".

He was wearing an ensemble that was a type of ratty island chic. It could be best described as "weather beaten". It comprised an old aloha shirt and frayed shorts that looked like they had originally been long pants.

He was playing cheerful island creole when he came over. I knew he was trying to hustle me. But I asked him to sit down. Any guy who could game that well had to be knowledgeable.

I bought him a drink and told him I had just moved down there and I wanted to learn how to thrive and prosper in the St. Lucia culture.

I told him that I thought he looked like the right guy. So I offered to pay him to teach me all of the things I would need to know to be successful in his society.

His demeanor changed from happy to sly. I could see he was figuring the angles. I could also see that he was a very smart fellow indeed.

He switched into perfect French accented English and said, "How about you hang with me for free Mon. I'll teach you enough that they will think you were born here. And you can buy all of the food and drinks."

I laughed and said, "Why do I have the feeling that I would have been better off if I had just handed you a couple of thousand dollars?"

He laughed and said, "You would have been. You definitely would have been."

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Most evenings he and I and Buddy would sit around Spinnakers all night listening to the music, which was really quite good.

Then Buddy and I would walk back to the boat and Jean-Claude would wander off to find another mark. He never seemed to sleep.

Jean-Claude took me everywhere and introduced me to everybody and by the time he was done I felt like I could have run for Mayor of Castries City.

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One of the most disturbing outcomes of my divorce was my total lack of interest in sex. In fact you could even extend that malaise to cover my attitude toward women in general.

I don't know whether the fear of betrayal was keeping my desire for female companionship bottled up. Or it was a case of sexual dysfunction due to my sudden change in fortune.

But I had no interest in interacting with any woman under any circumstances, no matter how hot she might be.

In fact it took six months after the day that Bernie informed me that I was single once again, before I began even looking at women in "that way."

I was now at the point where I could appreciate a tight female body in a skimpy outfit. But I was still very aware that every one of their beating hearts was full of duplicity.

At that time of year there are slightly more cruise ships in Castries Bay than there were vessels offshore during the invasion of Normandy.

It was still semi-miserable in most cities north of the border. And all of those behemoths were disgorging passengers onto our tiny island.

Most of these people were American and frankly embarrassing. The natives were crowded around them like flies on honey, or another substance.

Jean-Claude, must have been in the middle of all of that because he called me and said, "I've got a family that wants a tour up to Martinique.

"Pick them up at the Halcyon Sandals at 10:00. Good money for you and me Mon. The name is Wilson"

He pronounced it like "Wheel-sone" Jean-Claude lived for moments like this,

The Sandals resort he was talking about was down the coast on the other side of Castries City on the Rodney Bay side.

I said, "Thanks my friend and you can pick up your share tomorrow."

He laughed and said, "Slow down, you're acting like a grockle Mon. I'll get it by-and-by." And he hung up.

An hour later I was pulling into the Sandals dock under diesel. Buddy was sitting in his normal position at the prow, looking exactly like a canine figurehead, pant-pant-pant-pant.

I had assumed that the "family" would be dad, mom and the kiddies. But what was waiting for me was a "family" in the sense of brothers, sisters and spouses.

There were five of them, two men and three women ranging in age from perhaps the mid-twenties to a guy who looked to be in his mid-thirties.

There was a woman in her early thirties who was slim and had "yuppie wife" written all over her. She was clearly with the oldest guy.

Then there was a woman about the same age as the wife who looked so much like the first guy that she had to be his sister.

She was tall. And she had one of those aggressive bodies with the huge tits that scream "hot".

But she was dressed in slacks not shorts, like a "no nonsense" kind of woman. It was an interesting contrast of messages.

She was clearly married to the other fellow because she was hanging all over him. Even though he looked to be several years younger.

The woman who was unattached was in her mid-twenties. She was without a doubt the younger sister.

That one was a total knockout. Not since I first laid eyes on Janet had I ever seen a complete package like the woman standing expectantly waiting for us to tie up to the dock.

She was in a pair of white boating shorts and a blue polo shirt with an alligator on it.

She had thick auburn hair that ran down past her shoulders. It was layered into what has been known as the "Rachel" for the past decade and a half.

She had a golden tan and the most perfectly proportioned facial features I have ever seen on a female. It was like looking at the women in a Vermeer, or a Waterhouse. She was stunningly beautiful.

She was maybe five six and had gorgeous muscled legs and a killer ass. I know that because she was bending down to pick up a cooler as I docked.

I nearly rammed the docking fenders gawking at that extraordinarily stimulating sight.

When she turned to board my first impression was "athlete." She was incredibly balanced and graceful.

She had big round full boobs. They weren't in Janet's league for size but very few women's are. Nonetheless, they perfectly complemented her nubile shape without looking too out-of-proportion big.

She had broad shoulders and toned arms for a woman, and extra-long smooth sleek muscled legs.

Janet's hips are full and round. This woman had tight athletic hips that just radiated feminine power.

I had already noted that jutting ass. But when she turned to put the cooler down I could see that her long waist was so narrow that it made her faultless, hip structure look almost voluptuous.

I might have lingered a little too long inventorying her because she caught me staring and looked back at me with total disgust.

The Cruising 40 has a big comfortable cabin and foredeck but the cockpit is a little tight with six people and a burly dog.

I immediately banished Buddy to the galley. He was happy to go down there since I had laid out some extra rations to keep him occupied. Plus all of those people were making him nervous.

The six of us were distributed around the upholstered benches as I headed back out under power on a course slightly west of north, headed for Martinique.

Almost as soon as we hit the open ocean the older sister and her husband disappeared into the cabin.

They left me with the impression that they were none too thrilled to be out on the ocean in the first place. It was like they expected a visit from Captain Jack Sparrow.

I had every variety of island beer in an iced tub and plenty of rum and tequila down below. The sound of the blender in the galley eased any concern about unhappy customers.

They would be content sitting in the cabin with their Margaritas. And it looked like they were there for romance anyhow, not seafaring.

Some of my couples are like that. The rolling of the waves makes them horny.

That only left the older brother and his wife and they were cheerfully sitting on the starboard bench watching the water bubble past as we progressed offshore on the diesels.

My only thought was. "Empty headed, over-entitled, and rich." I saw a lot of that type among the student body at the place where I used to work.

As soon as I got into the main ocean swells I raised the mainsail. I could have done it by myself but part of the tour is the opportunity to play with the boat. And so I asked for volunteers to haul sail.

The brother looked at his wife and they both shook their heads. It was obvious that they thought that raising sail was something that the bought help ought to do, not the masters.

I looked at the goddess and her eagerness was written all over her face. She said, "I have never sailed before but I would LOVE to learn how."

She rose graceful as a cat and came over to where I was at the wheel bringing the boat directly into the wind.

Things can get very interesting if you hoist the main and you are not aligned with the wind on the nose. That was something that I learned to my initial horror on the way down.

I put it on the auto-sailor and wrapped the line for the mainsail hoist over the power assist. I said, "We are going to need this to raise the sail. Once I finish unfurling it I want you to pull the line through this winch. Don't stop until you get to the top of the mast. Can you do that?"

She said eagerly, "Aye-aye Captain."

Her look was akin to a little girl concentrating on riding her first bike. It was so endearing that I almost forgave her for the "back off creep" that she had been radiating all of the time she had been on the boat.

We got the mainsail and jib up as efficiently as I had ever done with Janet. The woman was undoubtedly a physical specimen, perfectly coordinated and very controlled and precise with her movements. I wondered if she was a pro tennis player or something. Her rare athleticism was hard to miss.

The sails filled as I turned away from the wind off the nose and we laid over on a glorious port tack making maybe eight knots.

It was so exhilarating that she actually cried out and clapped her hands in glee. The look of rapture on her face hinted at deeper emotions in other aspects of her soul.

I turned back to take the wheel and reset the course for 350 degrees. I said, "Enjoy yourself. There is food and drink below and if you want to work on your tan the foredeck is a good place to soak up sun."

She gave me the first friendly look she had given me since she came on board.

She said, "I love the sun. We don't get much of that in Ann Arbor this time of year.

"Can I just sit up front? Will anybody disturb me? How long until we get to our destination?"

I said, "If the wind holds we should be there in less than three hours. That will make it around 1:00 in the afternoon.

Then your party can decide what you want to do. You can stay on the island for a couple of days, which I suggest. I will pick you up whenever you want to come back. The other option is to make it a day trip. We can run back around 7:00 tonight.

I am up for doing whatever makes you folks, happy. You are the customer."

She said, "Can we decide when we get in? What is Martinique like?"

I said, "It's the Paris of the Caribbean, 'nuff said. I like to tour the distilleries but I adore rum and they make some of the best in the world. The shopping there is supposed to be exquisite but Buddy and I don't shop."'

In the meantime my canine pal had wandered out of the cabin and was sitting by the wheel. I think the people getting sloshed down there were bothering him.

He has turned into a seadog which is a long way from his streetdog origins. Of course my transformation from academic geek to boat bum wasn't any less spectacular.

I offered my hand and said, "By the way, my name is Bill Butler." I added to be witty, "It's alliterative don't you know? Everybody just calls me Billy Joe. May I ask your name?"

She said, "It's Milly Wilson." It's short for Millicent. My sister down below is Marigold. Everybody calls her Mary. My Brother is Lance, which is short for Lancelot.

"My parents had a very strange sense of humor when it came to naming their children.

"The other guy is somebody Mary picked up at the hotel. I don't know his name."

That was interesting. I had assumed that they were married because Mary and the guy were already getting rambunctious down there.

In fact, they had gotten to the point where I thought we were going to have to batten the cabin hatch to dampen the noise.

Both Millicent and Lancelot were completely ignoring that show. Apparently Marigold did that a lot.

I said, "Which ship are you off of?"

She said, we flew into Hewanorra yesterday. My sister Maddie and her husband are going to join us here this evening. I used to baby sit their little boy. His name is Billy too."