Final Sail

Huntington Hartford, the A&P heir, bought the property: Pigs and groceries were a bad combination. He rechristened it Paradise and the name stayed even after he was gone. This earthly Paradise provided the fabulous sugar-sand beaches and clear aqua water for such movies as Thunderball and the Beatles’ Help!

Only the rich were allowed into Hog heaven. The marina handled yachts up to 240 feet long and banned boats under 40 feet. In this company, the Belted Earl was only a midsized yacht. Helen thought the Earl, with its elegant curved hull, was handsomer than the tubby mega- yachts.

As the ship grew closer, they were hailed by a muscular dark-skinned man in a yellow speedboat.

“It’s Action Jackson!” Mira cried. “He’s the Bahamas’ unofficial greeter.”

Jackson was a bullet-headed man in a bright red cap who’d crowned himself the Limbo King of the Bahamas. He offered to take everyone on a tour.

“What fun!” Pepper said. “Let’s go. We can meet the natives!”

“Don’t encourage that revolting man,” Rosette said. “Can’t you do something about him, Earl? He’s dirty and so is his boat. Look. He’s attracting more vermin.”

Now the yacht was surrounded by a flotilla of little boats offering pink conch, yellow bananas and hairy brown coconuts.

Helen didn’t think Jackson was dirty. She liked his Bahamian lilt. Mira called Carl, the yacht’s second-in- command, on the radio.

The white-uniformed Carl was nearly six feet tall, with a round, open face, shrewd eyes and no-color hair. He looked like the Western hero’s best friend. He was under thirty and already developing sailor’s sun wrinkles.

He climbed down to the swim platform. Action and the swarm of small boats followed him. Carl seemed to be talking more to another boat captain in ragged shorts and a faded T-shirt. Helen caught a few phrases: “not a good time” … “come back” … “you need to hide.”

Hide? she wondered. Hide what? Did Carl tell someone on a little red boat, “See you ashore”? That couldn’t be right.

Action left with a flash of his wide, white smile and a wave of his thick brown arm, and the smaller boats followed. Carl climbed back up to the guests.

“They’re gone, Mrs. Randolph,” he said.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “With the crime rate in Nassau, I don’t know why those people are allowed to approach yachts in the harbor.”

“It would have been fun to limbo,” Pepper said.

Scotty wrapped her in a bear hug. “But not as much fun as buying emeralds. Are you ready? We go as soon as the ship docks.”

When the pink castle towers of Atlantis came into view, Pepper jumped up and said, “I want to see us dock.” She dragged Scotty to the rail.

“Let’s go, too, dear,” Ralph said. “The view is magnificent.”

Rosette rolled her eyes, but joined her stringy spouse on deck. Beth and Earl followed hand in hand, leaving Mitzi behind. The poodle ran inside and squatted on the salon carpet.

“Better walk that dog before they come back,” Mira said. “Walk the dog” was the cleanup code. Helen got down on hands and knees to wipe up the dog pee, vowing to treat Thumbs to the finest catnip in Lauderdale and herself to a stiff drink when she was home.

“Come on out,” Mira said. “When the yacht docks, two stews have to be on deck to stand by the fenders and make sure they’re in place, in case something goes wrong.”

Helen was amazed how quickly and smoothly the Belted Earl was docked. She’d had a harder time parallel parking in downtown Lauderdale.

“I’ll meet you in the crew mess,” Mira said, “and help with the laundry.”

Mira was loading wet clothes into a dryer when Helen got there. The head stew looked annoyed. “Helen, why did you throw Pepper’s clothes in the laundry?”

“Just the jeans,” Helen said.

“Guests’ jeans are dry-cleaned,” Mira said, “unless they tell us otherwise.”

She held up Pepper’s jeans. They looked small. Helen hoped they hadn’t shrunk in the wash.

“Now I’ll have to take these to the Atlantis dry cleaner and hope they can be rescued,” Mira said. “You haven’t started any of the guests’ ironing.”

“I’ll fold laundry and iron now,” Helen said.

Helen’s radio squawked. “Missus wants to see you in the galley,” Suzanne said.

“Probably wants to talk about the dog,” Mira said. “When you get back, work on the laundry. Don’t forget to iron the guests’ underwear.”

Helen picked up Ralph’s stained, ragged tightie whities. “Even the holey underwear?”

“Guest underwear is always perfect, no matter what the condition,” Mira said, crisp as new cotton sheets. “Now run upstairs to the missus.”

Helen had lost count how many times she’d sprinted up and down those steps. Mitzi greeted her with a welcoming yap in the galley, while her mistress continued with Suzanne’s instructions.

“Scotty and Pepper are shopping,” Beth said. “The rest of us are going to stretch our legs. We’ll be back about eight thirty to dress for dinner at Nobu. You don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight, Suzanne. We’ll probably want something light when we return later this evening—actually, it will be more like tomorrow morning. The boys like to play poker until three or four.”

“How about lobster salad?” the chef asked.

“That will do for the girls, but the boys will want more meat.”

“I have enough Niman Ranch steaks.”

“Good. They never get tired of T-bones.”

“I’ll make fries,” Suzanne said.

“And onion rings,” Beth said. “They love your onion rings. Make enough for all the boys and Pepper. That little girl has a big appetite. Oh, and maybe a light dessert. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything else.”

Beth seemed oblivious that she’d given Suzanne orders for dinner for six people at three in the morning.

She turned to Helen. “Mitzi needs a walk. She had that little accident in the salon, but it’s all gone now, thanks to Auntie Helen.”

Great, Helen thought. I’m now a poodle’s relative.

“Our little Mitzi girl was so excited, she just couldn’t wait, could you, sweetie? Now it’s time to tinkle again.”

“Yap!” Mitzi said.

Beth handed the dog to Helen, as if presenting her a gift. Mitzi cuddled in Helen’s arms. “She likes you!” Beth said. “I can’t take Mitzi into Atlantis. They don’t allow dogs, not even sweet doggy-woggies like you, Mitzi. But Auntie Helen will take good care of you. Here’s her leash.”

Beth attached a work of art trimmed in Native American silver to the dog’s lapis and squash-blossom collar.

“Enjoy your walk, baby girl,” Beth said.

Mitzi yapped once, then licked Helen’s nose.

“You’re growing on me, fur face,” Helen said as she carried the little white dog off the yacht. On the dock, Mitzi stopped at every post and piling while Helen praised her. “Good dog,” she said. “The more you do here, the less work you make for me on the boat.”

Helen enjoyed watching the marina, swarming with white-uniformed crews. Deckhands with bulging calves and thighs carried cases of beer and booze aboard the yachts. A female crew member in khaki shorts trundled a cart piled with pineapples, lemons and bananas. Near the entrance, Helen saw a tall brown-haired man in white shorts and a polo shirt. He looked a lot like Carl, the Earl’s second-in-command. A slender woman gripped his arm.

“Come on, Mitzi,” Helen said, coaxing the poodle along the dock toward the pair. As she got closer, Helen saw that the man had the same lanky body as Carl. Ten feet closer and Helen stopped dead, Mitzi’s leash wrapped around her feet.