“Ms. Jones. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, Diego.” She blushed. “Am I on time?”
“Five minutes to spare. Would you like to sit below deck?”
Zelda followed him down the four short steps. She settled onto the battered cloth chair.
“I appreciate you doing this on such short notice.”
“We catch fish. That’s really short notice.” Diego grinned. “Be underway soon, Ms. Jones.”
Zelda hated his smug smile as if she’d crawled along the dock moaning “Diego, Diego, take me back.” Her letter, squared neatly and tucked in his doorframe, explained she needed to do more research and hoped their past relationship wouldn’t impact their business dealings.
Boar Face wanted to go along, but Zelda finally persuaded her that it was a small boat. Zelda was now the most extraordinary employee ever at Saul’s Salmon, her supervisor had bleated. Or some such insincere nonsense, Boar Face mooing that she adored Zelda personally and professionally, and that she brought the sort of creativity she, Boar Face (real name Katrina Munson), had long wanted but had been denied by Mr. Pietro, a nice man but, between us, an egg shell on the floor.
Zelda wasn’t sure about the intellectual properties of egg shells, but assumed they weren’t high. Her mission was to focus on “being a salmon or whatever fish they called salmon” and come up with all the sketches and ideas she wanted. Then Boar Face (Katrina) would whip them into proper and masterful marketing and, if Mr. Egg Shell (Pietro) failed to see how this would break out of market, she, Boar Face (Katrina) would go to Mr. Saul Ribe (The Boss) himself. Yes, that Saul, whose kindly, myopic face stared back from the package of every Saul’s Salmon as if he were the father of all fish.
Zelda balanced her sketchbook, plugging mentally into the boat’s engines. Even the loud humming couldn’t conceal the Captain’s angry shouts. Lee stomped downstairs, apologetic and irritated.
“Ms. Jones. You’re not supposed to be on this ship.”
She reached for her authorization. “Diego said…”
“Yes, he did.” The Captain reddened. “But this is my ship.”
“Sorry. I’m doing a marketing campaign.”
“Blast the salmon. Stay out of the way and never come on my ship again unless I personally greet you. Saul can shove his business.”
Zelda slumped in the chair, too angry to sketch. After a few more minutes of one-sided yelling, Diego dropped down, flashing his winning smile. “Seems I messed up a little.”
Typical DV shit. Show how smart you are because it’s assumed you’re not. She’d done that her whole life. Abandon ship, girl.
“You couldn’t just tell the guy?”
“I was afraid if the Captain said no, you’d think it was me talking.”
Zelda leaned against the wall. “You’re an idiot.”
“Sometimes.” Diego abruptly kissed her on the lips, hard and just once. She reluctantly shoved him away.
“Idiot. Are you in trouble?’
“A little.” He grinned. “A lot. You’re worth it.”
“No I’m not, moron. You can’t lose jobs at your age. I lost three by the time I was twenty-five.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
Too young, Zelda. Too naïve. Too cocky.
“They see a pattern. Less is expected. Soon nothing will be offered.”
“That how you ended up here?”
She shoved him into the wall and he laughed, uncertain if she were playing or insane.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. “I better get back on deck.”
She wasn’t sure if she were allowed to join him, but chanced it anyway. Standing by the center console, the Captain gruffly ignored her, while Diego winked a few times, attending to straightening the inside of the hatch. Suddenly the young man let out a loud yelp, windmilling his arms. Behind the wheel, Lee nodded calmly.
Zelda joined Diego at the prow. A thirty-foot boat drifted aimlessly, chasing its own tail. As the ship neared, a greasy-faced man waved from its deck.
“What’s the problem?” the Captain asked over the loudspeaker, slowing down his vessel.
“Engine trouble,” the man blandly replied.
“Want a tow?”
“Already called the Coast Guard.” He gestured at a medium built man in a bulky overcoat and gray hat, clearly dressed for different weather. “He needs a lift.”
“To where?” Lee frowned.
“Where you’re going.”
Diego flashed a wary look at the Captain, who leaned over the railing, hands clasped, motioning for Zelda to step away.
“How do you know where we’re going?” he asked.
The other captain pointed at the registry on the port side: Bronx, New York.
“What’re you doing so far out?” Lee asked firmly.
“Going there. Engine gone. If you don’t want to, don’t.”
Lee thought a moment. The man in the bulky overcoat waited patiently as if at a watery bus stop.
Strange, Diego shorthanded.
Very, Lee shorthanded back.
“Okay. We’ll call the Coast Guard, too. They’re awfully slow.”
Diego flung over a rope and secured the boat, then balanced a wooden gangway between the two ships. The man half-stumbled onto the salmon boat. He doffed his hat with a slightly bewildered look.
Diego brought the new passenger below deck where he settled into a chair, knees stiff, coat still buttoned, hat resting on his lap, as if he wanted to be prepared the moment the journey ended. Diego mumbled about Lee cracking the whip and hurried up the creaky steps.
Zelda introduced herself, but the guest merely smiled dimly. She even chattered on about salmon, but he maintained that distant expression, examining the nautical decorations. Finally, he managed to ask “Where is the bathroom” in a heavy accent, “w’s” morphing into “v’s”.
Once the ship docked, the Parisian Collector casually doffed his hat, mumbling thank you with each tip of the hat and disappearing down the dock into a crowd of partygoers.
Zelda slung her bag over her shoulder. She’d sketched nothing useful except Diego without his shirt. She tossed the crumpled paper overboard.
The Captain stopped her by the gangway. “Sorry I blew my top.”
“I understand. He can be infuriating.” She shook her head at Diego, double-checking the knots in the ropes.
“I’m not supposed to pick up passengers.” The Captain hesitated. “I should’ve turned around when I saw you, but I didn’t want to screw up the schedule. And that would’ve got bird
