“Stop it, Shark. That hurts.”
The monkey’s hopping slightly from side to side.
The guard turns back to me. “Team?”
“Port Royal,” I answer.
Shark screeches at me, shaking his fist. I take a couple of steps back. “That monkey hates me. You keep that monster away from me or we’re going to have a problem.”
The guard sighs and looks resigned to his fate until the end of his shift. “The monkey hates everybody, lady. Don’t take it personal. Okay, Angie. Port Royal. Got it, go on in. You guys are in orange twelve holding area” he says putting a check mark on the clipboard and taking a few steps back so that I can cut a wide angle around, avoiding the shrieking monkey.
The complex is made up of a medium-sized dirt parking lot next to a much larger but also gated dirt lot. There’s an aluminum, open air roof over it, and a perimeter gate covered in plastic to generally protect whatever is inside from the elements.
The setup works well for decorating dozens of parade floats on flatbed trucks. I have no idea what it’s used for the rest of the year.
Orange twelve. As soon as I get in there are cardboard signs with the layout posted everywhere. I stare at one of the signs, unsure of why they don’t just use the same layout from year to year. It’s not like the inside of the giant warehouse changes. No matter, orange twelve is easy to find.
Once I get over to our brand-new blank canvas flatbed, I see Fi and Kaylee got here first. Again. I grin. “Am I the only one of us who ever works anymore?”
Kaylee throws a wadded-up piece of paper at me. “Funny. Some of us can be on time to things.”
“Yeah, that’s never been my style, has it.”
Fi laughs. “Like the time you were late to toilet paper Mrs. Harris’ house that one night and almost got arrested?”
“Well, that, sure,” I admit, “but also that time I was fashionably late to Jimmy Wilson’s party after they let the snake loose. Sometimes being late can be a good thing.” I look around. “Are we it for tonight? Nobody else wants to plan the Port Royal float?”
“I think we’re it, girl. And we’re enough,” Fi says, showing me a drawing from a notebook she has in her hand. “What do you think?”
“Wow, Fi. You really think we can pull that off?”
“According to the plans I found, this will be even easier than last year’s version.”
“No kidding.” The drawing is beautiful, of course. Fi has gorgeous handwriting and a knack for drawing. The parade float sketched out on paper looks both simple and gorgeous.
A cross between Pirates of the Caribbean and National Geographic. There’s the traditional wood boat frame and then a colorful paper mache coral reef with a shark and a jellyfish.
“Wow. The color contrast is going to be fantastic.”
“Right?” Kaylee asks. “And I’m going to make some candy-coated chocolate that’s resistant to melting and put them into little doubloon bags. We can throw them from the float.
I join Fi and Kaylee who are sitting down on upside down five-gallon buckets that are scattered around the expansive dirt floor. “Sweet. Literally. Chocolate and colors? We’re going to be the most popular parade float for sure.”
“Okay, let’s go get the stuff.” Each team in the Pirate Festival has a budget for things that they get to use from the adjoining warehouse. Wire mesh, paper mache, synthetic flowers, wooden planks, all kind of materials that the parade floats might use.
There’s also a small budget for extra, unique items that might come up. But the warehouse has everything we need and then some to get started on Fi’s plan tonight.
As we walk through the crowded warehouse with the high aluminum ceiling, I look around for Jake, like he is going to jump out at me from behind a dark corner. Then I tell myself to stop it. Get it together, Angie.
The giant room is noisy, with ongoing conversation bouncing off the walls and the ceiling, and Kaylee overhears me cursing at myself.
“Everything okay, Angie?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Don’t mind me, I’m just kicking myself for wondering where that jerk Jake is and what he’s up to right now. “I guess I’m just not used to having to worry about Jake being everywhere. He’s like the fucking boogeyman. I’m going to start having to check my closet before I go to sleep.”
Kaylee laughs out loud. “Oh hey, speaking of trying to move on with Jake continuing to pop up everywhere, were you able to book that guy for the ball on Friday?”
“Oh yeah, Tristan. Thanks for that. Should work out fine.”
“Any time.”
We get to the storage area. It’s lined seven feet high with shelves of supplies. If we need anything from the top shelf, one of us will have to stand on a bucket. Fi reads the list of things we need, and Kaylee and I get busy collecting them.
“What’s new with the wedding stuff?” I ask. “What exactly does the girl with the perfect Maldives Wedding plan have to do to prepare?”
“Lots,” she grins. “Speaking of, I’m going to need you two soon. Wedding dress magazines.”
Fi screams. “Wedding dress magazines!”
“Yes,” she says. “My place. Drinks. Take-out food. A romantic comedy on the television. Dozens of magazines. Circle the good ones, cross out the bad ones, and we’ll vote on the top ten.”
“Sounds like the best girls’ night ever, but it’s going to have to be a vote to find the top twenty dresses,” I correct.
Kaylee frowns. “You think we really need twenty?”
Fi jumps in. “Yes, girl. You look good in everything. We’re going to need twenty dresses. Minimum.”
“Okay,” Kaylee answers.
“Alright, Fi. What’s next?”
We’re already building a sizable pile of supplies. We’ll probably need a hand cart to get them over to our float. So I volunteer to go get one.
I walk out of the storage area to the main warehouse.
Normally, hand trucks are picked up and dropped off wherever. There’s no
