Two Wrongs Do Make a Right (Rewriting in Progress)

Chapter 11: Games People Play

Esther had been staring at the empty atrium of the Osborne Yacht Club, reluctant to go inside. She observed the few groups of people and staff going about their business. An elderly Asian lady is reading a newspaper on the corner, and then she takes off her glasses and gingerly sips the steaming cup of coffee beside her. As she watched her, a tall bald man, somewhere in his early 60s and wearing a carnation pink suit and white pants, leaves the club holding hands with another, much younger Asian woman in a dark blue dress. He hands the valet a roll of bills as a white Cognoscenti 55 sedan pulls up, and the valet opens the door with a wide smile on his face. It wasn't long until a hulking gray Granger 3600 LX pulled up, and a redheaded woman in a flowing yellow dress ran inside, a cheque in her hand.

"Aren't you going in, Miss Eden?" the driver asked, looking at her from the rear view mirror.

"Shut up. This doesn't concern you," she replied harshly. She probably shouldn't have reacted that way, she thought, but she was in no mood to explain herself. She didn't like being here one bit, and her irritation was only increasing the longer she remained here. She didn't like this place, and she didn't like the sorts of people who frequented places like this, but being a dutiful daughter to her workaholic, ambitious father, she was compelled to do what she's told. All for the family business, her father said. Just because it's so doesn't make it any easier. But here she was, showing up, doing dirty jobs for amoral people, and getting nothing but a pat on the back in return. She hoped her efforts would be greatly rewarded at some point, though she was wondering when it'll ever happen.

She checked her phone. 20:16. The sun has begun to turn into a warm orange glow, and the traffic on Union Avenue in the distance is building up. She kept her bubbling annoyance in check as she waited in the car.

After a long while, a tall blonde man in a sailor suit exited the yacht club and knocked on her window. "Okay, she's ready to see you now," he said.

"Finally. Let's get this shit over with," she said as she stepped out of the blue Landstalker XL and followed him inside the expansive marbled atrium. She briefly turned to see the redheaded woman shouting and arguing with a staff member, who was blocking her from a fat suited man seated and eating a plate of steak in a room. The woman, who was Irish, judging by her accent, was shouting and swearing profusely at him, and she was clearly causing a scene for the watching public.

Esther paused to watch the unfolding argument. She saw the woman throw a bowl of gravy at the man's face before she was forcibly removed by the staff member. The fat man stood up and pointed at her, calling for security and asking for some water.

"Miss Eden?" the sailor asked. "Are you coming?"

"Sorry." She continued to follow him to the back entrance. He pushed through the doors and immediately a humid, salty air blew in her face. She tamped her hair down as he led her along a wooden jetty surrounded by fishing boats and sailboats. A few men were getting off one of the boats and lifting some fishing rods together with numerous crates of beer and a few ice boxes. She noticed one of them stopped to check her out, so she flipped him off as she passed by him, which only seemed to widen his tasteless grin.

The sailor turned a corner and walked up the gangway of a huge yacht named the Iberian Pearl. Even among this crowded space, it had a distinctive presence. So distinctive, in fact, that she had to pause herself. The vessel was pearl white with two contrasting stripes just above the waterline, teal and maroon. The name of the ship was written in cursive font, but her suspicions were aroused when she noticed the lighter shade of white behind the name, as if it had recently been renamed.

She slowly ascended the gangway and felt an odd feeling when she held onto the copper railing. She didn't know what was happening, but she started to remember something, ages ago, on a similar yacht. It was on a hot summer evening in some distant shore, and she wondered why this yacht had similar rectangular portholes to the previous one. But this wasn't it, she told herself. It's sunset right now, and she couldn't remember if it was clear or raining that night. It was also a lot quieter back then, whereas this ship had plenty of activity and preparation on it. Still, a slight cooling breeze blew on her, and it felt like the same cool breeze as that night. Yes, she was remembering something, but she had trouble identifying what it was.