Loading...This story is longer than I had originally envisioned, the characters seemed to begin having real lives. I have shortened this down a lot, but it’s a project I intend to complete into a novel so if I continue this story with other chapters it’s because the characters are asking me to, not because I want to bore you, ok?
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Shelle’s eyes never left either of the screens in front of her. The reflection of her face stared back at her, as the bright blips on both screens moved as she directed. Just after her thirty third birthday, she stood 5’4″ with a pugnacious attitude, spiky brunette hair and contrasting gray-green eyes, which changed to various hues in between as her moods changed, they tended to repose in a narrow-eyed stare, most of the time, especially at work. A wireless Motorola headset covered her smallish ears. The attached mike masked her mouth, which was large and mobile, but lipstick free. Her face was devoid of any cosmetic what so ever. In addition, except for a single helix piercing, a few purposely-mismatched studs and stars along the conch, ending in a solitary diamond stud in the lobe of her right ear; that was hidden by her headset, she sported no jewelry. She wore a three sizes too big, loose fitting, androgynous gray golf shirt, that gave any observer no clue to the size or shape of her 34B sports bra bound bust, and baggy shape-concealing cargo pants with a multitude of patch pockets. Her feet were thrust into black leather Nike cross trainers. A masculine black-faced Rolex GMT Master with a stainless steel bracelet was slung around her left wrist. It was not an ornament but functional. Her voice, when she spoke was low pitched and controlled, almost an affectation. As she spoke her ringless fingers danced across the keyboard beneath her screens. The fingers themselves were slim and tapered; nails expertly manicured but excessively short.
“Okay, Victor Foxtrot, reduce altitude by two thousand meters. Your approach is set for fifteen hundred meters on a heading of 350 degrees Tango, and you are cleared for an emergency landing on runway 19. We have one hundred percent cloud cover at a ceiling of approximately one five zero zero, and sixty percent visibility. There is light snow, and wind, force two to three, gusting, from the Nor-Nor West. The runway lights are flashing red and alternate yellow, and emergency crews are standing by. Good luck” she spoke into her headset to the pilot four miles out of Pearson International Airport with a computer malfunction aboard his aircraft. It had made it impossible to plug his ship into Pearson’s ACP (Air Controllers Program), and let the computers land the giant Boing 747 D automatically. Add in that it had been snowing for forty-eight hours straight, it was not going to be a simple touchdown, it was going to be a bump and grind, and took total concentration. Perspiration beaded her forehead and seeped from her pits, Her skin shone, as she directed the plane with its two hundred odd passengers to safety.
“Roger that Tower, this is Victor Foxtrot, coming round to heading of 350 degrees Tango, and altitude reducing to one five zero zero, I am cleared for approach, on runway 19, I see the lights, thank you Tower. I am reducing power and making final approach, wheels down and locked! I have all greens on my panel! I owe you, Tower. Victor Foxtrot, out.” The pilot responded to her, as his large passenger jet banked gracefully, and slid from the air onto the designated runway, followed by a cavalcade of fire engines and emergency vehicles.
Less than an hour before her shift should have ended, Victor Foxtrot had radioed in from somewhere over the American Midwest informing Air Traffic Control that their onboard computer was malfunctioning and that the rest of the flight and landing at Toronto’s Pearson International would be manual, hands on, with no computer aids. As shift supervisor she had taken the information to the Air Controller Administrator, who had told her that Victor Foxtrot was hers, “Just get the bird down safely”, was his only instruction.
Shelle looked at the clock above her station and cursed under her breath, she was late, she was so fucking late, that it wasn’t worth even phoning to apologize. Shit, shit, shit! Two hours ago, she should have been sitting at a restaurant, having dinner with Marnie, discussing their future. She had finally gotten the bird down safely, but, Marnie would be impossible to deal with now, she knew. She hit Marnie’s number on her cell, and was immediately transferred to voicemail. She stuffed her things and Iridium Motorola cellular phone, into a bag, while pulling the headset from her head, grabbed and zippered up her parka, and headed out the door to the car park, and ignored the congratulatory pats on her back, from her co-workers on shift.
She took no notice of the slushy snow or legal speed limit as she sped her Jeep Cherokee away from the airport and towards the city on the freeway, brushing her unruly spiked hair with her fingers while looking into the rearview mirror and ignoring the dark circles around her eyes. In her heart she knew Marnie would have left the restaurant and gone home to their apartment, by now. That she would find Marnie in bed crying or so pissed off that she’d end up sleeping on the sofa in the living room, but she had to make the effort to get to the restaurant and empty table, if only to satisfy herself, that she could say, she had made the effort.
It was close to eleven, almost three hours late, when she found a parking spot near the rather pretentious Provincial French Restaurant that Marnie fancied. The Maitre D spotted her as soon as she entered, his nose rose instantly, Shelle knew trouble when she saw it, and this was trouble. He cut a path like Moses parting the waters, as he bore down on her, holding out a piece of paper, the sneer not disguised, his mustached upper lip actually quivered as he handed her Marnie’s note written on the bottom of a bill. There were just two words scratched almost right through the paper, succinctly “Fuck You”
There is no accent for getting the insult across, quiet like the French, “She said you would pay.” He said ambiguously,” It is $193.25, less, of course, the obligatory gratuity.” He held out his hand.
The apartment was cold and in darkness. Shelle flicked on the hall light and called “Marnie, its me honey, I’m sorry I didn’t make the restaurant, come on I’ll make it up to you, baby, hey I’m sorry.”
There was no answer. She walked to the bedroom, expecting it to be locked, it wasn’t. She opened the door, the bed was bare. Marnie’s closet was open, and stripped. The drawers on Marnie’s side of the bed had been pulled out, half used and empty bottles of perfume and make up and potions were scattered and strewn over the dresser. Written across the mirror in twelve inch crimson lipstick letters was a message, “I am not coming back, its over!!!”
Shelle knew in her heart that it had been over for some time. All they ever did was fight or have make up sex, there were no moments of contentment together, in between, any more. No happiness. She knew, as well, that it was her fault, her career as an Air Traffic Controller had the highest break-up and divorce rate, double than any other profession in the country. Marnie just couldn’t cope with the excuses, the broken appointments, the long hours Shelle worked, and the stress that filled her. It came with the job.
It might have taken five months to coax a straight, albeit bi-curious, Marnie into her lesbian bed, but it had taken five years to drive her away. Oh my God! She glanced at the calendar on the wall. There was a red ring around the 20th. Five years to the day, it was their five-year anniversary tonight. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
She flopped belly first onto the bed and cried, heart wrenching sobs wracked her lean frame, Marnie, oh sweet Lord, she had loved her so, her softness, her smile, the way she laughed, the way she depended on her and made sure to include her in all her decisions, and doings. Even her pride in manicuring nails, the sweet submissiveness, and now she was gone, gone, gone! Sleep came later, a dreamless state, face down, on the damp uncovered pillow that recharged her depleted body, but not her soul.
A persistent, annoying buzzing came through the fog, again, for the umteenth this time. Shelle opened a red sleep encrusted eye and looked at her watch as she reached for the phone. Shit it was 11:00! She had overslept! She fumbled with the receiver and mumbled, “Marnie, where are you, honey?”
The voice that answered was not Marnie’s. It wasn’t even female, “Er, is this Miss Michelle Campbell, I am addressing?” A male voice asked, the accent Caribbean not Canadian.
Shelle sat up and held the receiver closer, “Yah,” she replied, before automatically corrected herself, “Yes, this is Shelle Campbell” she said
“Um, Miss Campbell this is Sergeant Hamilton of The Island’s Police Force. Your stepmother and I have being trying to contact you for the last three hours. We are phoning with very unfortunate news, your father met with an accident while driving, and I am very sorry to inform you, he is dead.” The lilting voice said.
‘Shelle sat on the bed, knees under her chin clutching the phone, “Huh? Dad, dead?” she repeated, “What? How?” She asked.
“We are investigating, Miss Campbell, please accept my condolences, your father and stepmother are dear friends of mine, he will be sorely missed by many on the Islands. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.”
‘Shelle sat gripping the telephone “I’m on my way.” She said, unable to speak further.
The phone at her father’s house seemed to be permanently busy; she’d just have to arrive without telling her stepmother she was coming. It took until later in the afternoon to organize a leave of absence at work and buy an airline ticket to Miami, and a connection to the Islands, on her Visa. Once on the Main Island she would go to her father’s home on the South Island either by ferryboat or by seaplane.
Marnie did not answer her cell, either, all Shelle got was Marnie’s damn voice mail, nor were her parents very forthcoming as to their daughter’s whereabouts. None of their friends were very helpful either, Marnie had polarized most of their friends and was intent, and it seemed to punish her with a stony silence. ‘Shelle left messages for Marnie on her cell and with whoever she could, before stuffing her toothbrush and toiletries into a bag, with a small suitcase of clothes and underwear, and headed out to the airport.
The high winged Cessna 185 Skywagon was fitted with floats and banked gently as the pilot eased the yoke and lifted the nose, the vibration and drone inside the small cockpit altered perceptibly as the pilot flicked various toggle switches in front of him, The short flight had become an education when the handsome suntanned pilot, complete with “Raybans” and floral shirt, khaki shorts and Magnum moustache, had learned one of his passengers was a bono fide Air Traffic Controller from a busy airport. He insisted she sit up front in the co-pilot’s seat, handed her the only other set of headphones aboard and chatted to her the entire flight. The other two passengers were subject to shouting or gesturing to be understood the entire twenty minutes they were in the air.
“The ‘185’ was never designed to take off from the sea.” He said sagely, “So I do everything I can to protect my plane from corrosion. The engine does not purge its bearings cleanly at sea level; it needs to be re-lubricated after every flight. I remounted all my radios and navigation instruments in polystyrene so they wont get wet if there is a little water spraying about.” He chuckled as the small plane touched down almost effortlessly, about half a mile from the shore; the pilot spoke briefly to some aviation authority on the radio, before completing the instruction session. The little plane taxied toward a wooden jetty, “Amazingly similar to landing with wheels, isn’t it?” He asked. “Except you have no brakes, of course, so we taxi with full UP elevators. If you chop throttle to slow idle, the plane will point into the wind, see? If you advance throttle about 4 clicks, it establishes a steep angle on the bow wave and heads off downwind, like this.” He demonstrated, as the plane turned after splashing down lightly onto the sea surface and turned towards a wooden sided concrete jetty about a mile from where they had touched down. The float’s rudders work with the stick, but are pretty ineffectual in my opinion. “In between those throttle settings, you can crosswind taxi while steering with throttle instead, like I’m doing now, but I’m careful to hold the upwind wing down with the aileron, it makes it much tidier. The only other difference from being on a runway is that it’s bloody inconvenient to walk out to your plane if some damn fool unties it and it drifts off, unless, of course, they are about to establish a religion in your name.” He said with a grin as the floats expertly nudged the white painted tires along the wood of the jetty without leaving so much as a smudge of rubber on the paintwork. The sounds of the seagulls and surf filled the void left by the engine after the magneto was earthed and all the toggles were flicked off. “Enjoy your stay on our Islands, thank you for flying Islands Aviation,” he concluded as ‘Shelle climbed out of the plane and onto the jetty.
Shelle stepped ashore and waited until the pilot handed her, her luggage. She slung the bag and hoisted her case while walking towards the end of the jetty. The biggest blackest man she had ever seen blocked her way. Karl Hamilton was around 50 years old, gray beginning to seep into his short hair. He stood at least 6’10” tall, and weighed around 300 pounds, none of it fat. He was in official uniform, starched crisp khakis and baseball cap complete with gold police badge. Gold chevrons denoting his rank shone on his massive biceps.
“Miss Campbell?” He asked barring her way with one huge arm.
“Yes I’m Shelle Campbell.” She answered.
“Karl Hamilton, I spoke to you this morning on the phone,” he greeted, “if you follow me, pointing to a police vehicle, I’ll drive you.” He said without waiting for an answer. He turned and lifted her suitcase from her hand and walked to the official Range Rover parked strategically at the end of the jetty. Shelle followed the black giant to his car, and watched as he placed her case in the back seat and opened the passenger door for her.
Shelle’s parents had been divorced for about twenty years; her mother remained a bitter alimony dependant divorcee in Toronto, while her father chose to live in the Caribbean, and had settled on South Island and remarried a woman nearly twenty years his junior. Shelle had shuttled alone to and from the Islands for vacations with her dad since her twelfth birthday. She had last seen her dad just before Marnie had moved in with her, five years ago. She had often wished that she and Marnie had visited her dad and vacationed at his beautifully situated villa on the beach of Leeward Cove. Tears welled in her eyes; well it was too late now!
The drive from the harbor to her dad’s house was in silence; she was overcome with emotion and quiet grateful to the huge policeman’s kindness, and silence. The Range Rover stopped just before a sharp bend; the railing had been bent, buckled and torn from its posts, surf pounded at the rocky shore line at least one hundred feet below them.
“Your father’s car went over the cliff here,” he said. “He had been with Kim when she locked up the bar at about 2:00am. She swears that he had, maximum, two beers to drink all night, but at least four glasses of plain cola, while playing dominoes with his usual cronies and waiting for closing time. He had been at the yacht basin all afternoon and early evening getting their new boat ready, since she needed her car the following morning to do some early shopping for the bar, and your father had wanted to sleep in after a hard days work in the sun, they had gone home in separate cars, she left him in front of the bar, he never got home, what puzzles me, is that its true, what she said, he had not recently consumed any alcohol, his blood had zero alcohol content, but his clothes were soaked in Rum”. He continued. “You will also note a lack of skid marks.” He added as an afterthought.
“Dad is, I mean, was, an Amstel Lager or J&B man, Rum was too harsh for his educated palate, he always said.” She said, as they looked over the cliff.” Who is Kim? A new girlfriend? What happened to Ria?” She asked. “One more thing, how did you know I was on that flight?” She added as an afterthought.
Karl Hamilton’s grin was cold and relentless. “Nothing or nobody moves on the Islands and I don’t know about it.” He answered. “Kim is Ria’s sister.” He answered slowly, “At first, when Kim arrived here I was worried, Like Maria she is South African, but, ex military, if you can believe that. She ran with a bad crowd though, doing ‘blow’ and ‘ganja’ and xtc, heaven knows what else, crewing drug boats for Miles Harris. Not that I could prove anything against her or Mister Harris of course, he keeps his nose very clean around here.” He shrugged.
He continued “Your father, bailed her out, after I arrested her for ‘possession’. All this happened about four years ago, she was an addict by then, and a total mess. Your father and Ria worked a miracle with her, from that day on,” he continued, “she turned her life around, thanks to them, they saw her through detox and rehab, she worked for them, after that, eventually taking over management of the bar, from Ria. It gave Ria and your father more time together. Last month Kim and your father successfully outbid Harris at an auction for a confiscated 65′ drug running sailboat. Tricked him they did. Now that was something. I have never seen Harris more peeved.” They drove the rest of the way in silence.
Her father’s house looked the same as when she had last visited. Perhaps the terraced bougainvillea was more lush, the lawn greener, it was beautiful and tranquil, Shelle tried not to cry as the huge policeman followed her to the front door. No home on the Islands need lock their door, her dad had always bragged, she opened the front door. Dressed in a simple blouse and blue jeans, Ria met her there; she hadn’t aged, she still had magnificent natural blonde hair, so long she could sit on it, add incredibly long legs, a girlishly slim waist and large thrusting 36D breasts that defied gravity. When she was younger Shelle remembered she had been a model, and still beautiful, even at forty-five. Her face was blotchy, her eyes were red from tears, and obviously the loss of her father had affected her step-mom very deeply. Ria enfolded her in a tearful hug. She and Ria were mother/daughter, close, but their love for her father had brought them to a point of closeness, while not exactly blood family, made them more than just comfortable in each other’s company, unlike her real mother, Ria seemed to understand about Shelle’s sexuality. She had made her father see that Shelle was still, Shelle: The same person he had held seconds after she had been born; the same little person he had tickled and made ridiculously funny faces at; taken to school the first day; kissed scraped knees and booboos, and brushed her hair, watched her skate and play soccer, grounded when she missed a curfew and a million other things dads do for, and with, their kids. Shelle was forever grateful to Ria for that.
While the women were embracing the large policeman put Shelle’s case on the front door step but did not enter, Ria smiled at him. “Care for some tea, Karl, I have a fresh pot brewing? Everybody has been so kind; there must be a ton of food to eat if you are hungry, Shelle? Everybody we know had dropped off food for us. ” She said looking first to Karl, then Shelle, her voice was melodic, the accent precise and Polo Club English sounding, the vowels were flatter however, South Africans were often mistaken for Brits.
Karl gave Ria a white toothy grin.” Rooibos?” He asked, obviously addicted to the South African herbal tea, that Ria had imported from her homeland.
“I knew you’d be drop Shelle off about now, so of course it’s Rooibos.” She answered.
The two wandered off to the kitchen and tea, Shelle lugged her case to what had been her bedroom; she opened the door. It was obviously no longer her bedroom; a slender blonde girl lay on her back, asleep, on a king-sized bed. She was naked, deeply tanned, her face masked by the crook of her arm, but her untanned breasts were large, obviously she didn’t tan topless, the amber aureole of her reposed nipples were big and puckered, she was slim-waisted, flat bellied with generous hips, and long muscled legs; which were parted, exposing a neatly trimmed bush that matched the thick long blonde tresses on the pillow.
Shelle involuntarily sucked in her breath and muttered an apologetic “Sorry”. At the sound, the woman on the bed moved in a blur, Shelle felt a dull thump below her eye, a bright searing light flooded her brain, an agonizing pain spread over her heart as a tremendous blow thudded into her left breast. The sleeping woman had erupted from the bed before Shelle could lift an arm in defense. She found herself sprawled on the bedroom floor, staring mesmerized into the incredibly large barrel of an automatic pistol, while a knee pressed painfully into her stomach. ” Ma-Ria, call the police, someone is breaking in.” The woman shouted, oblivious of her own nakedness.
Karl Hamilton raced from the kitchen, gun in hand, he burst into the room, followed closely by Ria, he skidded to a halt. Very quickly he holstered his own pistol, and clearly and concisely in a tone that brooked no interference he said, “Kim, put your gun down and let her up, she is not breaking in, she’s Geoff’s daughter, Shelle.”
Shelle felt the weight lift off her stomach as Kim backed off from her supine body. There were two audible metallic clicks as she flicked on the safety catch and lowered the hammer of her weapon. Still unaware to her stark nakedness, she withdrew to the far side of the bed, breathing heavily the gun still pointing at Shelle.
The large policeman held out his hand to Shelle, and hoisted her to her feet. He averted his eyes to Kim’s nakedness, “Give me the gun, Kim!” He ordered while Shelle felt and rubbed the parts of her body that throbbed.
Kim’s reply to Karl was a defiant snarl, “Its my weapon, sergeant, I have a license for it, you issued it to me, remember? Since Geoff’s murder I’m jumpy, I’m sorry,” she turned to Shelle, “I’m nervous and you scared the shit out of me, I am really sorry.” Her eyes were enormous, liquid cobalt blue, and possibly the most beautiful eyes Shelle had ever seen. Her accent was identical to her sisters, sounding almost upper crust British, but with the same flattened vowels, her voice husky, low and even at a time like this, seductive. She no longer aimed her weapon at anything but a patch of vacant floor. She pulled at the bed’s comforter, her hands shaking; she dropped her weapon on the bed, and began to gather the bedclothes around her shoulders, concealing her nakedness.
Still shaken, Shelle reached her fallen case and painfully retreated, hobbling, from what was now obviously Kim’s room, Karl and Ria followed.
Ria opened the door to another bedroom, “Use this one for now, Shelle, I’ll get Kim to move her stuff out of your room, you can have it back tomorrow.”
“And get beaten up again or shot at? No thanks this one is fine, Ria, honest.” Shelle replied dropping her case and bag on the bed, and opening the drapes, and looked out the large windows at the tranquil beach and azure blue sea vista, that all the rooms in the house enjoyed.
Ria nodded briefly, “I’ll let you settle in, Karl suggested, just now before the ruckus, that we should get hold of Theo Shepstone our solicitor, your dad left you a considerable inheritance. I am sure if you are up to it, we can have the will read here tonight.” She said, as she and the huge policeman left her to finish their tea in the kitchen.
Theodopolus Shepstone was a short, rotund relative of Karl Hamilton, with whom he arrived promptly at 8:00 PM. When Ria, Kim, Karl and Shelle were seated in the sitting room, the pompous little gray haired man opened his leather attaché case, without preamble, he began “Here is Geoffrey Stephen Michael Campbell’s last will and testament,” he said unnecessarily, as he unfolded a bulky document, “he very recently had it updated, in fact it was only lodged with The Master of the Supreme Court on the Main Island a few days ago.”
Ria, Kim and Karl sat on a large sofa, Shelle sat to one side in an easy chair, still wary of the gun toting Kim, and waited as the solicitor theatrically put on a pair of bi-focals, and began to read her father’s last wishes.
“To my wife, Maria Elisabeth Campbell, nee du Toit, I leave our home on Leeward Cove, free and clear of any mortgage or debt. In addition, all vehicles in my name, all the money in my, or joint bank accounts, the title and proceeds of my share portfolio, should she wish to liquidate them, or continue to invest, as she sees fit, finally, an additional ten percent share in the saloon bar known as “The Buck & Ear”, which we jointly own, this is in addition to the fifty percent share she holds as joint owner and partner.
“To my daughter Michelle Eleanor Campbell, I leave fifty percent of my remaining share in the saloon bar and grill known as, “The Buck & Ear”. This totals twenty percent ownership. As well as a fifty percent share in the yacht charter business Campbell Charters.”
“To Kimberley Maria du Toit who has become a daughter to me, I leave the remainder of my share in the saloon bar and grill known as ” The Buck & Ear”, this totals twenty percent ownership, and a fifty percent share in the yacht charter business Campbell Charters.”
” I need to mention here that Campbell Charters is a new venture only recently started. It’s only asset, a recently purchased 65′ Wooden hulled Ketch made in Russia. The purchase price of the vessel was $30,000.00 bought at auction after it was confiscated by our drug enforcement agency, for illegally transporting narcotics. Since its re-fit it was insured for $300,000.00″ The lawyer interjected.
“To all three women in my life, Maria Campbell, Michelle Campbell and Kimberley du Toit, I leave the proceeds of my life insurance policies, totally approximately $3,000,000.00, to be held in trust by Ria and good friend, Karl Hamilton, as executors, to disburse as they see fit”.
“To my ex-wife Rosemary Campbell, nee Bailey I leave $1.00 Canadian, and a set of Stuart cut classes and matching decanters, with gold inlays, which she hounded me for since our divorce.”
” There are a number of small bequests to local charities, the orphanage, and hospital, ET cetera.” He intoned, before continuing.
He has also added a rider, which states. “Should anyone wish to contest this final will, I will consider it avarice, consequently that person will be excluded from any inheritance I bequeathed them, and the disputee’s share be evenly shared by the remainder of my heirs.” The lawyer concluded, and folded the document, and handed it to Ria, who nodded, and handed it to Shelle.
“I knew that’s what he had planned, “she said, “if there are any things from the house you want, its yours, you know that?”
The elderly lawyer, coughed. “There is one unrelated matter, as you know, Geoff used to use my offices and facilities when he began the charter business last month, this arrived, today.” He said holding a fax to Kim.
Kim scanned the page she had been given, “It’s a booking for a charter for a week, we have to have pick up a family, called Dixon, consisting of husband Peter, wife Sara and kids Peter jr. and Stacie. On The Main Island in the morning of Friday the 24th, that’s three days from now. Cruise back to Miami with them, seven days cruising in total. With Geoff dead its impossible, we were going to crew her together, I cant sail and navigate her alone, she’s just too big for single-handed sailing even if its just a morning under motor to The Main Island.” She admitted sadly, “I don’t know if any of the Dixon’s even know how to sail.”
Shelle looked at Kim and queried, “I own half that boat now, right?” She asked.
“That’s what your dad’s will says.” Kim replied tartily.
“I can help you sail it, then, I know how to navigate, albeit, Aircraft navigation, the principles are the same.” Shelle said.
“You?” Kim asked, almost sneering, “Have you ever sailed before?”
“No I haven’t sailed before,” she rose to the bait, ” but I know how to navigate and how difficult can it be to pull up some sails and steer a boat? Unless it involves beating up unsuspecting people and pointing guns at them” Shelle countered, her green eyes narrowing to their habitual slits.
“Jesus, you think sailing just involves pulling up sails and steering? Ma-Ria, Karl, you tell her, please.” Kim countered, scathingly, her eyes lifted to the ceiling, and her hands balled into fists. “You are bloody lucky I didn’t shoot your head off, bitch!”
Ria tried to keep the peace between the two combatants, “Settle down both of you, and think logically, both of you now own that boat, you are going to have to learn to get along, Kimberley you sit down and apologize immediately, you Michelle, you should learn to forgive what happened when you arrived, it was not personal it was pure instinct, she was in the military and her nerves are bad.”
“Fine Ria, take her part, she’s your sister.” Shelle answered hotly.
Ria stood up, her normally pleasant features were now stern and her demeanor demanding.” And you are behaving like a child Michelle. Kimberley you will apologize now! Both of you go down to the yacht basin tomorrow morning and see if between the two of you, you can handle that bloody boat, and each other. Do you understand me? Both of you?”
“Handle her? I’ll kick her arse! Apologize? She bursts unannounced into my bedroom while I’m sleeping and I have to apologize? Never!” Kim retorted.
“Kick my arse? You bitch, I’ll knock the crap out of you so fast you’ll think you died of diarrhea!” Shelle blustered.
“Stop it both of you! ” Ria screamed, “If neither of you can behave like adults go to your rooms.” She demanded.
The argument abated under Ria’s pressure, the obviously flustered lawyer had gathered all his papers and fumblingly closed them in his briefcase, turning to his nephew “Karl I think I should be going home now.” He said before smiling at the women, “I am available at any time if you have any queries or problems, I really should be getting home its late. Come Karl, please take me back home, Good-night ladies.” With that, not waiting for the large policeman to reply he made his way to the door.
Karl rose from the sofa, gave the two arguing girls a disapproving look, before giving Ria a consoling hug, before following his uncle out the door to his car. His soft whisper to Ria before he left was lost on the two steaming girls. “You and Geoff wanted these girls to be together, now lets hope they don’t explode.”
Ria tried to keep her composure; she drew a deep breath, and began her lecture. “You two behaved abominably ” I cant believe that you two did this tonight. My God, you are grown women, not children. That this should happened tonight, of all nights. And this, in front of poor Theo.” She said angrily, before continuing. “You need to think of what just happened, you two have both lost someone you love, and now you are trying to destroy each other and that will kill me. Stop it both of you! Shame on both of you I am going to bed, I suggest you two work this ridiculous pecking order squabble out, before it gets totally out of control. I mean it. Kimberley! Michelle! You two have so bloody much in common its uncanny, now I’m going to bed. Good night.”
Shelle watched as Ria first stomped from the sitting room, followed by Kim, she felt shamed by what Ria had said. Damn it, Kim seemed intent to get under her skin. They had nothing in common, nothing.
Shelle woke up to lightning and thunder. Driving rain splattering against the windowpane. She glanced at her watch; it was just after 2:00. “Was this an omen?” She thought. She rolled out of the warm bed, and wondered for the first time where Marnie was and what she was doing.
On impulse she picked up her cell phone and hit speed dial. After a few rings the usual voice mail message came on, Shelle spoke sleepily. ” Hi Marnie, its me, uh I guess you must have got my messages, I am going to be here for at least another three weeks, My dad left me a few problems to sort out with his businesses. I hope we can talk to soon, ok? Phone me, ok? I’m missing you, ok? Bye” She flicked off her phone with a dejected sigh.
Half asleep, and Just in a T-shirt, she flopped back down on the large still warm bed, for a while she lay still, listening and watching the storm outside. She thought about the time she and Marnie had last made love, really made love to one and other, no, goddamit, no! Her thoughts kept going back to a tall and strong, lean bodied, big-breasted blonde.
Huge caramel colored nipples kept filling her thoughts, pushing any thoughts of Marnie away. Soft blonde fur between her legs as she had been laying asleep when she had first seen her, the warmth of her body, instinctively Shelle’s hand had begun meandering across her own body. Lost in reverie and beginnings of lust, she quickly pulled off her sleepwear, and quickly adopted the “position”, on her back, head up against the pillows and headboard, her right hand grinding across her moistening pussy hair, her left hand fattening her small nipples with feather-light caresses until they became so sensitive, they began to ache, her back arched, quickly she inserted two fingers into her waiting wetness, her thumb bent slightly until it mashed up hard against her clit, there, oh yes just there! With her legs spread out wide, toes dug into the downy softness of the bed under her, she began to hump her hand. The orgasm began with telltale electric tics along her inner-thighs; her breathing quickened to short gasps as rapture flooded her, in waves of physical gratification. Her back arched as the final surge overtook her, leaving her feeling slightly empty, as masturbating alone always did for her.
She stretched, languorously enjoying the afterglow, the scent and taste of pussy after cumming, was special to her, she basked in it, lazily she began to lick her wet fingers as her left hand crept down to where her right had been moments before. Her left hand had a mind of its own, as thoughts and visions of Kim nude in the bedroom alongside hers flooded her still over-stimulated brain, the second far more intense orgasm began in her belly, ripples of pure pleasure radiated from there in waves that finally triggered about five or six little fountain like spurtings, which left her pussy and thighs dripping and a very wet spot in the center of the mattress. She dozed off, content, her mind filled with a delicious shamelessness until nature demanded an empty bladder. As the early morning light filled her bedroom, she rose and padded nude to the bathroom, next door.
Kim was sitting naked on the toilet, “Jesus! Don’t you ever knock?” she squealed, her cobalt eyes blazing, her hands fluttered up, inadequately trying to cover her large breasts.
The aggression in the blonde’s voice triggered Shelle’s mocking response. ” Do you know how to lock a door?” She asked scornfully. “You don’t have to hide your tits I’ve seen better.” She said with derision.
Shelle seethed as she returned to her room. Angrily she began to unpack the underwear, toiletries and clothes she had hastily packed in Toronto the day before. A black dress, a clean pair of baggy khaki cargo pants, and a pair of extra large golf-shirts one blue, one black she hung on hangers, in the closet. The three pairs of cotton boxers, one cotton sports bra and actual female black satin panties and matching bra set along with the hose that she’d need for the funeral went into the top drawer of the dresser. Black patent leather pumps were stowed in the closet. Quickly she put on the remaining rumpled green golf-shirt and dark green cargo pants, from her suitcase, after donning clean boxers but leaving off a bra because the session earlier had left her nipples tender to the touch. Once she was sure the bathroom was vacant she hurried in and did her morning ablutions.
Kim, pony-tailed, coral lip-glossed, looked fresh in a white T-shirt and matching white shorts was wolfing down cornflakes, and sipping coffee from a large mug, she overdramatically ignored Shelle, when and she helped herself to an identical breakfast. They sat and ate in stony silence.
Ria made her way into the kitchen. “Karl phoned earlier, he says that the coroner will rule Geoff’s death as suspicious, the State’s pathologist will need to completely examine the body by autopsy, and we will not be able to have a funeral for at least another two weeks.” She said. “Are you two going to try and get along and sail the boat?”
Kim answered for both of them. “Yes Ria” Shelle nodded while swallowing her cornflakes.
The rain and wind had abated; although overcast and a little breezy the day began to heat up as it does everyday in the Caribbean, although it would remain cloudy. Ria drove them to the marina; Ria did most of the talking, with the girls answering mostly in monosyllables.
Kim took a very large canvas bag out of the trunk. Ria left the girls standing in front of their large two masted sailboat; moored to the concrete jetty of the yacht basin. “Look we better get this sorted out first, before we step aboard. Onboard, there is only one person in charge, in this case, its me, I have been sailing since I can first remember. I have skippered many boats. There can only be one captain.”
Shelle nodded her agreement. “Since I’ve never sailed before, of course, on the boat, you’re the boss.
“Welcome aboard then.” Kim said as she nimbly stepped on board.
Shelle followed Kim aboard, while not the biggest, their boat with its two masts, brilliant white paintwork, its sails encased in blue covers was one of the largest and impressive in the yacht basin. Kim began to unlock various hatches and doors.
A large blue Mercedes Benz pulled alongside the boat, an immense black man stepped out of the car followed by a short, well-built curly haired blond man, and by another white man, taller, extremely thin wearing blond dreadlocks. “The good looking one’s Miles Harris, the guy with the dreads is his brother Kevin, called Kilos, and the black guy is Malcolm their bodyguard. Kim whispered to Shelle.
When Miles Harris spoke, it was pure East end cockney, “Hey Kim, sorry to hear about Geoff, did you and Ria get me condolence card?” he asked.
“I’m not sure Miles, we’ve been sent so many, but thank you.” Kim answered.
“So who’s your friend, Kim, I thought I knew everyone on the Island?” he asked.
“This is Michelle, we’re in love, so you can keep your paws of her, and goons away. What can I do for you Miles, this is obviously not a social call.”
“Always business eh, Kim?” Harris answered his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Story of my life Miles, story of my life.” Kim said while shrugging her shoulders before continuing. “So talk Miles, I’m listening.”
“Its simple Kim-love, I want to buy this boat.” He said, ” I was late getting there and you scammed me at the auction, before I could bid, you had won the auction, but now, with old Geoff’s dead, I thought you might have changed your mind.
“Sorry Miles, no can do, I don’t want to sell her. I like this boat. Geoff left it to me, its mine and I wont sell it, to you, or anybody.”
“You sure about that darling? Strange things happen out there.” He said pointing out to the open sea behind them.
“Is that a threat Miles?” Kim asked.
“You know better than that Kim-love. I’m not a threatner. I’m a doer” Came his almost bantering reply.
“No Miles, you hire thugs like Malcolm to do things for you. Get off Miles, take your slimy brother and hired muscle out of my sight, don’t threaten me, or trying to get to Ria behind my back or I’ll tell the cops. I swear, I know things about you Miles. You know that. We go way back, don’t we? Things, maybe stuff that Karl Hamilton wants to hear. I am not the dumb bunny you thought you knew, now leave, before this gets ugly.”
The dreadlocked younger brother stepped forward towards the gunwale. Where his brother exuded pseudo charm, he exuded pure malevolence; his accent was identical; his voice had a nasal pitch. “Miles, we aught to have got rid of the useless lesbo bitch when we had the fucken chance, I told you she’d end up nothing but trouble.” He said to his brother, before moving forward lifting his fists aggressively.” Listen to me you fucken dumb dyke cunt; if you know what’s fucken good for you and your butch friend, you’ll uh… ” He stopped abruptly in mid sentence, and began to back off, Shelle looked at him, then at Kim and the menacing black pistol that had magically appeared in her left hand and was aimed at his head.
“That’s right Kilos, come on, get rid of me,” She said, exaggeratedly beckoning with the fingers her right hand, then quickly added while never taking her eye off her target.” Malcolm if you even so much as breath, Kevin here, is dead, I want to see both hands, come on, you too Miles, either of you move I’ll blow him away.” Kim ordered in deadly earnest.
“Now now, Kim-darling, lets not get over anxious about a little boat, shall we? Kev, give it a rest, eh?” The elder Harris said, his hands and those of his bodyguard clearly visible.
“Listen to him Kilos, I swear you take one more step or threaten her and I blow your dreaddies right off! Now fuck off, all three of you. Get out of here! Now!” Kim ordered from behind her pistol.
The tension was broken as Shelle spoke, ” This isn’t going to end well for anyone, you guys just leave. Speak to our lawyer if you want to buy this boat, but I think you’ll find its in probate and can’t be sold, even if we wanted to.” Kevin began to walk backwards until he was behind his brother, muttering something to his brother as he passed.
Kim lowered her weapon but held it at her side. The three men slunk into their limousine and drove off.
“Oh great! Now Miles will know who you are Shelle.” Kim said breathing deeply.
“And that matters? Why, Kim?” Shelle asked, still shocked at what had just happened.
“He’s an insidious snake, he’ll use anything, or anyone he can to get what he wants, I used to work for him, I know how he works, and who he works for.” Kim answered.
” I know, drugs. You used to crew boats for him, Karl told me” Shelle said.
“Yes I did stupid things before. Its far more than just drugs, Shelle, much more, he’s contracted to the Colombian Cartel, the Russian Mafia, and half the Cuban, Haitian or American thugs that litter the Caribbean with their filth.” Kim said bleakly.” Come on lets get this boat underway, jump off, and quickly untie to bowline, that’s the rope at the front. I’ll do the stern.” She said while nimbly jumping ashore and untying the rope from the metal bollard on the concrete jetty.
Shelle quickly jumped ashore and similarly untied the bowline before springing back onboard. Kim turned a key and simultaneously punched the two green buttons on the console beside the marine spoked steering wheel. The twin Russian copies of Caterpillar Diesels wheezed then sprang into life with a muted roar, and settled to a dull rumble beneath them. Kim expertly manipulated the helm and throttles and maneuvered the large craft away from the jetty and out of the yacht basin and into the open sea, with casual ease.
Once safely out in open sea, with no other boats nearby, Kim stood back from the helm, “Here, it’s a good time to learn, as any, take control, keep heading on a course of 018.” She ordered, pointing directly ahead.
Shelle stepped up to the wheel. Kim stepped behind her. The helm was positioned so that an average height person steering could see forward to the bow, and beyond. A large compass was positioned above the console dials, switches and the twin throttles stalks.
The outer ring of the compass chattered as it moved off course. The choppy sea and propellers pushed the bow off its heading. Shelle, on her tip toes, was still to short to see over the bow, tried to counter the action of the sea and propellers, but the chattering compass moved off course faster, Kim stepped closer until their bodies were touching, the tall blonde reached the wheel and gently led Shelle’s hands in the opposite direction, slowly the compass slowed and soon the bow began to return to the original heading, Kim stayed close, almost molding herself into Shelle’s back. “It’s a natural mistake, Shelle. You are trying to follow the compass, think of it this way instead, and think of the center of the compass as this boat. See? It even has the bow on it. See, Ok?” She said pointing to the center of the compass. Now think of the outer ring as the sea, it does not move but the inner circle does, now keep it on 018 degrees, a degree either side is also ok, got it?”
Shelle nodded, yes consider the outer ring as not moving, and the inner circle of the compass as the part that was moving, easy…. Shelle sensed a change in the woman standing behind her. It came to her subtly, she not only felt it in the way Kim pressed herself into her back, there was that faint aroma a woman gives off when sexually attracted, Shelle had begun to noticed it when she, herself began to press herself back shamelessly, her emotions were edgy and nervous for the first time since she was thirteen, she felt gawky and tongue tied, her own arousal began to betray her. Kim lifted her hands from Shelle’s but remained molded to her. ‘Kim wanted her, Oh my god, her knees quivered, Kim wanted her!’ she thought. Shelle’s nostrils drank in Kim’s subtle telltale scent, her warmth, Kim’s nipples had hardened and now penciled themselves into her receptive body, which began confusing her own resolve and the promises she had made to Marnie at one time, it was a humbling yet emancipating at the same time.
Shelle watched the compass and this time properly moved the helm to correct the action of the sea, Kim stayed at her back, those marvelous breasts pressed warmly into her receptive back, After a while the steering became more natural, as did the feeling of Kim at her back, with her arms now clasped lightly across her hips and belly, like it was an everyday thing, not their first lovers touch. Their knees bent and moved in unison as if they were slow dancing while their boat cut a path Northwards.
“You said, earlier before I came aboard, onboard you’re the boss?” Shelle queried softly.” What about when we’re ashore?”
“Lets see when we’re ashore ok?” Kim whispered in her ear, before kissing her neck with a wet warm loving kiss; that melted all Shelle’s inhibitions.
Kim’s hands traveled under Shelle’s shirt, her warm fingers and palms slid over her belly, elated at finding no bra beneath the vastly oversized shirt, each hand chose a breast, lightly she clamped her hands over each still sensitive nipple. Her palms slid over one of Shelle’s most erogenous zones; her nipples burgeoned and hardened themselves as her excitement quickened. She was finding it impossible to concentrate on steering.
Kim’s one hand slipped momentarily from caressing her left nipple, slid out of Shelle’s shirt and pressed a button beside the compass Shelle had been trying to concentrate on. The original Russian had been dynotaped over, and now read, Auto Pilot.
“Oh my God, you scheming witch.” Shelle said, as a little red light came on, on the console and the craft’s gyroscopic compass began to steer their craft for them. “You knew all along that you could steer and sail this boat alone, the whole ‘poor me I cant do it alone’ thing of yours was a ploy.”
Kim’s hand had returned to her waiting supersensitive nipple. She tweaked it, pinching lightly, as she spoke.” How else was I going to get you to want me?” she asked teasingly.” I messed up our first time together, I had to make sure our second, was way better. Isn’t this way better?” she asked.
Shelle’s answer was a sensual moan; she could feel the wetness seeping between her spaghetti soft legs. Silently she begged for one of Kim’s hands to slide down her torso but Kim seemed content in teasing her fat feverish nipples with tweaks, pinches or feather light caresses.
When Shelle could stand it no longer her hands reached down, she pulled the button free at the waistband, and one handed began to wriggle out of her cargo pants and boxers. Kim slapped her hand away gently and whispered, “No baby, let me do that.” Knowing hands tugged gently downwards and Shelle felt her pants and boxers slide to her ankles.
Next Kim lifted both Shelle’s arms; her shirt was drawn over her head. Shelle stood naked as the day she was born in front of the helm, still set on autopilot. The wind blew through her hair, over her naked body, cooling the warm dampness under her breasts, armpits and dank pubic hair, but not the wet warmth in her cunt. It was all so deliciously intoxicating, the heat of the sun on her shoulders and soft skin of her breasts, she felt so wanton. She wanted Kim. She needed Kim.
The moment Shelle was naked Kim got bolder, the caresses on her nipples were extended along her neck, jaw, and back, her thighs, the soft globes of her ass, her supersensitive sides were treated to soft loving exploratory touches and kisses, as each new erogenous zone was discovered so the slow sweet torture began again, Shelle stood with her eyes closed as her new love took control of her body and mind, the transition was slow and tranquil, however it became evident, that Kim’s control superceded anything she had experienced before, the soft words, whispered in her ear were answered and kisses were placed. Shelle’s inner thighs began to make nervous little tics that quickly became the telltale and uncontrolled sexual spasms, hydromatic pulses surged through her nervous system, she began to pant, and jerk as if her cunt was being electrocuted and her eyes rolled back, sweet ecstatic ripples raced through her, without Kim touching her pussy, Shelle exploded, benefiting from the most fulfilling orgasm she had ever experienced.
Kim pressed herself against Shelle, holding her close; arms wrapped possessively around her each hand cupping a breast again, her wet warm mouth rested beside Shelle’s ear. She whispered. “You belong to me from now on, both aboard and ashore, right baby?”
Shelle knew she was infatuated, dominated and possessed. Her shaking hands reached up and covered Kim’s. “Yes Kim, oh God yes.” She said, her heart beating in time with the surging pleasure still radiating from her gaping vagina. Her obedience and proof of her gratification, which had begun as sweet smelling dew, began dribbling down her inner thighs.
The rest of the trip to the Main Island was a haze for Shelle; she lost count of how many times Kim’s lips or fingers brought her to orgasm or how Kim brought her to the brink, only to begin something more erotic and sensual. In due course as a smudge on the horizon came into focus as green tropical land, she ached, the multitude of tiny nerve-endings she called her clit were enflamed and her entire cunt felt raw and deliciously stretched from having Kim’s entire hand and half her wrist buried in her, but she didn’t want the gratifying exploitation to end.
Eventually Kim allowed Shelle to dress. She swapped places with Shelle and conned their boat with competent ease through various lanes and painted buoys, into a narrow channel that led to the Main Island’s yacht marina. The radioed instructions Kim received gave them the necessary permission to tie up alongside a busy jetty that had sufficient depth beneath it to tie up their large deep draft sailboat.
Once ashore they walked hand in hand, giggling and chatting, ignoring the stares and sometimes disapproving glares of Islanders or holidaymakers. The trip across had given Shelle an inner glow. Gone was the slitty-eyed aggressive stare that had habitually formed Shelle’s facial expression, and she giggled and laughed with her lover. The gray in her eyes had morphed into a warm meadow green. They wandered from Boutique to Boutique along the waterfront; before Shelle realized it, she was receiving a complete new wardrobe, while Kim’s Visa acquired hefty new balances. The androgynous golf shirt and cargo pants had been left at the first boutique, replaced by a pair of designer white shorts, fitting her as close as a second skin. Kim had drawn the line at Shelle wearing any underwear; the shorts were pulled up, splitting Shelle’s plump, achy and abused little mons, describing more than just her well-muscled ass, to anybody’s downward glance. A green tank top of soft Irish wool bared her milky midriff and hinted she had exquisite unfettered breasts that undulated freely as she walked. Her darkened puffed-up nipples poked unabashed through the expensive weave. The top also highlighted the beauty of her collarbones and neck while accentuating the flatness of her belly for the very first time. Other stores added more blouses, shorts, skirts, exotic bikinis and erotic sleepwear. A hair salon, softened and curled her unruly spikes, finally a plucking and shaping of her brows totally reversed her earlier truculent façade; her face took on an elfin look. At a designer cosmetic counter a cosmetician brought out the beauty of her eyes with subtle eye shadow; then showed Shelle how to apply simple tones to enhance her natural beauty. Luscious pink gloss was liberally applied to her kissable lips.
Multiple orgasms and shopping had made Shelle hungry. The girls deposited themselves and a pile of shopping bags at a table for six at one the Main Island’s steakhouse style restaurant. Shelle wanted a burger and fries; the server shook her head at the mad women, but took the order for 4 burgers with fries and a glass of red wine from a waiflike like Shelle, and garden salad with a diet Sprite from the statuesque Kim. The afternoon ended with ice cream and extremely intimate kisses and not so innocent fumbling that embarrassed everyone except the two lovers.
The trip to back South Island was way to swift for Shelle; Kim held her close, again, to a casual observer it looked as though they were slow dancing as their boat rose and fell to the whims of the ocean, Kim’s soft words of love weakened any possibility her previous gruff persona had of reappearing, the slim elfin Shelle was integrated into the warmth of Kim’s arms, and the strength of her tall strong body, for the first time Shelle could remember she was in a relationship where she did not have to be strong and self sufficient all the time, she understood, finally, and reveled in her femininity for the first time in her life.
Their boat was tied up and locked as sunset painted the sky with of shades of red, orange and pink. Ria’s expression, when she saw the metamorphosis and beauty Kim had started to create in Shelle, began with an open mouthed stare, and ended in speechless happy tears.