Chapter 7
Blaine helped Scott into the boat. The ladies always said Blaine looked like Patrick Swayze, only darker.
Like the rest of the guys, he was muscular and tan and wore a speedo bathing suit.
Blaine hailed from Sarasota, Florida, and his Apollo-like physique once won him the bodybuilding title Mr. Florida.
All the men were fit and athletic but none more so than Blaine, whose nickname was Beefcake.
“Hiya, kid,” Blaine said, his voice a dead ringer for Burt Reynolds.
Next up was Samantha, Chris, and their two kids, Marjorie and Jerry, both of whom had grown quite a bit since Scott last saw them. Samantha and her husband lived in Wichita, Kansas, so their accent was a mixture of the flat tone of the Midwest and the twang of the American West.
Chris was shorter than Blaine, stockier too.
He had blonde hair and a Magnum P.I. mustache.
“You remember my boy Jerry and daughter Marjorie. Jerry is going to be in fifth grade, and Marjorie is about to graduate high school. But don’t worry, Scott.
They’re a lot smarter than they look.” Chris laughed, while his kids rolled their eyes.
Samantha planted a big kiss on Scott’s cheek. “Oh, look, I got lipstick on ya,” she said, then rubbed it away with her hand.
Samantha had thin blonde hair and an athletic physique.
She used to be a professional windsurfer and once dated Blaine.
“I haven’t seen you since your dad’s funeral.
Wish your dad could be here, sport. But I know he’s looking down at us from above.
” She pointed to the sky and crossed herself.
“Too bad Doc Malone couldn’t make it. He really loved your dad. ”
“Otherwise, looks like the old gang’s all here,” Blaine added as he tossed Scott a bottle of water.
Scott sat in the back of the boat with Jerry and Chris, while Blaine steered them toward the middle of the bay.
“These two are going water-skiing today,” Samantha said, pointing to Marjorie and Jerry.
“Yeah, but we forgot to tell them about the giant mako shark they caught in the bay this morning,” Chris said with a wink. Marjorie stuck out her tongue. “I’m only kidding, kiddo. It was a great white.” He burst out laughing.
“Real funny, dad,” Jerry said.
They arrived at the center of the bay, clear of any boats. Marjorie, wearing a bright orange life jacket, dove off the stern and breaststroked away from the boat.
“She’s gonna swim at Wichita State,” Samantha said, “just like her mom.”
Chris threw her the water-skis and tow line.
“They didn’t really catch a shark in the bay this morning; did they, dad?” Jerry said as he watched his sister bob in the water.
“Oh, c’mon, Jerry,” Samantha said, “you know your dad says that every year.”
“Maybe it was a saltwater crocodile,” Chris said, winking at Scott.
“Shut up, Chris,” Samantha said.
Marjorie gave the thumbs-up, and Blaine pushed down the throttle. The line went taut, and Marjorie popped up on her skis. “Whoohoo!” she yelled, pumping her fist in the air as the boat cut a wake through the bay.
“Tell her to keep her tips up,” Samantha yelled to Jerry.
Jerry scratched his head, then turned toward his sister and yelled, “Marjorie, keep your tits up!” The whole boat burst out laughing, Scott included.
Samantha tried to hold back, biting her knuckle, but she couldn’t resist and began laughing too. Blaine laughed so hard he had to stop the boat and wipe the tears from his eyes.
As the boat slowed to a stop, Marjorie sunk in the water. “Hey, what gives!” she yelled.
Samantha waved at her daughter: “Just a minute, honey!” She turned to Jerry: “I said, tips up, Jerry. Tips up.”
“Oh, sorry,” Jerry said, his face red.
When Marjorie was back up on her skis, Blaine steered them along the beach.
They passed a colorful collection of hotels, like the white concrete tower known as the Continental Hotel, The Ritz with its beachside bistro, and the Hotel La Palapa, which had a waterpark in its center.
Vendors walked along the beach selling drinks, hats, towels, and a hundred other tourist trinkets. Sun-soaked beachgoers splashed in the water, drank cervezas, and strolled along the caramel-colored beach.
Being so close to the beach, Marjorie must’ve figured it was showtime. Holding the tow rope handle with one hand, she skied outside the boat’s wake, reversed her weight and barreled back toward it. She’s gonna jump it, Scott thought.
Marjorie hit the ramp of water and launched herself into the air. Arms and legs wide, she spread-eagled in midair, then stuck the landing like a pro. A passing boat of fishermen cheered.
“Wow, she’s good!” Scott said.
“Just wait,” Samantha said. “She’s gonna do a helicopter jump next.”
Marjorie went outside the wake again, this time even farther and faster. She turned back toward the wake sharply and jumped it, soaring even higher this time.
While airborne, she let go of the rope and put her arms to her side and began to rotate, pulling off a 360. Then, while still in the air, she kicked off her skis, rotated into a diving position, and entered the water with hardly a splash.
“Damn,” Scott said, “she’s really good.”
“We live on a lake,” Chris said.
The boat of fishermen cheered again as Marjorie emerged from the water. She waved like a performer at Sea World and swam back to the boat.
Jerry threw her a towel. “Always showing off,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Don’t be jealous, boy,” Chris said. “You’re next.
Let’s see what ya got, bub.” Jerry wasn’t nearly as good as his sister, but not bad either.
He skied outside the wake, but when he went for a jump, his unsteady balance sent him for an early wipe-out.
Blaine pulled the boat back around and Jerry got up again.
And this time he landed a few small jumps.
Then he tried for a big one, going far outside the wake, like Marjorie had, before barreling back toward the center. But when he hit the wake, his skis came off midair and he face-planted into the water. Wipeout.
He swam back to the boat, a frown on his face.
“Keep it up, sport,” his mother Samantha said, patting him on the head as she handed him a towel. The group gave him the same hearty applause as his sister.
Even Marjorie gave him a thumbs-up. “Not bad, little man.” Jerry beamed from the attention.
With the skiing done, they headed to the far side of the bay and anchored off Caleta Beach, a local’s hangout.
Boys and girls played soccer in the sand, while their parents sat around plastic tables talking, eating plates of red fish, and drinking beer.
A man in a sombrero led a white horse along the beach with a young girl on its back, her ponytail bouncing up and down.
Grandpas, babies, friends, friends of friends, dogs, everyone hung out together in typical Latino fashion.
Tom and Scott stayed with the boat while the others jumped in for a swim in the calm waters.
“So what’s going on with you, Scott?” Tom said when they were alone. “Where’s that girlfriend of yours?”
“Taylor? Long story. But she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
“Pissed at you for missing Christmas?”
“Bullseye, Ace.”
“Oh, well, you’ll meet someone new. Maybe even at the Christmas Party tonight.”
“Who would I meet at the party?”
“How about that salsa singer at the pool? She’s something else, huh? Her name is Daniela and she’s single, and she’s playing at the Christmas party tonight.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I slipped the waiter 20 bucks at the pool.” Scott and Tom laughed.
“I knew I could count on you, Ace!”
After the others climbed back onboard, Blaine fired up the engine and pointed the boat back toward Las Olas Hotel.