Dog Training The American Male (36 page)

The color drained from Jacob’s
face. “The yacht’s going out to sea? At night? Nobody told me that?”

“Relax. We’re taking a three-hour
tour around the Intracoastal. I seriously doubt you’ll be in any danger.”

“Gilligan took a three-hour
tour—look what happened to him!” Jacob followed Cyril inside the rental store.
“How deep is the Intracoastal? Does it get rough? Maybe I can do my act early,
while we’re still docked? Do you think we can convince Olivia to let me go on
early?”

“I doubt it. It was hard enough
to convince her we were lovers.”

“Wait . . . what?”

The store manager greeted them.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”

Cyril smiled sweetly. “We’re
picking up two rentals, it’s under the names Mr. and Mr. Ben Dover.” He handed
the man a ticket.

“Give me a few minutes.”

Jacob waited until the manager left.
“You think this is funny?”

“Hey, don’t get snippity, I did
this for you. You told me you have a serious girlfriend, yes?”

“So?”

“By telling Olivia we were lovers
she agreed to back off. That is what you wanted?”

Jacob grinned. “That was a good
idea. Thanks, Cyril. But dude . . . seriously—if you try
something tonight like you did back at your house, I’m going to beat you to
death with my Lisa Simpson dummy.”

“Is that supposed to be a dumb
blonde joke?”

“No. But there is a blonde. Her
name’s Nancy and I just found out she’s going to be on-board tonight.”

“Your girlfriend’s coming to the
party? Does Olivia know?”

“She’s the one who invited her.
Olivia’s Nancy’s boss, only she doesn’t know Nancy and I live together. We need
to keep that a secret.”

Cyril clapped his hands. “And
here I thought this was going to be a boring party.”

DOG
TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE

Lesson Thirteen: OBEDIENCE TRAINING

The Boca Raton
Inlet is located in south Palm Beach County—its one-hundred-and fifty-foot-wide
channel one of several local access points connecting the Intracoastal Waterway
with the Atlantic Ocean. The inlet’s southern jetty bordered the Bridge Hotel
and South Inlet Beach Park; the northern jetty securing the Boca Raton Beach
Resort. Along this scenic stretch of converging waterways rose beach
condominiums and some of the most expensive properties in Florida.

Occupying the Bridge Hotel’s
length of dock was the
Cabot-II
, a sleek white fiberglass 116-foot Lazzara
Motor yacht, the three-deck Mecca of entertainment powered by two 1,015
horsepower engines. In addition to the crews’ quarters, there were five guest
staterooms, a movie theater, Jacuzzi, dining room, and three salons featuring
wall-size LCD flat screen televisions wired to the ship’s satellite dishes.

Jacob and Cyril arrived at the
dock at seven-twenty, only to have to wait in line at the pier while security
guards checked in each boarding guest. The setting sun splattered golden sparks
across the dark blue waters of the inlet, the humidity causing the back of Jacob’s
dress shirt to accumulate sweat beneath his rented tux as he searched the crowd
for Nancy.

To his relief, she was not among
the cluster of passengers waiting to board.

Jacob’s plan was simple: Get
on-board and hide from Nancy until his stand-up routine was over. If Nancy saw
him before the gig she’d demand to know why he didn’t tell her that Olivia had
hired him. She’d want details—like how they met, or why a gay man was hanging
on his arm, or God forbid, why her boss was coming on to him. Once he got paid
the five grand (he had insisted Olivia pay him in cash) he could pull Nancy
aside and give her enough of an explanation to keep her from blurting out that
they lived together.

Testifying before Congress was
easier . . .

His eyes caught Nancy’s car as it
arrived at the hotel’s valet parking.

Two more couples . . . come
on!

His heart beat faster as Nancy made
her way down the sidewalk that led to the wharf, his girlfriend looking hot in
a black low-cut cocktail dress and matching pumps. He ducked his head while a
crewman verified Jacob and Cyril’s names on the guest list and a police officer
inspected the interior of the suitcase carrying the Lisa Simpson dummy.

“They’re okay.”

“All right, gentlemen, you can
board. Have a good evening.”

Jacob darted up a short gangway
to the mid-deck, leading Cyril onto the yacht, the air-conditioning helping to
settle his frayed nerves.

The deck, walls, and laminated
built-ins in the main salon were finished in cherry wood, the furniture
consisting of a cream leather wraparound sofa and matching recliners situated
before a 42-inch LCD television screen. A dozen guests mingled in the lavish
surroundings.

Squeezing through the crowd, they
headed forward, entering the dining room—its mirrored bulkhead reflecting a
cherry wood oval dining table with seating for eight. Trays of hors d’oeuvres covered
the table, attracting a crowd.

“There they are—my favorite man
couple!”

Olivia swept in from the galley
entrance, the millionairess dressed in a scarlet
Tony Bowls
evening
gown, its deep V-cut neckline accentuating her bulging tan breasts, the tiered
draped skirt opening up in a side split that revealed her bare left leg and
spiked high-heeled shoe.

She kissed Jacob full on the
lips, and then turned her attention to Cyril. “I could scratch your eyes out
for snagging this baby grizzly from me, but fair is fair. Be a dear and fetch
us something to drink.”

Cyril turned to Jacob. “Bourbon,
darling?”

Jacob’s eyes flashed a warning.
“Ginger ale . . . 
dear
.”

“You two are adorable. Seven and
seven for me, Cyril.”

Jacob watched the gay man squeeze
his way through the crowd to get outside to the bar. “Olivia, have you spoken
to Ruby? I dropped her off at the doctor’s this morning and haven’t heard a
thing.”

“She texted me earlier and said
she was still waiting to get her test results. Don’t worry about her; I’m sure
she’s fine. Before I forget, I have something I want you to wear tonight.”
Fishing through her purse, she removed the dive watch and handed it to him.
“Consider it a good luck charm.”

“A dive watch? You know, I don’t
really dive. Wait . . . is there something wrong with the
yacht? Do you think we could sink? Is that why you’re giving me this? So I can
find my way back to shore?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous when you
suffer from extreme hydrophobia like I do. Sometimes I have to take a Dramamine
just to take a shower.”

“You’re hysterical. Save it for
the show.”

“The show—Olivia, is there any
way you’d let me do my stand-up while we’re still docked? I’d be much more
relaxed.”

“Sorry, pet, but the cruise is
the best part of the night—except for those lucky guests rocking the boat from
their staterooms.” She winked. “Go on, try it on.”

Removing his old watch, Jacob secured
the bulkier dive watch to his left wrist. “Feels kind of heavy.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Drinks!” Cyril pushed his way
through the crowd. He handed Olivia one of the two drinks in his right hand --
handing the ecstasy-laced soda in his left hand to Jacob. “A toast—to the wild
evening ahead.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Olivia
clinked her glass.

Jacob gulped down the flat soda,
glancing out the tinted window in time to see Nancy ascending a spiral
staircase that led to the upper deck.

* * * *
*

Nancy climbed the
aluminum steps,
seeking to avoid the mid-deck crowd. Occupying the open upper deck were sixty
folding chairs, arranged in rows, facing a small stage situated beneath a
banner: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TRUMAN. She located the guest of honor seated alone in the
bow, nursing a beer.

Nancy accepted a glass of
champagne from a waitress and joined him. “How are you feeling?”

“Old.” He looked up. “You? What
are you doing here?”

“Your daughter invited me.
Truman, I’m so sorry about what happened. I don’t want your money, but I still
want to help you get together with Carmella.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.
Me
she
hates.”

“I could make her happy if she’d
let me.”

“Not everyone wants to be
happy.”She looked around. Night had taken the Intracoastal, tempering the South
Florida heat. A few couples were standing by the starboard rail; otherwise the
upper deck was deserted. “Where are all your friends?”

“Dead. Just like this party.”

Thunder rattled the air as the
yacht’s powerful engines came to life. A horn sounded its warning.

Looking down, she saw a familiar
figure hustle past security to make her way on-board.
Ruby . . . What’s
she doing here?

The blades engaged, churning up
the bottom and they lurched ahead, moving steadily through the Intracoastal
Waterway, heading out to sea. Nancy inhaled the briny air, the wind tossing
strands of blonde hair across her forehead. “Truman, are you cold?”

“I’m eighty-three. That old
enough for you?”

“No, no—are you cold? Can I get
you a sweater?”

“Nah. Maybe I’ll get lucky and
die of pneumonia.”

“I need to warm up. Be back in a
bit.” She headed for the pilothouse, pushing open the steel door of the ship’s
command center. The captain nodded from behind the wheel, his eyes lingering on
her breasts.

“Excuse me, why are we headed out
to sea?”

“Only way to get to Fort
Lauderdale. Why don’t you sit on my lap and I’ll let you steer the boat.”

“Why don’t you sit on the
throttle and go fuck yourself.” She pushed past him, heading below.

* * * *
*

Jacob felt woozy
and a bit warm. He found
himself staring at the pretty lights, which seem to be dancing as they melded together
in his vision.

Cyril touched his arm and it felt
good. “Somebody need a hug?”

“Yeah.”

Ruby pushed her way between them.
Her purple strapless chiffon dress was topped by an ivory jacket, the fabric
stretched tight over her breasts.

Jacob stared at the swollen
bouncing mounds of flesh, his heart racing. “Ruby Tuesday.”

“Hi, Jacob. Thanks for earlier.”

“Earlier what?”

Cyril winked. “He’s a little
buzzed.”

“Jacob, are you drinking? I need
you on your ‘A’ game—I invited a booking agent from
The Tonight Show
.”

“Honey, that’s so exciting.”
Cyril leaned in and kissed Jacob on the lips.

From across the crowded
stateroom, Nancy spotted her boyfriend seconds before a man in a white tuxedo
jacket kissed him passionately.
What the hell?

“Cyril, I need to speak with Jacob . . . in
private.” Ruby grabbed Jacob by the wrist and dragged the giddy man through the
galley and down the grand stairwell that led to the lower deck sleeping quarters.

Nancy pushed through the crowd
after them—only to be intercepted by Olivia Cabot.

“Dr. Beach, I’m so glad you made
it.” She fake-kissed Nancy, cheek to cheek. “Come with me, I want to introduce
you to a dear friend of mine who can get you syndicated in New York and L.A.”

Olivia worked her way aft through
the crowded stateroom.

Nancy hesitated, glancing toward
the stairs.
Screw him. I’m not going to allow another man to cheat on me and
ruin my career.

 Squeezing through the crowd, she
followed her boss to the stern.

* * * *
*

Ruby led Jacob
down the carpeted
stairwell to a foyer that flowed into a starboard study. A forward corridor
separated two V.I.P. suites, the aft corridor leading to three smaller
staterooms and the crews’ quarters.

She opened the cabin door to the
suite on the starboard side, flipping on the lights. The chamber was decorated
in the same cherry wood motif as the rest of the yacht. A king-size bed faced a
large flat screen LCD television. The starboard wall was a tinted oval window looking
out to sea. A connecting door led to the master bath—all marble, with wood
trim.

“Must be enough cherry wood
on-board this ship to fill a Pennsylvania forest.” Jacob said, lying back on
the bed, his dress pants stretching beneath his hard-on. “Speaking of wood.”
Unbuckling his belt, he pulled his trousers down to his knees, exposing his
Sponge-Bob Square Pants boxer shorts, which were now animating.

“Jacob, what are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

“Jacob, I didn’t bring you down
here to have sex—did you forget our conversation this morning?”

“No. Yeah. Is it getting brighter
in here?”

“I brought you down here to talk.
Your brother got the test results back from my pap smear.”