HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (22 page)

Larry separated from the woman with the red
hair and exited the shining tower.

Chapter Fourteen

Rowing the Whitehall

Larry van der Bix lay on the sand, his head
resting on the red nylon covering of the flotation device from his
rowboat. He pulled idly at a heavy cord wrapped around his hand
that hung limply from the bow of the Whitehall, pulled far up onto
the shore. Larry looked out lazily towards the palm trees lining
the beach.

“Dude,” called out Ed Lossé. “Let’s get back
on the water.” Ed, in long, brightly colored trunks and an equally
colorful shirt, tossed the towel and brown bag he had been carrying
into the boat, and started to gather up the four oars, flotation
devices and several empty beer bottles from alongside the rowboat.
He lifted the oar rings from each of the sides of the boat and slid
one onto each of the four oars, laying the oars across the width of
the rowboat.

Larry’s phone rang as he stood up. “Hey,
Lori,” said Larry. “Naw, me and Ed are on the peninsula. We could
row and meet’cha if you want. Might take us awhile.” Larry watched
Ed as he grabbed two tie lines, pulling them together so as to
slide the Whitehall towards the water.

“We meetin’ up with Swim Chick?” asked Ed,
knee-deep in the water as he glided the 14-foot rowboat parallel to
the beach, holding each tie line as Larry deftly climbed in, and
carefully lifted first one and then a second oar so he could lower
the peg of each oar ring into its mount, clinking brass upon brass.
Ed tossed the tie lines into the boat and climbed in, taking the
seat in front of Larry and also lifting and placing each oar into
position. They gave a pull together on the starboard oar, turning
the rowboat.

“Hey, see,” said Ed, “told’ja we’d get into
a groove on this thing.”

Awkwardly, each pushed forward with both
oars, sending the boat into the straight that separated the
Peninsula from Treasure Island and Naples. When they had reached
the center of the straight, each held their starboard oar
motionless and pulled on the port oar. They then began pulling to
move the boat straight, towards the main bay and beyond to the
jetty leading out to the harbor shared by Long Beach, Wilmington
and San Pedro. With two people rowing, the Whitehall made swift
time through the half-mile across the main bay and into the
jetty.

“Damn, that’s choppy,” said Ed, as the
rowboat emerged from the narrow confines of the jetty, into the
protected waters of the harbor. The bow of the rowboat began to
lift and drop into the waters of the harbor. While the federal
breakwater built during World War II to protect warships from being
torpedoed by the Japanese kept the harbor from the full force of
the Pacific’s waves, a 14-foot rowboat — even a Whitehall, with its
wide hull and keel — impresses upon occupants a sense of puniness
against the ocean. The two continued pulling, finding harmony,
swiftly cutting through the low-but-choppy waves, towards the
Belmont Pier.

“So, buddy,” said Ed, pulling as he yelled
over his shoulder, “what’s the whole tit fascination?”

“What?” yelled Larry, rowing in time with
Ed, their common view to the jetty in the distance.

“Tits!” yelled Ed, “what’s the big thing
about tits… besides the obvious….”

“What?” yelled Larry again, as a wave
smashed into the side of the boat, spraying both.

Ed half-turned his body, stopping his
rowing, suspending his oars above the water. “Shit, there’s water
in the bottom.”

“We gotta get Lori,” yelled back Larry.
“C’mon. Row.”

A wave just a bit taller than the rowboat
dropped several inches of water into the boat.

“Shit” yelled Ed.

“Let’s turn it!” yelled Larry.

Ed, trying first one oar in the water, and
then another, succeeded at halting the movement of the
Whitehall.

“Put yer oars up!” yelled Larry, who deftly
maneuvered the boat into the direction of open sea. After
half-a-minute, he angled to again be parallel to the shore. The
boat took another short wave over the side

“Bail while I row!” yelled Larry.

Ed grabbed the only vessel able to hold
water – a beer bottle – and pushed it into the water at the bottom
of the boat. Ten seconds later, he lifted the bottle and poured out
a few ounces collected in the bottle, as another wave lapped over
the side, adding another inch of water.

“Keep bailing!” yelled Larry, as he pulled
hard, moving the White Hall towards the shore.

Ed, holding the beer bottle under the water,
started to retch.

The Whitehall rose and fell in gentle
crashes, as Larry turned his head to see Ed bent forward. “Keep
bailing!”

Ed came up with the bottle and poured out a
few ounces. As he poured, he vomited over the side of the boat.

“Everything okay?” yelled Larry, not
turning.

Ed continued vomiting.

Larry turned his head to see Ed, pale-faced,
gripping the edge of the boat with one hand and a beer bottle with
the other. Quickly shifting both oars so they could be held by one
hand, Larry grabbed the bottle, struck it downward against the rail
of the boat, shattering the neck off, and handed it back to Ed.
Ahead, perhaps a half mile, was the Belmont Pier.

“Lori will be at the tie-off dock,” yelled
Larry. “Almost there.” Larry returned to two-handed rowing,
adjusting direction and looking over his shoulder to check his
navigation.

Ed, now pulling up a full bottle at a time,
kept bailing, while spitting out last bits of vomit. Several
minutes later, unable to draw out more water, Ed dropped the bottle
beside him and grabbed the two oars that had been pulled in
straight across the hull. He found Larry’s rhythm just before the
boat arrived along side the boat dock at the end of the pier.
Larry, slowing the rowboat with both oars, yelled for Ed to tie it
off.

“Guys!” yelled Lori, on the dock.

“Swim Chick!” yelled Ed, to the tall blond
in the olive-green bikini. As Larry drew the boat parallel to the
dock, Ed tossed the tie line to Lori, who held it as Ed reached for
a second line, which he then also threw.

“Clear out for the glass!” Larry yelled to
Ed, who tossed overboard shards of green glass. “Watch your feet,
Lori!” yelled Larry.

Lori turned and extended one foot into the
rowboat as Ed watched her ass. Once she was in, Ed pulled in both
ties lines, while he and Larry each held a cleat. Ed kept watching
Lori’s ass, the word “ARMY” in small white letters across her
backside. Lori slid onto the seat, next to Ed, and took up one oar,
as Larry pushed off and swiftly had both his oars in the water.

Ed, unable to find rhythm with either Larry
or Lori, pulled lamely at his oar, causing the boat to skip left
and right as Larry’s pulling moved them ahead.

“In synch, man, c’mon,” said Lori.

Ed held his oar above the water, waiting for
Lori to come forward for another pull. When she rose, he dropped
his oar in and the two pulled together, in time with Larry, sending
the Whitehall swiftly across the water.

.

Ed, taking Lori’s extended hand, stepped up
from the boat, as Larry held the cleat on his grandmother’ s dock.
Larry tied off the rear rope as Lori tied the bow. Before climbing
up to the dock, Larry lifted each of his oars, removing the oar
ring and handing the oars up to Lori, and setting the rings on the
dock. Hs climbed to the seat ahead and did the same with the second
pair of oars. He gathered the four flotation devices and shattered
beer bottle and handed them to Ed, before climbing out.

“What were you asking out there?” said
Larry. “I missed all that.”

“I’ll ask you later,” said Ed, walking
wobbly.

.

December Carrera, wearing only a bikini
bottom, lay on her belly on the lounger next to the breakfast table
on Emma Mathilde’s balcony.

“Oh, December,” said Larry, as he, Lori and
Ed made their way out.

“Hey, Dee,” said Lori.

December, turning her head, cooed, “Hey,
Baby.... Hey, sweeties.”

“Where’s my grandma?” asked Larry.

“Your dad took her to a doctor appointment,”
said December. “Just left.”

“Doctor?” said Larry.

“Dat’s what he said,” said December, “over
and over.’

“Did she look okay?”

“She looked, fine,” said December. “I mean,
she’s old, but other than that….”

“You want a towel?” asked Lori, stepping
back out onto the balcony and handing a bath towel to December, who
wrapped the towel around her, tucking the end into her deep
cleavage.

“Good moment to take a break,” said Ed,
stepping inside.

“Did’ya do lots of swimmin’, Baby?” purred
December running her hands over Lori’s shoulders and arms.

“Six miles maybe,” said Lori. “Pier to the
jetty and back.” Lori sat on the edge of the lounger and melted
into December’s hands. When Ed reappeared, the two were curled
together on the lounger, spooning under the shade of an oversized
parasol.

Larry went in to the kitchen, opened the
refrigerator and began pulling out meats, cheeses, breads,
condiments, veggies and several bottles of juices.

“Yeh,” said Ed, walking in to the kitchen as
Larry prepared a spread. “About what I was asking….”

Larry worked at cutting a pork roast into
thin slices, which he brushed with a gelatinous glaze and set onto
slices of dark, brown bread.

“What’s the whole tit thing?”

“The what?” said Larry, briefly stopping his
slicing to look at Ed.

“Just the whole tit thing,” repeated Ed.
“The models. December. I mean, don’t get me wrong, tits are great,
but….”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said
Larry, wrapping the roast back in butcher paper and then moving on
to slice a red bell pepper.

“Ewa Sonnet, and the Italian chick….”

“Anekee,” said Larry. “And, actually, she’s
Dutch, but….”

“Yeh, whatever,” said Ed, picking up a slice
of meat from a piece of bread. “I mean, do you just have a thing
for women with big tits? Or...,”

“Like I say,” said Larry, swatting Ed’s hand
from the meat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dude,” said Ed, pulling his hand back,
“you’ve asked me to contact some of the biggest-titted women in the
world to see if they will meet with you about projects and
investments. I mean, unless there’s something I’m not seeing, I’d
assume you’re picking and choosing based on cup size.”

Larry stopped cutting bell pepper and turned
to Ed. “You’re wrong.”

“Okay,” said Ed, “Fuck me. But why these
women? Why not just call Warren Buffet or Don Francisco or some
chick in a power suit?”

“I don’t like people like that.”

“Like what? Successful?”

“Cut-throat. Mean. Greedy.”

“And big-titted women somehow aren’t greedy
or mean?”

“I don’t see the connection between people I
choose to support and what you’re saying.”

“Dude, December and Ewa and Anekee make
their living swinging their tits on the web,” said Ed, looking
around the kitchen. “Odalys Garcia, same thing.”

“That’s not true. Totally wrong. Odalys is
on TV and has her own show.”

“Which viewers tune in to so they can look
up her miniskirt and down her cleavage,” said Ed. “Dude, she’s a
sex bomb. Why else would anyone watch candid camera?”

“Lente Loco.”

“What-ev-er,’ said Ed. “I just don’t get how
you know them. I mean, jeeze… you!”

“What?”

“Your model friends are sex bombs,” said Ed.
“And you’re… Them knowing you….”

“They’re nice,” said Larry, moving plates
and a platter onto the silver rolling tray. “They’re my friends,
cuz they want to be, and I know it’s not fake.”

“You’ve never actually met them but it isn’t
fake?”

“December drove up to Sacramento with me cuz
she said I was nice,” said Larry. “Do
you
think someone like
her
would get in a car with a guy like
me
if it
wasn’t real? I mean…. me?”

“Dude, yer rich now,” said Ed. “You can have
pretty much any girl you want just by flashing the benjamins.”

Larry finished loading glasses and juice
bottles onto the rolling tray and wheeled it past Ed, towards the
balcony, with Ed following. Outside, Lori and December still lay on
their sides, spooning. As Larry began loading the food onto the
balcony table, December sat upright.

“Yeh baby,” said December, standing, and
reaching for Lori’s hand. “C’mon, Hunny, let’s eat.”

Lori stood and stretched, while December
watched her. As Larry loaded the last of the glasses onto the
table, he looked to Ed. “That’s never what I’d do. I wouldn’t want
someone who was my friend only for that.”

“For what, Baby?” said December.

“Money,” said Larry, sitting down.

“Pays the bills, but it’s dirty,” said
December.

“So all the money the banks got, that was
dirty?” asked Ed, across the table.

“Greedy pigs!” spat Lori.

“Money poured down a rathole,” said
December.

“So the United States government shouldn’t
have spent a penny to save the financial system?”

“Why?” said Lori. “So banks could keep
ripping off the little guy with fees and shit? They don’t care
about people. All they care about is money.”

“Shouldn’t someone care about money?” said
Ed.

“Shouldn’t someone care about people?”
replied Lori. “How about
my
bailout? I got shot at in Iraq.
What about my buddies who shipped out missing a foot, a leg, an
arm. Bet they could use a few bucks.”

“Didn’t Larry buy you a house?” said Ed.

“Larry’s not the frickin’ government,”
replied Lori. “He paid off what was left on my folks’ mortgage and
I love him for it. But Larry’s a little guy, the whole 99-percent
thing.”

“He’s a One Percenter now,” said Ed.