hunkitude. Their relationship was now strictly business. Not only that, he’d shown himself to be the lowest link in the culinary food chain: the Audacious Palm Greaser.
Joy said, “I’m telling you, Lina, you’ve gotta get the upper hand when you set out to meet guys. When they go fishing with their buddies, the last thing they’re expecting is single women on the prowl. Men are simple. You present them with something they can’t easily compartmentalize—an out-of-context female—and right away you gain the advantage. It’s all about getting them off-kilter, capitalizing on their weaknesses.”
“Are we talking about meeting men or toppling a small dictatorship?”
Joy stuck out her tongue at her. “Oh! There it is.” She pointed to a boat tied up at the dock.
“Why this boat?” Lina asked.
“George Quinn recommended it—I saw him at that pasta class at The Cookhouse last Wednesday.”
Lina looked at the name painted in fanciful script on the seventy-foot hull: the Captain Joe II . A few people were already aboard, leaning on the rail, laughing and chatting, gearing up for an evening of fishing. She pulled in to the boat’s parking lot and found a space. It was seven o’clock, and the sun still shone bright in the western sky.
Lina asked, “You sure we can rent fishing rods on the boat?”
“That’s what George said.” Joy hauled a cooler chest out of the Mustang’s trunk. “Hope you’re hungry. I’ve got fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, lemonade—and something special.” She winked.
“Bloodworms!” Lina gushed. “My favorite.”
“They’ll give us bait on the boat, too. Would you settle for blackout cake? Here, you take this.” Joy handed Lina a lightweight foam chest—empty.
“What’s this for?”
“Our catch.”
“A tad optimistic, no? Anyway, who’s going to be fishing? I thought we were angling for men with rods.”
“We have to put on a good show or the jig’s up.”
They started across the street toward the boat. Lina’s eyes were drawn to a tall wooden piling on which were nailed perhaps a dozen gaping shark jaws of varying sizes. The display was as fascinating as it was creepy.
“I have motion-sickness pills. You want one?” Joy asked her.
“No need. I don’t get seasick.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been on my share of dinner cruises. Trust me.”
They followed a walkway to a narrow white gangplank and were soon aboard the Captain Joe II . Everyone else—Joy included—was wearing jeans and T-shirts. Lina felt more than a bit out of place in her sleeveless ice blue raw silk top, champagne-colored linen slacks, and matching suede flats. The linen blazer slung over one shoulder matched the slacks. Blue topaz earrings and necklace completed the outfit.
Well, they were supposed to be meeting men!
Lina and Joy made their way down the starboard side, between the railing and the hard bench that hugged the outside wall of the enclosed cabin. Lina peered in through the cabin’s windows and saw chairs, a snack bar, and bathrooms. Not bathrooms: heads, she mentally corrected herself. Gotta remember the lingo.
Joy chose a spot, produced a scrap of cloth, and tied it to the railing. “This’ll mark our place. According to—”
“George. Tell me, did the poor guy get to do any cooking Wednesday while you were picking his brains about this noble sport?”
“He’s so sweet,” Joy sighed. “Too bad he’s unavailable.”
“Married?”
“The other unavailable.”
“Engaged?”
“The other unavailable.”
“No! George Quinn?”
“Whose idea do you think this was? This is how he meets guys.”
Lina eyeballed the crowd, and hissed, “Joy, if you got us on some kind of gay fishing excursion, I swear I’ll—”
“Fat chance. Don’t you see the way those two are looking at us? Don’t look. Okay, now look.”
“Joy, they’re kids.” The pair ogling them as they set up their tackle a few yards down the railing couldn’t
Joy said, “I’m telling you, Lina, you’ve gotta get the upper hand when you set out to meet guys. When they go fishing with their buddies, the last thing they’re expecting is single women on the prowl. Men are simple. You present them with something they can’t easily compartmentalize—an out-of-context female—and right away you gain the advantage. It’s all about getting them off-kilter, capitalizing on their weaknesses.”
“Are we talking about meeting men or toppling a small dictatorship?”
Joy stuck out her tongue at her. “Oh! There it is.” She pointed to a boat tied up at the dock.
“Why this boat?” Lina asked.
“George Quinn recommended it—I saw him at that pasta class at The Cookhouse last Wednesday.”
Lina looked at the name painted in fanciful script on the seventy-foot hull: the Captain Joe II . A few people were already aboard, leaning on the rail, laughing and chatting, gearing up for an evening of fishing. She pulled in to the boat’s parking lot and found a space. It was seven o’clock, and the sun still shone bright in the western sky.
Lina asked, “You sure we can rent fishing rods on the boat?”
“That’s what George said.” Joy hauled a cooler chest out of the Mustang’s trunk. “Hope you’re hungry. I’ve got fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, lemonade—and something special.” She winked.
“Bloodworms!” Lina gushed. “My favorite.”
“They’ll give us bait on the boat, too. Would you settle for blackout cake? Here, you take this.” Joy handed Lina a lightweight foam chest—empty.
“What’s this for?”
“Our catch.”
“A tad optimistic, no? Anyway, who’s going to be fishing? I thought we were angling for men with rods.”
“We have to put on a good show or the jig’s up.”
They started across the street toward the boat. Lina’s eyes were drawn to a tall wooden piling on which were nailed perhaps a dozen gaping shark jaws of varying sizes. The display was as fascinating as it was creepy.
“I have motion-sickness pills. You want one?” Joy asked her.
“No need. I don’t get seasick.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been on my share of dinner cruises. Trust me.”
They followed a walkway to a narrow white gangplank and were soon aboard the Captain Joe II . Everyone else—Joy included—was wearing jeans and T-shirts. Lina felt more than a bit out of place in her sleeveless ice blue raw silk top, champagne-colored linen slacks, and matching suede flats. The linen blazer slung over one shoulder matched the slacks. Blue topaz earrings and necklace completed the outfit.
Well, they were supposed to be meeting men!
Lina and Joy made their way down the starboard side, between the railing and the hard bench that hugged the outside wall of the enclosed cabin. Lina peered in through the cabin’s windows and saw chairs, a snack bar, and bathrooms. Not bathrooms: heads, she mentally corrected herself. Gotta remember the lingo.
Joy chose a spot, produced a scrap of cloth, and tied it to the railing. “This’ll mark our place. According to—”
“George. Tell me, did the poor guy get to do any cooking Wednesday while you were picking his brains about this noble sport?”
“He’s so sweet,” Joy sighed. “Too bad he’s unavailable.”
“Married?”
“The other unavailable.”
“Engaged?”
“The other unavailable.”
“No! George Quinn?”
“Whose idea do you think this was? This is how he meets guys.”
Lina eyeballed the crowd, and hissed, “Joy, if you got us on some kind of gay fishing excursion, I swear I’ll—”
“Fat chance. Don’t you see the way those two are looking at us? Don’t look. Okay, now look.”
“Joy, they’re kids.” The pair ogling them as they set up their tackle a few yards down the railing couldn’t
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