Wandering Bk. 05: Pattie

I phoned the office and once again Pattie answered.

"I can see you, Lee. I'm going to come out in the runabout and I'll guide you in. Just sit tight and wait for me, okay?" Pattie was giving me a sense of confidence. She was surprisingly calm and organized for a young, inexperienced woman.

I slipped the motor into idle and then into neutral and drifted toward the dock. Within a minute, I saw the powerboat leave the dock and head directly toward me. She had clearly been prepared for my arrival.

When she got along side, she threw me a line and I grabbed it in midair.

"Drop the bumpers over this side so I can bring you in a little closer," she said as she came alongside. "I'm going to herd you from here and we'll pull in at the end of the dock to make it easier." She had thought this all out. I smiled at her cool handling of the situation. This girl was more than she appeared.

"Got it," I acknowledged. "I'll slip it into forward but leave it in idle when we're close, okay?"

"Yup!" She eased the runabout into the bumpers on the port side of the houseboat and began to force the bulky craft to crab sideways. She had the technique down pat. I slipped the Yamaha into neutral as we got within twenty feet of the dock and let her push me the last bit. We scuffed the side of the dock gently and I jumped off and quickly secured a line from the bow to the big cleat on the dock. I tied off the stern and breathed a sigh of relief. I was back.

"Nicely done, Pattie," I said with a big, tired smile.

"Thanks." She returned the smile shyly. "Chuck went up to the boatyard to get a new pulley. He'll get it fixed for you by morning. Sorry about the problem, Lee." I knew she meant what she said. I was too stiff and sore to debate about what the compensation should be, but I thought all things considered, it was just bad luck.

"Nothing to worry about, Pattie. No one got hurt. I'm tired from manhandling the boat, so I'm going to have a shower and then a nap. I'll talk to Chuck in a few minutes."

"Yeah ... sure," she said, squinting into the sun as she looked me over. "If you're looking for a good place to eat, try Modine's. Pub food, but good."

"Thanks. What's the nightlife like around here?" I asked.

She laughed. "Nightlife? Well, there's the Pirate's Cove Inn, and the kids usually hang out at Pinocchio's. It's Tuesday, so I don't think 'The Cove' will be very busy, but you never know. I'm headin' over there later. Maybe I'll see you," she grinned.

"Maybe. We'll see," I said noncommittally. "Thanks again for your help. You did a great job guiding me in." I meant it. She handled herself very well for a young woman in a new job. "Where did you learn that?"

"You'd be surprised at how often we have to go rescue someone. Usually just stupid stuff, but in your case, it was trickier. Anyway, I learned in a hurry," she grinned again.

"I can see that. Just the same ... well done. I'm impressed," I said.

"Thanks. See you later, maybe."

I smiled as I walked up to the office to see Chuck. It took very little time for me to explain what had happened and Chuck, guessing the problem, had already obtained a replacement pulley and bracket from the plant on the north end of town. I walked back to the boat with him and showed him where the broken part was located and he nodded.

"It'll be tomorrow morning before I can get this done. I've got to take up the deck to get at it. I can give you another craft or I can give you the extra three days at no charge. Will that be OK?"

"Yeah ... the extra days ... that's more than fair. Can I sleep on the boat tonight?"

"Sure. I won't bother you too early tomorrow morning," he chuckled.

"OK then, I'll take the extra days. That means I don't have to move my stuff and start all over again." I was right, it was more than fair. I wondered what would have happened if it had broken down during the peak season and all their equipment was booked.

Chuck provided a power cord to the boat while I was at the dock and I was set for the night. I wasn't in the mood to cook, and I needed a shower and a change after the exertion of getting the boat moving and back to the dock. I set about rectifying that.

By six that afternoon, I was showered, shaved and changed, feeling much better than I had two hours earlier. I decided to stroll around town and find someplace for supper and then determine what I'd do for the rest of the evening. I didn't want to spend it on a boat, tied to a dock.

I was lucky immediately. I found what looked like a fairly new pub right on the lakefront just three blocks from the boat and checked out the menu at the front door. It looked OK, so I stepped inside to scope it out and I was pleasantly surprised at the surroundings. Large picture windows framed a beautiful view of the lake and mountains to the north. The décor was indeterminate-modern. A postage stamp-sized dance floor was pushed against a small stage at one end of the big room. A live band was advertised for later.

This would do just fine. I looked at the menu cover and it was titled "Modine's."

In the past two months, I had covered a good portion of eastern British Columbia, particularly the Rocky Mountain trench and north. My unbelievable luck in finding willing women had ultimately proven to be just that; unbelievable. Since Beth had left to go back to her home in Vancouver in early April, I was wandering aimlessly. At first, it didn't bother me. I was expecting my incredible streak to end. I assumed it was just a matter of timing and circumstances, and it would all correct itself in time.

By the third week, I had still not made a connection with any woman, and in fact, I hadn't even had very many opportunities. I began to laugh at myself for my arrogance. Was I expecting them to fall into my arms? After all, isn't that what had happened in the first two weeks? Staying at B & B's wasn't conducive to bringing lady-friends back to my room, so I was automatically handicapping myself.

On the other hand, I began to re-examine myself again. I had lived a sheltered life for the most part. Jocelyn, my ex-wife, was actually the only woman I had been with over any length of time. The longest, before or after her was Beth, and that was less than a week. I could hardly consider myself experienced. Nonetheless, the changes to me in the past three months were significant.

I was, I thought, confident in myself, perhaps for the first time. I wasn't worried about where my next meal or next job or even my next bedmate would come from. I was a bit self-absorbed, I admit. Conceit born of success, although short-lived to be sure. I assumed the next woman that was genuinely available would naturally fall to me as surely as the sun would rise in the east. Now that's conceit!

My thoughts and dreams frequently slipped back to memories of Beth. She had produced a more profound affect on me than I was originally willing to admit. She was a powerful, talented, voluptuous woman that any man would lust after. Many already had. What gave me the idea that she would commit herself to someone as non-descript as me? Fantasizing? Probably.

For the past while, my life had become a blur, recent events further confusing my already disoriented psyche. I had no doubt that the effect of the women had been positive. I was also in no doubt that I would seek out someone with whom I would spend my next years. If I was lucky, perhaps for long enough to restore my faith in marriage.

But then again, should I even bother with marriage? My first attempt had ended in failure after ten years. There was no cataclysmic event or sudden startling revelation. It died slowly and surely, as if stricken by a cancer of the soul. We parted friends, but I was demoralized by having dedicated ten important years of my life to a lost cause. This trip was the beginning of what I hoped was my new life. So far, so good! I was feeling more positive about my future.

As my thoughts returned to the present, I was staring into the bottom of my beer stein. I don't know how long I had been sitting on the bar stool, lost in my reverie. At last, I became aware of the young bartender speaking.

"Another dark ale, sir?" he asked politely.

I shook my head and looked up at him. He had a disarming smile and his eyes sparkled. He liked his job and he was being patient with me.

"Uhhhmmm, yeah, please ... and a menu?"

He reached for a thick book on top of a pile of others at the end of the bar and passed it to me.

"The specials are on the blackboard," he said, pointing behind him. "If you have any questions, just ask," he smiled again.

"Thanks." I looked around the pub and noticed there weren't very many people seated. It was just past six thirty, and as Pattie had said, there wasn't much going on Tuesdays. I didn't mind. The TV on the wall behind the bar had a baseball game. Hockey had only just finished with the Stanley Cup. I didn't mind watching the ballgame. You didn't have to pay close attention. It was just a pastime.

I must have been looking at the menu for several minutes before realizing I hadn't remembered anything I had seen. I snapped it closed and looked up to the blackboard at the specials. Item two was a pulled-pork sandwich with fries and salad. I hadn't enjoyed that southern treat in a long time. I didn't need the menu any more.

My second ale arrived and I ordered the sandwich, relaxing to watch the ballgame until my meal arrived. I was vaguely aware of someone climbing onto the barstool beside me, but I didn't turn my head to look. It was the scent that alerted me.

"You took my advice," her soft voice said. She had leaned into me and spoken into my ear. It was almost a whisper, but not quite.

"What can I get you, Pattie?" The young bartender had appeared from nowhere directly in front of the woman.

"Usual, Barry, thanks," she said, turning back to me.

"Yeah, I did, but more by accident to tell the truth," I replied.

She had changed her clothes and had become a different woman. A white blouse with embroidered patterns at the shoulders, a denim skirt of very short length and a pair of slip-on shoes. Her hair, previously in a tight bun at the back of her neck, was loose and falling about her shoulders. It was black and shone in the bar's halogen spotlights. She looked very sexy and I was immediately interested.

"You look very nice, Pattie," I complimented her.

"Thanks, you clean up pretty good yourself," she smiled. She had a great smile. Nice white, even teeth and lovely brown eyes. Flawless complexion and minimal makeup. A perfect combination.

Barry the bartender appeared with dark red drink in a tall glass, almost completely filled with ice.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Campari and soda. Barry talked me into trying one a while ago and I liked it," she admitted.

Barry was hovering near the two of us, causing me to wonder if he had designs on Pattie. No need to get him upset, I thought. When at last he wandered off to the far end of the bar, I had my opportunity.

"Barry acts like he has a thing for you," I suggested.

"He does, but it isn't mutual," she answered quickly.

"Does he know that?"

"Yup. So does his very pregnant wife," she said with a bit more emphasis.

"Oh. Good ... I mean ... good he knows the score," I stammered.

Pattie turned a looked at me with a crooked smile.

"Bullshit," she almost whispered again. "You just want to know how many obstacles are in the way between you and me." She spoke with such conviction that I could only nod my agreement. Was I that transparent? Apparently so.

"You've been giving me the 'eye' since we met on the dock yesterday. I know that look. The hungry-man look. You've been going without ... maybe since the divorce and now you're getting interested again. I can tell. It doesn't bother me."

She had been speaking in such a low voice that I was sure neither Barry nor anyone else nearby could have overheard the conversation. I wasn't about to confess my activities of the recent past while she was clearing the path for us.

"Have you had supper yet?" I asked.

"Nope. That's why I'm here. Pulled pork night," she said matter-of-factly.

"Funny you should mention that. I just ordered mine. Why don't we make it two ... my treat."

"Are you trying to get into my pants?" she asked with a wrinkled brow.

I looked at her for what felt like a long time. "Yes ... yes I am," I admitted.

"Well ... I've always been a sucker for an honest man," she grinned. "That doesn't mean you'll succeed, Mister."

"Yeah, but ... no surprises, no bullshit, and no hidden agenda."

She nodded and signalled for Barry, ordering "the usual" and knowing it would be the pork. She asked him to bring them together and he nodded, looking a bit disappointed.

"So, what do you do for a living, Lee?" she asked as the meals arrived.

"I was an insurance investigator. I checked out claims and made sure they were legitimate. Not all of them, of course. Just the big ones or the ones that looked fishy."

"That would be interesting. You said 'was.' Did you quit?" No beating around the bush with this girl.

"Yeah. It went hand-in-hand with the divorce. I needed a break and some time to decide what came next in my life. I have a job waiting for me in Vancouver with a private detective agency if and when I want it." I was once again surprised how easily I was able to talk about my current life.

"Wow. A private eye, huh?" she said in surprise.

"Yeah ... but no guns and no car chases and no dames on the side. Just good old-fashioned grunt work. Not quite as glamorous as the movies and TV make it out to be." I don't think she believed me.

"Just the same ... a private eye. I've never met one before."

"You still haven't. I'm not there yet. Still have to go through training and licensing. Nothing's guaranteed," I said.

"Do they teach you how to fight?" she asked, clearly fascinated at my future profession.

"Self defence ... that's it. We spend more time on how to legally gather evidence that will hold up in court and how to follow people without being noticed. That's about as glamorous as it gets."

"Do you need a 'Girl Friday?'" She looked hopeful.

"I don't know. I'm not there yet, remember," I laughed. "You want to apply?"

"Damn right! What do I have to do?" she said, fully concentrating on our conversation.

"I haven't a clue. I can give you the name of the company and the people you can talk to about it, but not much more."

"Yes please!" she jumped.

I pulled one of Pete Dennison's cards out of my wallet and passed it to her.

She looked at it and her eyes grew bigger. "Is this guy a friend?" she asked.

"Yeah. We worked together on some industrial fraud cases when he was a city cop and later when he went to Orca. You'd like him, but I have to warn you, he doesn't look anything like a private investigator. His nickname is 'High School' because of his youthful appearance. Just don't let it fool you. He's very good at his job."

I watched her face as she continued to stare at the business card. She was entranced by the concept. She had little hope of becoming an investigator, but I wasn't about to fire-hose her dream. Barry appeared again with our meals.

We ate in silence for next few minutes. It wasn't the best pulled pork sandwich I'd ever had, but it was pretty good. The hands-down best went to a little restaurant south of the D.C.-Virginia line called "The Dixie Pig." Nevertheless, I hadn't had one in a long time and I was enjoying it.

"So Pattie, I don't know your last name," I said, hoping to begin another conversation.

"Monahan," she replied after she'd swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. "Old Toronto Irish."

"And Pattie is short for Patricia?"

"Yup. My old man wanted a boy. It would have been Patrick. Too bad for him and too bad for me. I don't think he ever accepted my coming out a girl," she said with a touch of derision.

"I take it that you and your father are estranged," I suggested.

"That's the polite word for it," she spat, turning to look at me. I had stepped across some line I shouldn't have.

"I'm sorry, Pattie ... I know ... it's none of my business."

Her face softened and a small smile replaced the flash of anger. "It's OK. You can't help it. You're a detective, remember," she said lightly.

I snorted my reply and went back to finishing my salad. We ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

"He was a classic Irish drunk," she said out of nowhere. "He killed my mother and then he tried to replace her with me. I got out before anything ugly happened, but I won't forgive or forget."

"I'm sorry ... I shouldn't have been so nosey." I felt like shit. She was a nice young woman and clearly suffering from a bad parental situation. I'd seen plenty of them before. Alcohol, abuse, abandonment, the whole spectrum of destructive behavior. The innocent victims were just that - innocent.

"Let's find something more pleasant to talk about," she suggested.

"I'm for that. How long have you been in Sicamous?"

"A year. I got here late May last year and found this job when the guy who was supposed to work with Chuck didn't show up. He was a drunk too, and according Chuck, very unreliable. Chuck had hired him years ago and felt loyal to him, but being a no-show was a no-no, so he hired me when I showed him I could do the job."

"And you plan to head for the coast this fall?"

"Yeah ... I suppose. I would like to stop in and see those people at Orca Investigations. I might have something to offer them," she said vaguely. I wondered idly what she meant.

"How do you like this job?" I asked.

"Fine. It gives me lots of time to study, and I can work here at Moline's when the 'seasonals' all go home for the winter."

"What are you studying?"

"Accounting and business management. Distance learning at Ryerson. I get everything online."

"Good for you. How close to your degree?"

"I already have it. This is just some extras I wanted," she said, again with that matter-of-fact tone.

"So ... what do you want to do when you're finished the extras?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I told you. I want something like what you're going to do. I'd love to investigate things ... you know ... go looking for the facts, the truth. I've been taking forensic accounting at BCIT. Tracking down the crooks with numbers," she laughed.

"Hey ... I didn't know you had so much education. Maybe there is something Pete or his boss can find for you."

"We'll see. I hope so. I want to do something interesting with my education. I've been on hold for too many years. I need to get on with my life," she said seriously.

I laughed. "You're way too young to be worrying about that yet."

She looked at me with a frown. "How old do you think I am?" she asked sternly.

"Oh shit, not that game again. You know there is no good answer to that question."

"Come on, Mr. Hot-shot Detective. How old?"

I slapped my hand over my mouth and groaned. I knew she wouldn't relent until I pushed out a number. Too big and she'd be pissed off, too small and she'd think I didn't take her seriously. "Twenty-five," I surrendered.

"Twenty-eight," she said, still with the sober, serious visage.

"No shit?" I said, surprised.

"No shit."

"Lucky lady. You're going to look great when you're ..." I stopped myself. I was about to pull the pin on a grenade. Dumb-ass, I remonstrated myself. When in a hole, stop digging!

She laughed. The moment of tension was broken and we were back on good terms. No permanent damage.

"So now I know you're no green kid and you have a college education and you have ambition. Now for the tough questions," I smiled. "Can you dance?"

The band had started up and I was much more energized than an hour ago. I'd quit the introspection in favor of being with an attractive woman. Time for seduction mode, I decided.