“Oh. It’s a trimaran, a yacht with a triple hull. Can’t say that I agree that she’s pretty. A sloop with a triangular mains’l is my notion of beauty.”
“Does look sort of squarish now. But swooping in with all its—sorry!— ‘her’ sails up, she was lovely.” (Twin, ask Jake if he thinks there is any way we could go on it?) (On ‘her,’ Eunice—not ‘it.’ Are you a sailor, hon?) (Never been on a boat in my life, Boss. But I’m getting an idea, maybe.)
(Maybe I have the same idea. Are you thinking about that talk with Jake when he pointed out a farm would mean even more staff and less safety than our house?) (I don’t care who thought d it first, Boss—just make sure that Jake thinks of it first.) (I shall, dear—do you think I have to be told that a ship is ‘she’? Or can’t recognize a trimaran? The real question is: Do you get seasick? I used to—and it’s miserable. But the fact that we haven’t had the tiniest bit of morning sickness makes me think you might be immune to motion sickness.) (So ‘let’s operate and find out,’ as Roberto says.)
“Oh, trimarans have their points, Eunice. You get a lot of boat for your money. Roomy. And they are almost impossible to turn over—safer than most small vessels. I just wouldn’t award one a beauty prize.”
“Jake, do you think you could get us invited aboard that one? She looks interesting.”
“Oh, there’s some way to swing it. I might start by talking with the manager. But, Eunice, you can’t go aboard a private vessel with your features veiled; it would be rude. Your granddaughters did you no favor when they made you as recognizable as a video star.”
“Jacob, a veil doesn’t enter into it because I never want to meet anyone as ‘Mrs. MacKenzie.’ I’m Mrs. Jacob Moshe Salomon and proud of it—and that’s the way I must always be introduced. Jake, I doubt if our marriage is news any longer; it can’t matter much if I’m spotted.”
“I suppose not. The copters might swarm a mite closer for a while and some would have pixsnoops aboard with telescopic lenses. But. I doubt if even your granddaughters are anxious to take a shot at you. If the snoops fret you, wear pants to sunbathe, and in the pool.”
“The hell I will, it’s our pool, Jacob. Anyhow, briefies can’t conceal the fact that I’m pregnant, and the sooner that’s in the news the less it will interest anyone later. Let them sneak a pic, then you have Doctor Bob confirm it—and it stops being news. No huhu, dear; I learned years ago that you can’t ‘get away from it all’—you just have to cope. Is it possible, on a boat of that sort, to have a swimming pool?”
“Not one that size. But I’ve seen trimarans much bigger than that one. Could be done, I suppose, since a trimaran can have so much deck space for its tonnage—I’d have to ask a naval architect. Why the interest, Lively Legs? Do you want me to buy you a yacht?”
“I don’t know. But boats look like fun. Jake, I never had much fun in my life—my other life. I’m not sure how one goes about having fun—except that every day is a joy to me now. All that I’m sure of is that I want to do something utterly different this time. Not be a Hetty Green. And not the gay, mad whirl of ‘society’—kark! I’d rather turn whore. Would you like a yacht, lake? Take me around the world and show me all those places you’ve seen and I never had time for?”
“You mean you didn’t take time.”
“Maybe it’s the same thing. I do know that, if a man acquires too much money, presently it owns him instead of his owning it. Jake, I’ve been to Europe at least fifty times—yet I’ve never been inside the Louvre, never seen them change the Guard at Buckingham Palace. All I saw were hotels and boardrooms—and those are the same all over the globe. Would you care to repair my education, dearest? Show me Rio?—you say it’s the most beautiful city in the world. The Parthenon by moonlight? The Taj at dawn?”