Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“Oh I've met a lot of you guys in the Caribbean, good sailors, and damn hard workers,”
Harry praised. “Good-looking men from South Africa too. How old are you?” he asked,
staring through to my soul, his eyes never blinking or leaving mine.
“Uh, I'm thirty-two,” I answered, a little forced.
Just then another young crew arrived through what must have been the galley door. “Dinner
is ready when you are, Harry,” he announced proudly as he cast his eyes around to look at
us.
“Thanks Hugo, hey, meet the twins from South Africa, Jonathan and Gavin.”
“Oh hi, welcome aboard!” he said, flashing a warm smile and returned to his galley. A
wonderful aroma of food had wafted out of the door, and I realized how starving I was. The
whiskey was going straight to my head, and I was feeling a lot more relaxed after the ten
days out at sea.
“Did you guys build Déjà vu?” asked Tony, as he flicked on a music tape, his rather apolo-
getic voice cracking. I turned quickly to him; he looked sad all the time; he had the symp-
toms of an alcoholic; his rheumy eyes were red and tearful, and his drink shook in his
rough calloused hand. He did look a kindly soul though, very gentle and oversensitive; I
wondered what his story was.
“Yes, Jon and his wife Judi did. I helped when I could on the weekends,” answered Gavin.
“That's quite amazing, and you sailed it all over here from South Africa,” Harry stated,
staring at me again with renewed interest. I felt like a bird staring at the hypnotic eyes of a
snake. “I would certainly like to see your boat, Jonathan.”
“I'd be happy to show you,” I said politely.
He stood up and steered us towards the dining table, spread with the classic, starched
white tablecloth, gleaming silverware, and candlesticks. There was even a bowl of blos-
soms floating in a carved wooden bowl, obviously gathered from shore. That was the touch
of a woman or a feminine man. No, I believe I was justified in suspecting that Harry was a
wealthy gay man with his toy boyfriends out on a cruising sex spree. I did not want to be
too judgmental in this regard. As long as they kept it to themselves and did not try to foist
it on myself or Gavin, I really couldn't care less.
Bottles of white and red wine were produced; both were uncorked and Mike sprang up and
went around turning over the delicate stemmed glasses as he poured the wine for each of
our fancies. It was almost too much, too theatrical. I began to get a little wary of all this
attention. I looked across at Gavin. I knew that he was aware of the situation now, and
he carefully raised his eyes to the ceiling while no one was watching. He surreptitiously
