I tapped the tip of the pen on my notebook, impatient. The CEO from Sunshine Energy had been talking for ten minutes already and had yet to mention anything I cared about. He was quite nice to look at, what with his bronzed complexion and soft brown hair combed into perfect waves, but that only went so far with me.
“Finally, I know you’ve all been patiently waiting to hear details on a very exciting development: The Sunshine Clean Energy Plant. This new, natural gas facility will create clean, abundant energy for the Tri-State area that will benefit us here in Clamshell Cove, and throughout Long Island. Once the brainchild of the Wesselman Corporation, we at Sunshine have been privileged to inherit such a worthy project. The cherry on top, of course, is the fact that we expect the new plant to create over 200 new jobs, right here.”
He paused for effect and the applause was deafening; everybody seemed to be totally buying what this guy was selling. I refrained from clapping, which, to be fair, I couldn’t do if I wanted to since my hands were busy taking notes.
A gentle sea breeze blew through the pavilion, smelling strongly of salt and biology. I inwardly cursed the CEO, Laurence Hollander, for besmirching one of my favorite parks with his political shtick.
Hollander smiled, giving the audience a look at his perfectly white teeth. I wondered vaguely if he constantly used those little plastic strips that brighten your chompers; it was either that, or the man didn’t drink coffee, an idea that frankly disturbed me.
“Now I’ve rambled on long enough, and I’d love to take some questions. Yes, you in the pink?”
“Thank you, I’m reporting for The Long Island Scene: Is it true that you’ve been selected as Long Island’s No.1 Most Eligible Bachelor this year by The Hamptons Chronicle Magazine?”
Oh, give me an everlovin’ break, Tina.
I glanced over at the beach, where many families played in the gentle surf. I was jealous of them.
Not yet, Rory. Soon.
Hollander’s smile had gone even wider, which shouldn’t have been possible.
“I can’t comment on that, you’ll all have to see when the magazine comes out. It’s a bit embarrassing, heheh,” he laughed and fiddled with the neck of his tie a bit. He looked a little uncomfortable, but I was 99% sure that he was faking his discomfort and he loved being asked about it. “Does anyone have any questions that are not about my dating life?”
There was a laugh from the audience, then Hollander took some actual questions on projects he had discussed earlier in the talk. I frowned; no one was asking about the new energy plant. Sighing, I put up my hand.
Look, it’s the reporter that hates talking to people, who only does the job because it’s all she could do with an English degree. Great planning self, keep it up, wouldn’t change a thing.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for Hollander to call on me.
“I think we have time for a few more…yes, the lady in the back with the lovely, long dark hair? What is your question?”
I took a deep breath. “You talked about how great the new natural gas plant is going to be, but you’ve said nothing about how this new plant might affect the environment. Does Sunshine have an environmental impact plan?”
Hollander nodded briskly. “Yes, excellent question! We at Sunshine are committed to protecting Long Island’s beautiful native flora and fauna. Extensive environmental studies have been done, and we can say confidently that the impact to the environment from the plant will be negligible. Any other questions?”
He was ready to move on, but I wasn’t done.
“Those environmental studies were done by Wesselman 16 years ago, back when it was still their project. Thanks to global warming, a lot has changed in 16 years—way more algal blooms, for one. Are you planning on commissioning a more current study before you break ground?”
For just an instant, Hollander’s million-watt smile faltered. “The original studies done by Wesselman are sufficient. We trust the quality of those studies. Wesselman did quality work.”
“Are you sure? Because I thought Wesselman didn’t always do quality work, and that’s why they went out of business.”
There was an uncomfortable silence; a few people coughed.
Hollander’s smile stayed, but his eyes narrowed above it.
“To whom am I speaking? I feel it’s unfair that you know all about me and you are as yet a mystery to me, Ms. Reporter.”
I rolled my eyes.
Ms. Reporter? Really?
“Rory Keller, Clamshell Cove Courier.”
Hollander looked mildly bewildered. “I’ve never heard of a paper by that name.”
“It’s not a paper, it’s a blog. A news blog.”
There was another uncomfortable silence. A man started laughing, and then a few others followed. My cheeks burned, but I wasn’t going to respond. One of these days, they would all be reading my blog; I swore it.
Hollander chuckled and stared down at me.
“Oh, well isn’t that inspiring? I hope you find success with your news site, Ms. Keller. Thank you for coming.”
His tone dripped with condescension, but I’d known it was coming. I just continued giving him a flat look, my hazel eyes narrowed slightly.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The CEO cleared his throat.
“Well, if there are no more questions, I think it’s time to call it a day. I would like to thank everyone in the audience for everything you do to keep people in our town informed. Reporting the news is a noble vocation that should be taken seriously.”
His last line was said while staring at me, like he was trying to skewer me with his gaze alone. He abandoned the lectern and began walking towards his limo, despite the fact that other reporters had their hands up and were still clamoring for his attention.
I sighed and put my notebook back in my messenger bag. I had a voice recorder going the whole time so I could check the wording of the quotes I was going to use, but I still felt better if I took notes manually during press conferences; it put me into the right frame of mind. Other reporters started breaking off into small groups and moving toward the parking lot, but I was not one of them; smirking a little, I headed down to the beach. Harrison Park had a small, rocky beach, but it was good enough for my purposes.
“Keller!”
I looked over my shoulder and saw a sharply dressed man following me. “Yeah?”
“I’m covering this event for The Clamshell Cove Herald.”
I stiffened; the name of my old paper had a chilling effect on me.
“I’m Mitch Scuiter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I considered simply turning around and walking away, but even I wasn’t that rude. I put out a hand. “So you’re the one doing my old job. Nice to meet you.”
He shook my hand aggressively and I winced. I don’t think he was trying to intimidate me with his manly strength, he was just that excited.
“I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the Rory Keller. You’re a legend at the office.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, and today was the first day I’ve run into you. And you did not disappoint,” he said, laughter in his tone. “How much do you want to bet Hollander is going to fire someone today for not briefing him on the environmental studies?”
I shrugged. “Getting one up on him doesn’t make the Long Island Sound any safer.”
“That’s true. Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Okay. See you.”
I gave him an awkward wave and headed down to the water, happy that he hadn’t tried to keep me busy with more conversation. When I hit the beach I took off my black heels and carried them in one hand, feeling the rough sand against the sensitive soles of my feet, even through my stockings. The texture never failed to excite me.
Reporter Rory was all done for the day, and I was overdue for a little swim.
*****
There were many slabs of rock dotting the shores of Clamshell Cove. Lifeguards always tried to keep kids from climbing them, but without much success. As a I passed one of the bigger rock formations, I grinned as several little boys used the rocks like a diving board.
I moved away from the beach, disappearing into one of the rock formations that were beyond the lifeguard’s view. I slipped between two rocks, using an opening barely big enough for me, and entered what I liked to think of as my changing room. Quickly I stripped off all my clothes, wondering for the hundredth time why I’d bothered wearing pantyhose today. I was wearing a simple black bikini underneath. I put my messenger bag down, feeling a little worried about just leaving it here. Normally I didn’t come to swim after work, so it was unusual that I actually had my phone and wallet with me. But the fact that the press conference had been held on the water made jumping in for a swim too tempting to ignore.
Hey, if anyone tries to steal from me, joke’s on them: I don’t have any money.
Being a newspaper reporter had never paid well, but my income from the blog was effectively zero, and I was going to run out of savings eventually. I frowned, shaking my head softly; there was no point in dwelling on something I had no power to change, at least not yet.
Peeking my head out, I checked to make sure that no one had followed me out here onto these rocks. When it was clear I stepped out from between the boulders. I jumped into the water, the temperature shocking my skin. It was still May, early in the season, and the water of the Cove was cold.
I didn’t want to be seen because if a lifeguard saw me, they would panic at how deep I was going. I was a free diver, so I was used to spending a lot of time underwater. “Used to it”…I craved it. I needed to be underwater to think straight a lot of the time; I did my best planning for my articles underwater. When I was a kid I spent a lot of time in the pool underwater, pretending to be a mermaid; I never really stopped.
I swam around close to the surface, letting my dark hair snake around me as I relaxed into the feeling of being submerged. I was just floating there, thinking about what that Laurence Hollander might look like with no shirt, when I saw a streak of gray in my hair.
“What? No way!” I shouted, but of course all that came out was bubbles.
I couldn’t find the streak again no matter how hard I looked, so I decided it must have just been a trick of the light. I was 27; it was too early to have to start worrying about grey in my hair.
After swimming under the marina and admiring the hulls of all the racing yachts and party boats that were parked there, I decided to set out for my favorite shipwreck. See, the Long Island Sound is known to divers as “Wreck Valley” because there are so many sunken ships from all different eras of maritime history buried beneath the waves. When you look on a map and see how many there are, it seems insane to me that people kept trying to sail ships in this area, but I guess humans are optimists at heart. Most of the wrecks were looted for valuables a long time ago, but I held out hope that I might find something cool if I kept looking. I wasn’t expecting to find gold or jewels or anything, but a nice pocket watch would be fun.
I scissor kicked in the direction of “Margaret Rises,” a wreck right next to the shore. Margaret sank in 1952, so she hasn’t been reclaimed by ocean life as much as a lot of the older wrecks, making it easier to swim through. It was also the only one close enough for me to go to without taking out a boat and starting from further into the ocean.
After a few minutes of swimming, going to the surface once for air, I reached Margaret. The light was poor, and I kicked myself for forgetting to bring some kind of waterproof flashlight—I could have fit one in my messenger bag, after all.
Oh well, maybe next time.
I swam onto what was once the deck, admiring the layer of algae that now coated the entire boat. Trout darted in and out through the portholes, seemingly no more urgent in their travels than I. One fish got tangled in my hair for a moment, but with gentle fingers I pushed him aside. I got the distinct impression that the fish was grateful to me for saving him.
I just circled the ship, admiring the workmanship of it and letting all the cares of the day slip away. As I passed by the deck the third time, I noticed a small black shape standing out against the blue-green of the algae. Curious, I swam back over the railing to examine it.
The form was rectangular, with little black strings hanging off each edge. It was a leathery pouch, the discarded egg sack of a shark or ray. Colloquial name: Mermaid’s Purse.
I fist pumped a few times and went to grab it, excited. I collected Mermaid’s Purses, and I’d never seen such a big one before. This one was going on the wall.
When I touched it, I stiffened as some mysterious force seemed to take hold of my body. I straightened, trying to shake off the feeling of bondage, but moving seemed to make it worse. It was like my body was conducting a strange current, too bizarre to be electricity. Then something really bad happened: I passed out.
Unconscious, I was bait for the many small sharks that make their home in the Sound. I have no idea how I survived not just the lack of oxygen, but the sharks, but somehow I woke up in one piece. There was a little light coming from somewhere, but I couldn’t identify it. I swished around to find it, only for the light to seemingly dart behind me. I changed direction again, and the light remained behind me. It took me a minute to figure out that the light wasn’t really behind me; it was from me.
I gasped, drawing in a huge lungful of water. Unless I was somehow mistaken, the light came from the glow-in-the-dark property of the scales on a fish’s tail, or rather my tail.
Because that had happened. I now had a huge. Freaking. Tail.