“I guess I need to take a step back and tell you guys a little bit about my life before I ever set foot on that boat,” Jonas said. “Back in the real world, I work on Wall Street, advising companies who are considering mergers and acquisitions mostly, and sometimes helping them go through the merger process.”
“Do you know my brother in law, Jim Backus?” asked one of the men who Jonas hadn’t yet been introduced to. “He works on Wall Street. Bear Stearns, I think.”
“No,” Jonas said, nonplussed. “I don’t think I know anybody who worked at Bear Stearns.”
“Good,” said the man with a nod. “He’s a real smarmy asshole. Always going on about subprime this and hedge funds that. Thinks he’s better than me just because he went to some fancy college and wears a fucking suit and tie every day. What a prick. Don’t know what my sister sees in him.”
“I know the type,” said Jonas. “Thankfully, my firm is pretty different from that kind of place. We’re smaller, more boutique, than the big guys. Everyone chips in and pulls their weight, from the receptionist to the big man on top. But at the same time, everyone also looks out for each other. Go above and beyond. It’s pretty great, really. I love my job.”
“It’s good to love what you do, Jonas,” said Roy. “I don’t think you’d ever be able to pull me away from this life.” He stared wistfully out at the beautiful sea. “Most of us here on the Point Bridge are the same. Well, except for Willy, that is.” The Second Mate gestured at the youngest crew member in the group. “He’s getting off once we swing down through the Canal and get back around to Los Angeles. His wife’s expecting their first child in September and Captain Maxwell has promised to get him there by August, at the latest.”
“Congratulations Willy,” Jonas said. “That’s amazing news. Truly wonderful. Just be sure to never let your child go near a coconut. Coconuts are the devil’s fruit.” The gathered crew burst out laughing, missing the deadly serious expression on Jonas’ face. “Fucking coconuts,” he muttered under his breath.
“Anyway,” Jonas continued, “my team was working on a merger that just kept wanting to fall apart at every turn. We finally managed to drag the deal across the finish line, but everybody was burned out. After the final meeting, our boss walked into the conference room and ordered all of us to take a two month paid vacation.”
“Very generous for a Wall Street type,” said Roy.
“He’s a great boss,” said Jonas. “The members of my team all cheered and raced out of the building, but I stuck around to clean up and get everything filed or shredded. My plan for the break was to just hang out around my apartment, relaxing and maybe getting a bit of work done when nobody was paying attention. But my glorious plans were foiled by Mary Ann, my scheming secretary, who apparently knows me too well. She intercepted me when I was finally getting ready to leave and shoved a plane ticket to Sint Maarten and a week-long hotel reservation into my hands. Told me I wasn’t allowed back in the country, much less the office, until I had a serious tan and, as she put it, ‘obtained some chill.’”
The men chuckled at his rueful, hangdog expression.
“I don’t know if I managed to get any chill on that fucking island, but I definitely got the tan down,” he continued. “Anyway, I made it to Sint Maarten by noon the next day and was going stir crazy within three days. Sitting around on the beach and sipping fruity drinks out of fucking coconuts has never been my idea of a good time. Joke’s on me, I guess.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“How did you get from Sint Maarten to that island in the middle of nowhere then?” asked a crew member in oil–splattered coveralls. “According to the Captain, there was fuck–all around where we found you.”
“The poor lady at the front desk finally got tired of me coming to bother her about finding something to do and pointed me to her cousin’s boat rental business. Said he would give me a good deal on something that I could use to tool around the various islands until I was allowed to go back home.”
“See, nobody can resist the lure of the sea,” joked Roy. “It calls to you. Pulls you in and sets you free.”
“Yeah, right up until a novice sailor ends up running into a fucking hurricane in the middle of the Caribbean,” snapped Jonas. “It wasn’t even fucking hurricane season but there it was, a fucking wall of clouds as far as the eye could see. I had no idea where I was or how to get back to a harbor or shelter or whatever. Really no clue at all what you’re supposed to do in the event of a hurricane.”
“Nothing much you can do, really,” said Roy. “Not in a boat the size that you had. There was nothing you could have done at that point. But it all worked out in the end, I suppose. You’re here, safe and sound, on the lovely Point Bridge.”
“That’s something, I guess,” said Jonas. “Anyway, I tried to get as far away from the clouds as I could, but they caught up to me pretty fucking quickly. Last thing I remember was being tossed about in the cabin, losing my footing, and slamming my head into something. Everything went black at that point.”
Jonas shuddered at the memory and Fitzy put a wrinkled hand reassuringly on his shoulder.
“Woke up some time later sprawled out on a window,” he continued. “I guess the storm threw the boat up onto that island. Looked like it rolled a couple times over before wedging up against a couple of trees, tipped on its side. I managed to crawl over the stuff strewn all over the cabin and sprawled out on the beach. Think I passed out again at that point because it was night when I woke up.”
Jonas fell silent at that point, staring out at the horizon.
“What happened then?” asked the excitable Willy. “What happened after you woke up on the island? How the hell did you survive alone until we found you?”
“Huh? Oh. Nothing too crazy, I guess. I gathered up some debris and scattered supplies, made a shelter, and then pretty much just lived life one day at a time. Ate too many fucking coconuts, that’s for goddamn sure. Never again.”
His audience was dumbfounded and baffled at the unfathomably lackluster ending to what should have been an epic tale. They shared confused glances before Roy was silently elected spokesman.
“Jonas,” he began, “no offense, but that was awful. Just a truly terrible way to end your story. Do me a favor and never, ever, ever, tell the story like that again.” Jonas stared at him in confusion.
“What was so bad about it? I covered all the key details, didn’t drag things out too long, and slandered the coconuts. How else should I tell it?
“You just skipped over all the interesting details, Jonas,” Roy exclaimed. “What kind of adventure doesn’t have some good juicy bits? A mishap or two, a close call, a brave attempt at escape, something. Anything. How will you ever lure a lusty lady with your harrowing tale of survival if you just wave your hand at the good parts?”
Jonas blushed and looked down in embarrassment.
“Never been much good at wooing the lusty ladies, really.”
“Stick with us, son, and we’ll have you telling sea stories like a seasoned sailor in no time,” said Fitzy, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Show him how it’s done, boys.”