Chapter 41

Miss Vanderbilt said, “We’re kind of choosy about our members,” She handed me an application. It was pretty standard.

You know: Name, age, residence, place of birth, occupation, education, hobbies. Then it got personal: Boat; length between perpendiculars, beam, draft. Captain, a real quiz about the education and age of crew.

I filled in the information for the Swan. There wasn’t any more room.

“Miss Vanderbilt, do you have any blank paper?”

“What ever for?”

“The rest of the boats.”

“What?”

“I listed the Swan, but there are seven more boats.”

“Like what?”

“I just bought the Avance 33. In the boathouse there are a Sea lion 38 triple cockpit, a RIVA, a Baby Gar, a Chris-craft and a couple of small sailboats I don’t know anything about.”

“Petie?” Her brother almost ... not quite but almost ... snapped to attention, “ ... make like a sweetie and check out the boats.” She handed him several sheets with the Yacht Club monogram ... and a pen.

“I’m going too,” I said.

That got a look.

“I don’t know anything about ‘em,” I said. “If Peter knows what they are ... I’ll learn something. It’s like the cars. The only thing I know about the cars ... they’re in the garage. Mel hasn’t had time to introduce me.”

“You don’t need to be introduced, they’re cars.”

“These cars need formal introductions. The only American car that I know is on the place is that 1934 Cadillac shooting brake ... and I bought that so I could get the girls here from the airport.”

“You flew in?”

“I flew down. Seven of us. Six teenagers and a 22 year old.”

By now Pete realized I wasn’t going to go with him to look at the boats until his sister was satisfied. He meandered back. “Shooting Brake? Hearse you mean.”

“Pete ... don’t get on my bad side ... you won’t get to take me out to dinner if you do,” I said. “It was the only limo for sale locally.”

“I’m taking you out to dinner?”

“I never thought you’d ask, Pete. Tonight ... eightish?” I grinned at his look of dismay. “If you’ll tell me your preferred restaurant, I’ll make reservations.”

The boat house doesn’t have a God Gun like the garage. The God Gun is the black box that operates the garage doors. No ... the boat house has davits and a nifty electric railroad. The boats are stacked on a rotating jewelry display kinda thingy. Push a button and the boats rotate like cooking chickens on a commercial rotisserie. When the boat you want is even with the davits, push the button again. Mechanical magic happens. The boat is in the water and off you go. I don’t know any other way to explain it. I’ve never seen anything like it ... and I hope I never do.

We ... Peter and I ... walked to the boat house. It’s the tall narrow building by the breakwater. I pushed the button, the boats started rotating, Pete started writing and I watched.

“1968 Riva Aquarama, 29 feet, twin Lamborghini 4.0 V12s. 38 foot Sea-Lion 1938, twin Packard V12s. Gar Wood Baby Gar, twin liberty V8’s. Chris Craft got to be from the twenties ... Ford V12’s. 16 foot 1938 Herreshoff 12 ½, looks like a gaff rig... 19 foot mahogany plywood Lightning, probably just after the war. Hull 1222 yes... 1945. Gimmie a minute.

“Okay, the Riva is 2 million, the price is mostly motors. The Sea lion is priceless, the gar is about fifty thousand ... I have no idea about the Chris-Craft ... probably as much as the Riva. I’ve never seen a mahogany Lightning ... maybe twenty thousand? The 12 ½? Six or seven thousand. Not at all rare. Where would you like to go to dinner?”

“I’m here for the band ... What?”

“Bobby and the Silver Spur?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re from Wyoming?”

“Uh huh. So?”

“I watched the TNN news report.”

“Shit. McDonalds?”

“Oh no ... not getting away that easy.”

“Okay, I like to eat and I’m not dainty. A steak house or, better yet, a buffet. In Wyoming, we have places with huge steaks.”

“Texas de Brazil.” He said, “It’s a chain.”

“Spendy?” I asked

“I’m a Vanderbilt.”

“You work for the Club.”

“I volunteer at the club ... I’m part of the idle rich. Trust fund. I teach sailing to the kids, swimming to the teens, tennis and golf to the adults. Penny is the wage slave.”