Chapter 28

I was several stages past miserable. I had made the tragic mistake of sitting on a deck chair to talk with Mr. Schuberg. Schuberg's stories of Chicago were entertaining ... if stretched a trifle ... but it passed the time. It had been years since Joseph had had a captive audience. Well into his ninth decade, he recalled the events that had shaped the town. The capsize of the overloaded excursion steamer ... the Great Fire ... prohibition. Every now and again he would have a sniff at the salon door. Finally he left the door open and shut down the fans.

"We were eternally grateful to Mrs. O'Leary and her cow. It was one disaster that couldn't be blamed on the Jew."

Mrs. Schuberg brought lunch.

That was when I discovered I couldn't move. Unable to rise and greet her respectfully I was thoroughly abashed ... embarrassed even. My Grandmother would be turning over in her grave. It was beyond enough that I had been forced to call Mr. Schuberg by his given name ... that I couldn't show respect to a lady practically induced me to tears.

"Can't move?" queried Joseph.

"No. And it hurts to try. My muscles down there don't work and don't WANT to work."

"Show me," demanded Mrs. Schuberg, as she twitched away the light blanket covering my legs.

"Mrs. Schuberg, please." My efforts to stop her were to no avail. With a sharp inhalation of breath by way of exclamation, she had my pants down and thoroughly examined my wounded parts.

"Joseph. This is not good ... call Abe."

"Yes mother, David? Where is your telephone?"

"Telephone? We use the one at the club."

"Why? You're paying for service ... it's part of the dock fee."

He left the boat and boarded his motor yacht. My ears were abuzz as Mrs. Schuberg lightly poked and prodded in areas that would have produced serious blushes if it didn't hurt so bad. And hurt it did ... agony.

In the due course of time, an older gentleman approached with his black bag ... not only did he have the accouterments of a doctor ... he possessed the attitude. Bedside manner? He had none. Gruff and demanding he pushed and pulled me not bothering to admit I hurt.

While he was gleefully playing the part of a German Concentration Camp physician, the telephone man came.

"Where do you want it?" he asked. "Oh shit ... that's gotta hurt!" he exclaimed as he moved to where he could see my exposed injuries.

"Want what?" I groaned.

"The phone."

"I'm getting a phone?" I should pay attention more. The installer went into the salon.

"Part of the club service," said the club manager as he boarded. He, too, exclaimed at the condition of my groin. "I have been wondering why you and your sister always come to the club to use the phone. The weekend man has been replaced. We'll have you fixed up in a jiffy."

The manager conferred with the installer who had just stepped out of the salon, "Something's dead in there," he said.

Mr. Schuberg commented, "You should have been here earlier."

"No, he shouldn't," I said. "We barely survived."

Joe cackled. "I was amazed that you exited the stench as fast as you did."

Since it had taken me eons to move from point A to point B, I said, "It wasn't fast enough."

The doctor and Mrs. Schuberg had, evidently, decided that I might live ... if I didn't move. I was informed that a male nurse would be moving in and where did I want him?

"I don't ... want him," I said. "My sister will take care of me."

"And where is this sister?" the doctor asked.

"She's working."

"If she is working, she's not seeing to your care ... the nurse will be here before five this afternoon."

His attitude was, 'defy me at your peril.' I glared ... he glared ... I lost. The nurse would arrive before Five.

"Where do you want the phone?"

"I don't know? What are my choices?"

There were previously installed phone jacks in every compartment except the crew quarters ... I had my choice. That I didn't know there were jacks everywhere shows just what kind of attention I paid to my boat.

"Make it easy on yourself," I told the installer, "Fill 'em up."

He grinned and went to do my bidding.

To the doctor I said, "Send your damn nurse ... if we could I'd keep Grace and Sally ... Oh ho ... you don't know about Sally?" I asked.

No body did. Sally had to have her own membership because she wasn't related but resident ... that made the manager happy. Sally cost five hundred dollars for the duration ... since she was a fixture of the chandlers and in and out of the docks constantly, I'll bet he pocketed the money.

The phone guy was happy because each marine grade telephone cost one hundred and twenty-five dollars.

There were eight ... including the one under my elbow. The whole shooting match was waterproof and had clips to keep the handsets from jumping off the dial base in storms.

The damn things were heavier than fuck oh dear ... and ugly ... black bulky things ... except for the one in the master stateroom ... that was a white and gold monstrosity of a French design. I knew Grace would love it ... she did. The other seven would make great clubs ... but that came much later.

Everyone finally left ... except Joe and Ethyl ... they were responsible for my continued discomfort and stuck around until the Lyman utility launch came putt putting around the south end of the breakwater. They retreated to their boat. The two of them were laughing like mad ... something was up.

Grace and Sally weren't surprised to see me on the deck chair in the cockpit. Sally made a rush to the salon and points beyond.

"Mr. Schuberg sprung ya, I see," said Grace

"Yeah..." I offered, "He was here most of the day ... the stories that man knows."

She settled in the the second deck chair ... or rather, her butt was almost touching the canvas when the phone rang ... instant elevator. The shrieks from deep within the confines of the boat were great. Sally had no more idea than Grace.

The nurse stuck his head out and said, "Mr. Austin ... it's for you."

"David.

"Hello, Mr. Schuberg.

"Yes ... quite the leap.

"Did Mrs. Schuberg get the picture she wanted?

"Good bye, Mr. Schuberg."