Chapter 22

The wind picked up and soon we were doing hull speed, hull speed is the design speed, the architect has mathematical formulae, graphs and charts that address the speed; the sweep of the hull, sail area, displacement and the length of water line. The Rhodes was seventy-seven feet on deck but sixty five feet at the water. With a displacement hull and all plain sail, it is a fact of life that the longer the waterline the faster the boat.

All plain sail means nothing fancy. Something fancy is a spinnaker.

A properly flown spinnaker will exceed hull speed design. The Rhodes has a hull speed of 10.8 knots or almost 12 and a half miles per hour.

We were in a Chicago Yacht Club guest berth by five. By six, Niels was a Member.

The chief had eggs to crack and smallfrye to apprehend. He went to Calumet City. But, the rat promised he'd catch the night train that Grace and I were taking to Sturgeon Bay.

Grace was late. "I'll catch up," she hollered.

We were sitting down to dinner at the club at seven-thirty. Mrs. Sorensen and her unmarried daughters were aloof ... I was hired help ... until Niels set that straight in the introductions.

Three point five million dollars was a lot of money in 1955 and they say money talks and bullshit walks. Things at the table were proceeding when a ravishing young lady stepped to the door.

The Maitre'D did his normal bustle and scrape. She spoke to his ear.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Certainement, mademoiselle, s'il vous plaît suivez-moi"

"Oui," she responded.

She followed the Maitre'D and as she walked the restaurant watched.

The men dreamed she was walking to them and the women fumed.

Grace was behind the Maitre'D but I caught glimpses of the Car shopping outfit.

I didn't know Grace had packed that outfit in her duffle. It was a year out of style but it wasn't a poodle skirt ... thank god. Grace was crinolines and a wide white skirt, a white high buttoned blouse, white silk stockings, white shoes with just the veriest hint of heel, and elbow length white gloves. She carried a tiny clutch purse in her folded hands. She topped it all off with a poof of a white wispy lace veiled hat pinned in place.

The exact outfit she wore car shopping ... except ... the look was absolutely different. She stepped out from behind the Maitre'D. I don't know where she found the time or who was responsible for the tiny stitchery but ... the blouse ... umh ... Grace ... wow!

Whoever had done the open cutwork and lacery had demonstrated that there was a lot of Grace under the white, now mostly translucent ... nearly transparent fabric. There was one very low cut thinly shoulder strapped camisole slip of open work just edging the bottom of the far more form fitting skirt. It was shorter, too.

But then, Grace was taller. (No ... she wasn't, the skirt was shorter.)

The gloves fit and the little purse was a riot of delicate yellow rose and vine embroidery. The only thing that was the same was that hat ... which was no longer square on her head but off to the right side and slightly back ... and there was a subtle white feather and it swayed as she swayed and as she swayed it was extremely evident that Grace was wearing no foundation garments. It was also evident that Grace needed none.

The sway? Ah ... Gone were the one inch little girl heels ... Grace was in white three inch heels ... and nylons. Grace!?!

I leapt to my feet.

The noise commenced but this time it was "No..." "Can't be..." "Impossible" "That impudent rascal..."

She offered her hand and the noise shifted to an inhalation of breath that I swear was going to suck the windows out of the dining room.

I took her hand and led her to Mrs. Sorenson.

"Mrs. Sorensen allow me to introduce Miss Grace Austin, my sister. Grace, I make you known to Mrs. Sorensen, and her daughters Brynhildr and Gretchen. Niels, you already know. Niels ... you're drooling."

He wasn't but it did break the very icy trio.

Both girls were enormously heavy of breast and were showing to advantage.

"Brynhildr?" asked Grace, "Are you by any chance namesake of Brynhildr, Valkyrie and Shieldmaiden? She was famous for the abundance of her charms."

"Please, call me Bryn." She pronounced it 'Bernie.'

"If you call me Grace," she replied.

Bryn looked to her mother ... it was easy to see who ruled the roost in the

Sorensen household ... Mrs. Sorensen nodded.

"Grace."

"Bernie."

They hugged ... and nearly caused a riot. Grace was much shorter and her nose burrowed between the massive mams of the tall blonde. The hug was longer than necessary.

"Gretchen?" said Grace.

The youngest Sorensen looked up, nearly terrified. 'Shy ... painfully shy, ' thought Grace.

"You are definitely not a Margaret, nor a Greta ... you are lovely, Gretchen."

Gretchen burst into tears.

"Gretchen," Grace had inter-poised herself between Mrs. Sorensen and her young daughter. She said "I find I have need of the ladies retiring room, join me? Please?"

'Good lord, Grace ... where did you learn tact?' I thought, 'It has to be Lucile Louise ... she is teaching women's secrets and Grace is moving beyond me.'

The food was fair, not Saturday night at the Antler... that is something special ... but alright for twenty bucks a plate. Mr. Sorensen out fumbled me at the bill and I paid.

One hundred and twenty for the meal and thirty for the tip. Waitstaff is notoriously underpaid ... and she was cute. "Hide that," I said. A minute later she was back and pressed a paper in my hand. I put it in my pocket and immediately forgot about it.

"I hate to eat and run but we have a train to catch and people to see in Sturgeon Bay. I'll say my good nights. Grace?"

We glad handed all around and the three of us ... three of us? Gretchen? The three of us caught a cab to the station. We pulled up, the train pulled in, Chief Olsen stepped off, greeted us, never really paying attention to the fact that we were three. Grace looked at me ... Yes Grace. I paid for Gretchen. Grace and I were prepaid through the C&O system. Pullman Sleepers are two bunked. Grace took the top, Gretchen took the bottom ... I took myself off to the Bar car where I spent the night playing Gin with Chief Olsen. Olsen is a whiz at Gin. I lost twenty bucks. He maybe a whiz at Gin but he sucks at conversation.

The first words out of his mouth were, "Your stepmother thinks you and Grace are getting too close and that's why I'm here." He paused, "I see it, too. Not a good idea, David ... even if it is her idea. I see that, too."

The lecture included, wayward dicks, galloping hormones, wayward dicks, sexy sisters, wayward dicks, and the dangers involved with wayward dicks. Each and every lesson included a lesson in Gin Rummy.

"It's your job to protect her from herself ... you're going to be in the eighth grade?"

"Freshmen In College"

That got a look.

"Michigan State University ... we have hoops to jump but mostly we're in Junior classes. We tested out of a bunch ... We should graduate in two years. Masters at Ann Arbor and Ph.D at Berkeley ... we're all signed up. Twenty one and teaching Engineering Mathematics at U Otago, Dunedin, NZ., simply on the strength of our testing."

I got that look ... I get it every time. "We're smart ... very smart, IQ off the charts, but we're kids and we have a lot to learn ... life can be, tricky, and sometimes quite surprising. I'm thinking that Grace has discovered she's bi sexual ... and she's practicing right now.

"Our intention is we take the boat to Detroit for our Masters. We sail around Florida, through the Canal and up to the bay and Berkeley for our Doctorate ... and across to NZ and home. We already own a slip and a small house in Dunedin ... small by our standards. We own stock in Speight's Brewery and hold will title to 51 percent of several vital pieces of waterfront and their associated warehouses when we're 21.