By Morgan Stinemetz
daughter and her cousin out on the boat, and you all—except the daughter—smoked…? This was getting embarrassing, I can tell you. I have always been a church-going man and a symbol of moral rectitude. I never work on the Sabbath and can quote chapter and verse from the Bible. “Bubba, you must certainly be mistaken,” I said. “There is no way any of this could have happened.” “Do you remember that someone had a video camera out on your sailboat, and all the shenanigans were recorded on videotape that Lou still has and which she has played for me many times? Lou, tall, long legs that go all the way up to her butt and a smile as bright as the sun? You say you don’t remember her? Hell, that puts you right up there with a sitting president of the United States who said, on national TV, ‘I don’t know that woman.’ ” “Look, Bubba, I can’t remember everything that has gone on in my life. This may be one of those times,” I said, rather meekly, adding, “When are you going to get back here?” “I have no idea,” Bubba stated. “Lou has loaned me some money, so I am not so destitute. She said that you would pay her back when I got back to Sarasota. I am trying to hook up with a cross-country trucker who will get me back east.” “Wait a minute,” I exclaimed, “how can you make a deal with this so-called Lou about me reimbursing her for money that you borrowed because you got stranded on the other side of the country?” “Because she has the videotape,” Whartz said with emphasis, sounding as if he had been coached. “There are a bunch of sleazy television stations in the Tampa Bay area that will run anything as long as they can promote it as news. You’re a nationally-published author and there is no mistaking your bearded visage on the videotape.” “Well, seeing as you are still there, tell her I will take it under advisement,” I advised him. “I’ll have to discuss it with my lawyer.” “I’ll tell Lou that you said that,” Bubba replied. “And just to make sure that you know that she knows who I am and what I am telling you is the truth, I am going to send you a picture of her and me hugging. It will come to your cell phone. Maybe I could get a shot of you smoking something illegal if you don’t cooperate.” “That’s extortion!” I shouted into the phone. “I don’t know what that word means either,” Bubba declared.
I explained to Bubba, in some detail, what extortion was and how it was illegal anywhere in the United States. Bubba answered immediately. “So is disrobing in the front yard of a residence located on 59th Street in Bradenton. And on Easter Sunday morning, too. Have you no shame? And so is smoking something that the federal government has spent billions on to eradicate, sending people all over the country to jail for possessing it or selling it or growing it. “You used to have a sailboat didn’t you, a sailboat that you had for 30-plus years and sailed in regattas, cruised to the Keys, even sailed to Cuba?” triumphed Bubba. “Yes,” I said, for it was the truth. Bubba pressed on. “You named that sailboat, did you not? There was no one holding a gun to your head, forcing you to name your sailboat what you named it, was there? And didn’t you have the name of your boat on both sides of your boat? And wasn’t the name in silver on a white background so that it would be difficult to see at a distance? Isn’t that all true?” I couldn’t lie. I said to Bubba, “Yes.” I heard Bubba on the other end of the line say to someone else, “Lou, come here and kiss me again like you did before. I love it.” There was a long silence on the line—and I was paying for this call—before Bubba came back.” “Your last answer was ‘yes,’ was it not?” “Yes.” “And the name of your boat was…?” “Reefer” I said. And that is when Bubba hung up the phone. I have no idea of when he will come back. Right now, I’m not sure I care.
NAUTICAL FLEA MARKET Cortez, Florida - Oct. 26 (RAIN DAY OCT. 27)
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16th Annual Cortez Nautical Flea Market (941) 792-9100
News & Views for Southern Sailors
SOUTHWINDS
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