While Chelsea and Robert Wade were diving at their second site of the day, Stacy completed the first chapter of her short story (published as Chapter 6: Anton and the Mermaid).
When her passengers returned, she piloted them back toward the Bimini harbor.
“I was wondering,” said Robert, “I’d like to see the Sapona tomorrow. Can you take me there?”
“Delighted,” said Chelsea. “Shall we say, ten o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
Chelsea nodded, and started to turn away, when something about Wade’s stance puzzled her. “Was there something else?” she asked.
“I…uh..the Red Rum..”
Chelsea waved a hand and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. No Red Rum for me tonight.”
“Very good,” said Wade shortly. “Thanks.” And he spun on his heel and walked away.
Chelsea stared after him for a second, then turned, shaking her head, and jumped back on the Scylla. “Jerk,” she said beneath her breath.
Stacy had finished re-filling the air tanks, and stowed them away.
“We’re taking him out tomorrow, too,” Chelsea said. “The Sapona.”
“You said that a bit briskly,” said Stacy. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Chelsea. “Guy’s a bit…weird, that’s all.”
“Weird?”
“Oh, when I was in the bar last night, he made some crack about my drinking. And he just did it again.”
“You’re kidding!” said Stacy. “You don’t drink.”
“Not the way he seems to think I do, anyway. It’s just annoying.”
“Well, but he’s still going diving with you, so he can’t be too worried about it.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Still, it’s annoying. Just for that, I am going to go the Red Rum tonight, and I’ll have a beer in his honor. Want to come along?”
“Why don’t we skip the Red Rum tonight, and zip over to Paradise Island, instead. There’s a production of To Have and Have Not at The Compleat Angler Hotel that I want to see.
“Ugh…sounds dry. I never liked that book.”
“No, it’s not a play of the book. It’s a play about Hemingway writing the book at the hotel.”
“Oh, well that sounds much better,” Chelsea said without enthusiasm. “Tell you what, let’s see if Mom and Dad want to go.”
II.
Tourists came to Paradise Island for the scuba diving or the sport fishing. If they weren’t interested in outdoor sport, they went to the Aquarius casino. Those people too intelligent to gamble went to nightclubs, or, if they were looking for a bit of culture, attended the productions of the island’s local amateur theatre group.
Because the production was being put on by an amateur theatre group, innovative methods were used to make sure the audience had a good time. One of these was to have the actors, clad in full costume, act as ticket takers at the doors, as well as hover around in the lobby ready to answer any questions any of the theatre goers might have.
The Sutton family arrived at the theater in good time. There were plenty of tickets still available, so that they were able to get center seats in the fifth row.
“Aren’t you coming in, dear?” asked Stacy’s mother, they headed from the lobby into the auditorium, handing their tickets over to Ernest Hemingway.
“You go ahead, mom. I want to look at these photos some more.”
Chelsea, and their parents – Kay and Charles – went into the auditorium and settled down into their chairs.
Stacy remained in the lobby. Arranged on the walls were photos of the actors in the production – publicity head shots, as well as photos of action in the play. Stacy walked from one to the other, looking at them with interest.
As she turned away from the final photo on the wall, her eyes met those of a nervous-looking man dressed in 1930s garb.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he squeaked.
“I don’t see your photo on the wall. Who are you playing?”
“I’m not. I…I wrote the play.”
“How cool,” said Stacy. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“I hope you like it.”
Stacy, an aspiring playwright herself (as well as an aspiring movie-wright, shortstory-wright and novelist) said with a warm smile, “I’m sure I will.”
He gave another nervous smile.
“This has been on for two weeks, hasn’t it?” Stacy asked.
“Oh, yes. And played to houses a third-full each night. But heck, that’s the best we ever do here, anyway, so I’m not downhearted by that. No…I’m just always nervous before the play starts. Some actors get stage fright…I get….”
“Production fright?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“Well, I came with my family, so I’d better go join them. Are you going to be around after the show is over?”
“Yes, we all will be. Me and all the actors.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah,” he said, as she nodded at him and headed into the auditorium.
Well, hell, she thought, as she made her way to her seat. This play had better be good.
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