(Backstory: A friend was going through a rough period so I offered to write him a story in short installments. To wick up his fun and the challenge for me, each night he provided a concept to be included in that piece of the tale.)
His chosen concepts: Stormy, Sailboat, Criminal Mastermind, Sharks with Lasers, Computer Virus
JB’s Story
I had chosen this cabin with great care. It was far enough away from my neighbors to afford me a measure of privacy. While it only consisted of a few rooms, they were all large and, to my eye, well appointed. I’m no decorator so I just chose pieces that called to me. As a result, my furniture didn’t match. But it was all top of the line and afforded me a great deal of comfort so who cares?
Then there was the real jewel of this Scottish hideaway. A giant flagstone deck that spanned the entire east side of the house and held my hot tub. I’m not a morning person and I had known this was MY cabin when I saw how the hot tub looked out over the North Sea. I could just imagine settling in for an evening soak, while I watched the storms forming over the roiling water. Storms, or more broadly weather and its many patterns are a specialty of mine. I had taken up studying it after my sailing lessons came to abrupt end.
The CEO of my mother’s trading firm was indicted for insider trading and some lesser included charges and the firm folded. But I figured weather was the next best thing. I could learn for free and I knew I would return to sailing someday. I had promised my 11 year old self that it would happen. And when that day came, my ability to understand weather would be crucial.
As I spent some time one sunny afternoon on my putting green, I’d begun to ponder if the time had come to fulfill that promise to myself. The cabin was for me. A getaway. For solitude, peace, reflection, and relaxation. Rustic and designed for comfort.
The sailboat would mostly the opposite of that. Not just for travel, but also for company, activity, entertaining, and all things exciting. Sleek and modern and designed for opulence.There was only one thing to do. Contact my accountant.
See, a few years back I sold my invention. It was a cigar cutter with a twist. A simple idea really. I had been kinda stunned when I began researching patents and discovered no one had ever applied for something similar to my design. I had put every last penny I’d had into figuring it out, making a prototype, and hiring a lawyer to help me navigate the whole process.
Fortunately, my best friend all throughout high school had a very analytical mind and had become an accountant, even going so far as to get her CPA license. She had helped me make the most of my financial windfall.
Seriously, the woman has such a deep understanding of all things finance, she could be a criminal mastermind. Luckily for me, she used her powers for good and not evil. She has turned my small fortune into a slightly larger one, despite my penchant for the finer things in life.
As I sipped my sweet iced tea, I resolved I would have her over for dinner as soon as she was free so we could discuss my upcoming purchase. A few days later, as I watched the saber whistling through the air, I began to wonder if maybe things were getting out of hand.
I had invited my accountant over for dinner and spent the day preparing my famous beef Wellington, twice baked potatoes, and some other fresh veggies from the garden. After splitting a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon with dinner, we’d moved on to dessert, strawberry shortcake. Which of course necessitated a nice Moscato d’Asti.
Then we really got down to business. I’d been stalking the Robb Report for months, making sure I was aware of every bell and whistle that was available for my sailboat. We may have been a bit tipsy when we started filling out an order form. It all started pretty normally as I selected trim levels and finishes for each area. Somewhere along the way, we had switched from wine to rye and the additions got really out of hand.
“You need, like an army of mermaids to swim with you and keep the kraken at bay,” she had suggested.
When I’d replied that they would be in charge of the sharks with lasers, we’d dissolved into a fit of giggles and decided the order was complete. Which of course meant we needed to celebrate, champagne.
That’s when my accountant had grabbed my saber from the wall, claiming it was THE BEST way to open the bottle. Before I could object, there was a swish and a crack. We both stood there, a little dumbfounded that it had worked. We finally regained enough wits to pour it into a couple of flutes. I don’t remember much of the rest of the night.
Two years had gone by since that night. I had fixed up my order form although removing the sharks with lasers was a sad (and funny) moment. Once my accountant had wired over the funding, work had begun on my ship.
It was a long build, hindered part way through by a computer virus that tore through the company and had them shut down for weeks. It had to have been a nightmare for them. I’d heard through a very reliable grape vine that half of their data was safely stored off site but while their DBA was working to restore the rest, he had discovered another virus hidden in the code that was a ticking time bomb.
If he continued working to restore everything as he had been, the virus would have been activated and wiped them out completely. This next part is just a rumor, so I’m sure you won’t repeat it, cough, cough.
A little birdie told me they had to pay a big ransom to get that one removed and that was what really led to the delay. But all of that was in the past now. I’d rounded up all my new sailing buddies and we were getting JB’s Twist ready for its maiden voyage.
Standing on the teakwood deck, the smell of ocean thick in my nose, I was itching to start the adventure. We had laid out a course that would take us over toward Norway. Then it would just be a matter of finding a good spot to anchor and we’d have the ultimate aurora borealis viewing party.