I spent the next morning and early afternoon cleaning the boat. She was decidedly a mess. I started with the topsides, sprayed, brushed, and even buffed a few places. Then I rewarded myself with a cold Kalik and started below. The head, the sinks, the teak. Hell, I even vacuumed the throw rugs and scrubbed the floor. Then I started on myself. Fresh shave, shower, washed the hair, clean clothes. It’s okay. You can call me Mr. Clean from now on, but thank the gods, I still have my hair. I don’t quite have his build, and my skin looks more like tanned leather, but my 6’2” frame still features some hard ripples and grit.
There was a hint of fall in the air. The sun had lost it burning intensity and the glow bathed me in a warm and comforting blanket. I knew from my time in the Carolinas a few years back that it was only a few weeks before winter began to bluster in announced by the north wind. With Sunny by my side, I could survive that. I heard the old Saab pull into the parking lot. Sunny had the top down. Hey, enjoy it while you can. She talked mostly about her classes. B. F. Skinner was the flavor du jour. Interesting guy. I always thought he was at least partially correct about the Behaviorism. We all like to think that we are masters of our own destiny, but there is little doubt that our environment and those things we carry with us from our youth dictate many of our decisions. It’s only the degree which is in question. We were on campus within ten minutes. I figured I could make the ride on my bike in another ten or so. Definitely manageable, and I damned sure needed the exercise. She didn’t mention the girl.
She pulled the Saab into her assigned space and we entered a brick four story building. Old Georgian architecture, tall windows, white columns, just what you’d expect from a sedate southern institution of higher learning. Her office was on the third floor. It was small, but neat, with the obligatory wall of book shelves and a scarred wooden desk with a black leather chair that rocked and pivoted. All very academic. We had barely settled in when there was a light tap on the door. Sunny bade entrance and there was a slight creak as the wood swung inward. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
Pam Wallace was small. An inch or two less and she could have been a munchkin dancing down the Yellow Brick Road in “The Wizard of Oz”. Her features were unremarkable, almost tiny, like her body. Her face was plain and pale, almost sickly. The nose a bit too plump for her face and her lips were oversized. Her hair was more like fine straw. She wore a green sweatshirt two sizes too big with UVA emblazoned on the front. I couldn’t even tell if she had any breasts. A pair of wrinkled, baggy, jeans with holes at each knee covered her legs. The shoes looked like rejects from the Salvation Army. So red that they made her undersized feet look diseased. She kept her head down, but extended a cool ghostly hand.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Professor. It’s nice.” I had to turn my head to hear the mouse like tones.
“Thank you, but its ex-professor. I am currently an over educated boat bum. You can call me T.K. Everyone else does.”
I barely heard the muffled giggle, but I have to admit, it was somewhat endearing.
“Ms. Elgar tells me you’re going to come hear me and Shorty tonight.”
I looked at Sunny. She hadn’t told me that part. She nodded and shot a reassuring glance in my direction. “Trust me,” she said, “you’re gonna get your socks knocked off.”
“Sounds great,” I said rather half-heartedly. I had been hoping for an instant replay of last night’s carnal festivities, but I reminded myself one mustn’t be greedy. Even if I damned sure was.
That was it. After Pam left, I asked a few questions, but I didn’t get many answers. Sunny obviously had something up her sleeve and she wasn’t quite willing to show those cards. At least, not yet. Every time I asked a question, she just said, “It’s music. You can wait. But you just met an American Treasure.” Sunny knows me as well as anyone. Hell, I’m still in mourning for Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix and I had to add Jack Bruce and Joe Cocker to that list just recently. If Sunny told me I could wait, she was probably right.