Pink Martini, Part II

Sheesh, with the time it has taken me to finish this story, you would have thought I were part of the writer's strike!!! This is a continuation of the 10/2/07 story about how Jess and I opted for a more economical and adventurous way to see Pink Martini in concert....

So, I left you last at the moment when Jess and I, despite having hand-inflated a far-from-seaworthy vessel, decided to embark on that dinghy and paddle it to the Pink Martini concert across the bay.

The moment I stepped into the dinghy, I could hear the loud hissing of escaping air and the gurgling of incoming water. Still, we were unfazed. An electrifying sense of adventure had filled us both.

I settled myself opposite Jess, securing our bag of Mexican food to the side of the dinghy. Night had set in, and the water was placid, black ink surrounding us. We floated calmly for a few moments as we got settled and poised the paddles for paddling.

Suddenly, a bright light shone into our eyes from someone on shore, who shouted "Get out of here, NOW!"

We were bewildered. The flash light was in the hands of a tall 30-something guy wearing jeans and a ski jacket, who demanded loudly, "WHO ARE YOU? WHAT are you doing here?"

I was speechless, but Jess answered "We just stopped by to pick up some food!" (Which is hilarious, since all there was were a bunch of rocks and mud...were we suggesting that food had been left for us by an elf on a boulder?!)

"Get AWAY from here, NOW!!!" he insisted wildly.

"We are trying to get out of here," Jess replied calmly. (I kept my mouth shut, wondering if the guy was packing heat). Meanwhile, I tried madly to paddle away, but, instead, found myself subject to that ridiculous paddle reorientation period that afflicts those who only rarely row a boat...despite my best efforts, the boat just turned in circles.... Jess found inexplicable courage and countered boldly, "And who are YOU?!"

The man faltered for a second but soon replied, emphatically "I am...an OFFICIAL!!"

We paused and looked at each other in surprise, trying not to laugh. "An official of WHAT?" we both wondered aloud (though Jess was probably the only one he heard). I was immediately thrust into one of Gilbert and Sullivan's satirical numbers under my breath:

I am the very model of a modern Major-General,
I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral...

The crazed guy must have felt invigorated by his comment, because he delivered this next verbal blow with obvious self-satisfaction: "You people need to go back to your limos and get the heck out of here!"

Uh - was he being ironic? Maybe he was able to peer into the future and see great successes in our horizons? Or maybe the comment wasn't so strange. After all, who wouldn't come to the conclusion that we had arrived via limousine - here we were, two girls in old clothes, barely floating in an audibly dying dinghy that had just launched off the rocks near - but NOT on - the pier of the Yacht Club. Every intuitive fiber in that guy's being told him to be suspicious of the two dangerous, spoiled rich girls, armed with an inflatable seacraft!!!

Miraculously, just then, I got the hang of paddling and put some distance between us and the madman. Still, he kept the flashlight trained ardently on us as we paddled off across the bay. We nearly wet ourselves laughing.

It was time to crack open the beer and the food. By that point, there was about a foot of water in the bottom of the dinghy, and we were bailing several times a minute, so everything was either moist or on the verge of getting soaked. It didn't matter. We ate our misty nachos and drank our salty beers and took turns paddling towards the lights. We had no lights of our own, no life jackets, no cell phones, nothing. We also had no worries.

I knew that Jess would know where to go. Jess is one of those people who just knows. Somehow, without ever having done this before, she navigated the moored boats and the small canals, and we floated up a narrow corridor to the spot where people with the same idea had gathered in boats to listen to the concert.

We rowed up as silently as two girls paddling and bailing water can row. We attracted the attention of the pirate-esque man in his kayak and the blissful couple lounging in each other's dry arms. An elegant party lowered their wine glasses to peer down from a sailboat at the spectacle we were creating, despite our best efforts to be discrete. They smiled kindly.

"Are you ladies really bailing?!" someone asked.

"Yep!" Jess responded in a loud whisper. It was then that they noticed that we were also inflating our craft. It wasn't immediately obvious, because I had adopted the stealthy position of squeezing the accordion pump between my legs, a la Thighmaster. This was a point of great amusement. A nice man asked if we needed any help - one lady offered her husband. We politely declined their generous offers and continued along our way.

Instead of hanging back in the rear like people with any shred of embarrassment would have done, we paddled our way up front and explored a bit, making friends as we went. The concert was simply beautiful. The music filled the night sky and resonated through every person, interconnecting us with the same vibrations. A smattering of stars spread out overhead. We felt peaceful and awake and alive. Everyone forgot what it was like to be lonely.

By the time the concert was over, Jess had chatted up nearly everyone we passed. We paddled back to shore as a friendly fleet. They showed us a much more reasonable place to disembark - an actual pier! We deflated the dinghy, loaded up Jess' car, and said our farewells.

When I slipped in the door of my house, I was muddy and waterlogged and breathless with laughter. I couldn't tell a bit of it to Geoff in any way that he would understand, which, sadly, broke the spell. He looked at me confused, then kissed me goodnight. I was home.