Chapter 17. St. Tropez, France

1

In A.D. 68 the decapitated body of a Christian named Tropez, martyred in Rome and thrown into the sea, washed up in southern France. All these years later, the place is still known for body parts: toned and tanned and half-naked on beach towels, that is. For St. Tropez's Pampelonne is the beach for body parts, as it was here in the 1960's that Europe was introduced to topless sunbathing. 

Ironically, the French Riviera favorite isn't just known for nudity but its opposite, too. Fashion forecasters, merchants, and designers are drawn by its reputation for cutting-edge chic. They shop its skinny, cobbled streets lined with expensive boutiques. 

St. Tropez (pronounced san tropay) was one of the coolest villages Wind Surf lay anchor to. You didn't have to be an exhibitionist or celebrity to walk its beaches, but you felt like one. Certainly Aurelia and I did. The weather was great. We'd never have guessed it was November. Work was great. I'd never have guessed I was in the auctioneer's doghouse. Life was great. Without making too big a deal about it, Aurelia and I were enjoying each other. 

But we had nothin' on the three legged dog. 

While walking toes in the sand we were nearly bowled over by a large, shaggy dog as he raced into the sea. He didn't see us at all, so intent was he on a stick thrown by his humans. He leapt into the mild surf and splashed and surged and yipped and yapped. Once snapping his jaws onto the errant stick, he came trotting excitedly back out for more. Only then did we notice he had only three legs. That didn't slow him down at all! He bid his humans to repeat, and they obeyed. We hustled out of there, lest we be caught in the maelstrom of smiling, perky puppy. 

After the early morning stroll, we returned to the Surf—Aurelia to her oven for sleep, I to the lounge for tours. Cosmina had a busload of tourists who wanted to see the countryside of Provence. Not surprisingly, she didn't want Yoyo in charge. So I spent the whole day wandering the streets of various villages in Provence, such as Ramatuelle, Gassin, and Grimaud. It was an entirely different world, Provence. The people, the pace, even the hours lazed away like on island time. 

While I thought St. Tropez the stuff of dreams, others did not. Some thought it a horrible place. Susie, in particular, thought so and was very vocal about it. A group of us had tendered into town after dark: Eddie and Susie, Cosmina and myself—Barney and Aurelia were both working—and Natalie and Yoyo. While Susie led us around the quay she was nothing short of disgusted by what she saw. Or, rather, what she didn't see. 

As is the French style, the quay was artificially angular and lined with tall structures. Over the centuries they'd gotten crammed so shoulder-to-shoulder they became one giant wall of apartment. Borrowing from their Italian neighbors, each section of the 'wall' was painted a different color. This eased the burden on the eye but did nothing to ease the burden on the soul. The quay, while fascinating, felt entrapped. Above the wall rose the pointed yellow dome of a church. Just as the Eiffel Tower was the sole structure to pierce the uniform Parisian landscape, so, too, did the Church of Saint-Tropez break the monotony of standardized rooftops. Surely only a royal decree sometime past could explain such complete parity of height. 

"Doesn't this awful place have any restaurants?" Susie spat. Her eyes scanned the length of the quay, glancing over and passing by a dozen eating establishments. Indeed, the first floor of every structure in the 'wall' was either a boutique or a café. 

"We've passed a bunch," I answered, confused.

"I don't want a French restaurant," she answered snidely. Obviously I was being stupid. 

"Well, what do you want, then? McDonald's?"

"Yes." 

"Are you serious?" I asked, stunned. "We're in freakin' Provence and you want McDonald's?" 

"You don't like McDonald's?" 

"No, I don't," I responded. "But that's not the point. Live a little! You're half-way around the world. Why not try something new?"

"Are you in charge tonight, or am I?" she retorted. Eddie gave me a glance that implored retreat. I gave her a mock bow and acquiesced. 

That evening was indeed Susie's turn to run the show. Oh, did she lord it over us. When someone else happened to select the itinerary or organize an outing, she claimed to think nothing of their role. But with her in charge? She was in charge. Or so she thought, anyway, and reminded all of us—continually. 

She also couldn't stop reminding us how tough she was. Vicious, in fact. That's what Francois had said. So Susie said it, too. Again and again and again. Now, I'm no stranger to self-glorifying stories about how tough I am and stuff, but this chick was completely desperate for attention. Is that what everybody thought when I opened my mouth? Perish the thought. 

All that had happened was that Francois had taken some paperwork from her and, in the process, messed up her personal system. This caused her more work, so next time she guarded it from him. He laughed and called her vicious. That's it. That was the story. Yet before we'd even left the tender she had dropped the word 'vicious' at least twenty times. 

It didn't help that her narration kept getting interrupted. So Susie returned to the subject of her viciousness again and again. Far worse than logistical interruptions, such as boarding the crowded tender, was Natalie and Yoyo. Seeing that they were with two couples that night, they took it upon themselves to play couple, too. Considering Yoyo was about five feet high and Natalie was over six, they were an arresting sight. 

"Vicious! That's what Francois said after he messed up my paperwork, and—what are you doing?" 

Yoyo had hopped into Natalie's arms and flung his skinny arms around her neck. 

"I have my own system," Susie continued. "I know what I'm doing, and he just—are you two kissing?"

Yoyo began peppering Natalie with kisses. 

"I know what I'm doing, and he messed up my paperwork, so I—will you two stop it?"

Nibbling of ears. Giggles. They began comparing long fingernails. Of course, Yoyo had them only on his pinkies. 

"Oh my God, stop!" 

Those of us unable to hide our snickers received a nasty glare from Ms. Vicious. In exasperation, Susie flung a hand out at the very next restaurant and declared authoritatively, "We're here!"

"Here?" Cosmina challenged, surprised. "You sure? It looks—"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Susie interrupted (viciously). 

What Cosmina was no doubt going to say was 'expensive'. In Susie's haste to take back control of the situation, she'd obviously figured any port in the storm. This was perhaps unwise. But she marched in as if she were Prince Albert of Monaco—who'd dined there quite recently, in fact. She gave orders like royalty, too. 

"There will be six of us. Well, then put those two tables together! Yes, those two. No, we will not be needing the wine list. Bring some water. Yes, we'll have cocktails. What do you mean you don't have Miller Lite?"

We situated ourselves around a long table along a brick wall heavy with photographs of celebrities. Sylvester Stallone. Michael Douglas. I seriously thought I was the only American to have ever sat there who hadn't won an Oscar. We shared uneasy glances. Susie didn't notice, having made a point of not meeting anyone's gaze. 

Only then did she look at the menu. She couldn't read French, of course, but she could readily identify behind each item a helluva lot of zeroes. Alas, Susie may have thought she was a princess, but her budget did not share her confidence. She looked exceedingly nervous. She motioned everybody closer. We all leaned in. 

"Okay," she whispered. "When I give the order, do what I say."

The waiter returned. Everybody leaned back and began conspicuously lounging, glancing at anything but each other. A giant basket of bread was served: gorgeous, steaming, fresh-baked loaves of crusty French bread. Susie stared at them as if they were baked gold. She looked like she was about to panic.

As the waiter finished his action, Susie whispered, "Ready..."

Cosmina, not appreciating being ordered around, opened her mouth to protest. But just then the waiter walked away. Susie pounced on the opportunity, hoarsely whispering, "Run." 

"What?" I said, surprised.

"Run!" Susie repeated urgently. She pushed Eddie out of his chair with great force. He tumbled out awkwardly, then hastened out the front door. We fled. So fast did Susie bolt from the table, she kicked over her chair. We ended up sharing a bowl of olives at a neighboring bar. 

Susie continued with her self-congratulatory talk about being vicious, while the rest of us politely ignored her restaurant misstep. All but Eddie, that is. Whenever Susie wasn't looking, he shook his head in disgust. After two or three times, and two or three beers, he suddenly declared, "Tomorrow! Boy's day out. Who's with me?"

Susie stared at him, shocked. Eddie didn't let her retort, but pressed onward. 

"Brian? Yoyo? You guys in?"

"I'm photographing a tour," Yoyo said. 

"Unfortunately," Cosmina muttered. 

Recognizing this as a cry for help, I agreed to join Eddie. For the rest of the night Eddie wasn't the only one avoiding Susie's angry glare. 

So the next day Eddie and I tendered into Marseilles. Surprisingly, the first order of business was going to McDonald's. While the Golden Arches were an American creation, it was foolhardy to think they'd only enslaved the 'natives'. Eddie insisted upon such fare and I acquiesced. 

"Please don't tell Susie," Eddie begged. "She'll be furious if she knows I did this without her." 

"We could always tell her we went to a strip club," I offered. 

"She'd take that better," Eddie agreed grimly.

Afterwards we hopped on a ferry, bound for some exceptionally unique places. First we toured the quarantine islands of southern France, the Iles du Frioul. They were a series of gnarly-shaped islands two miles offshore of Marseilles. The rugged, bare rock was ignored for millennia, but eventually deemed the perfect place to quarantine plague victims. While it is unknown how many men and women succumbed to their disease—real or suspected—certainly nobody lives there now. Dotted here and there about the islands are the ruins of the quarantine hospital and even an old fortress used by the conquering Nazis in WWII. As interesting as the rugged islands were, they were nothing compared to what awaited us on the island of If. 

Chateau D'if (pronounced deef) was startlingly similar to San Francisco's famous Alcatraz. Both were heavily fortified, hardcore prisons on a rock in a bay just outside a major port city. Both were constructed to house particularly bad or celebrity inmates. Because Alcatraz rose from the frigid, lethal waters of San Francisco Bay, it was considered escape proof. Ironically, Chateau D'if—lapped by the welcoming, beautiful waters of the French Riviera—proved to be more so. Why? Because Chateau D'if was not about rehabilitation, but retribution. They shackled you to a wall in a tiny stone room with no windows and watched you writhe until you died. 

The prison itself was originally a fortress built to defend Marseille. It looked exactly like you'd expect with sheer walls, round towers, and battlements. Storms of angry waves and angry men were rebuffed by a thick stone sea wall. This protected the one landing on the small island, more or less. Even so sheltered, the waves made disembarking tough business. This was in no way a place for ease or comfort. This was a brutal place of stone and iron built by men of the same. 

Upon entering the fortress, fascination sours into nothing short of horror. The cells are tiny, dismal, and filled with a chill that can only come from centuries of torture and death. The courtyard is small and cobbled. A dramatic stone staircase spirals tightly up to the second level. The mezzanine is lined with the awful cells, each its own shape and configuration. The only uniformity is shackles and the desperate scratchings of fingernails in the rock. 

I'd never heard of Chateau D'if, even though the literary great, Alexandre Dumas, wrote extensively about it. Not only did he write The Three Musketeers, but also The Man in the Iron Mask. The latter swashbuckling affair was inspired by real life, with Chateau D'if being home to the poor bastard in the title. His 'suite' was a vaulted brick tomb with a small fireplace, a table and chair, a bitter breeze for companionship, and no hope of escape. Another notable inmate of Chateau Di'f was written in The Count of Monte Cristo. Unlike the mysterious Man in the Iron Mask—who was probably in reality the twin brother of King Louis XIV—the Count was fictional. 

After wandering the fortress prison awhile, Eddie and I moved to a table sitting crookedly upon a rock overlooking the sea. The wind whipped by forcefully on its way to the keep, where it whistled through the arrow slits and battlements. Even out in the sun I suffered a chill. I couldn't even imagine being locked in that breezy, damp hell hole. It was weird to sip cappuccinos and play civilized while gazing upon such a Medieval atrocity. 

"The irony of this is killing me," Eddie commented. "I was in quarantine for three days and felt like I was in jail. I finally get out and what do I do? Tour a quarantine island and a prison."

"We're all creatures of habit," I consoled with a smile. 

"I'm officially running from my girlfriend today," he added.

Recognizing that this was the moment Eddie had been waiting for, I lent an ear. 

"I wanted to die in there, man. Three days locked in a room with somebody you like is tough, but when you're at each others' throats all day? Awful. The funny thing is that we didn't even talk." 

"Then why was it so bad?" I prompted gently. 

"Silence is worse. I guess there's so much to talk about we didn't want to bother starting. I don't know. All I know is that my sense of adventure is growing and hers is gone. Being a dive master is awesome. But Susie just wants to go home." 

"Home has a strong pull for many," I agreed. 

"She just wants to be the princess again," Eddie scoffed. "We're both from a small country town where her dad owns a bunch of things. When we first started dating back in high school everybody called me the gold digger! I wanted out of that town big time. In the beginning Susie was kind of swept up in my sense of adventure, I think. When the opportunity to become a diver in St. Maarten came up, she came with me. I think she only agreed because she knew it was a short term thing. But we stayed for over a year. And why not? We were living in paradise, making money, diving. It wasn't just play, either, because it was great for my getting into the RCMP as a diver. I didn't want it to end, so I convinced her to join me for a contract on Surf."

"The Wind Surf seems to spell doom for many a relationship," I commented lightly. "Yet I find myself loving it here." 

"Me, too!" Eddie agreed. "What's not to love? We're seeing the entire Mediterranean! But Susie hates it. I'm getting sick of her bullshit. I think she's just scared of not being in control. She wants everything familiar, all the time. That's why she wanted to find a McDonald's yesterday: so she wouldn't have to try something new and risk not liking it. You saw what happened when she was forced to step outside her comfort zone. She made a fool of herself." 

"Well, we've all done that," I offered. Eddie shrugged, recognizing the remark for false chivalry. 

"We're growing apart and Susie's getting desperate to stay together. She squeezes tighter and I pull back harder. A downward spiral, eh? We only got together because it's what you do. I'm not feeling the love and don't know how to break it to her. She was always high maintenance, but she's never been so bitchy before. I don't think she realizes she's driving the wedge deeper."

 Eddie scanned the sexy blue of the Mediterranean, breathed in the salt air, and smiled. 

"An entire afternoon with no drama," he sighed. "I'm so glad Susie's not here." 

"I'm glad Cosmina isn't!" I joked. "We're not even a couple but seem tied together at the hip. Still, imagine how much worse it would be if they were both here." 

Eddie laughed and said, "We'd push 'em in a cell and throw away the key. I'd think Cosi would lighten up now that you're with Aurelia."

"Oh, we're not really a couple or anything," I said. "Just a ship squeeze, I guess." 

"Well, Susie's mad at you because of it. She sees us growing apart and sees you two happy and fresh."

I nodded, musing. 

"I'm going to keep going," Eddie finally admitted. "Farther and farther. It's what I want to do, but also because I know sooner or later Susie will drop out."

Eddie finished his coffee and added with a mischievous smile, "And it's easier than confronting her." 

2

Though I happily toss out some good-natured grumbling about going into port with Cosmina, the truth is that more often than not we manage to have a good time. Every time Wind Surf docked on the party island of Ibiza, Spain, for example, we had fun. Sometimes that meant getting wildly drunk on sangria and gorging ourselves on tapas. Sometimes it meant getting a tattoo. And sometimes it was all about a sex shop.

"Won't Barney be upset?" I asked her as we walked through the cobbled streets to the small sex shop we knew was hiding among the ancient multi-level stone labyrinth. Ibiza was a bizarre place built up over a millennium of war. Where cannonballs were once stored now boomed world-class discos. Ramps once kept clear for rolling cannon up to parapets were now laden with passed out ravers. Many had been up for so long, dancing night and day and night again, courtesy of drugs, they had finally exited to the fresh air and passed out wherever they were. 

"He's huge," I continued. "I don't want to make him mad." 

"You know how laid back he is about these things," Cosmina answered. "It takes a lot to get him angry. Of course you don't want to be around when you do. Anyway, he knows there's nothing between us. Plus I said I'd pick up something nice." 

"Now we're talking!" I teased. 

The shop was very small but packed with merchandise. While the walls dripped all manner of sex toys, the center was dominated by bins overflowing with discount porn DVDs. So large were the DVD containers that shoppers were pushed into narrow aisles along the walls. This brought them nose-to-nose with dildos, vibrators, latex masks, and all sorts less mainstream amusements. Anyone uncomfortable about the subject matter got over it real quick, or fled screaming into the night. 

"I saw Yoyo here earlier," Cosmina suddenly said. 

I looked at her in surprise and said, "You came here earlier? You told me you were too embarrassed to come alone." 

"Not exactly true," she admitted with a shrug. "I had just arrived when Yoyo came in. At first I freaked when I saw him. I don't want to even think about what he's buying here. When he saw me he tried to pretend he was all straight and stuff. I don't know why he bothers. It was funny, though. Anyway, as soon as he saw me, I ran as fast as Susie in a French restaurant." 

"Nice," I said. 

"Oh my God," Cosmina cried, bringing her hands to her mouth. "I recognize something!"

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She burst out laughing. 

"You have no idea how proud of you I am," I said earnestly. "Please, do tell."

"I saw it in Sex and the City," she replied. She tried to say it flatly, but her wriggling lips gave away her joyous mood. "It's called the Rabbit." 

My eyes scanned the multitude of offerings, but spotting a specific toy was like finding a needle in a stack of needles. 

"Here," she said, reaching up to pull a box from a peg on the wall. 

When she presented the sex toy, my eyes widened in surprise. My needle analogy was sadly insufficient. This thing was, well, humbling in its size. Behold: the Vibratex Rabbit Pearl!

"I've got to get this!" she exclaimed. Then, realizing she said that aloud, she suddenly grew embarrassed. "Oh my God, I can't pay for this. What if someone sees me?"

"Well, I'm looking at you right now," I replied. "In a whole new light, I might add." 

"Stop it," she chided. "I'm serious. I can't have any passengers seeing me with this." 

"There's nobody here but us," I pointed out. "Look, I'll buy it for you. No biggie." 

Though it was obvious Cosmina wanted to purchase the Rabbit, doing so still required much coaxing. In the end I had to buy several German porn DVDs—enough so that she felt I deserved to be more embarrassed than her. With her shiny, new, naughty item tucked safely away in a nondescript shopping bag, I figured the matter was closed. As it turned out, it was just getting started. 

"Oh my God!" Cosmina suddenly cried, aghast. She came to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "How will I get this through security on the ship?" 

"Why would they mind a vibrator?" I asked, confused. 

"They have to scan my bag," Cosmina explained. "That means everyone will see its X-ray on the screen!"

I started chuckling. 

"Honestly, I'd like to see that," I admitted. "But can't you request a personal search instead?"

"And have the chief know it was mine? No way! At least if I'm in line there could be confusion over whose bag it is." 

"You need to embrace your sexuality," I teased. "I say scan that thing!"

"Everyone else will see it, too," she lamented. Her brow furrowed deeply and she eyed the nearby sea. She was apparently considering chucking the offending item into the drink. 

"Fine, fine," I said. "Give it to me. I'll pretend it's mine." 

"No," she said slowly. "I'll just board last—very last. That way no guests will see.”

And so it was we boarded the ship very last. Just before placing her bag on the X-ray machine, Cosmina nearly made a run past the guards. At the last moment she composed herself by lighting a cigarette. 

"You know you can't light up here," the security guard grunted, surprised. 

"Oh, sorry," she said. She dropped her shopping bag on the machine and ran back down the gangway to dispose of her cigarette. Now at a safe distance, better to gauge the guards' reactions, she watched her bag slide into the machine. Instantly the monitor was emblazoned with the brilliant halo of a gargantuan mechanized dildo. It was fascinating, actually. The individual pearls—which I presume spin around inside the shaft—radiated like a tumor. 

Creepy analogy aside, the whole situation was quite hilarious. I couldn't stop laughing. Neither could the security guards. Cosmina was so embarrassed that she nearly ran away into the night, forgetting about the ship entirely. Only reluctantly did she set foot back aboard. This time she did run past the guards, forgoing the usual pat-down. They watched her go, laughing even louder. 

But the joke was far from over. Because nothing was scanned afterwards, the embarrassing image remained on the monitor all night long. We had assumed security would power off the machine and the image would disappear forever. Alas, they kept it going all night. Whether this was standard operating procedure or sheer malice, I don't know. 

Even worse, the image was up half the next day, too, for Wind Surf arrived in port late after twelve o'clock noon. As the passengers queued up to tender out, they had loads of time to regard the X-ray in great, glowing detail. Cosmina led the first batch of tour guests down to security and saw it. She nearly swooned upon recognizing her Rabbit Pearl vibrator. 

Oh, it was precious. But the laughing died soon after, when Eddie sent two kids to the hospital with broken skulls.

Alas, falling badly while riding a banana boat happens a lot. In fact, it's part of the fun. But that day just off the shores of Lipari Island, Italy, two young men fell not just badly, but devastatingly so. The teens had been riding the banana boat with their parents. The raft hit a rogue wave and all four were smashed into each other. The timing was just right and the momentum just wrong; the two boys knocked heads. 

The younger teen suffered a mild concussion. His older brother appeared to have broken an eardrum. Blood trickled out of his ear. Dr. Faye gave him a full review, but was unable to identify to her satisfaction where the blood was coming from. She insisted both boys have full scans on the shore. A good thing, too: he had a cracked skull and internal brain hemorrhage. Fortunately, having identified the issue early, he was treated and was ultimately just fine.

Late that night I found Eddie in the ship's library. I'd been looking for him for hours, unaware he'd gone ashore to the hospital with the family and Faye. I didn't know what to say, but knew what needed to be said. It wasn't his fault. I knew Eddie well enough to know he'd feel completely responsible for potentially killing that boy. But just because he was driving the boat did not mean he could predict—let alone stop—a rogue wave. The sea had been glassy smooth prior to the accident. Certainly he wasn't driving too fast because the Zodiac boat was old and literally incapable of speeding. No, it was not Eddie's fault in the least. In fact, it had been his cool demeanor under pressure that had gotten both semi-conscious boys safely out of the water and to the doctor. But like all real heroes, he didn't think of himself that way. 

The library was small, appropriately bookish, and quiet. Though inside were only Eddie and Susie, the atmosphere was crowded—crowded with regret. Eddie was just staring ahead, overwhelmed by it all. It was painful to see him being so hard on himself. It was even worse seeing Susie be selfish in Eddie's moment of need. As I entered the room, she was using his lack of protest as an opportunity to push her agenda. 

"This is proof we shouldn't be here," Susie was saying, "Just another reason. One of many." 

Eddie ignored her. 

"It's a sign from above," she pressed. 

Eddie slowly turned to look at her. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was most clear. 

"A sign?" he rebuked sharply. "A sign from above? You think God had me nearly kill two boys as a reminder that you wanna go home?" 

She leaned back, surprised. She began fussing and said, "Well—" 

"Get the fuck out of here!" he seethed.

Susie did as ordered. She ran towards the door, tears streaming down her face. In her effort to escape she collided with me, nearly knocking me off my feet. I watched her run down the corridor, then turned back to look at Eddie. He sat alone among the books, now quiet, now composed. I decided to let him be and closed the door.