A cold west wind rattled the bedroom windows. Mary and Ward sorted coins from Ward’s change bowl into paper sleeves to use for the boys’ weekly allowance. Although cuddling under a thick Feathered Star quilt, they could still see frosty breath when they spoke:
In addition to his job as the diplomat’s chauffeur, Mikel worked part-time as a bartender in a local tavern, The Happy Owl. He mopped and swabbed and chatted with strangers. When the diplomat’s creditors appeared in town, they usually showed up at the tavern first, and Mikel was able to warn the diplomat.
Nobody fought during Mikel’s shifts, and he allowed ladies to sit at the bar. The village women vied for his attentions, although everyone knew he had a soft spot for Lubya.
Except Lubya. She did not consider herself worthy of his attentions. The drive to Yalta was different. They whistled and played the alphabet game, and her headache gradually disappeared. She admired the H-O-L-D F-A-S-T tattoo on the knuckles of his fingers that clutched the large steering wheel of the diplomat’s big-finned Cadillac.
Mikel promised to show her the sights. The cathedral, the market, the Grand Exposition. She was very excited about visiting the docks and ogling the ships from all over the world.
He told her about his youth at sea with the merchant marine. To show off his familiarity with harbor life and to display his status to any former mates who might be unloading freight, Mikel honked his horn and nosed the shiny car onto a long, busy quay. He eased the truck out along thick, creaking timbers overlaid on blocks of granite.
They pulled up near a fancy yacht, flying a royal flag, tied up at the end of the wharf. As the car slowed to a stop, two gentlemen hurried down the gangway from the yacht’s foredeck, embroiled in a heated exchange.
One man wore a bowler, the other a monocle. The man with a monocle wheeled a brass-clad steamer trunk behind him. Mistaking Mikel’s chauffeur uniform for that of a bellhop, and the big car for a hotel limousine, he deposited the luggage at Mikel’s feet and ran off after the other fellow, still arguing.
Mikel told Lubya to wait in the car, while he hoisted the steamer trunk and chased after the pair. It was tough going through the crowds under the weight of the trunk.
Meanwhile, Lubya did not realize that the uncleating of ropes, the whistles, the sudden activity of the deck crew announced the ship’s departure. When Mikel finally reappeared, exhausted, his back hurting, still lugging the steamer trunk, the yacht was headed back out to sea, under a full set of billowing, red sails.