Emmy And Me

I got up early, as I always do, and since Emmy was still dead to the world I went out for another run. I ran around the island clockwise, since I’d done it counter-clockwise our first morning in Key West. I hated running when I first started doing it at Sammy’s recommendation, but now after doing it on a regular basis for over a year and a half I’d gotten to the point where I could just disengage my mind from the actual running and let my thoughts drift.

This particular morning I was thinking about Emmy and how much she enjoyed performing, but mostly how she just turned on in front of an audience. It didn’t seem to matter if it was for just a few or if it was a giant concert hall- as long as there were people to perform for, she was happy to put on a show.

Emmy was still asleep when I got back to our room, so I took a quick shower and then woke her up. “Time to get up, Em,” I said as I kissed her cheek. “We have to get going fairly soon.”

“Do we have to?” whined Emmy, squinting her eyes against the daylight.

“You made the arrangements, so you don’t get to complain,” I chided.

Sighing, Emmy got up and took her shower and got dressed. She perked up a bit during our late breakfast on the back patio. It always amazed me that half of a grapefruit and a cup of coffee were all she needed in the morning, when I would be hungry all day if I didn’t get a full helping of protein and carbs.

“Leah, thank you for last night,” Emmy said.

“What for?”

“For letting me play at Jordie’s restaurant. This is our honeymoon, and I should be devoting all my time to you, but yet you allowed me to spend a night doing something else.”

“Em, I didn’t allow you to do anything,” I said. “I’m not the boss of you. If you want to play your new guitar for a free dinner and drinks, that’s your choice.”

“Oh, but you are the boss of me, Leah. You are. You are the one who is best at knowing what to do, at making plans. You are the one who rules me here,” she said pointing to her head, “and here,” pointing to her heart.

“By some odd coincidence,” I replied, “you rule me in those places, too.”

On the drive to where Geoffrey and Hunter were staying (since it wasn’t actually on Key West proper but actually the next key over) Emmy said “I am having a wonderful time, Leah. I wish we could simply be on vacation like this forever. Perhaps we can drive back to Palo Alto instead of flying? Make it a classic American road trip? I have always wanted to see New Orleans!”

“I’ve never been,” I agreed. “That would be cool.”

Geoffrey had said that their hotel had its own marina and they liked to stay there when they came down because it had good slips for their fifty foot boat. Finding the place was easy enough, and we got directions to the marina visitors’ parking from the guy manning the lot. Spotting the marina store, I suggested to Emmy that we go in and get a dry bag for the things we were bringing with us. I didn’t want our phones to get wet or anything like that.

“This is exactly what I meant,” she said as we loaded our things in our new waterproof bag. “You think of everything.”

Hunter had spotted us, so he led us to where Geoffrey was getting the boat ready. When I’d heard ‘fifty foot boat’ I’d imagined a sport fisher, or maybe a little yacht type of thing, but this wasn’t anything like that. It was longer than a city bus, but so sleek it looked more like a rocket ship than a normal boat. The black, gray and green paint job looked like the color of money, and judging by the owner’s work, it was undoubtedly intentional. I could see no cabin, just an open cockpit that started a little behind halfway down the length, with two seats in front by the low windshield and three more in a second row.

“Um, Emmy, this might be a bad idea,” I said, looking at the arrangement. Geoffrey had said it was an hour to get to the fort, which meant at the minimum Emmy would be in the full sun for more than two hours, and if this boat was anything as fast as it looked (and it looked extremely fast) there was no way her sun hat would survive the experience. I’d made sure we really covered her with the sort-of greasy waterproof sunblock on top of her normal special sunblock she always wore, but still…

“Why do you say that?” Emmy asked, her thoughts clearly not going in the same direction as mine.

“There’s no shade,” I said as we walked down the dock.

“Geoffrey told me that there was a way to get out of the sun and wind if I needed to,” she replied, but I didn’t see how that was supposed to happen.

Following instructions, we took off our shoes before stepping on board, and to my relief, I saw a little set of stairs leading down between the front seats into some sort of cabin.

“Hunter, could you please show the ladies where to stow their gear?” asked Geoffrey as he started up the motor. The incredible rumble from the engine made it immediately obvious that yes, this boat was as fast as it looked, which had me even a bit more worried as Em and Hunter disappeared into the cabin area.

“Do you guys have hats?” Geoffrey asked me, satisfied the startup procedure had been flawless and everything was running correctly.

“Emmy just has her big sun hat,” I said. “And I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

Snorting a quick laugh, Geoffrey said, "No, not really.” He hollered down to Hunter “Hunter, could you grab them some hats from the port bin?”

Soon enough Emmy and Hunter returned to the cockpit, Emmy sporting a baseball-style cap with an AMG logo on it. She handed another to me, which I accepted gratefully. Hunter stepped back onto the dock to undo the lines, pushing the boat away a bit before stepping back on like he’d done it hundreds of times. Probably had, I guessed.

Geoffrey carefully maneuvered the boat out of the marina, keeping the engine idling until we got out a little bit and past the buoy marking the marina’s zone.

“I’ve never been on a boat in the ocean before,” I confessed. “I think this is my third time on any kind of boat, ever.”

Emmy said “I have never been on one like this,” with excitement in her voice.

“Well, we’ll take it easy for a bit, then,” Geoffrey said, and I was glad he wasn’t going to be macho about it. “If you start feeling sick, the best thing to do is look outside the boat, at something far away, like the horizon, or an island or something. If you’re feeling queasy, let me know. We have dramamine and it’s always best to take it before it gets too bad.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I have no idea if I get seasick or not.”

“Eh, it’s no big deal. Everybody does at some point or another. But if you feel you’re going to be sick, just holler and we’ll deal with it.”

Geoffrey had gradually eased the throttle on, so we were cruising along at maybe twenty-five or thirty miles an hour. “Just until we get clear,” he’d said, looking around for other boats. As soon as we were maybe two miles offshore, he increased the speed again. I noticed it wasn’t a gas pedal like in a car, but a big, fancy slider handle to his right that moved forward for faster, back for slower.

“How are you two doing?” he asked, looking back at where Emmy and I were sitting, checking out the scenery.

“I’m fine,” I replied, and Emmy nodded in agreement, so he picked the speed up even more. I had no real good way to gauge the speed, but if I had to guess I would have said fifty miles an hour or so.

“O.K.?” Geoffrey asked, having to shout now over the noise of the boat on the water and the roar of the engines. We gave him a thumbs-up, so he sped up even more. Now the boat was going so fast it was hardly even touching the water, just skimming across the top of the glassy smooth Caribbean.

Emmy was clutching my hand, squealing with delight at the speed. “How fast are we going?” I shouted to Geoffrey, curious. It felt pretty damned fast, but it didn't seem the big motor was trying all that hard.

“A touch over ninety miles an hour!” replied Geoffrey, looking at the GPS.

“How much faster can it go?” I yelled.

“I’ve had it up to almost one hundred and forty, but that was under perfect conditions! It’s too rough today!”

As much as Emmy and I were both enjoying the thrill of speed, I was glad Geoffrey wasn’t pushing it to try to impress us. Heck, I was impressed enough at just under a hundred miles per hour, and getting bounced around plenty as it was.

Pretty soon the island fort came into view and Geoffrey eased off the throttle. Dropping down to fifty after that speed almost felt as if I could get out and swim alongside and keep up! It seemed so slow it was funny. I mean, I know that wind resistance is exponential to speed, so at half the speed we only had one quarter of the wind, but the difference was striking. At one hundred, it was impossible to hold a real conversation but at fifty we could talk like normal people.

“Do you guys want to go straight to the island?” Geoffrey asked.

“Um, what are the options?” I asked, unsure what he meant.

“Well, we could tool around a bit before going in, we could stop anywhere and swim, if you want, whatever,” he replied, being a good host.

“We can swim here?” Emmy asked, looking into the crystal blue Caribbean waters.

“Sure,” Hunter said. “All we do is just stop the boat and go swimming. The water’s great!”

Leaning out to look straight down, Emmy said “But there in nothing to see here,” her voice doubtful.

“Well, how about I bring us in closer to the beach, then. We can’t get too close, because this boat doesn’t have an anchor.”

“What does that mean?”Emmy asked.

“It means that if I shut off the motors so we can swim, the boat will just drift. It isn’t a problem if we aren’t too close to shore, because we’ll drift with it and we can just start it up if it goes too far in the wrong direction, right? But that means that we can’t get too close to the beach,” he explained. “The other option is that we can tie up at the dock and swim in the little harbor there.”

“That sounds perfect!” said Emmy, still buzzing from the speed.

The docks were mostly empty, presumably because it was a Wednesday morning, so we had no problem getting a spot. Geoffrey suggested we do the tour first, then swim, and it sounded good to me. Walking through the old civil war fort, Emmy and Hunter walked ahead while Geoffrey and I followed.

“Emmy’s show last night,” he said to me. “It was amazing. I’d seen a few videos of her band, you know, and pics on magazine covers and so on, but seeing her in real life- she isn’t what I expected.”

“Yeah?” I asked, wondering where he was going with this.

“She’s isn’t like any rock star I’ve ever met. She isn’t full of herself at all, for one,” he explained. “Also, the way she looks- I’d assumed it was some sort of affectation, her coloring, but in person you can clearly see that’s the way she is,” he mused.

I didn’t see any need to reply, and I didn’t think he expected one. “She's just so much like a kid, you know?” he asked.

“Yeah, in a lot of ways she really is,” I agreed. “And there’s a reason for that,” I told him. “I think it’s because she really didn’t have a normal childhood, for one,” I said, not voicing my other theory that it had a lot to do with Emmy knowing she had less than half the normal life expectancy.

Our conversation soon turned to other things, mainly business. We got to talking about banking, me complaining that it seemed banks were leeches drawing off their share and him countering that it takes money to make money, and having access to capital is a service banks provide.

Eventually the conversation turned to the idea of private banks, and when I mentioned that I’d been seriously considering the idea of a family office for our financial needs he perked up.

“You do understand that basically requires at least a hundred million in assets, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Emmy and I would just barely be able to justify it, but if I can talk her parents into the idea, then we are way, way past the threshold.”

“She’s French, right? Her parents are French?”

“Yeah, which complicates matters, being that they live mostly in Europe.”

“No, it probably doesn’t,” Geoffrey said, getting excited. “If they’re European high net worth, they probably already have some sort of Swiss or offshore concierge banking, so they might be more willing to go along with the idea than you might think.”

Soon I was so lost in the discussion of fractional reserves, Cayman offices and Swiss accounts that I hardly paid any attention to the fort we were walking through at all. All I can really remember is lots and lots of bricks.

After the tour we went back to the boat and crowded into the small cabin for a light lunch and some drinks, then walked out onto the key that was basically a sandbar to a secluded beach. Hunter had brought a big beach blanket and Geoffrey and I sat down to continue our conversation while Emmy and Hunter splashed around and swam in the water.

I don’t want to make it sound as if Geoffrey and I didn’t do any swimming, but we didn’t have nearly the fun that Hunter and Emmy did. Eventually it was time to head back to the boat and then back to Key West. It had been a lot of fun in the sun for Emmy, and I could see she was starting to fade a bit.

“Em, are you doing O.K.?” I asked as we settled into our seats.

“I feel… I think I was in the sun too long,” she said, her voice soft.

“Geoffrey, is it alright if Emmy chills in the cabin?” I asked. “I think she overdid it today.”

“Sure, no problem,” he replied, and Hunter led Emmy down to get comfortable.

“She doesn’t really do to well in the sun,” I said, explaining. “She gets headaches. That’s why she wears those mountain climber sunglasses.”

“That sucks,” he said sympathetically. “I wish I’d known. We could have skipped the swimming.”

“No, I don’t think we could have,” I said. “The whole reason she wanted to come to Key West was to go someplace tropical so she could swim in the ocean at a white sand beach. That’s always been a fantasy of hers.”

“I’ll keep the speed a bit lower going back. That’ll make it a smoother ride for her down there, maybe she can get some sleep,” he said.

The more I talked with Geoffrey the more I had to admit that my initial impressions had been way off. I’d tagged him as a middle-aged playboy millionaire, the typical arrogant asshole you meet all the time, but really, he’d been a far more considerate host on this trip than I could have expected, and a much more agreeable conversationalist. He hadn’t been condescending at all when educating me on banking options, to my surprise, and he hadn’t talked down to Hunter even once that I’d seen, which I was glad to see. Usually wealthy older guys do patronize their much younger partners. Well, I say older guys, but I’d met a lesbian couple like that, too, so it isn’t just guys, but that’s where I’d seen it more.

After about half an hour of fairly mellow cruising I went down to check on Emmy, finding her lying on the couch wrapped in a blanket even though the air was plenty warm.

Concerned, I checked her forehead, finding her skin to be sweaty and clammy. I felt her tremble a little, as if she were shivering despite the blanket.

“Em, how are you feeling?” I asked quietly, not wanting to wake her if she actually was asleep.

“I do not feel good,” Emmy moaned. “It’s so cold…”

Memory from my long-ago first aid class told me that it seemed like a heat stroke, but a mild one since she wasn’t showing any sign of a fever.

“We’ll be back at the hotel soon, baby,” I murmured. “You’ll be O.K. with some rest. In the meantime, you should drink some water.”

“I do not want any water,” Emmy whimpered. “My stomach isn’t happy.”

“Little sips, baby. Please, for me?”

After getting a bit of water in Emmy, I went up to tell Geoffrey. “It looks like she’s got a bit of heat stroke going on,” I said. “I need to get her back into bed.”

“Aw, shit,” he replied. “That’s a bummer. You don’t think she needs a doctor?”

“No, not now, but I’m gonna keep an eye on her temperature. If she gets a fever I’m going to take her in to urgent care.”

“All right. Hey, I’m really sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” I replied. “This isn’t your fault.”

When we got back to the bed and breakfast, I carried Emmy up to our room, then filled the tub with warm (not hot) water to wash off the sand and salt from the beach. I bathed her despite her protests, since she was too listless to do it herself. After I tucked her in to bed I took my own shower, I went out to the corner market to get Gatorade and bananas for her. Thankfully the lady running the B and B had a thermometer I could borrow after I explained that Emmy had a heat stroke.

She was still sleeping when I got back, so I checked her forehead. Still cool and clammy, so I turned the ceiling fan up a little higher and settled in next to her.

She slept off and on all through the afternoon and evening, with no real change in her condition. I did manage to get her to eat one of the bananas and drink some Gatorade, so I was hopeful that she’d recover soon.

Unfortunately things hadn’t gotten any better by the time morning rolled around. No worse, thankfully, but really no better. I had to help her up to go to the bathroom, and in the morning I bathed her again to clean off the sweat that had dried on her during the night. I knew I had to take care of myself, too, so I forced myself to go downstairs for breakfast. When the manager asked how Emmy was doing, I told her and requested fresh sheets to replace the sweat-soaked linens from the previous night.

The rest of the morning was just the same. Emmy dozing in and out with very little energy, but not getting any worse, until I noticed the blisters forming on her skin. Despite all that industrial-strength sunblock she’d gotten sunburned after all, and when I looked closely I could see it was almost all her body that had been affected.

When Emmy was sleeping I went to the drug store that that had been recommended and bought several bottles of aloe vera lotion, more Gatorade in different flavors, and some Tylenol. I felt fairly helpless, but I was going to do what I could to help Emmy get through this.

That evening, Emmy started crying when I bathed her. “I am so sorry, Leah,” she moaned. “So sorry!”

“Oh, Em, you just weren’t paying attention. It’s my fault, too. I should have realized earlier that it was too much sun for you.”

“I have ruined our honeymoon!” she sobbed. “I am terrible.”

“Oh God, Em,” I sighed, washing her hair. “Yeah, this sucks for me, but not anything as bad as it is for you, baby. I wish you felt better, but not because it’s causing me any inconvenience, but because I hate seeing you feeling bad like this.”

“I love you, Leah, please don’t ever leave me,” she said between her tears.

“Where did that come from?” I asked. “I don’t know why you’d even say that, Em. I’m never going to leave you- I love you far too much to ever do that.”

“Just… I am just feeling sorry for myself,” she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I am sorry I am so pitiful.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I simply leaned in and gave her a kiss, then when she responded I slipped my tongue past her lips. Moaning, she deepened the kiss. clutching me tightly.

Eventually we parted, and I looked her in the eyes. “Em, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, and my love for you isn’t gong to be any less just because you’re sick,” I said. “‘In sickness or in health’, remember?”

I got a shock when I helped Emmy out of the tub and started to dry her off. She had a blister filled with fluid about three inches across on her upper back. When I looked close, I realized that her skin was peeling and the bathwater had gotten trapped under the outer layer.

“Em,” I said as I squeezed the water out of the pocket it was trapped in. “I think you’re going to peel big-time. The next week or two are going to really suck.”

That afternoon Emmy was still exhausted and couldn't do anything but stay in bed, but at least it seemed that the worst was over.

“You need to get out,” she said. “There is no need for you to be trapped here with me.”

“What would I even do without you? I’m not going to go down to Duval Street and go bar-hopping or anything like that,” I said, but eventually Emmy won the argument and I did get out for another run to clear my mind and burn off some stress. I stopped in at a gym I’d seen on my route to ask about day rates, and soon enough I was calling Emmy to tell her I’d be a few hours. They had a decent boxing area, and thankfully I could buy tape and some Everlast grappling gloves from the counter since I hadn’t thought to pack anything like that.

I was working on the heavy bag when one of the club’s trainers came over to talk. “You look like you know what you’re doing,” he said after watching for a few minutes.

“I try,” I grunted as I stepped back from laying a solid back kick on the bag. At this point I just wanted the guy to go away, so I was trying to engage him as little as possible.

“Yeah, looks like you fight,” he said.

Stopping what I was doing, I said to him “Look, not to be rude or anything, but I’m just trying to get a workout in. I don’t need coaching or anything like that, and I’m not going to be in town for more than a few more days anyway.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in the ‘I surrender’ pose. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to spar, that’s all.”

“That, I can do,” I agreed, happy to have someone to work with .

“Not me, but my client over there,” he said, pointing to a guy about my age warming up with weights. “He’s got a fight coming up and could use the ring time.”

“He’s O.K. with it?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s cool. Just sparring, normal MMA rules, but the gym says you guys have to wear helmets.”

“That’s fine, I don’t want to come home from vacation with a black eye,” I said, getting a laugh.

The kid was good and gave me a decent fight. We went three rounds, then took a break.

“You telegraph your side kick too much, and don’t follow though on your lefts very well,” I told him as we were catching our breaths and sipping some water. “How are you on the ground?”

“You’d be cool with grappling?” he asked, surprised. “I thought that, you know, a chick wouldn’t like that,” he said, trying to not sound sexist.

“Hey, I’ll admit it’s not my strong suit, but it’s a big part of fighting, right? Next round let’s open it up so we aren’t just striking,” I said. The guy had maybe ten or fifteen pounds on me, but I had much longer reach so a striking game was strongly in my favor, especially as I was noticeably faster. I felt that giving him the O.K. to grapple would maybe even things up a bit, and besides- I needed the practice with someone new.

A lot of the other patrons in the gym had stopped their workouts to watch us go at it, and I was enjoying the physicality of it. The kid was stronger than me, but I was quicker and had a more subtle technique. When I’d told him he telegraphed his moves, I’d meant it. It was easy for me to see what was going to come next, but he had no way to avoid my kicks, much less my punches.

Since I’d opened the door and said I’d be fine with wrestling moves he spent a lot of time trying to get ahold of me, but I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity if I could avoid it. Eventually we did end up on the floor and I thought it was going to be all over but I managed to flip him off me and quickly returned the favor. I had him in an armlock that I thought was going to finish him off, but he managed to slip it and get away just as the round ended.

“That was awesome!” he said, coming over to give me a high five when we both stood up. Stomping his foot as he turned away, the kid said “Fuck! That was good!”

“I can go one more round, then I’ve got to bounce,” I said. “If you’re up for it.”

The kid was going to accept, but his coach nixed it. “Jake, you can’t do too much right now,” he cautioned. “You can’t get tuned up this close to a fight.”

“When’s the fight?” I asked, curious.

“Saturday,” the trainer answered.

“Day after tomorrow?” I asked. “Then how about this,” I suggested. “Light contact, one minute rounds, strikes only. This’ll help his eye and his speed.”

Looking at his fighter, the trainer thought about it. “Sure, O.K. You’re faster than the guy he’s going up against, so it’ll be good for him. If you can, throw in a lot of hooks. The guy he’s going up against is famous for his hooks.”

We did four more rounds like that, and it really seemed as if the practice was good for Jake’s reflexes. Even though he was getting tired his reaction time was better than when we’d first started.

Drinking water from the bottles his trainer had gotten us when we finished, I asked Jake where the fight was going to be.

“Mallory Square, over at the other end of the island,” he said.

“What time?”

“My fight is third on the card, and the first fight starts at sunset, so maybe 7:30?”

“Cool. I’ll be there,” I said.

“Hey, how long are you in town for? Maybe want to get lunch or something?” he asked, with a hopeful look on his face.

“Sorry,” I said. “Married.”

“All the best ones are,” he sighed.

After checking it was OK to leave my newly purchased gear there in a locker overnight, I finished my run and returned to the hotel. Emmy was awake and watching some old western on the T.V. when I got in.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “But my stomach is still a bit upset. I think that I cannot eat anything too substantial.”

“How are you doing otherwise?”

“I am very itchy,” Emmy complained. “When I scratch, my skin tears. It is horrible.”

“Yeah, I think you can expect that for a while. Basically until all your top layer of skin peels off.”

“That is disgusting,” Emmy complained.

After a quick shower and then a run to a nearby restaurant to get myself a Cuban sandwich and Emmy some rice with butter, it was back to the room and soon enough to sleep.

The next day was just the same. Emmy was feeling somewhat better but still not good enough to emerge from the room, much less step into any daylight at all. I ran and worked out at the gym again while Emmy snoozed, then stopped in at a grocery store to get a few things. Standing in the checkout line, the old lady cashier gave me the evil eye.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said.

“What?” I asked, puzzled. Yeah, it was a pretty poor comeback, but really, she had taken me by surprise.

“You just got married not even a week ago, and already you’re here and your wife is gone back to California? Not even a week!” she said, scolding me.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” I asked, floored.

She pointed at the rack behind me, and I looked at the newsprint tabloid she indicated. The headline read “Trouble In Paradise?” and the terrible photos showed Emmy and me walking together, then another picture of me without her.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Emmy was in the sun too long at Dry Tortuga the other day and has been laid up in our hotel with sunstroke,” I explained to the cashier, not that it was any of her business. “That’s what this Gatorade is for.” I said, holding up the bottle of green liquid. “The only trouble we’ve had is her feeling crummy.”

“She didn’t leave to go back to her parents?” the old lady asked.

“No!” I said, exasperated. “She got a terrible sunburn and has been sleeping it off for a few days, that’s all,” I said, rolling my eyes.

When I got back from my shopping trip we had dinner (such as it was) in our room. I told Emmy about the tabloid, and she just laughed. It was good to see her mood improve, even if it was only for a few minutes. After eating, we watched TV, I answered my emails, and then it was back to sleep.

Saturday started out the same as the last two days, but Emmy felt good enough to walk the mile to the park where the smoker was being held. We waited until the sun dipped below the horizon before we started out, since Emmy felt the sunshine on her skin, even late in the day. On our way over there we grabbed a bite to eat and made it there halfway through the second fight on the card.

We found where the fighters were warming up, and I wished Jake luck. In answer to his unspoken question, I said “Yeah, Emmy’s my wife.”

“Damn it!” he exclaimed. “You’re not just hot and a great fighter, you’re married to a freaking rock star! Why does my life suck so bad?“ he asked, looking up at the heavens.

Jake won his bout, but honestly it wasn’t the greatest fight I’d ever seen. Still, Emmy and I took him and his trainer (named Jack, amusingly enough) out to dinner to celebrate. Emmy was still not at one hundred per cent, so she just had rice with a little bit of chicken. I wasn’t really worried for her by this point, since it was clear she was getting better, but still it hurt me to see her still feel so low.

She put on a good face for Jake and Jack, though, and was as charming as ever. Still, we called it an early night and walked back home by nine thirty, ready for bed. Needless to say, any thoughts of a road trip had been cancelled so it was one more day of recovery in our room there in Key West and then back to Miami and then home.