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A Word From Beautiful Brenda—
As I was putting this news together, I received a phone call from our resident model/spokeswoman/mistress of ceremonies/ray of sunshine – Brenda Fox.
She told me a story about Richard, the dude who bought the Blue Flame. She ran in to him at the Rock Store about a week ago and just happen to have some of the post cards of her on the Blue Flame.
She gave him some, they chatted for a bit then he rode off on that beautiful bike. A few blocks away, Richard was pulled over, (he really did make a complete stop), and was about to get a ticket when he gave the cop the postcard. The cop looked at it, then told him to get outta there! No ticket! The power of a beautiful woman.
TIME OUT–back at the ship we neared another holiday. I tell ya something had got to change about these godforsaken harbors. Every harbor is an industrial wasteland full of sharp-edged iron chunks rusting while waiting for a ship to be loaded on for a voyage to China. We live in a joyful society while our world of goods gets from place to place by being packed on rusting hulks that pull into one dour desert of junkyard steel after another. All we can see from each port we sail into are burning release valves and smoking, rotten warehouses and refineries for as far as the eye can see. In each case we need to beg someone to come to this area of the destitute to rescue us from a ghetto of cranes and fork lifts and stevedores surrounding 50-gallon drums full of cardboard and burning pallet wood to keep warm. Most of the crew, including the captain, never leaves the ship.
They never see the frozen lakes of people ice skating, or the theaters or grand museums packed with the artifacts and the legends that brought these burgs to the prominence they now enjoy. They never see the colorful night life. They never see the brightly printed magazines after they have carried the paper to port. They don?t go to shore to see the beautiful women after they hauled the machinery that made the dresses. It?s a shame. On top of their steel cells and industrial surroundings, crime strikes and violence reigns.
A couple of days before New Year’s Eve, a religious group from the seaman?s mission came on board to entertain the Filipino crew. Either during or after their couple of hours on the board, two cabins were broken into or a woman?s purse was stolen. Another babe lost her watch and assorted items off her desk while she slept. The next morning the thievery came to light and the captain was alerted. Some assumed that a member of the crew was at fault, another thought it was someone from the religious groups.
At first the captain simply shrugged as the loss wasn?t great, but I didn?t like the idea that someone had entered a woman?s cabin without the correct prompting. I pushed for action that would indicate to the wrong doer that we were going to kick some ass if it happened again. I began my own sideline Chinatown investigation, although I wished I had Jean Harlow at my side during the cavernous hunt into the seaport underworld. I discovered that this harbor, as most harbors aside from Hamburg, had very poor security and people wander on and off ships without so much as a sign-in list. There is no security at the gang planks and kids sneak onto ships and usually hit whatever is close to an exit. The Antwerp police admitted that there are gangs that roam the dark port streets busting into anything they can carry away and attack ships and predominately captains? cabins. That?s where the electronic equipment and cash is. The investigation continues with constant and unrelenting questioning of any young woman I can find.
Two nights later I slipped off the rotting hulk of a tuna can that carries cargo around the world and slid into the ornate world of the Hilton in downtown Antwerp.
Into the ballroom we strolled enjoying the high fashion of women in slinky dresses that slid on their silky skin and old farts in tuxedos. As we sat through one course after another in the lavish presence of the town?s high society, two things struck me: One was the ship and its imprisoned crew cooking another whole pig and drinking whiskey surrounded by cold steel walls and snow capped darkness.
I was suddenly enveloped in lurid visions of my fugitive past. I don?t know what befell me, if it was the tall beautiful blonde two tables away who sought my attention with each sip of wine as her husband spoke to her intently. She wore a loose fitting gown that was held on by two miniscule straps that danced on her otherwise naked shoulders. The silver gown flowed over her unencumbered Rubenisque breasts. Her golden hair was pulled to the back of her head and held with a silver tie that revealed the soft curve of her neck, like Layla wears her hair at home. Something came over me like a silver bullet from my past, a revelation of my sins with women. I thought of the pain I inflicted on my last wife. It wasn?t a mere consideration, but a flashback of painful moments, relationship torpedoes launched in a sea of tears. I reached for my glass of wine, but knew full well that it wouldn?t hide the missile that was all too clear and irreversible. Another bomb came as the image of my first wife crying appeared in my heart. I couldn?t shake them, as if I was forced to relive my tainted past as the New Year approached.
In the Sunday post I mentioned that as a New Year?s resolution we should make a woman smile, something I love to do. In my mind I fight the rules and my spirit fights for freedom while my heart cries for the pain I?ve inflicted. I?m not sure there is an answer, but there is loyalty and truthfulness. I wish all relationships would be filled with joyous days and never end. I wish pirates had a source of maidens who understood their spirit and let them wander unhampered. I suppose if you?re a pirate, you must admit it and ride or sail away to another port as we will in two days. Ah, me laddy, it?s to Genoa, Italy, and another adventure.
We left the bright lights and slinky skirts and returned to the tarnished ship before midnight to spend the last moments of 2001 with the crew. But due to my efforts to enhance security, the gangplank had been raised while the officers and crew partied on the bridge and tried to look past the dark and dour conditions of the harbor to see the fireworks in the distance through the fog. We stood on the snow-covered concrete dock in the dark as the ship?s horn announced the beginning of a new year and a crew member hustled to our assistance. Have a wonderful 2002, and make every day count for something.–Bandit
