|
By Katherine Bellows
and Jim Mitchell — Spring 2006
My friend Yvonne and I are comfortable on the bridge deck, coffees in hand, kittens in laps, and a ton of fresh gossip to catch up on when the captain pokes his head up through the companionway.
“Would you two like to see a movie tonight? I’ll buy!”
I like the idea but wonder what his real motive is.
“Do you have a hot date?”
“Yup. Me and lady luck are going to shuffle the night away.”
Yvonne, who can be quite proper, looks shocked, but this is just Jimmy’s way of letting me know that he’d like to have his weekly poker game onboard Nonchalant tonight. I explain the game to Yvonne, and, always the supportive friend, she pitches right in to help make the boat shipshape. I polish the brass trawler lantern, fill it, trim the wick, and hang it from the hook above the table. After all, setting the right tone is important.
When we’re done, the saloon looks like a pirate ship: brown bottles of beer in a galvanized tub of ice, a brass bowl full of chips, and a platter with enough chocolate-covered doughnuts to give every mouse onboard its own life ring. The lantern swings gently with the wake of passing boats, shedding a soft glow over everything.
It’s a perfect spring evening as Yvonne and I head out to the movies, passing poker players balancing folding chairs with bags of snack food. Six seats are about all we’ve got aboard Nonchalant, so Jimmy’s poker games are BYO chair.
The game began more than 30 years ago in a college dorm room and has been played in some unusual locations, including a wine merchant’s basement and atop a small nuclear reactor at a university physics department. The guys are a friendly group, but they play hard and always for cash, which makes me nervous; I don’t have gambling in my blood, and I sure don’t want any trouble with the law.
Later, as I saunter back to Nonchalant from the movies, I can see the game’s in full swing. The aft companionway is open to the night air, every portlight is ajar, and the saloon is wall-to-wall bodies talking, laughing, and betting. The table is cluttered with food, drink, and poker chips. A cat jumps in a portlight, ignores the players, and strolls over to Jimmy for an ear rub. I give up on the idea of making my way through the saloon and swing up from the dock to the bridge deck.
“Who’s winning?” I ask, taking a seat on the companionway steps, close to the potato chips but away from the worst of the arm-waving.
“Oh,” Jimmy says, handing me an open bottle of beer. “I was just crushing them until some …”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
We turn startled eyes to the Ship Canal as a bright white light sweeps across us. A fierce voice calls: “Is the captain onboard? Seattle police!”
There’s a Harbor Patrol boat pulled up right alongside of us! We are so-o-o busted. There’s no place to conceal the poker chips on the table or the stacks of money.
I hide my head and try my best not to think about being carted off to prison.
“It’s just a friendly game, officer,” Jimmy pleads. I can’t believe what he’s saying. When I get out on parole, I will divorce what’s left of him. “No harm intended,” he adds.
The officer gives us all a careful look.
“So long as you’re the vessel’s captain, and you’re not running a commercial game for profit, we don’t have a problem. Though with all that beer, I hope you’re not planning to go anywhere?”
“Not at all,” Jimmy responds. “We’re liveaboards, this is our permanent moorage, and we’ll make sure that everyone gets home safely.”
I’m so happy we’re not going to jail that I have a spontaneous hostess moment. Smiling brightly into the white police light, I ask, “Would you all like some chocolate-covered doughnuts?”
Katherine Bellows and Jim Mitchell live aboard their 50-foot Nonchalant in Seattle. They vacation aboard their 44-foot Santorini in Europe.
|
