Sharkbait

Linda had left a message requesting a teleconference about boat preparation with her, my accountant Stan Greenberg, Captain Thomas Vickers, and his daughter Loretta. I had time while we were driving to Spago’s for our dinner, so I got them on the line along with Uncle Leo and Amy. “What’s going on everyone,” I asked.

“I heard you did well at the auction,” Stan said.

“I did. I cleared over sixteen million before taxes,” I said.

“That’s what we wanted to talk about, Vicki,” Linda said. “I’ve been working with Thomas on the proposal for remodeling the yacht, and we think it’s a mistake,”

I looked at the screen; Thomas, Loretta, Stan, and Amy were all nodding their heads. I felt like they’d punched me in the gut. “What’s wrong with my boat?”

“I’ll start,” Amy said. “We’re already having trouble fitting everyone in if the twins have their boyfriends along. If we go out for more than a day trip, someone has to sleep up in the salon, or we have to bring in a cot or air mattress. For you, or me and you, it was fine, but the girls are part of the team now. You might need something bigger, or a design with more cabins than this.”

She was right; just the idea of taking Hammer and Susan along with the boys and two crew members would mean people sleeping in the salon. “What else? Stan?”

My accountant cleared his throat. “Right now, you have a one-year lease deal that is the extent of your financial commitment to this yacht. If, as Amy said, you decide you need something else, you can walk away and do that with the knowledge of what living aboard a boat is. All that goes away if you exercise your purchase option like you’d have to do to make the changes Thomas has proposed. You’d be making a multi-million dollar commitment based on less than two months living here and a couple of short cruises.”

“What other advantages would I be giving up,” I asked.

“Insurance is one. When you lease it, the owner maintains the insurance. If you buy it and use it for commercial purposes, you’ll pay all insurance, and the rates will be higher because of the passengers. There’s also a legal liability; as the boat owner, you have ultimate liability. That doesn’t go away when you lease the boat back to your production company. The financials are another. Leasing the boat to the production company you own creates audit opportunities for the IRS.”

“What else am I missing,” I asked.

It was Thomas’ turn. “Honestly, you’re talking about putting twenty people on a pleasure yacht designed to hold less than half that in comfort. There aren’t enough bathrooms, showers, water tanks, or staterooms for what you want to do. Equipment is going to bang into fiberglass, holes drilled, drawers and cabinets will break, and that fancy woodwork will get scratched. When you go to convert it back to what it is now, you could have thousands of dollars in repairs to make. You can count on it; compare your boat to the research vessel you were on this summer, and you know what I’m talking about.”

The Ocean Explorer was functional; aluminum or stainless surfaces, linoleum floors, and two-person staterooms. Lots of staterooms. “You may as well pile it on. What else?”

Linda picked it up. “Think about what the Ocean Explorer had that you don’t have on your yacht.”

“The big D-davit on the back that could haul the shark net or equipment in and out. A big, open work area on the stern to operate off. A bigger kitchen and dining area. About thirty feet in length, with a structure that could handle bigger waves.”

“All true,” Linda replied. “The other things it had were a dedicated computer room with backup power, rooms for editing and directing, davits to allow more than one shark cage or device, and plenty of wire chases to run cables through for the cameras.”

It made my head hurt. “You wouldn’t crush my plans like this without an alternative,” I said. “What do you recommend?”

“Linda and I asked dozens of Captains, Expedition Leaders and Producers to tell us what we should be looking for in a shark research boat capable of hosting twenty or so people for up to two weeks at a time. We got a lot of feedback, and it was surprisingly similar,” Thomas said.

“A commercial vessel between one hundred and one hundred and forty feet in length, preferably a catamaran or trimaran for stability,” Linda continued. “Forward superstructure with an open main deck within eight feet of the waterline for at least forty feet to the fantail. Swim platforms on fantail or sides. One large U-davit and at least one smaller davit and multiple winches. Dedicated computer space. A wet lab and refrigerator/freezer spaces for chum and specimens. Rooms for monitoring cameras and editing.”

It was a lot to take in. “Do you have something like that in mind?”

“We have a few possibilities,” Linda answered.

I looked at the time. “I have dinner soon, and we won’t be able to decide this tonight. Linda, work with the team and give me at least three options other than using the Good Times. One of them should be leasing a research vessel, and the other two buy options. We can go over it on Monday.”

“Tuesday,” Thomas said. “We’ll have better information by then,” I said.

“Fine. Stan, don’t proceed with the purchase of the Good Times while we evaluate options. We’ll need your input on the tax implications of each; Linda, you should look at its suitability for filming, while Thomas can help with things like berthing and seakeeping. Thanks for your help, everyone. Thomas and Loretta, can you stay on?”

Everyone else left. “I need to take the boat out for the day next weekend, maybe an overnight. Are you available?”

“I am Friday until noon Saturday,” Loretta said as they checked their calendars. Thomas was not. “I’d like to leave Friday night and return Saturday morning. Nine passengers.”

“I’ll book it,”

“Also, a short cruise on Friday the 29th, just down towards Coronado and back. I want to host a party for Kai’s class before we head overseas. Probably fifty to sixty people.”

“I’ll take that one too,” Loretta said. “Do you need catering for that? Lynette can do it if she hires local help.”

“Absolutely. Have your Mom put together a proposal for the food, and I’ll hire a bartender.”

“Lynette can do everything under one bill,” Thomas said. “I’ll have her draw it up.”

“Thank you.” I looked out the window, we were nearly there, and I hadn’t changed yet. “I have to go. Send me the details.” I closed the phone down, and I quickly doffed my dress then got into one more suited for evening wear. Silver with sea green highlights and a halter top, it draped down to a knee-length skirt. Matching silver heels and jewelry completed the look, just in time to arrive at Spago’s.

Two hours later, I walked back to the Tank, completely exhausted. The food at Spago’s tasted great, but the portions were TINY for a wolf. “Find somewhere to stop for dinner on the way home,” I said to Carly. They needed food anyway, as my security didn't get to eat there.

“I’ll see if there are any barbecue joints on the way back to the freeway,” she said.

I got Amy, Linda, Stan, and Leo on the video call. “Well, that was interesting,” I told them all. “I wish Mercedes had warned me.”

“What happened, Vicki?” Leo looked concerned.

“Bodyglove likes the idea of all the exposure, but the financial commitment I’m asking of them would be a big chunk of next year’s advertising budget. They want both to reduce their share of costs while forcing me to accept other Bodyglove models and endorsers into the show.”

“If they want to spend less, they get less,” Stan said.

“They want it all, I guess. I threatened to bring on other sponsors to make up the difference. I was pretty clear with them on the scale of my investment in this project. I’m not going to let them bully me into making this a puff piece, but I did make some concessions.”

“Like what,” Leo asked.

“I’m not budging on the all-women part for the diving. There are a few people they want me to bring in for the dives; Bodyglove-endorsing surfers and extreme sports athletes, mostly. I said I would consider the girls for that. For the guys, I said they’d have to be single, and they could take me on a date. That’s as far as I’m willing to go, and in the end, they agreed to the terms, and kept the investment the same.”

“That’s good news,” Leo said. “You’ve had a busy day, Vicki. You should get some rest.”

“I will.” After getting some real food, I fell asleep for the rest of the drive. It was midnight when I got back home, and everyone was asleep already.

The next morning after breakfast, I grabbed my diving gear (both scuba and free-diving) and left in the Tank for La Jolla. We picked up Bill at his hotel; he had his dive gear and multiple cameras with him, including an underwater one. Thomas had a twenty-five-foot boat at a marina there, and the others were already on board. Jessica was practically bouncing around in her Bodyglove wetsuit, eager to dive with me. I got my gear stowed, and we headed out into the bay to the dive spot Thomas had selected. “Where are we headed?”

“Kelp forest, in the middle of the sanctuary,” he said. “Twenty to fifty feet of water.” That was good; it was shallow enough to free dive and deep enough for a good SCUBA dive. “Have you dived on the kelp before, Jessica?”

She nodded. “We go there a lot since it’s too far out for the divers to reach from shore,” she said. We sat and talked while I pulled on my wetsuit. Even after the long summer, the waters here were cold, so I had a thick tiger-shark pattern wetsuit with booties and a hood I’d put on later. Bill was invisible but all-seeing, capturing my conversations as all good cameramen do. I was wearing a necklace with a waterproof, wireless microphone to help him pick up the talk.

We got to the dive site, and Thomas dropped anchor in thirty feet of water. “There’s a dropoff to the west that goes down to fifty feet; I like to dive the edge as that is where the sharks hang out. I’ll partner with Mark, and you partner with Jessica?”

“That works, Bill will be with us too,” I said. “We stay close because it’s easy to lose each other in the kelp. If you can’t see me, you abort the dive and head to the surface immediately, understand?”

“I will,” she promised. We pulled our gear on and did our buddy checks. Bill attached a Gopro to the top of my mask and gave another to Mark in case they ran into something. Bill got in the water first, making sure his underwater camera worked and recorded Jessica and me as we fell back into the water.

The kelp grew from the muddy bottom to the surface, forcing us to dive vertically. Bill had positioned himself slightly away from us, and I let Jessica lead us down, using the anchor rope as a reference. I wasn’t sure how competent a diver she was despite her Junior Open-Water SCUBA certification, so I stayed close. We reached the safety stop at fifteen feet and oriented ourselves, adjusting our buoyancy to neutral before double-checking our gear. I checked Bill, and when we all had thumbs-up, we continued to the bottom.

The kelp fronds weren’t as long down here, and there were spots where the kelp wasn’t as thick, and it was easier to see. There was a lot of sea life about; sea lions, green sea turtles, garibaldi, kelp bass, and more. We didn’t see any large sharks, but we did see a shovelnose guitarfish and a few leopard sharks. I had a great time letting her lead me around until we reached the five-hundred-pound mark in our tanks.

The three of us ascended to fifteen feet, waited the prescribed time, then surfaced. “THAT WAS AWESOME,” Jessica said as she took out her regulator. We swam back to the boat and pulled ourselves onboard, doffing our tanks. A few minutes later, Thomas and Mark joined us. Thomas knew I wanted to free dive, so he pulled anchor and moved us into shallower waters, off the San Diego Cliffs and Sea Caves. We snorkeled for an hour together before I grabbed my free-diving fins, and Bill put on his extra tank. Moving out into slightly deeper water, I spent twenty minutes diving with the sea lions while he filmed me.

We motored back to the dock, all of us satisfied with the afternoon of fun. Bill had lots of footage that we might be able to use in the show, which was a bonus for me. We changed into our clothes in the locker rooms at the marina, Jessica and I getting into matching Bodyglove-design cotton dresses and flats. We all piled into the Tank for the short drive to Eddie V’s Seafood. I’d reserved a table on the patio overlooking the water, and the food was everything you’d expect for the prices. We had a great talk and had just ordered dessert when a young lady approached with a piece of paper. “Vicki Lawrence?”

“Yes, would you like an autograph?” I was used to this happening.

She handed me the envelope. “You’ve been served,” she said before she turned and walked away. I opened the envelope and glanced over the paperwork inside.

Brian, the graduate student I’d choked out on the Ocean Explorer, was suing ME for “assault resulting in injuries, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and other damages” and was seeking “more than fifty thousand dollars” in Massachusetts court.

The guy who grabbed my tits and told me, “They don’t feel like they are worth fifty grand, maybe fifty bucks,” now wanted his fifty grand.