"That's your green light, Skipper. I think it means go."

"Go where?"

I'm not good at the father-son talk, but I wanted to tell him, so somewhat self-consciously I replied, "Go wherever you want. Be whatever you want to be. For me, that green light is the past, for you it is the future." I took his hand in mine. "Don't lose sight of it."

CHAPTER 21

In retrospect, I should have tried the Atlantic crossing with my family and never returned to America; a sort of decolonization of the Sutters and the Stanhopes. We could have sailed into Plymouth, burned the Paumanok, set up a fish-and-chips stand on the beach, and lived happily ever after. But Americans don't emigrate, at least not very many of us do, and the few who do don't do it well. We have created our own land and culture, and we simply don't fit anywhere else, not even in the lands of our ancestors, who can barely tolerate us on two-week holidays. In truth, while I admire Europe, I find the Europeans a bit tiresome, especially when they complain about Americans. So we didn't cross the Atlantic, and we didn't emigrate, but we had a spectacular weekend of sailing with sunny weather and good winds. We had stayed at anchor in Hempstead Harbor Friday evening, and at daybreak we set sail for Cape Cod, putting in at Provincetown for a few hours of sightseeing and shopping. Actually, after about an hour in town, Susan told Carolyn and Edward that she and I had to go back to the boat to get my wallet. Carolyn and Edward sort of grinned knowingly. I was a little embarrassed. Susan told them to meet us in front of the old Provincetown Hotel in three hours. "Three hours?" asked Edward, still smiling.

I mean, it's good for children to know that their parents have an active sex life, but you don't want to give them the impression that you can't go without it for a day or two. However, Susan was very cool about it and said to Edward, "Yes, three hours. Don't be late."

I took out my wallet and gave them each some money, realizing as I did so that I had created a slight inconsistency in the wallet story. But good kids that they are, they pretended not to see the wallet in my hands.

Anyway, on the way back to the dock, I said to Susan, "That took me by surprise."

"Oh, you handled it quite well, John, until you pulled out your wallet." She laughed.

"Well, they knew anyway." I said, "Remember when we used to tuck them into their berths at night, then go out on top of the cabin and do it?" "I remember you used to tell them that if they heard noises on the roof, it was only Mommy and Daddy doing their sit-ups."

"Push-ups."

We both laughed.

So, we took the Paumanok out again and sailed past the three-mile limit where sexual perversions are legal. We found a spot where no other craft were nearby, and I said to Susan, "What did you have in mind?"

What she had in mind was going below, then reappearing on the aft deck stark naked. We were still under sail, and I was at the helm, and she stood in front of me and said, "Captain, First Mate Cynthia reporting for punishment as ordered."

My goodness. I looked at her standing at attention, those cat-like green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, the breeze blowing through her long red hair. I love this woman's body, the taut legs and arms, the fair skin, and the big red bush of pubic hair.

"Reporting for punishment as ordered," she prompted.

"Right. Right." I thought a moment. "Scrub the deck."

"Yes, sir."

She went below and came back with a bucket and scrub brush, then leaned over the side and scooped up a bucket of salt water. She got down on her hands and knees and began scrubbing the deck around my feet.

"Don't get any of that on me," I said, "or you'll get a dozen lashes across your rump."

"Yes, sir… oops." She tipped the bucket over, and the salt water soaked my Docksides. I think she did that on purpose.

She rose to her knees and threw her arms around my legs. "Oh, Captain, please forgive me! Please don't whip me." She buried her head in my groin. You know, for a woman who's a bitch in real life, a real ball-buster if you'll pardon the expression, Susan has a rather strange alter ego. I mean, her favourite and most recurring roles are those of subservient and defenceless women. Someday, I'm going to ask a shrink friend of mine about this, though of course I'll change the names to protect the kinky.

Anyway, I made Susan lower the sails and drop anchor so we could stop for a little punishment. I tied her wrists to the mainmast and delivered a dozen lashes with my belt to her rump. Needless to say, these were light love-taps, though she squirmed and begged me to stop.

Well, we passed the next hour in this fashion, Susan performing all sorts of menial tasks in the nude, bringing me coffee, polishing the brass, cleaning the head. I can't get this woman to clean the crumbs out of the toaster at home, but she really enjoys being a naked slave on board the boat. It's good for her, I think, and very good for the boat.

Anyway, after about an hour she said to me, "Please, sir, may I put my clothes on?"

I was sitting on the deck, my back against the cabin bulkhead, sipping a cup of coffee. I replied, "No. You can get down on the deck on your hands and knees and spread your legs."

She did what I ordered and waited patiently while I finished my coffee. I rose to my knees, lowered my pants, and entered her from behind. She was sopping wet as I discovered, and I wasn't in her for more than ten seconds when she came, and about five seconds later it was my turn.

On the way back into Provincetown, Susan, who was fully dressed again, seemed somewhat distant. I had the impression that there was something very weighty on her mind. In fact, if I thought about it, Susan's behaviour over the past month or so had alternated between periods of clinging affection and bouts of sulkiness and withdrawal. I'm used to her moods, her sullenness, and her general nuttiness, but this was something different. As Carolyn observed, Susan was not herself. But then again, I was not myself either.

As we sailed back to Provincetown, with me at the helm, I said to her, "Maybe you were right. Maybe we should get away. We could take the boat down to the Caribbean and disappear for a few months – The hell with civilization." She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "You have to settle your tax problem before it becomes a criminal matter."

Which was true, and like most Americans, I resented any government intrusion into my life that caused me an inconvenience. I said, "Well, then, as soon as I take care of that, we should leave."

She replied, "Don't you think you owe Frank something?"

I glanced at her. "Like what?"

"Well, you promised him you would handle that charge against him." She added, "When you told Carolyn and Edward about it, you made it sound as if you still hadn't decided."

I stared out at the horizon for a while. I don't like people telling me how to run my business, or reminding me of what I said. Also, I didn't recall telling Susan that I promised Bellarosa I'd handle the murder charge. She said, "Didn't you exchange favours or something?"

I said, "I suppose we did." I asked. "Why does it concern you?" "Well, that's your challenge. I think it would do you some good to get involved in a criminal case."

"Do you? Do you understand it would probably end my career with Perkins, Perkins, Sutter and Reynolds if I represented a Mafia don? Not to mention what it would do to us socially."

She shrugged. "I don't care, John, and neither do you. You've already chucked it all in your mind anyway." She added, "Go for it."

"All right. I will."

On Saturday afternoon, we sailed out of Provincetown and headed south again to Long Island, spotting land at Montauk Point, which we rounded against a strong wind and tricky currents.