Earlier chapters

by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

Sometime after noon on the Fourth of July, Rachel awoke; with no idea where she was. The nude body of Vanessa, sprawled beside her, served as an instant reminder of mutual seduction. Triggering memories of the most unusual, pleasure-filled night she had experienced in a recent memory. An excellent reason not to abandon ship, she decided. But at the moment, she was ravenous.

"Hungry?" Rachel poked the still body beside her.
No response. She poked again, adding a little shake.
"Ouch, my head. Ugh," Vanessa moaned.
"Can we call room service?" Rachel asked.
"Not a good idea. Give me aspirin and 10 minutes," Vanessa pulled the pillow over her head.

Rachel got out of bed and started for the bathroom when the boat suddenly lurched, throwing her off balance. Grabbing the door jamb, she noticed the horizon moving through a picture window sized porthole. She now sensed the slight hum of the engines, the rocking of a boat in motion; they were at sea.
"Looks like we're going somewhere," Rachel said, grabbing the aspirin.
"Feels like it," Vanessa sounded uninterested in anything beyond her hangover.
"I'm going to jump in the shower."
"Okay"
Rachel emerged wrapped in a towel. "Can I borrow something to wear?" she asked.
"Sure, whatever you can find." Vanessa waved her hand.
Searching the drawers and closet, she settled on a pair of tight white shorts and a red crochet bikini top. Feeling sexy as hell, she turned and checked her ass out in the full-length mirror, and decided last night's passion fest was precisely what she'd needed to feel good about herself again.
"Ready yet?" she goaded Vanessa.
"I'll catch up with you," Vanessa mumbled to the pillow.
"Okay, where can I get some food?" Rachel asked.
"Go down one deck, by the dining room and crew's mess."

Rachel took the stairs down a deck. Forward of the dining room she found, and stuck her head into the galley.
"Is there any way I can get some breakfast?" she smiled.
"What would you like?" the chef asked.
"A hangover breakfast, eggs, lots of bacon, potatoes, and a Bloody Mary," she said."
"Have a seat, I'll fix you right up," he smiled.

Through a service pass-through on the rear wall of the galley, Rachel's eye caught sight of weirdly funny squiggly lines. Her brain tried to register what was familiar about them. She couldn't place it, but alarm bells were going off in her brain.
"What's through there?" she asked the cook, pointing to the room beyond the galley.
"That's the crew's mess, but you don't want to eat in there; no windows, you'd probably get seasick," the chef warned.
"Can I just have a quick peek?" she almost demanded.
"Sure, help yourself," he shrugged.
What she saw next, hanging on the wall behind a corner booth in the crew's mess, stared back at her with jagged, bared teeth.
‘I knew it looked familiar', Rachel thought, smiling. She could only be looking at a Jean-Michel Basquiat, original as far as she could tell. Must be an early work. I've never seen it catalogued, or displayed. Amazing. On a boat, of all places!

Rachel was completely stunned. She retreated to the open deck aft of the salon and pulled out a chair at one of the shaded tables. Sipping her Bloody Mary, she took in the view of the deserted main deck. Everyone was enjoying their air-conditioned cabins, missing a beautiful day. She guessed it was about 90 degrees, but humid enough to make the ocean enticing.
Then her mind returned to the painting. What was it doing here? This Ifty guy just cruising around in his boat with a painting that could be worth nine figures? Crazy. Her food arrived and she asked the server, "Where are we headed?".
"Nantucket, I believe," was his reply.
"If you want a crowd and a party, that's the place," Rachel replied.
"When are we due to arrive?"
"About four would be my guess."
"What time is it now? I have no idea."
"One-thirty."
"Okay, thanks," she said.

Vanessa emerged from the stairwell looking for Rachel, around two p.m.. Rachel was working on some fries and second Bloody Mary.
"Howdy, stranger," Rachel smiled on her approach.
"Hair of the dog, huh?"
"I had a pound of bacon for breakfast, so I'm good," Rachel smiled.
Vanessa looked a little green.
"I was hoping you would be feeling better," Rachel said, rubbing Vanessa's leg while she sat on the edge of the chaise.
"A little better, I think I can handle a smoothie, I'll be right back," Vanessa said, heading for the galley.
People were now starting to pop up on deck, people who had probably never had to get up before noon in their lives, Rachel imagined. Vanessa returned with her smoothie and Rachel motioned to join her in the shade of the dining table.

Rachel needed to explain her situation to Vanessa. Being a house-guest for the Fourth, and the fact that she left without telling anyone where she was going.
"The truth is, I'm in no hurry to leave. Last night was more than special to me. However, I need to contact the people I was staying with. I'm sure they're freaking out, and I just hope they haven't called the police."
"I can understand that. Who do you want to call?" Vanessa asked.
"That's the real problem, I don't have my wallet, passport, or phone; I left them behind when I went for my walk," she said. I'm helpless; I don't have anyone's number without my phone, and I don't know the number to the house or Aisha's cell. I put Cece's number in my phone yesterday afternoon, but I can't remember it. The galleries are all closed for the holiday," Rachel seemed resigned that there was nothing she could do but stay for another night or two.
"Let's make the most of it and go back to bed after we eat, rest up for tonight?" Vanessa suggested.

"You got it, but first, I have to ask, do you know anything about the painting hanging in the crew's mess?"
"That ugly thing with the teeth?" Vanessa made a face.
"Why is it hanging in there, for god's sake?" asked Rachel.
"Ifty bought it like fifty years ago, but now he's got small children. His youngest daughter cries every time she sees it, so he moved it out of sight. The crew doesn't like it much either, though," said Vanessa.
"You're kidding me. That's insane? Do you know if it's real? You know what it's worth if it is?" Rachel grilled Vanessa.
"I guess it's real, I know he bought it at Christie's. Is it worth a lot? Like millions?" Vanessa wondered.
"Oh, yeah," Rachel said. Vanessa whistled softly.
Rachel was mentally calculating her commission if Ifty could be convinced to sell.
"You're one amazing package. Did I tell you that? Do you think Ifty is interested in selling his painting?" Rachel asked, unable to focus.
"I say, let's work on it, find out. What do we have to lose? Provided, of course, I get a finder's fee out of your end," Vanessa demanded.
"Okay, do you have a plan in mind?" Rachel asked, even though she had one already.
"Well, he is a man; it shouldn't be too hard to make him see things our way," Vanessa said.
"Is he up and around?" Rachel asked.
"He's usually up on the bridge of the ship when we're coming into port," Vanessa said.
"Okay, tell me everything you know about the painting, when and where he got it, what he paid, any info you have," said Rachel.
"I know he acquired it in the early eighties, David told me it was painted in 1983," Vanessa said.
"Who did he buy it from? How much?"
"He mentioned Christie's, isn't that an auction house?"
"Yeah."
"The painting, if it's an early work, his most valuable period, could be worth tens, or possibly hundreds of millions of dollars," Rachel explained.
"Shit!" Vanessa lit up.
"Does he own other art? Is he a collector?" Rachel asked.
"He brags about that painting sometimes, mostly about how ugly it is. He's never mentioned any other paintings, I don't think he cares much about art," said Vanessa.
"I say we put on the skimpiest bikinis and ask him to join us for drinks as we pass the bridge on our way to the pool. Once we have him alone, we bring up art as a common interest and see where it goes. What do you think?" Vanessa suggested.
"Perfect plan, great minds think alike," Rachel agreed.

They returned to the cabin to go through Vanessa's dozens of bikinis and selected the two skimpiest, before rolling naked together on the bed for thirty minutes.
They then climbed the stairs to the upper deck, walking past the bridge door, where Ifty was consulting with the skipper.
"Hi, Ifty. We're headed to the pool. You should join us, I've found out you and Rachel have things in common," Vanessa shimmied and waved.
Rachel let Ifty get a good glimpse of her chest and then her ass gliding past the bridge door. "Hi, Ifty," she said. The girls proceeded up to the deserted pool. They settled into the jacuzzi and rang for drinks. The server and Ifty arrived poolside at the same time. The girls wanted to order gin and tonics, but Ifty insisted they have champagne. Of course, they let him have his way.

"So, pray tell, what do we share in common?" Ifty asked.
"Rachel is an art dealer, Ifty. She deals in high-end art," Vanessa replied.
"Ah, I dabbled in art once," Ifty smiled.
"It's more accurate to say I'm an advisor, or consultant, not a dealer. It's an important distinction, as I'm sure Ifty knows," Rachel said.
"I accidentally stumbled upon your Basquiat painting in the crew's mess. I'd love to hear the details of that acquisition," Rachel moved closer to Ifty.
"Case of serendipity, honestly. I wandered into Christie's London one day, I was a young man, back in ‘84 or ‘85 I guess it was."
"Your first art purchase?" Vanessa asked.
"Yes, I bought it as a joke because it reminded me of my middle school scribbles—and perhaps to annoy my father. The only auction I ever attended. I spent thirty thousand pounds, and I still remember how exciting it was," Ifty chuckled.
"Vanessa mentioned it makes your youngest cry," said Rachel.
"This is true, sadly."
"Have you bought other works of art since then?" Rachel asked.
"No. As much as I like art, I don't feel particularly welcomed in galleries at auction houses," Ifty said.

"I don't mean to be impolite, but what do you think your painting is worth today?" Rachel asked.
"Who knows? Maybe 500K?" Ifty said.
"Okay, would you sell it to me for seven hundred thousand?" she asked.
"I sense that's a trick question," said Ifty.
"You're right. Of course, it is. But all kidding aside, would it surprise you if I told you I would value your painting on today's market at $60 to $100 million. Rachel waited.
Ifty was silent for at least a minute. "That's enlightening news, I must say. Pounds or Dollars?"
"Dollars. If you ever decide to cash in, please let me know. I have ready buyers, all cash, all very private," Rachel said.
"Tell me more." Ifty was definitely curious.
"I specialized in private art sales. Utilizing shell companies with offshore accounts in tax havens, for their various advantages," Rachel explained.
"So, you can shelter my profit from selling that painting?" Ifty raised an eyebrow.
"Well, your tax strategies, that's between you and your accountant and should stay that way. It's the other things, things you can't, don't have to, or would rather not, discuss with your accountant, the secrets you would prefer stay buried, that's where I come in" Rachel said.
"In your case, what makes your daughter cry could be converted into trust funds for your kids, or a slush fund for fun, tax-free, if handled discreetly. Ifty's eyes were now fixed on her breasts. Her breathing quickened, and she winked at him. He wet his lips with a sip of champagne.

The number of other boats surrounding them had steadily increased as the ship slowed, approaching Nantucket. Everyone in town noticed. Ifty's yacht drew attention, no matter where he went.
"We'll talk more, Rachel. I'm intrigued with your explanation of the art market, and I'd love to spend more time exploring this subject in depth with you." Good, Ifty took the bait.
"Regardless of what you decide, congratulations on a very wise purchase," Rachel lifted her glass to Ifty.
"Please forgive me, but I'll be wanted on the bridge as we decide where to moor," he said, putting his soft hand on Rachel's shoulder to help himself stand.
She turned and brushed her breasts against his leg, looking up at him with a smile of intent.
"I'm wondering, are we having a sit-down for dinner?" asked Vanessa.
"In honor of the holiday, we'll eat hamburgers and hot dogs, with champagne, of course," Ifty laughed. "We can talk about food and art later."
"Okay, let's get this thing parked and start the party," said Vanessa.
After Ifty's departure, Rachel turned to Vanessa and smiled, "That went well, didn't it?" She asked.
"He likes you, I can tell," said Vanessa.
"That's great, but suddenly, we have millions of dollars on the line," said Rachel.
"That's what's making me so horny right now," said Vanessa.
Suddenly, getting off Ifty's boat was the last thing on Rachel's mind.
"They can declare me dead, or whatever, I'm not getting off this boat until we have a deal on that painting." Rachel vowed as they headed for the cabin.

Questionnaire on the story

To be continued

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