Some Like it Cold Chapter 5
BEACH
John has cleaned up and changed into the resort clothes that were the latest rage with those how owned or pretended to own yachts. He comes up to a basket chair, that provides some shade and doesn’t take notice of the note that’s precariously stuck to it, as his eyes are on Sugar and Ford, playing catch with a beach ball and the other girls from the band. Sitting near the chair to the side is a small boy around five, who is sorting through the sea shells he’s collected. A few feet away his mother is calling him, letting him know it’s time to go.
“Let's go, Junior. Time for your nap.” The mother calls out again.
“Nah, I wanna play…earn some more,” Junior tells his mother.
John wants the kid gone as it’ll cramp his style, plus the kid does look tired and about to be sunburned. “You heard your mudder, Junior. Scram,” he tells the kids.
They boy looks up at him, fearfully and John regrets his actions and tries to joke with the kid, “This beach ain't big enough for both of us,” he teases, but the boy doesn’t get it and scrambles to his feet, screaming "Mommy," and runs off, leaving the pail-full of shells behind. John settles himself in the chair, peers over his shoulder toward the girls still playing ball.
The girls, Sugar and Ford among them, are standing in a wide circle, tossing the beach ball around and chanting rhythmically: "I love coffee, I love tea, how many boys are
stuck on me? One, two, three, four, five …”
There is a wild throw over Sugar's head, in the direction of John's chair. Sugar turns and runs after the ball to retrieve it. This is exactly what John has been waiting for. As the ball comes rolling past, he unfolds the Wall Street Journal that was tucked in the side of the seat pad, pretends to be reading it. Just as Sugar runs by, John extends his foot a couple of inches - enough to trip her and send her sprawling to the sand., totally unaware that he’s gained an audience just behind him to the far left.
John lowers the paper he had been pretending to read and feeling like going all out, decides to have some fun with this, and does his best Cary Grant imitation as he speaks, as he thinks it makes him sound ‘upper class’, at least enough to fool Sugar. “Oh, I'm terribly sorry.”
Sugar is stunned a bit, by the fall and the handsome, almost familiar looking man who is standing before her now. “My fault,” she replies.
“You're not hurt, are you?” John asked, still using the fake voice, as he’s helping Sugar up.
“I don't think so.” Sugar replies honestly.
“I wish you'd make sure,” John states, knowing he’s peaking her interest.
“Why?” Sugar asks on cue.
“Because usually, when people find out who I am, they get themselves a wheel chair and a shyster lawyer, and sue me for a quarter of a million dollars,” John replies, knowing he’s said all the magic words.
Sugar smiles easily, “Well, don't worry. I won't sue you - no matter who you are,” she promises.
John returns to sitting in the chair, still oblivious to the note he’s now sitting one. “Thank you.”
Sugar is now curious, “Who are you?”
“Now, really…” John states, still using Cary Grant as his cover.
Ford and the other girls are looking off toward Sugar, waiting for the ball. “Hey, Sugar - come on,” Ford calls out.
Sugar picks up the ball as if ready to leave and John realizes he may have been too offensive, so flips the paper down a second and states as blasé as possible, “So long.” He then buries himself behind the Wall Street Journal again. He hears a scoff or snort from somewhere, but ignores it, and waits, very aware of Sugar’s actions and is planning his next move should she decide to go back to the game.
Sugar hesitates for a second, and then throws the ball back to the girls. She steps closer to John, peers around the paper, studying him, not realizing she’s the one being hooked. “Haven't I seen you somewhere before?”
Without looking up, John replies, “Not very likely.”
Now Sugar is very curious, “Are you staying at the hotel?”
“Not at all,” John replies, only giving Sugar a little bit of attention.
“Your face is familiar,” Sugar comments, for she has no way of knowing it’s her new best friend as he really is…a heel.
John lowers the paper, “Possible you saw it in a newspaper -or magazine - Vanity Fair …” there was that snort again, like someone in disgust. He was about to look around when Sugar bounced up in front of him excited.
“That must be it,” she beams, believing she’s got this figured out.
John waves her aside, playing snobbish to the hilt. “Would you mind moving just a little? You're blocking my view.”
Sugar turns around to look out into the bay, “Your view of what?”
“They run up a red-and-white flag on the yacht when it's time for cocktails,” he tells her. In the background he’s sure he heard someone say, “Oh, please,” as if annoyed. John would have looked around but Sugar snapped at the rest of the bait; this was like taking candy from a baby…almost.
“You have a yacht?” she asks, then again turns and looks seaward at a half-a-dozen yachts of different sizes bobbing in the distance. “Which one is yours - the big one?”
“Certainly not. With all that unrest in the world, I don't think anybody should have a yacht that sleeps more than twelve.” He turned his head a bit when he thought he heard someone laughing and it wasn’t the girls down the beach, but from his position in the basket chair he couldn’t see anyone.
Sugar, totally thrilled at the idea and not wanting to sound uneducated, nods. “I quite agree. Tell me, who runs up that flat - your wife?”
John knows this litany and fought not to smirk. “No, my flag steward.”
“And who mixes the cocktails - your wife?” Sugar asked, trying to sound unobvious, but was extremely obvious as to what she was doing.
“No, my cocktail steward. Look, if you're interested in whether I'm married or not…” feeling he’ll cut this line of questioning now before it got out of hand, plus it was hot in this outfit.
Sugar not wanting to seem obvious again, replies quickly, “I'm not interested at all.”
“Well, I'm not,” John tells her.
Sugar beams, “That's very interesting.”
John resumes reading the paper to cover the grin on his face. Sugar sits on the sand beside his chair.
“So, how's the stock market?”
“Up, up, up,” John replies as if it’s no big deal to him.
Sugar thinks hard trying to think of what to say to keep the conversation going. “I'll bet just while we were talking, you made like a hundred thousand dollars.”
John decides to play along and lowers the paper to face her. “Could be. Do you play the market?”
Sugar smiles, “No - the ukulele. And I sing.”
“For your own amusement?” John asks, knowing better.
“Well - a group of us are appearing at the hotel. Sweet Sue and Her Society Syncopators,” she tells him, hoping he’ll be interested.
John decides to make her work for this after all, as it had been too easy and he needs a bit of a challenge. “You're society girls?” he asks, purposefully pretending to misunderstand what she said and meant. He then heard a groan from somewhere behind him. If Sugar wasn’t sitting right next to him, he’d go investigate it, as he was sure something was not right.
“Oh, yes. Quite. You know - Vassar, Bryn Mawr - we're only doing this for a lark,” she chuckles, hoping to cover for why she’s really playing at the hotel, sensing he wouldn’t approve.
John decides to push this a bit more, “ Syncopators - does that mean you play that fast music - jazz?”
“Yeah. Real hot,” Sugar says, looking excited about what she played.
John looks put-out, “Oh. Well, I guess some like it hot. But personally, I prefer classical music.”
Sugar does a quick mental back step, “Oh, so do I. As a matter of fact, I spent three years at the Sheboygan Conservatory of Music.”
John struggles to keep a straight face hearing his own lie filtering back into his face. “GoodSchool!” he says to give some more credibility to his and Ford’s cover with the band. “And your family doesn't object to your career?”
Sugar feeling that she’s onto this man’s number shifts her comments to match what he believes is expected of her. “They do indeed. Daddy threatened to cut me off without a cent, but I don't care. It was such a bore - coming-out parties, cotillions…”
“Inauguration balls…” John adds.
“Opening of the Opera,” Sugar tosses in.
Not to be out done, John adds another, “Riding to hounds…”
Sugar is with this program and sighs if board, “- and always the same Four Hundred.”
John has had enough and chuckles a little. “You know, it's amazing we never ran into each other before. I'm sure I would have remembered anybody as attractive as you.”
Sugar smiles from ear to ear, “You're very kind. I'll bet you're also very gentle - and helpless…”
“I beg your pardon?” John protests, for no guy wants to hear that they’ll helpless, even if they might be.
Sugar realizes her mistake and speaks up quickly to fix it, “You see, I have this theory about men with glasses.”
“What theory?” John asks, turning slightly as he was sure he heard someone say, “Of course she does, but Sugar was continuing talking, and so John just refocused back on her.
“Maybe I'll tell you when I know you a little better. What are you doing tonight?” Sugar asks, being a bit bold.
“Tonight?” John hadn’t considered her moving this quickly, which surprised him a little bit, which wasn’t bad, it kept him on his toes.
“I thought you might like to come to the hotel and hear us play,” Sugar said with some hope in her eyes and voice.
“I'd like to - but it may be rather difficult,” John told her, for it was the truth.
“Why?” Sugar asked and John was sure there was another voice that echoed the same question, but John didn’t have time to think on that, for he couldn’t exactly tell Sugar he was playing with her tonight.
John’s eyes searched the ground and saw the pail of sea shells and grabbed them up, “I only come ashore twice a day - when the tide goes out.”
“Oh?” Sugar asked, not understanding why.
John needed to think fast, “Ah, It's on the account of the shells. That's my hobby.”
Sugar looks amazed and uncertain as it doesn’t sound like something a rich man would do, “You collect shells?”
Taking a hand full of shells from the pail, John speaks fast, “Yes. So did my father and my grandfather - we've all had this passion for shells - that's why we named the oil company after it.”
Sugar’s eyes grow wide, “Shell Oil?”
“Oh brother,” is heard echoed in the wind, but John is too focused on his lie to pay attention and Sugar is too focused on John to care where or who said it.
“Please - no names. Just call me Junior,” just on some small chance that someone might know who really owned Shell Oil.
By this time, the ball game is breaking up, and Ford approaches Sugar and John, noticing another man just off to the left of the basket chair, covered in sun tan lotion, sunglass and holding a perspiring drink, looking very annoyed and amused at the same time. Ford just dismisses it, as he focuses on Sugar, more than ready to get back to the hotel.
“Come on, Sugar - time to change for dinner,” Ford/Teyla calls out as he approaches closer.
Sugar is sensing she’s getting somewhere with this rich ‘heir’ and isn’t ready to go back yet. “Run along, Teyla - I'll catch up with you.”
Ford just gives a casual glance at John, “Okay,” he says then takes a couple of steps, seeing he’s being eyes by the strange man with too much suntan lotion, but then couldn’t care less as it hits him who is in the chair. He steps back and stares at John opened -mouthed.
“What is it, young lady? What are you staring at?” concerned that Ford is going to blow everything.
Ford points and is speechless, “You - you…”
John turns to Sugar hoping to still save this disaster in the making. “This happens to me all the time in public.”
Sugar nods in understand and turns to Ford, “I recognized him too - his picture was in Vanity Fair.”
Ford snorts, and is slightly taken off guard as the man still out of view of John and going unnoticed by Sugar snorts too. “Vanity Fair?” he says, looking back at John, ready to expose the imposter for who he is.
Okay, this was not going well, John thinks, knowing he played this out too far. He waves Ford aside, “Would you mind moving along, please?”
Sugar understands what ‘Junior’ is asking and waves Teyla aside too, “Yes, you're in the way. He's waiting for a signal from his yacht,” she beams.
Ford is aghast at John’s nerve, “His yacht?”
Sugar looks suddenly proud, “It sleeps twelve.” She then turns to ‘Junior’ “This is my friend Teyla. She's a Vassar girl.”
“I’m a what?” Ford questions, not sure what Sugar is going on about. By now, Ford sees the man with the drink is looking amused and annoyed at the same time, which is quite a feat, not that he really cared at the moment, and was going to ask who he was, when Sugar spoke up again.
“Or was it Bryn Mawr?” Sugar said, trying to hint for Teyla to go along with it.
John looks up at Ford and glares at him, “I heard a very sad story about a girl who went to Bryn Mawr. She squealed on her roommate, and they found her strangled with her own brassiere.”
Ford feeling properly threatened swallows hard, “Yes - you have to be very careful about picking a roommate.”
Sugar realizing it’s getting late, decides its time to end this and hope for the best for another time. “Well, I guess I'd better go,” she says.
“It's been delightful meeting you both,” John lies charmingly in his Carry Grant accent.
“And you will come to hear us tonight?” Sugar asks hopefully.
“If it's at all possible,” John replies, more than ready to end this conversation as its gone way out of hand.
“Oh, please do come. Don't disappoint us. It'll be such fun. And bring your YACHT.”
Sugar sensing animosity between Teyla and her potential new RICH boyfriend, gently grabs Teyla by the arm, “Come on, Teyla.” She leads Ford away.
John stands up and gives them a casual salute and its then that he notices his audience for the first time. The man is just a bit shorter than him, but about the same age. He can’t see much of the man’s face, as he’s got a sun hat on, and sunglasses and a large amount of sun block on. “Can I help you?” he asks, still using his Carry Grant accent.
Rodney can’t believe he stood here the entire time and listened to this BS drama play out, but was the most entertaining thing that’s occurred during his time here. He also is smart enough to figure out some of what is going on that wasn’t said, and was amused, but also annoyed to have been dragged into it, even if indirectly. “Yeah, you can first stop with the phony and LOUSY accent,” Rodney tells the man. “And you can try and explain where you get off using MY chair, MY paper and MY shells, which I paid that kids mother five whole dollars to collect for me,” Rodney snaps, feeling insulted this man, which now that he can get a proper look at him, is rather good looking, thinks him a rube like the girl he was conning moments ago. “And for the record, for YOU to be a Junior in the Shell Oil Company, you’d have to be Marcus Samuel…Oh, and you’d have to be DEAD, as the man DIED two years ago at the age of 74!” Rodney snapped, removing his sunglasses, so the man could get the full effect of his glare.
John didn’t need this, though he was glad for the little tid-bit about Shell Oil. He was about to say something very scathing, when he caught sight of a pair of the most electric and luminous blue eyes he’d ever seen in his life. His first thought was it was a pity they were on a man, and then he notices the glare and found it amusing. “Look, Mister, the chair is public property, it’s not like your name is on it or anything…” John began.
Rodney arched a brow and moved around the chair and pointed to the note that John had been sitting on, which said: Chair in use by DR R. McKay. Do not sit in!
Okay, this was different. “Well, sorry about the chair, but what just went on isn’t any of your business,” John drawls.
Rodney chuckles, for he feels that since it took place in his chair and on HIS time, it was his business. “Well, I differ on that thought, because you MADE it my business. And Please, what is with this get up? I mean, you’re a very handsome man, why all this?” Rodney asks, moving forward and flicks the collar to the navy blue jacket and then grabs the hat from John’s head and sees the hair. “On second thought, you might want to keep the hat,” Rodney grins and places it back on John’s head.
“Hey,” John protests, but isn’t feeling insulted as he notices the man has an infectious smile, and then sobers. “Look ah…” he looks at the note again, “McKay, here’s your paper, it’s still in good condition and your…shells, are perfectly fine, so why don’t we just call it a day? Shall we?” John asked, hoping to drop the subject for he didn’t really want to look at his motives and actions too hard.
“Fine, I guess you both deserve each other, you lying to get her in bed, her lying to get you in bed…though I think she’s getting the short end of the stick here, but hey, as you said, none of my business. But you might…”
John held up a hand, “Look, I don’t need advice, I’ve got this covered.”
Rodney laughs, “I bet you do, though I was just going to point out that your ‘roommate’ and Miss Sugar are currently running to the hotel…I have a feeling TEYLA is expecting to find her…roommate there…” he laughs for the idea is so outrageous, but had he not spotted Ford’s Adam’s apple he wouldn’t have thought it possible. Seeing John’s reaction, he knows he’s right on the money on this one. “Since you’re in the habit of taking things that aren’t yours…” he points to a bike near by
John knows he’s got to hurry, “Thank McKay,” he says and starts for the bike and stops and smiles at Rodney, “You’re okay,” he grins and then grabs the bike, the owner oblivious to its theft and races back to the hotel so he can beat Ford and Sugar, for he knows they’re heading to his room.
Rodney watches ‘Junior’ race off, still not knowing the man’s real name, but decides he’s going to find out…and attend the band’s performance this evening. He has a feeling it’s going to prove very entertaining indeed.
****End of Chapter Five****