Marooned: A Fairy Tale of the Virgin Islands

By Lee B. Mulder

Late at night at a lonely bar in the British Virgin Islands, an angry young woman, overweight and over-served, bursts through the door declaring loudly, “I’ve been MAROONED!” The other patrons try to ignore her, remembering that this same woman was forcibly removed from the same bar earlier by her as she had become overly loud and obnoxious. She takes a stool, orders a beer, and begins to sulk. A lone sailor at the end of the bar takes pity on her and moves to her side. “So what’s your story?” he asks. That simple question starts these two people on a journey neither of them will ever forget.

Seasoned mariners, armchair sailors, beach lovers and island people will thoroughly enjoy this tale as it weaves its way through the sights and sounds of the U.S. and British Virgin Islands. Captain Mike is just trying to be a good guy, but as he says, no good deed goes unpunished. So come on, cast off the lines, welcome aboard. Let’s get this tale underway.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee B. Mulder
• Release date: Apr 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310194191

Lee B. Mulder

There are two things that drive this author. He needs to be in motion - traveling, moving, progressing. And he needs to feel productive. That last bit is the motivation for his wide variety of writing. Lee B. Mulder graduated with a Journalism degree from the University of Wisconsin at Madison at a time when the school was the epicenter for anti-Vietnam war protests. Reporting there led to a short newspaper career, then as a magazine staffer, then as a promotion writer, ad agency and public relations writer. Along the way he wrote columns for newspapers, stories for small magazines and novels. His first book "Toddler Tales: An Older Dad Survives the Raising of Small Children in Modern America" was published in 2006. A non-fiction book "They Call Me Mzee: One Man's Safari into Brightest Africa" was published in 2011 along with his novel, "The Missionary." As a ePub author, Mulder will release in 2014 a volume of poetry, several short stories with collections and maybe a novel. Raised in Chicago, Mulder now lives near a strong wifi connection. 2014 will be a breakthrough year for this author as he finally gets on Twitter. He loves to hear from his fans: email is [e-mail]

Book preview

Marooned

A Fairy Tale of the Virgin Islands

Lee B. Mulder

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Lee B. Mulder

OSC Publishers, Inc.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance the characters in this book may have to any real persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional.

Contents

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Epilog

About the Author

Dedication

To every sailor searching for serendipity

One

She burst through the bar’s palm frond door with a canvas bag over one shoulder and a suitcase in her hand, looking pissed as a cat just out of the bath. Once inside, she dropped the suitcase and yelled, I’ve been fucking MAROONED! as if anyone should care. It was only Betsy, the thirtyish, muumuu-clad, sunburned-to-a-ripe-rosy-red, frizzy-haired, overweight, loudmouthed harpy who’d been asked to leave the premises not too politely only an hour and a half before. Tarn, the bartender, winced. It was times like this he wished there was one other drinking establishment on Cooper Island or even a nearby reef in the British Virgins so he could ship her over to the competition. The few others in the room attempting to finish drinks, conversations or seductions turned their backs, willing her to vanish. Instead, she ambled over to the nearest barstool, resting her arms and unfettered bosoms on the counter. She slapped a wallet and some papers down and grumped, Gimme a beer.

Last call, love, Tarn said cheerfully, setting a wet Heineken on the bar.

Last call, my ass, she muttered.

I couldn’t stand it. She was such a sad case and such an incredible counterpoint to the perfect weather, the ideal beaches, the succulent star-clad nights, the beautiful, frisky people enjoying each other, the laughter, the music, the ever-present proximity to a cold beer. I know it’s futile to have a conversation with a drunk, but I had to hear her story. I slid off my bar stool, picked up my margarita glass and soggy coaster and settled onto the seat next to hers. Marooned? I said.

Yeah, she said, staring at the green beer bottle. "The other three took a vote. Said it was unanimous. They didn’t like my attitude and they were putting me ashore. I had ten minutes to pack. Like the Lord of the Flies or something. Give a guy with a little dick some power and he has to show who’s boss. Hell, I paid for a fourth of the damned charter. What gives them the right to dump me? They’re all a bunch of assholes anyway."

Sounds pretty cruel, I said. What’re you gonna do?

She turned to me with a snort and a sneer. What do you think I’m gonna do? Soon as this place closes, I’m gonna flag down a taxi and get my ass over to the airport. Got my ticket and my credit card right here. Shouldn’t take more’n 20 minutes this time of night, don’t you think? Then she started to cry, sad, silent, tears, not tears of anger, but tears of futility, the cathartic tears of the unliked and the unloved. The reality of her predicament had started to settle in. Dumped off a boat onto an island with few inhabitants, no hotel and certainly no taxi stand, she tried to consider her alternatives but could find none. She could beg Tarn to let her sleep on the bar room floor or maybe she’d just sleep on the beach – but then there were the land crabs. Then what? She wiped the tears and her dripping nose with the back of her hand. I really don’t know, she said, sounding far away. I really don’t know.

Call me a sucker, but I’m the guy who takes in stray dogs, buys orphans a hot dog, drops a quarter in the blind guy’s cup and actually listens to the violin player on the street corner performing for pennies. She looked so pitiful, so empty. I remember thinking I’d probably regret the next words that would come out of my mouth, but somehow, that didn’t prevent them from coming. I winced, "I’ve got a spare bunk