James Rogers (1)

Entertaining sort of book for pulling out at odd moments or when you need a topic to talk about. Which is exactly how I got the book.

Why a spoiler? See comment below.

I was sitting around the swimming pool in a marina (not looking glamorous in a bikini and owl-eye shades, but wearing beat-up shorts and flip-flops, sailor clothes) when I noticed this man looking at me. Not my type, not really, so I didn't respond. He got up to get a drink and when he came back he took the lounger next to mine, smiled and opened his book. This book. A few minutes later he said, "I could say do you come here often, but that would be a cliche," and on we went from there.

Grahame was a very nice man, a Canadian, he owned and captained a big dive boat trimaran that had a crew of three and chartered throughout the Caribbean. We went out for drinks a few times but nothing much else because I was mad for another man, Richard, (another captain, sailing was all in those days) who was equally mad for me but his wife was rather an obstacle so we just left it at being mad for each other and often at each other, and having drinks and long, soulful talks.

I heard that Richard was going away, he had to keep on the move being a master forger (of furniture) and in desperation I decided to kidnap him. I got a beachfront villa on a beach where the sea is so wild few people go. I stocked the fridge with champagne, grapes and chocolates and a joint in case that was his poison, and put in my bag his favourite brand of cigarettes. At the bar I induced him to come to the car and was just going to drive it off and he said, "I'm not going ANYWHERE with you" and got out of the car and went back to the marine bar. So did I. I was furious and humiliated. Revenge would come publicly and instantly.

I radioed Grahame on his boat to come and meet me in the bar and a couple of minutes later there we were, arms linked, going to my car, 'something wrong with the handle that opens the bonnet' I said and he got in. And I drove off.

It was a night filled with the most passionate, vengeful sex. I was so angry, he was so crazy. Everything I did was to spite Richard, but Grahame was off in his own head, complaining of pain where others feel joy, telling me of the creepy thoughts of death he always had with sex.

Next morning I took him back to the marina in time for breakfast and Richard and I resumed our strange circling of each other, always in the same place day and night. Occasionally Grahame would persuade me to have a drink, but my interest, such as there was, had gone.

One day Grahame wasn't there anymore and a friend came over to tell me that he had bought the yacht and Grahame had gone home to Canada, voluntarily going to a mental home, but that he'd left me a book. This one. A dictionary of cliches.

(What happened after that with Richard involved voodoo, spells, curses and more rubbish like that, but I never heard from Grahame again).

This story was full of cliches Do you believe any of it?
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