Schroedinger's Cat

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Chapter 1.

Carl Schroedinger lay on his side, contemplating the angelic face of the sleeping woman -no, girl -who shared his bunk. Although she was legal, at twenty-three, he was twenty years older, more than old enough to be her father. Because of that, he should have been neither surprised nor terribly upset, when she'd tearfully announced that she was moving on.

Funny though, how even as she told him she was leaving for another man's bed, she had undressed and readied herself to fuck his brains out.

Her reason for terminating the relationship was straightforward and classic: she was through waiting for him to commit to a permanent relationship.

She stirred as he watched, eventually opening her eyes and gazing at this face as a few more tears trickled down her cheeks. She arose and dressed unhurriedly, then strode over to him and sat on his lap. She kissed him with as much passion as she had ever shown, then silently stood, turned, and left. It was clear that she wasn't coming back.

He would miss her greatly, probably even be depressed by her absence, for a while. Hell, we lived together for nearly eight months, but we'll both recover and move on with our lives.

Her sudden departure upset his routine, though. Normally he would have let her continue napping while he prepared breakfast. Now that she was gone, there seemed to be little point in cooking, so after some consideration, he decided to eat out.

He was fortunate in that the marina was within spitting distance of an IHOP. In his current mood, the high-carb fare they offered had a great deal of appeal to him. He showered and dressed, then started hoofing it toward the restaurant. Before he had managed to leave the marina property, Mark Zweiter, another sailing enthusiast, and former college roommate, spied him.

Mark fell in step and kept up a superficial banter while they made their way to breakfast.

They entered the restaurant and took a table, and while they looked over the menu, Mark said, "I heard about Ginger, and I just wanted to tell you to call me if you need to talk."

Carl peered over the menu at his friend, and observed, dourly, "News sure travels fast. She only told me last night."

"Maybe so," Mark responded, grinning, " but you know how women talk among themselves. While she was telling you, Sarah was telling me. Every attached guy you know probably knows that you are sleeping alone again, this morning."

Carl sighed and laid down the menu. The waitress, who'd been waiting patiently for the men to order, approached the table hopefully.

"Just warm up the coffee," he suggested, "And leave the menu. I'll be ordering later."

The waitress wilted visibly. She did as he asked, however, and then moved away to serve a nearby table.

Turning back to his friend he said, glumly, "It's not like I'm crushed, or anything. I expected it to happen sometime, just not right now. I was just getting ready to head south for a few months. I thought she'd enjoy spending the winter in Florida."

Shaking his head, Mark told him, "You still don't get it, do you? The girl had it bad for you. She wanted to have your babies."

"You made it clear, through your inaction, that the relationship wasn't going anywhere. From her viewpoint, if you really wanted to keep her around, you should have shown it somehow."

"See, that's the problem with all of them. They're all looking for a legally binding commitment. All I want to do is enjoy life..."

"I said, it would have worked, but it probably wasn't the only way. Did you ever even allude to the possibility of long-term plans for the two of you?"

"You know I didn't. I don't lead people on. I won't ever marry, and I won't lie, just to keep a woman in my bed."

"You didn't have to, you idiot! She wasn't expecting a ring. Didn't she try to talk to you about children?"

"Well, mostly I ignored it. People don't plan to have kids if they don't plan to be married."

"Shows what you know. Sarah says that if you'd even shown the slightest positive reaction, you'd already be well on your way to becoming a daddy, with or without a wedding."

"You know, you can't let what Anne did over twenty years ago ruin the rest of your life," he offered.

"Think about it, smart guy. If you keep shitting in your own nest, you're going to keep waking up in your own shit," Mark concluded, as he finished his coffee and stood up. "I don't want to spend all day pointing out your shortcomings..."

"... so, why don't you come over for dinner tonight and let Sarah finish the job? When she's done, we can have a couple or nine beers and complain to each other about how poorly women treat men."

"Do that," Mark replied, grinning. "At least the beer and food won't cost you anything but a little haranguing." He put a couple of dollars on the table, before he shook Carl's hand and left.

Well, no need to put off the trip anymore, Carl thought, looking out the window. Winter was threatening, and he'd only been waiting for Ginger to agree to schedule the time off, so she could go south with him. Since she wasn't going, all he really needed to do was wind up his own outstanding business, which included getting the boat ready.

He ordered, and consumed, a fairly large breakfast, then made the waitress' day with an unreasonably large tip. As he left the IHOP, he called his broker, and the receptionist answered on the second ring.

"I'm sorry sir, Mr. Goldwynn is on vacation. I know he'll be disappointed to have missed your call, but his associate, Ms. Bonaduce, is temporarily handling all of his accounts. Would you like to speak to her?"

Carl wasn't happy with this development, but he didn't really have any choice, if he wanted to move on his plans immediately. "Sure," he said. "Better yet, can you set up an appointment for me, for this afternoon?"

He agreed, and she did so. While he listened to the elevator music they always play to people on hold, he considered his next steps. He'd need to cash out some of his investments, in order to properly commission and provision the 41-foot catamaran for the trek south. Because it was so late in the season, he intended to travel as close to top speed as possible. He also didn't plan to spend a lot of time in port as he traveled, so he thought he could reasonably make the trip in six weeks.

"Sir," the receptionist said, as she returned to him, "Ms. Bonaduce is available to meet at your convenience, anytime after 2:00 PM today. Will that be alright?"

After some consideration, however, he decided not to go shopping. Instead, he spent the time tidying and securing the boat. He inventoried the stores, checked all the lines and hardware, and performed all normal maintenance checks on the auxiliaries and electronics. After all that, he barely had time to shower, shave and change, before the taxi arrived to take him to his appointment.

It turned out to be a good thing that he changed his plans for killing the time. His inventory had resulted in a pretty comprehensive shopping list, which had the effect of increasing his projected cash requirements. In order to meet those requirements, he would have to liquidate more assets than he'd originally planned. Barry wouldn't be pleased.

Fuck him anyway! It's my money! Carl grinned to himself as he pictured Barry's reaction. Maybe it's a good thing he's on vacation...

Upon his arrival at MGI, the pretty receptionist recognized him immediately, and quickly shepherded him into an empty, unfamiliar office. The nameplate on the desk said Amanda Bonaduce. Looking around, he surmised that Amanda, if she had made partner yet, must be a very junior partner. While tasteful, her office was much smaller, and much less luxuriously appointed than Barry's. Of course, Barry's dad is the Goldwynn of Meiberg-Goldwynn Investments.

He hadn't been there long, when a businesslike, youngish woman entered, carrying an armload of bulging file jackets. "Mr. Schroedinger, I presume?" she said, peering over her rimless glasses.

"Carl, then," she acknowledged, as she waved him toward the chairs facing her desk. As she rounded the desk and began settling in, he took a closer look. She wasn't beautiful, in the fashion model or movie star sense, but she had a terrific girl-next-door attractiveness. She reminded him of something he'd read, or heard, about another woman. It went something like this:

"On first glance, she was nothing special. Pretty enough, but not strikingly beautiful. Any guy would glance at her, maybe smile at her, and then walk on by. A second look would confirm that she was very nice-looking, but not a knockout. Nothing outstanding. By the third look, you were wondering why you were giving her second and third looks, and realizing that there might be more to her than meets the eye..."

Like many young professional women, Amanda Bonaduce was fit, shapely, and had a pretty face. She had nicely styled, shoulder-length, brown hair. If she hadn't been intellectually sharp and professionally adept, Barry wouldn't have hired her, so it was a given that she had significant gray matter. A very nice package, overall, but not Carl's usual fare.

Nonetheless, she had his full and undivided attention, and it wasn't just because she currently held his financial well being in her delicate, well-manicured hands. It might have been the quiet confidence she projected, or the friendly smile. It might have been her smoky hazel eyes, or the scent of her perfume (very nice!). He couldn't pin it down, but whatever it was, it was working.

He knew his plans were guaranteed to make any accountant unhappy, but it couldn't be helped, so he decided to take a deep breath, and enjoy the process as much as possible.

"I need to liquidate a few assets," he replied. "I have an immediate need for additional cash on hand, and I'd like to contain the damage as much as possible. "

He told her, and she blanched, appearing ready to faint. When she could breathe again, she said, "That is a great deal of money, Mr. Schroedinger!"

"Yes, it is," he agreed, "but I think you'll find that my portfolio can easily take the hit. And call me Carl. Please."

"I'll have to verify that, of course," she observed, still shaken, but recovering. "I also need to advise you that, according to federal law, we are required to report transactions of that size!"

"All right then," she said, stiffly, "assuming everything checks out, I should be able to advise you on which holdings to liquidate within thirty minutes, and with your approval, the sales can be concluded within the hour. The proceeds will then be immediately credited to your draw account."

"Mr. Schroedinger... Carl... it's your money, and really none of my business, but may I ask what you plan to do with such a large amount of cash?"

"Okay. Because I think I like you, I'll satisfy your curiosity. I need the money to outfit my yacht for an extended voyage."

Were he dealing with Barry, he'd simply have brushed it off. Of course, if he were dealing with Barry, they'd already be in a shouting match. Dealing with Amanda was a much more civilized process, and he realized, unexpectedly, that he wanted her approval. Checking her left hand, he saw no wedding or engagement ring, so there was a chance that she was yet unattached.

"I can see you don't approve," he told her, smiling. "How about giving me a chance to change your mind? Come sailing with me this Saturday. We can go out for the day, and I'll even buy your dinner afterwards."

She was momentarily speechless, surprised by the invitation. When she recovered her composure a little, she started to refuse. "Mr. Schroedinger, I don't think..."

"Don't think about it," he interrupted. "Are you married, engaged, or otherwise encumbered?"

"Then accept my invitation, and be assured that I have no intention of taking advantage of you ... this time..."

"Well, yes," he replied carefully, his face reddening. "I've been known to use a daysail as an opportunity for courting, but I like to get to know a woman before I start to think about her in any intimate way. Right now, I'd just like to give you a good sailing experience, and maybe improve your outlook about it. If we become friends, it'll be a bonus."

Peering over her glasses again, she asked "Courting? Is that what they call it now?"

He looked her straight in the eyes, but didn't answer, and after a thoughtful silence, she said with a smirk, "All right, let me take care of business for you here, so you can get the cash you so desperately need, and I'll go sailing with you Saturday."

An hour later, their business was concluded, and his draw account was flush with cash. She escorted him to the lobby door and extended her hand.

He searched through his wallet and found one of the marina's business cards. Borrowing her pen he scratched his mobile number on the back, and handed her the card.

"The earlier the better, to a point," he said, cheerily. "Let's say, between 7:00 and 9:00 AM. When you get to the marina, park your car and give me a call. I'll meet you at the marina office. If you arrive on the early end of that range, I'll spring for breakfast at the IHOP."

"I don't have a chariot. Or a car. I haven't needed one since I ... retired. The best I could do would be to send a taxi for you."

"As crazy as the cabbies are around here, I'd rather drive." she retorted. "Until Saturday, then."

She closed the door behind him as he left, and turned around with the card in her hand. The receptionist spied it, and gave her a smug grin.

"What?" she snapped. The receptionist just kept on grinning and went back to her work.

As he left the building, he wondered, What the heck was I thinking? This is NOT gonna be fun! Oh well, at least I have the cash to outfit for the trip now.

While on his way home, he decided to accept Mark's dinner invitation, and it just didn't feel like a beer night, so he stopped at a popular wine shop to buy a bottle of good Riesling, for the Zweiter's. Upon leaving the shop, he noticed a nearby supermarket, and decided to pick up the makings for sandwiches. It would be good to have something on hand suitable for a picnic on the boat.

That evening, he stepped up to his friends' door with the wine bottle nestled in the crook of his arm. Sarah had prepared a marvelous dinner of flounder, stuffed with crab, and drenched in wonderful a primavera sauce. She also served up his favorite side vegetable, steamed asparagus. His choice of the Riesling was fortuitous, as it went perfectly with the dinner.

They topped off the meal with coffee and a slice of Boston cream pie. It was clearly a set-up, intended to allow him to relax his guard, but even so, he enjoyed both the meal and the company. After dessert, Carl and his hosts retired to their small sitting room with their coffee. The evening temperature was just cool enough to allow them to enjoy a small fire in the fireplace, and everyone got comfortable,

Sarah didn't waste any time getting down to business. As Mark had promised, she delivered a comprehensive catalog of Carl's deficiencies in dealing with women, along with specific suggestions for improving his behavior, and gave notice of her expectation that he should do better.

As difficult as it was to simply sit and listen, Sarah was clearly being more a friend than a critic, so he accepted her criticism in the spirit in which it was given. He might, or might not, change his ways, but it felt good to know there were people who honestly cared for him. Ginger had been a big part of his life, for several months, and she was conspicuous by her absence. Not fun.

As he was leaving, he collected a handshake from Mark, and some very nice hugs and a chaste kiss from Sarah. At that moment, he remembered his sailing date with Amanda, and decided to invite his friends along. That resulted in his getting the third degree about this "new" girl, the unabridged story of how he met her, and what his intentions were, concerning her.

"Man, you don't waste any time, do you?" Mark exclaimed in wonder - and somewhat more than a little admiration. Sarah just looked at him sadly.

"What?" he demanded. "It's just a daysail. No ulterior motives at all!" It was clear that neither of them believed him, but they grudgingly agreed to go along, anyway.

Harrumph! he grumbled to himself, Probably only to protect yet another "innocent" young woman from a broken heart!

It seemed Saturday morning would never come, but the interval did give him time to spend all the money required in order to make ready for the upcoming journey south, and to develop a float plan for the Saturday daysail. He'd just had his first cup of coffee, and opened the first of his cruising guides and charts, when his cell phone chirped. It was Amanda.

"How about I just meet you at the IHOP?" she offered. "I can see it from here, and probably beat you there. If so, I'll hold a table for us."

"Sounds like a plan," he replied. "I'll see you there in ten minutes or less." She acknowledged his reply and disconnected.

As he walked up the dock he called the Zweiter's, who agreed to meet him and Amanda at the IHOP, as his guests for breakfast. Entering the restaurant, he spied Amanda, and waved off the hostess as he approached the table. He'd just finished greeting his "date" when the Zweiter's arrived, requiring that he make formal introductions.

After everyone ordered, Sarah announced a need to visit the powder room, and of course, invited Amanda to join her. Is the Pope Catholic?

The ladies returned, Sarah wearing a smug grin, as the food was being delivered to the table, and Amanda had an odd expression whenever Carl caught her looking at him.

Probably got the lowdown on my misogynistic history, he thought, glumly. On the other hand, it wasn't difficult to push the grumpy thoughts aside and dig into the food, and listen while the others carried on a lightweight conversation. As a result, he finished his meal well ahead of his companions, and thus had to relax with his coffee, while the others consumed their meal at a more tectonic pace.

They did eventually finish, however, and the entire party moved into the marina, and aboard Pixel. Carl orchestrated all of the activities required to get underway, working from a checklist. It was actually easier than usual. Ordinarily, he only had himself and whomever he was "with" at the moment to handle the work, but with Amanda and the Zweiter's as crew, he had double the number of hands customarily available. As a consequence, all of the chores were completed and Pixel cast off in record time.

Amanda had been on station at the forward end of the starboard hull, and made her way back to the cockpit.

"Well," he replied, grinning, "I don't actually have a plan... I just thought I'd try to show you a good time. We have a flood tide now, but the breeze is favorable, so I think we'll just head out into the harbor and make for Quincy Bay. We can just sail around there awhile, and then drop anchor for lunch."

As she returned to her station, he could tell that such seat-of-the-pants traveling wasn't much to her liking, but then what could one expect from an accountant? She, couldn't believe that an unplanned outing could possibly result in anything other than total disaster... on the other hand, they were already well away from shore, and she didn't know how to pilot the boat. She'd just have to grin and bear it, and hope for the best.

The hard part was getting out in the harbor in the first place, but having quite a few years of experience dodging nautical traffic, he handled it easily, and soon he was able to set the sails and kill the engines.

Amanda had been trying to maintain a stoic outlook, peering ahead at what seemed to be a veritable army of other craft, apparently bent on Pixel's destruction. When the engine noise stopped, however, and hull speed diminished slightly, she became alarmed and bolted for the cockpit.

"Not a thing," he replied seriously. "We're under sail power now. That's why it got so quiet. This is the part I like best about sailing. Look at the nearby landmarks, and you'll see that we're moving almost as fast as we did under power."

She gave him a doubtful look, but did as he suggested. Soon she could see that he was being truthful, and she began to relax, even to smile once in a while. Ultimately she wandered back up to her forward station.

Carl observed, again that she was quite attractive, even dressed in a relatively conservative outfit consisting of white shorts and polo shirt. He also observed that, as she became more comfortable with the ride, she began to have some fun. When the bows threw up a spray, she didn't flinch, just closed her eyes and let it wash over her with a smile. She seemed to enjoy the feel of the wind in her hair, and when the spray ran off, the smile turned into a grin. By the time they reached the area where he'd decided to anchor for lunch, he had a convert.

He stayed at the wheel, controlling the boat, as Mark handled setting the anchor. The depth of the water was between 10 and 18 feet at the chosen location, and they were nearing high tide. The area typically had strong and unpredictable currents, so they paid out about 100 feet of rode. Once properly anchored, the captain and crew could relax and have lunch.

Carl hauled out a cooler and addressed the crew. "We have beer, wine, sodas, and tea on ice here," he said, gesturing to the cooler. "I also have a pretty-well-stocked liquor cabinet inside the salon, if that's what you're up for." He paused. "I'd strongly suggest that you avoid the hard stuff, though. You can enjoy wine and beer a lot longer. Since I'm driving, I'll stick to soft drinks. Dig in while I set up the sideboard."

As the crew did, indeed, dig into the cooler, he went below and retrieved sandwich makings from the cooler/refrigerator in the galley, and spread them out on the counter connecting to the salon. Nice little spread, if I do say so myself! He made himself a sandwich and returned to the cockpit.

"Lunch is on the sideboard," he said to the others, grinning, as he retrieved a soda, "help yourselves, if you've no mind to leave any for the children..."

Mark and Sarah laughed, but the look on Amanda's face showed clearly that she didn't get the joke.

"Just an expression that my Dad used to use in fun," he quickly volunteered. She went below, shaking her head.

When everyone had served himself or herself, they all sat around in the cockpit, chatting and enjoying the breezes and the quiet lap of water against the hull.

Ultimately though, all good things must end, and when the time came everyone pitched in to make ready for the return voyage. When all was secure for sailing, Mark manned the windlass while Carl used the engines to give him slack. Anchor up, with no structures in sight, they raised sail and, as they caught the wind, killed the engines.

Amanda clearly enjoyed the passage, even taking the wheel for a significant portion of the trip. She didn't want to give it up, and only reluctantly did so when Carl pointed out that they were entering heavy traffic, and that she'd never docked a boat

When Pixel was safe and secure in her slip, the two couples walked up the dock toward shore, making small talk. Sarah and Mark led the way, walking in tandem, each with an arm around the other's waist. Carl and Amanda walked arm-in-arm. As they reached the end of the dock, the Zweiter's said their goodbye's pleading age and fatigue. After much handshaking, hugs and "air kisses," they left Carl and Amanda alone.

"I like it," she replied. "I still don't think that financing aimless wandering is a wise use of capital, but like I said before, it's your money," she sniffed.

"I understand your position," he sighed, "but honestly, you know that I already have enough money to support myself as long as I will likely live, and I have no heirs to spend it for me after I'm gone. Other than making you and Barry a little wealthier, I have no real reason to try to grow capital. I might as well enjoy spending it, and sailing, particularly in the company of friends, is where I get most of my enjoyment."

"Okay," he said. "I promised to buy you dinner if you went sailing with me. Is there any place in particular you'd like to go? Do you want to go home and change first?"

"I'm really exhausted," she replied, smiling and stifling a yawn. "Can I get a rain check? I think I might need to get a little more experience sailing before I can completely make up my mind about it."

"That was pretty transparent, but all right," he answered, grinning. "What are you doing tomorrow? Would you like to schedule a return engagement? Maybe a short run in the afternoon, then a fancy dinner? You could bring some extra clothes and change aboard Pixel."

"That sounds like fun, and I don't really have any plans for tomorrow, so yes, okay, I'd like that."

"Great! There's plenty of sandwich stuff left. If you show up in time for lunch, we can eat before we cast off"

They walked to her car in silence. She did, however, give up a quick hug and a shy kiss, followed by a weak smile, just before she got in and drove away. Wearily returning to Pixel, Carl admitted to himself that he wouldn't have been much fun to be with this evening, anyway, and he chugged a beer and wolfed down another sandwich, before collapsing into his berth.

Having yielded to the fatigue the previous evening, Carl awoke with barely enough time to clean himself up and police the boat before Amanda arrived, with luggage.

She gave him a raspberry, then replied "You said I could change here, so I brought my evening clothes. I seem to remember that someone was going to take me out tonight..."

He took her bags and stowed them. "You can change in here, when it's time," he said, showing her the master's stateroom. "Shower's in the head, over there" he continued, pointing. "I'll show you the controls before you need to use it."

"Perhaps," he admitted, "but things might be more different aboard a boat than you realize."

She gave him a look of total disbelief, but decided to not pursue the discussion any further. Instead, she asked "What's on the agenda for today?"

"Well first, lunch," he responded, walking into the galley. Looking at his watch, he went on "then, if we don't dawdle too much, we'll have about two hours for sailing before we have to start getting ready. Our ride is scheduled to be here at 6:30."

"Ride?" she echoed, puzzled. "I figured I'd be driving, since you don't have a car."

"I wouldn't do that to my date," he said, grinning, as he started to make lunch. "It's my duty to make you feel special while showing you a good time. You having to drive would mean you wouldn't have as much opportunity to see how wonderful I am."

"Hah! So this whole adventure is just a ruse to gain my trust, so you can take advantage of me!" she observed, returning the grin. "Mother warned me about boys like you!" And Sarah warned me about you, specifically! she added, mentally.

He stopped what he was doing momentarily, and with a very serious look told her, "I haven't made any plans beyond those I've spoken to you about. I've enjoyed the time I've spent with you, and I would be lying if I said I didn't find you very attractive, but at this moment, and at least for the immediate future, I have no ulterior motives with regard to you."

"I was teasing," she said gently, placing her palm on his arm. And now, I wonder if I should be disappointed...

Not knowing how to respond, Carl just shrugged and finished constructing the sandwiches. He cut them in half and placed them on paper plates. Handing one to her, he said, "It's not saving any trees, but I really despise doing dishes. You want soda or beer?"

As planned, it was a short voyage, about an hour and three-quarters. They never actually left the harbor, and Carl hardly got to drive at all. He was, however, able to enjoy watching her excitement and pleasure as she steered the boat around obstacles, called out tacks and gibes, and avoided being run down by the ubiquitous powerboats.

All too soon, it was over. He held his watch up where she could see, and tapped the face, indicating that it was time to head back to dock. Her face fell, showing her disappointment, and his heart almost broke. Nonetheless, she gave up the wheel and he returned them safely to the dock.

After securing the boat, it was time to begin preparing for their dinner date. Carl told her what kind of experience to expect in the shower, and showed her how to operate the shower controls. He also pointed out one particular bit of hardware that he felt to be extremely important.

"It most likely won't happen, but if that lamp starts flashing you need to shut off the water immediately," he told her.

"That lamp is an alarm that lets me know the holding tank is about full, and that I need to empty it before putting anything else down the drain."

"Yeah. This is a boat. Not connected to any sewage collection system. We aren't allowed to discharge directly to the harbor, so we have to collect and hold our own wastewater. That means we have to visit the pump-out station once in awhile. I did that recently, in preparation for our outing yesterday."

"Eww!" she wrinkled her nose, then asked "What about when you are away from the marina for a long trip?"

"Well," he responded, "there are really two answers to that. If I'm traveling far enough offshore, then direct discharge is allowed. Inshore, there's usually a marina with a pump-out stations within striking distance. On the other hand, my holding tank is pretty large, so with sensible water use, it's possible to go a couple of weeks between pump-outs. More, if I don't have any crew."

She obviously had some reservations. "Maybe I should just use the marina's showers," she suggested.

"I think you would be more comfortable here," he answered. "The marina is pretty good about maintenance, but their showers are located in their restrooms, and the restrooms have a lot of the same issues as other public restrooms. Besides, you'd have to carry your clothes up there with you, and bring the ones you're wearing back to the boat before we leave. You're better off here."

"Okay," she agreed, with obvious reservations, as she moved to collect her "necessaries".

With that, he grabbed the hanging package that had been delivered by the cleaners earlier that week, along with his traveling toilet kit, and headed off to the marina's Men's Room.

His preparations were relatively uneventful, and soon he was ready to go. Before leaving the Men's Room, he took one final look in the mirror. You clean up pretty good, old son! he thought. And indeed he did. The suit and shoes had been purchased only six months earlier, and had only been worn once, to a friend's wedding.

Returning to Pixel, he knocked on the door to the master's stateroom. "Ready yet?" he asked.

Fifteen minutes later, as he nervously glanced at his watch, she finally strode out of the stateroom. It was worth the wait. Her transformation was complete. Gone was the girl-next-door in her white tennis outfit, replaced by a gorgeous, sexy, sophisticated, and very much adult woman of the world.

When he was able to speak again, Carl offered her his arm, and said, "Shall we?" She accepted his invitation, and together they walked up the dock toward the marina. People lounging or working aboard their own boats stopped what they were doing, to observe the couple. In the marina, you don't often see people dressed for an elegant evening on the town.

Under such scrutiny, Amanda was feeling a bit conspicuous, but her anxieties were diverted almost immediately by disbelief, when she spotted their "ride." She turned to Carl and said, "You shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have," he responded, grinning. "I can easily afford it, and you are very much worth it!" The chauffer opened the door to the limousine and Carl supported Amanda's arm as she got in. "We have both the car and the driver for the entire evening," he said, as he followed her into the car.

"Beautiful lady," he said in response, "the cost is no concern of yours. It is certainly less to me, than the value of the time you spend with me. Your job is to simply enjoy the moment. I have it covered." Opening the built-in wet bar, he asked "Now, would you like a drink before dinner? It's pretty Spartan, I'm afraid, but looks to be stocked with some good Scotch and Canadian."

He nodded approvingly, as he prepared two, and giving one to her, he moved a little closer and sat next to her.

"He already has the whole program," Carl responded. "The only variable left to fix happens at the end of the evening. That reminds me," he said, reaching into his coat, he handed her a pad and pen. "Write down your home address, in case we need to give it to the driver."

Looking at him suspiciously, she took the pad and asked, "Why would he need my address?"

"I don't intend to get you inebriated," he answered, "but if, at the end of the evening, you are, I don't want you to try to drive home. There's no need to take risks. As I said, we have the car, and the driver for the entire evening."

Seeing the sense in his argument, she complied with his request, wrote her address on the pad, and returned it to him. He returned the pad and pen to his jacket pocket. That was pretty slick, she thought with a wry smile, now he has my address. At least he doesn't have my phone number... yet!

Sipping their drinks, the two made small talk while the driver skillfully maneuvered the large car through the heavy traffic, ultimately arriving at Anthony's Pier 4� in time for dinner. Upon stopping the vehicle, he opened and held the door, allowing first Carl, then Amanda, to exit. This was strategic, in that it gave Carl the opportunity to assist his date's exit from the car.

Once Amanda was on her feet, Carl turned to the driver. "You should have at least an hour, if you'd like to go get something to eat..."

"Quite all right, sir," the driver responded, quickly. "I always pack a boxed lunch for these evening engagements. That way I can stay near the car, and be available whenever needed at all times. Enjoy your dinner, sir."

Turning back to Amanda, Carl said, "Remind me to be very generous with his tip." She, having overheard the entire exchange, simply nodded and smiled.

Entry into the restaurant was relatively uneventful. The maitre d' easily found their reservations, and had them escorted to a semi-isolated table on the verandah. Their waiter took their drink orders and left them with menus for a time.

"I know you've probably been to more elegant places than this, but I particularly like the food here," Carl began. "I hope you will, too."

"I already do," she replied. "This is one of my Dad's favorite places to eat when he visits. It's a little pricey for my budget, but the food is great."

"Actually, I've sampled nearly everything on the menu at one time or another. I like it all. Why don't you order for both of us? It'll be great, whatever you order."

Carl was surprised, but took her at her word, and when the waiter returned with their drinks, he said, "We're ready to order now."

"By all means, sir," the waiter replied. Turning to Amanda, he asked, "And what would the lady like?"

Amanda shook her head and told him, "My date will be ordering for me, thank you."

Carl waved him off, and said, "No problem. I'm not exactly sure about this either. At any rate, how's the Malossol Caviar?"

"That news is not so good, sir. We only have a few right now, and they're pretty small. We're expecting a new shipment in time for next weekend, but I can't honestly recommend them tonight."

"That's what we'll have then, and on the side, I think we'll have the Broccoli Hollandaise and the Broiled Mushrooms."

Taking the menus, the waiter said, "Good choice, sir. I'll take these, and put in your order immediately. Your appetizer will be out almost at once," then he turned and left.

As promised, the caviar appeared on the table almost instantly. Truthfully, Carl had never eaten caviar before, and didn't know quite what to do with it, so he waited to see what his date would do.

As it happened, caviar was new to the menu, and Amanda hadn't had it before either. She had been observing people at the other tables, however, so when it became clear that he was waiting for her to make the first move, she simply picked up a knife and spread some of the caviar on a cracker, along with an UN-healthy dollop of the sour cream.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Carl followed suit, and soon the two were chatting like old friends. The arrival of their dinner, thus the interruption of their conversation, was almost a disappointment. After one look at the main dish, however, they couldn't have continued the conversation anyway, because their salivary glands were working overtime.

Carl loved to eat, and dug in with gusto, almost embarrassing himself in the process. Looking over at his date, he was gratified to see that she shared his passion for food. Verbal conversation all but died at their table, while the two demolished their meal, and at the time, neither one understood the meaning of the glances they kept exchanging.

Eventually, they finished their meal, nicely stuffed, and disavowing any claim to dessert. Carl paid the bill and left a nice tip for the waiter, and together, they waddled out to the waiting limousine. Their driver took charge, and delivered them to one of the posher establishments in the theatre district. When they exited the vehicle he accompanied them to the door, and handed the usher a pair of tickets. The usher took over at that point, and the driver returned to the car.

The feature presentation was "The Producers," a long-running comedy about a failed scam. Both Carl and Amanda had heard of the show before, but neither had seen it, and when it was over, they had laughed so much that their ribs hurt. They were still laughing as they walked out of the theatre, arm in arm.

After installing Amanda safely in the car, Carl stood, and spoke to the driver. "I know this isn't part of the planned program, but do you know of a place where we could do a little dancing?"

The driver smiled hugely, and said, "I know just the place," then he motioned for Carl to climb in.

Shortly, they were back on the waterfront, and getting out of the car in front of a place with bright lights and music pouring out of the door. The driver spoke briefly to the doorman, and they were allowed to enter unchallenged. Inside, they found a dimly lit room, with a dance floor, a bar, and many tables spaced at discrete intervals. They were shown to a table, and asked for their drink order.

Deciding to play it safe, Carl ordered VO on the rocks, for both himself and his date. Just as the drinks were delivered, the band returned and began a slow dance tune. He couldn't resist, he held out his hand and said, "Amanda, I really like to slow dance. Will you do me the honor?"

She blushed, but graciously took his hand and followed him to the dance floor. Moving into his arms, she said, "I haven't done this in years, and I never was an expert. Watch out for your feet!"

"Not to worry," he replied, smiling. "I just need an excuse to hold you close and sway to the music."

"I guess I am," he admitted. "It didn't start out that way, but that seems to be the way it's working out."

"Don't worry about it," he encouraged. "You're under no obligation for anything. Just do what you want to do." But please! he plead silently as they moved to the music, Let's just see where this goes!.

The band played for about forty-five minutes, and the pair danced together for the entire set. A few times, one of the other men would try to break in, but she refused, and a glare from Carl declared it unwise for any to insist.

When the band took a break, they returned to their table and spent the time quietly, trying to understand what was happening. They hadn't drunk much, when the waitress returned, but the ice had melted and watered down the whiskey, so Carl ordered fresh drinks. They sipped at the drinks until the band started up again, and danced through a few more songs, before deciding to call it a night.

"That was great!" Amanda declared, "but I'm tired, and my feet hurt!" She held tighter to his arm as if he were bearing a portion of her weight.

Carl didn't mind. If anything, he would've gladly carried her bodily to the car, but he wasn't sure he could get away with that. In any case, they were installed in the passenger compartment of the limousine in the customary way, and the driver returned them to the marina. For the last time, the driver assisted them in exiting the vehicle, and before turning to accompany Amanda on her return to Pixel, he gave the driver an envelope.

"That's unnecessary, sir," the driver stated. "My fee is included in the limousine charter."

"I know that," Carl replied. "Consider this a gift, in appreciation for service above and beyond the call of duty."

Reluctantly, the driver accepted the envelope and said, "It has been my pleasure, sir. I'm not often privileged to observe a real gentleman, entertaining a real lady." He handed Carl his personal card. "Please consider asking for me by name, if you should need our services again, and thank you very much, sir." He then shook Carl's hand and left as Carl rejoined his date.

As they approached the boat, he slapped himself in the forehead and shouted "Damn!"

"I just had an attack of stupidity," he answered. "I let the driver go, not thinking about how late it is, and now you still have a drive ahead of you."

"Don't worry about it," she assured him, "I'm perfectly capable of getting myself home. All the alcohol we've consumed has long since burned off." Changing the subject, she added, "Are you going to go back to the marina restrooms to change?"

"No," he answered, "I'll just wait, and change when you're done with the stateroom. I think I should call a cab for you."

"Don't worry about it now," she responded. "Why don't you make us some coffee while I change?"

In the stateroom, she climbed out of the dress and examined it carefully. No damage done. A few small stains that I'm sure the cleaners can take care of. She returned the dress to the bag she'd used to bring it in, and considered what to do next. It took awhile, but when she finally made up her mind, she took selected items out of her overnight case, and dressed. She hung the bag and moved the case to the floor near the "head" as he had called it, then she opened the door and stepped into the salon.

Carl was standing with his back to her, and hadn't heard her enter the room. He was busy preparing two cups of coffee.

Puzzled, Carl turned toward her then, and nearly fainted. Amanda was a vision of loveliness, "dressed" in a garment that made her look more naked than if she had really been nude. It was a sheer thing, very like the "baby-doll pajamas" that had been all the rage among girls his age, when he was a teen. It left nothing to the imagination, but it didn't just expose her, it emphasized her abundant attributes. He was speechless.

That was what she was waiting for. She grabbed the tie he still wore, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss. His arms flew around her automatically, and crushed her body to his, while his hands roamed down to caress her buttocks. She ground her pelvis against him, and discovered the hot, hard truth of her affect on him.

The coffee was forgotten, as was any consideration of her returning home. He scooped her up in his arms, and carried her back into the stateroom. He fumbled with his clothes until she stopped him, and took over the job of undressing him. Once stripped, he again took her into his arms and attempted to devour her, kissing her deeply, sucking her earlobes and the soft skin on her neck, fondling and sucking her breasts, stroking her back, her buttocks, and her thighs.

Eventually his hand found her sex, and discovered that it was wet and ready. He toyed with her, using his fingers, until her body vibrated with sexual tension, culminating in a spasm of pleasure. Her eyes, which had been tightly shut, flew open, and she grabbed his hand. Insistently, she pulled him atop her, and guided him into her pleasure center.

Fortunately, few people actually lived aboard in the marina, and those who did were sound sleepers, otherwise someone would surely have called the police in response to hearing a woman's screams... even if they were screams of pleasure!

They slept late the next morning, and when they awoke, Amanda realized she was late for work. After calling in her excuses, and promising to report in later, she stayed for breakfast, fully dressed. Carl had prepared bacon and eggs, and both he and Amanda ate as if they were starved. Conversation was severely limited, however, as neither of them could really grasp what had happened, or what the consequences would be. As a result, they both decided to pretend nothing had changed.

"I don't understand," she explained. "A Pixel is a picture element, right? So what picture is the boat an element of? What's the connection?"

She frowned a bit, and then asked, "What is a Heinlein, and what does it have to do with your boat?"

"No," she admitted, "I don't read much fiction at all, anymore, unless you count company prospectuses, and when I did, only the nerds read science fiction. I wasn't a nerd."

"No, I don't suppose you were," he leered. Reaching around the bulkhead, he pulled his worn and dog-eared copy of The Cat Who Walked Through Walls off the shelf. Handing it to her, he said, "If you read this, I think you'll understand."

With a puzzled look, she accepted the book and said "Thanks. I think. Look, I really need to go now, or Barry will have my skin!"

"That would be a tragedy..." he observed, "such lovely skin... Let me walk you to your car."

They walked together silently, up the dock and out to where her car was parked. On arrival she opened the driver-side door, then turned back to him and took both his hands in hers.

"I've got to work," she complained, "I have a good job, and it pays well, and I'm on track for partnership, and you're going off sailing for months, and..."

"I know," he said softly, as she pulled him into a soul-searing kiss, before climbing into her car and driving away.

For the next several days, Carl occupied himself with provisioning and commissioning Pixel for the long voyage south, hoping for a call from Amanda. On the day he was scheduled to cast off, he woke up to the sound of something banging on the hull. As he pried open his eyelids, he realized that the banging was accompanied by a female voice, shouting his name. Dragging himself out of the bunk, he poked his head up through the main hatch and discovered the cause of the entire ruckus. Amanda looked a lot better than she sounded at this point. He shouted to get her attention, and to let her know she had his.

"I'm just very disappointed in you," she answered. "Here I thought there had to be some deep philosophical reason for your choice of a name for your boat, and it turns out it was just a pun."

Shaking his head, he folded his hands in a classic Zen pose, and replied, "Ahhh, Grasshopper, there are two ways to mistake the meaning of things: one is to look to deeply, and the other is to not look deeply enough. You have done both."

"How can you do both?" she snapped, folding her arms under her bountiful breasts.

"You've read enough of the book to find the obvious pun, associating my name and the catamaran, but did you follow up to learn what a Schroedinger's cat really is?"

"Well, yeah, I think so," she responded grumpily. "It didn't make much sense though. Something about a cat in a box, and the cat was either dead or alive, but was really both at the same time."

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "Until you open the box, each of the states has the same likelihood of being true, so from a probabilistic viewpoint, they are all equally true. In other words, anything is possible."

"It's about possibilities which are not limited by observation. In the same way, my Pixel is about unlimited, unrestricted possibilities for how I live my life." He paused.

"You didn't look deeply enough to extrapolate that. On the other hand, Pixel is a sailboat, so you could have ignored the name, and arrived at that same conclusion without a quantum explanation. One could say you looked too deeply to see the truth."

She stood there with her mouth hanging open in amazement, but closed it quickly as he looked up.

"Yeah, but it sounded good, didn't it?" he grinned. "Come on aboard and I'll fix you some breakfast."

As they made small talk, he prepared his usual shore-side breakfast for two, and dished up two plates of bacon, eggs and toast, with a glass of orange juice on the side. He noticed that as the visit wore on, her demeanor became gloomier.

"I wish I weren't, too," he agreed, "but I live on a boat, and winter is almost here. This is not a good place to live on a boat in the winter. I'll be back in the spring." He paused, then added, "Come with me."

"Take some vacation time and let's see where this leads. You can crew for me on the trip south. I'll pay for your return air ticket, if you want..."

"Money isn't the problem," she retorted, "I make money, but this isn't just my job, it's a career! Besides, Barry won't be back for two more weeks..."

"Okay, stay here until Barry gets back, then fly down and join me en route, you have my cell number, so you can find out where I am, at almost any time." He paused. "I'll bet you haven't had a real vacation in years."

He saw the truth of that in her eyes, and went on, "Tell Barry you need a month or two off, and take it! If he gives you any grief about it, tell him to shove it. You're good at what you do. He won't risk losing you. You want me to call him for you?"

"No, no!" she answered, hurriedly. "I can handle it, but I still have to decide if I should."

"Well, the offer stands open," he said, "and you know how to reach me. I have to leave really soon now, but you can join me at any point on the trip South."

"I'll think about it and let you know," she promised. Letting her gaze wander to the door of the stateroom, she added, "But for now..."

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Schroedinger's Cat

Copyright� 2007 by Quantum Mechanic

Chapter 1.