By L.D.Ridgley

Told to me by my darling Shirley.

It was a Friday afternoon and I was closing down the little flower shop of which I was the proud owner. It had been a hectic day, with orders for special flower arrangements coming in from all over, and I was tired. But like I said, it was Friday afternoon, and like all Friday afternoons in the summertime, I knew my husband would be waiting at the boat. I would have said, “patiently waiting”, but that would not have been the case. He would be jumping up and down with anticipation; visions of big fish hooked and boated, a vision which rarely ever became reality.

The June day was as warm as a puppy on your lap with just a hint of a western breeze and a few cotton fluffy clouds hanging over the horizon. The harbor was a swarm of movement, like so many little water bugs, as the boats jockeyed for position to go through the small inlet into New England Sound. I parked the car, retrieved my overnight bag from the trunk and headed for the boat slip.

I could see Sam moving about the deck, getting everything ready for the weekend jaunt. Soon, the back of our boat came into view. “The Other Woman” painted in red and black announced the identity of our boat. There couldn’t have been a more appropriate name. She was, in fact, the other woman in Sam’s life. It might have been easier for me to accept if his passion had actually been for another woman. That way, I wouldn’t have to accompany him every time he visited her!

“The blacks are biting!” Sam announced as soon as I stepped on board. No “Hi, sweetheart, how was your day?” or, “Hi, honey. I sure missed you.” Sam was not big on things like that. Oh, well, I guess “The blacks are biting.” is kind of romantic if you use your imagination.

“That’s sure good news,” I mumbled, slipping off my shoes from tired feet. I discovered the source of the pain I had been feeling in my big toe. A hole in my pantyhose had let part of my toe escape.... not all of it, just a part, shutting off the blood supply to the part which was trying to get loose.

I ducked below and slipped off my slacks and the damaged panty hose, then donned a pair of shorts and a shirt. The pantyhose went into the garbage can.

Back on deck, I began to relax, determined to enjoy myself. I fixed Sam and me a drink and joined him on the bridge just as he started the engines and pulled away from the slip. It was a nice feeling, I had to admit, watching the smooth water slipping by, and the thoughts and troubles of the day were soon melting away along with the sight of the boat slips and the busy harbor. I settled back in the co-pilot’s chair and drifted off to a much needed nap.

An hour later, I was awaked by the sudden lurch of the bow as Sam cut the engines and slowed to a crawl. He maneuvered the boat near a rock jetty and dropped anchor.

“This looks like a good place,” he stated.

“Sure does, if we we’re fishing for rocks,” I answered. There were hundreds of ominous looking rocks sticking out of the water, most with gulls perched on top. One rock in particular caught my attention. If you tilted your head just right and squinted, it looked exactly like president Lyndon Banes Johnson. There were numerous white streaks running down his nose, a testimonial as to the gull’s political preference, I suppose.

“The bass like the rocks,” Sam replied. “Get a line in!”

I opened the bait box and retrieved a nice looking shrimp. “If we don’t catch anything, I’m cooking these shrimp for tonight’s dinner.”

“Funny. Very funny. Shut up and fish.” Sam was not appreciative of my humor.

“Did you have a good day?” I asked.

“Same as ever. Are you going to fish or talk?” He cast his line near President Johnson and turned his back to me. I guess I’d better fish. More fun than trying to talk to this guy!

I threaded the shrimp on the hook and let the line release into the dark water. Trying to think of something else clever to say, I was not prepared for the sudden sharp tug on the line. It surprised me so I nearly dropped the rod into the water. Instinctively, I raised the rod tip to set the hook, but there was no resistance. Obviously, the fish had won this battle. I reeled in to find the expected empty hook.

I re-baited with an even better-looking shrimp than before, and lowered the line once again. No more that a few seconds had passed when again, there was a tremendous jerk on the line and the reel screamed for a minute as the fish ran with the bait. Ready for action this time, I lurched back with the rod, expecting to feel the weight of a twenty-foot great white shark. Nothing. The line was slack. My excitement turned to disappointment. Perturbed, I reeled in the line to find the hook void of any bait. In fact, there was no sign that any bait had ever been on that hook.

Now, I’m full blown mad! I repeated the baiting process, being very careful to fully impale the shrimp onto the hook. For extra measure, I twisted the shrimp around the hook several times, leaving no sticky-out places for a fish to grab. No fish could get this shrimp off without securely hooking himself in the process. No siree bob! This time, I was going to catch this elusive monster of the deep! I looked up to find President Johnson smiling at my frustration. I flipped him the bird!

A few minutes went past with no action. I was beginning to wonder if the fish had eaten enough for supper and I began to think about what I was going to feed my own appetite. The can of sardines I kept in the galley was beginning to sound pretty good. I knew Sam would not let me cook the bait.

Suddenly, without warning, the rod jerked again, line reeling off with great speed. “Take your time,” I told myself. “Let him get the hook way down.” I was always very good at following my own instructions.

The line continued to strip off..... ten feet....twenty feet. “Okay, now!” I shouted, rearing back, bringing the rod tip high. The complete nothingness on the other end of the line cause me to flip over completely on my back, feet in the air, gasping for the breath which been knocked out of me. My dignity had been breached!

War. This was now war! No #*&#%# fish was going to make a fool out of me! I had to have a plan.

“What’s your problem back there?” Sam was sitting on the bow, his own rod silent and still. Nothing new. His rod was silent and still most of the time these days.

“No problem. I just have a fish that thinks he is smarter than me. I’m working on a plan!” I answered sweetly. I was so angry I could spit, but I wasn’t about to let Sam know.

Then, it came to me. The idea of all ideas! The solution! So simple! So brilliant! I went below and retrieved the discarded pantyhose from the garbage can. With a knife from the galley drawer, I cut a small square of the nylon from the strongest part of the pantyhose, (use your imagination), then returned to the deck.

I inserted a shrimp into the center of the patch, wound the material around the hook and secured it into place with a twisty tie from a loaf of bread. I twisted the tie tight. Now, I was ready for battle. Just for good measure, I spit on the wad..... an old trick I had learned from my daddy many years ago.

The line was lowered and I braced myself for action. “Come and get it, you #*+@$* fish!” I muttered under my breath.

Nothing. Five minutes passed. Nothing. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Then, a small tug. Nothing like the other strikes. Just a small bump. Then another. Very small.

“He’s trying to figure it out,” I thought. “He can taste the shrimp, but he can’t see it. Come on fishy-wishy, it’s there..... just go for it.” I raised the rod slightly, the let it down again. That did the trick. He struck.

Oh how he struck, nearly jerking the rod from my tired hands, the line screaming off the reel. With all my strength, I jerked back on the rod, feeling the great weight of the fish. This time, he was there. This time, he was hooked. The fight was on.

The line stretched tight, and I began to worry that he would strip all the line from the reel, but soon the battle began to go my way, and slowly, I brought the fish to the side of the boat, and then onto the deck. A black sea bass. A big, black sea bass. A very, very, big black sea bass.

“You get him?” Sam asked, never looking around.

“Yeah, I got him,” I answered, smiling the smile of the victor. My heart was thumping wild in my chest and I felt a sense of pride I hadn’t felt for some time. I looked around for the podium to stand on as I received my medal, humming the national anthem under my breath as the American flag was raised. “Funny how a nice pair of hose can make things look better to a male,” I said, sure that the magnificent fish lying on the deck at my feet was indeed a male.

“What?”

“Never mind,” I said, determined not to let my happiness wither. I looked over at President Johnson and was rewarded even more. A fresh glob of whiter stuff was slowly making its way down his forehead. He wasn’t smirking at me now.

“What would you like for me to fix with this fish for dinner?”

“You got a fish?”