Moby Dx: A Novel of Silicon Valley - Volume 1 Max Ebb

Chapter 18 Spouse Hunting

Before lunch, Vladik asked Jason to bring him ashore for what he told us was a secret mission. From the Boat Basin where Jason docked and harbor launches did the same, Vladik walked into town, believing, he later confided, that he was “just looking.” He passed the Oar and cut left across a field of gravel and mud, heading for the red mansard roof of the Narragansett Inn. At the back of it, he saw cooks taking a break by the screen door, sweat pouring off them like they were farm animals, and there he skirted the building, walked down the manicured lawn, and passed Dead Eye Dick’s and Fishworks—yes, Local Reader, it was still there then. Walking toward town, he left behind the Block Island Maritime Institute, then the Hog Pen, Block Island Marine, and stacks of kayaks for rent, all before he crossed the bridge at Trim Pond and climbed a short rise to the police station and the Volunteer Fire Station, where hung banners advertising a post-parade picnic. He jogged right there, and looked up to see an osprey nesting on a telephone pole by the Block Island Power Company. The garage of the Department of Transportation and then the Depot were next, followed by another garage and Island Hardware.

When Connecticut Avenue teed off to the right, Vladik came upon a real estate office, one occupying the first floor of a two-story house sheathed in cedar shakes weathered to gray. Like every other business and like almost every other residence, it displayed a drooping American flag. Under the portico formed by the open balcony of the upper floor and taped to the inside of the street-level windows were color xeroxes of all the “For Sale” listings, advertising a “Recent Price Drop.” or “Just Offered.” or “Great Views,” or “Access to Town.” or “Remote from Town.” or “Great Rental.” or even better, “Sub-Dividable.” After his relationship with Ulya the veep had disintegrated, and especially since the Agrigene ipo, he had been thinking about buying a house on the Block. He poked his head in the door. A woman on the real estate office phone seemed to be talking about rentals. Cupping her hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered to Vladik that she’d be free in a moment, but Vladik just waved, nodding to inform her he’d be back.

Island Outfitters and Dive Shop caught his eye only a few more steps toward town, and he couldn’t pass by without a look-see. Kyra, a gentle, chestnut-haired beauty who was also the owner, presided over scuba regulators you could depend on for your life and fashionable watches you could depend on for your lifestyle. There was also a display case, a mini-museum of artifacts she and her fiancé had plucked off of wrecks in the deeps and shallows nearby. She explained the major pieces, after which he bought and paid for a fresh set of power bands for his gun and a broad-brimmed straw hat to keep away the broiling sun.

There was a right turn and a left, and then he passed a church on Chapel Street, after which he found another real estate office behind the Island Free Library. It had pretty much the same set of color xeroxes as the first one, but this time they were pinned to a board in a glass case hung on the outside of the house, and nobody was home inside the house. The nearby candy shops and ice creameries didn’t interest him, nor did the moped rentals or the pizzeria. If there’d been carrot cake for sale, maybe he would have taken a stab with his fork at that, but the carrot cake lady had been sent to prison and her old shop had become an art gallery. There’s a rhythm to retail on Block Island. Wait long enough, and every storefront will eventually become an art gallery, a surf shop, a real estate office, or a café—but probably not another carrot cake shop.

Still painted carrot orange, the building was the only freestanding one on the street. During the brief period when it was neither an art gallery, nor a real estate office, nor a surf shop, it had been, truly, believe it or not, the Carrot Cake Shop. “Only carrot cake?” Vladik remembered asking.

“Yes, only carrot cake.”

“No chocolate cake?”

“No, only carrot cake.”