The clammy air carried by the relentless sea breeze smeared the beach-house windows with a greasy film. As she peered through the cloudy glass at the numerous kites that filled the sky, the flying objects seemed slightly blurred and strangely distorted. Her ocean view had become a riot of colour that attacked her senses in a violent manner. Thelma Gottlieb swigged another big gulp from her highball tumbler. The acidic orange juice mixed with a generous measure of vodka had a razor-sharp tang to it. She flinched for a moment and then turned and spoke to her husband.
"Ralph," she barked. "You need to wash all the windows again."
The man she had married was a semi-retired accountant who worked part-time from home. As he silently stood beside his wife and gazed at the kitesurfers, he removed his wire-rimmed spectacles from his face. Wiping his lenses vigorously with a soft Kleenex, he secretly wished he had the internal fortitude to kite.
Their residence was a palatial fortress which stood forthright on the point. It was a defensive stronghold that battled the natural elements all year round. The incessant whistling by the strong breeze as it swirled about the structure grated on her nerves. For some people, wind can drive them crazy.
"I hate those infernal kites," she grumbled. "They are a blemish on the seascape, popping up like pustular eruptions of the skin." Thelma had been a theatre-nurse in her previous career life. "Kites are a pox on my beach," spat the former health professional. After years of caring for others, she had opted for early retirement due to stress ...and now spent most of her time self-medicating.
From his personal treadmill in his private office, Dude could easily check out the palm trees that swayed around in the fresh breeze. As a preparation for his daily kite session, he would limber-up for an hour on the machine while listening to some cool beats. The palm fronds that bent wildly in the sea breeze were living instruments that displayed the wind speed and direction. Dude called them nature's anemometer.
"Palms are probably the best plants to gauge strong wind from," he reasoned "...aside from freshly uprooted trees, of course."
Thelma's empty cocktail glass needed refilling so she headed for the bar to fix herself a fresh one.
"I absolutely detest that unholy, devilish wind," she complained to her husband. Ralph seemed to be in a trance. He was fully absorbed in the movement of the kites and less aware of what his wife was saying.
"Yesterday, the wind totally messed-up my new hairdo straight after I left the salon." She glanced at herself in the hall mirror and fingered her red wavy curls. To garnish her drink, the former nurse expertly cut a slice of fruit from a very large orange using a pair of stainless steel, surgical scissors.
Dude shut down the conveyor-belt on the exercise machine and wiped the perspiration from his neck with a clean white hand-towel. As he glanced outside, he estimated the wind speed to be a constant 20 knots. This was 'goldilocks wind' that kiters loved -- not too light, not too heavy, just right. He planned to clock-off early and head for the point.
"But the wind is very cooling for the home," explained the accountant. "If we didn't have sea breezes, we would cook in our own juices."
"When was the last time you worked up a hot sweat over me?" she reminded her reluctant lover.
Ralph mopped his damp forehead with the used Kleenex that was still in his fist. Little white pieces of soft tissue paper stuck to his bushy brow.
"And can you please adjust the air-conditioning system; it's overwhelmingly stuffy in here," she directed.
Dude was the fulltime salaried CEO of Seawind Promotions which specialized in the organization of kitesurfing events and festivals. The CEO had a staff of two -- a private secretary and a senior events-manager. It had been a busy and stressful working week for the team. In the past, a windless event had often meant disappointment. But since the introduction and growth in popularity of stand-up paddleboards, kiting events that suffered calm conditions were now saved from debacle. The SUP had officially replaced beer as the main form of distraction. Dude was really looking forward to a good blast on the water.
"You know Ralph, when I watch these kites fly through the sky ...it makes me feel queasy."
"How many cocktails have you consumed today?" asked the concerned husband.
"No seriously. Look at that black kite over there. Tell me what direction the rider is travelling? Is he going out to sea or is he coming back to shore?" she queried.
Ralph observed the wake on the water created by the board and to him it was abundantly clear that the rider was headed outbound.
"No Ralph, look at the kite only. Don't look at the rider. Can you see the optical illusion?" implored Thelma.
"Are you ready to hit the beach for a kite-sesh?" Dude asked the events-manager. Man quickly dumped a big bunch of paperwork on the CEO's desk and raced him to the exit.
"We'll leave you to hold the fort." Dude's words echoed from the bottom of the stairwell.
"You're the boss," said the lonesome female secretary. "No," she thought. "I'm in charge now. I'll see you guys at the point," Bridget shouted from her workstation.
"You're beginning to sound demented -- you're starting to worry me, Thelma."
"It must be an effect from the kite's curvaceous shape that somehow seems to trick the minds-eye," she theorized ignoring his disparaging comment. Deciding that appeasement was far better than adversity, Ralph indulged her and studied the black kite and its movement through the sky. As if by magic, it did appear to momentarily turn inside-out and then back again to its original shape.
"It's like one of those deceptively clever drawings you see in books that conjure-up a secondary image from the depths of your mind," he speculated. Ralph Gottlieb's hidden desire to try kitesurfing was becoming even stronger.
As the car cruised along the coastal road and then into a parking spot next to the cafe strip, Dude began to update his friend and work colleague on the insanity that was taking place at the point over the last couple of days. The CEO had received an email about a strange occurrence that had happened. Apparently some random, mature lady had yanked hard on a rider's control-bar sending him flying across the beach.
"No freaking way Dude!" said Man as he sipped on his steaming hot mugachino.
"Wow Man, the kite circle-jerked into a savage kiteloop and consequently the rider was shot 20 metres across the beach and was human-cannonballed into the soft sand. He's lucky he wasn't badly injured," said Dude as he munched on his blueberry muffin.
"Surely not on purpose, Dude? suggested Man.
The CEO went on to identify the perpetrator from the description in the email.
"Be on the lookout for a red-haired psycho-bitch with bloodshot eyes."
Man instantly developed a picture in his head.
"I also received a phone call yesterday from Grommet," said the Chief pouring more fuel on the fire. "The grom was mad as a cut snake."
"Dude, what happened?" replied Man.
"It turns out that when Grommet took hold of his control-bar to swing his kite into a slide-launch at the point, he realized all four lines had been disconnected from his kite by someone."
"He's young. Somebody was playing a practical joke on him," laughed Man.
"On closer inspection, the grom was shocked to discover that all four lines had been cut!" added Dude. Man was beginning to sense the gravity of the situation.
"And you won't believe this," said Dude. "All four lines had been cut precisely in the same spot -- all cleanly severed through the double-sleeving near the kite like someone had used a surgeon's scalpel."
"Lately there's been a ton of anti-kiting blurb on the forum," remarked Man.
"Do you reckon there's some kind of connection with all this stuff?" asked Dude as they cruised into the point carpark.
"You just missed all the madness by minutes," reported Bridget who had arrived well before them.
"Why, what happened?" asked her boss.
"Well, this old fellow pumped up this brand new, crispy kite. It was straight out of the box. He didn't know a thing about kiting," she said.
"Don't tell me you launched the kook," snapped Man angrily.
"He told me that he just wanted to pump the kite and rig up the lines," explained the new employee.
"Please continue Bridget," encouraged Dude in his own charming way.
"So anyway, this red-haired lady wigged-out and began to cuss poor Ralph, that's the old fellow's name by the way -- she started cutting the guy's kite into confetti with these medical-looking scissors."
"Didn't you try to stop her?" Man rudely demanded.
"The cops arrived and dragged the lady away," she concluded.
The young hottie was visibly shaken. She went on to vent her feelings.
"It's crazy, boss. I can't handle all this stuff. The psycho-bitches, the kooks, Man's abuse and now the cops -- this sport, this beach, my job, it's spinning me out!"
"Pffft," replied the CEO in response to the girl's anguish.
"I'm sorry Bridg, but all this stuff is just business as usual for me. Welcome to the freakshow."
The End.
