Chapter 52

In complete contrast to the previous leg Tracy turned off the engines as soon as we left Antigua and although like the previous leg we reduced sail, this time it was to slow us down so we would arrive after dawn. Sailing has its distinctive sounds and just occasionally a yacht manages to hiss as it cleanly cuts through the water - that was the sound of this leg until at the last moment we restarted the engines to enter Gustavia, St Barthélemy (St Barts). It was packed with boats as we picked up a buoy at the bows and used the dinghy to take a line from the stern of WorthIt II to the shore - we had to do this as there wasn't room enough for yachts to swing with the breeze around a mooring or anchor. "The first time I sailed to St Barts we had room to anchor in the middle of the harbour," bemoaned Tracy and it was odd for me to hear someone under 40 harking back to 'the good old days'. I have a view of a stable world with me changing but I guess that one day will seem the other way round.

The idea was to have a full day here, mainly for the duty free shopping. That I imagine appealed to Daniel and Jacob about as much as a hole in the head, but St Barts is French and French women are renowned for their sexiness so the boys were determined to examine the evidence during the day in the hope of a good night ahead.

Despite all the tourists like us the streets of Gustavia made a pleasant change to shopping malls which is how I came to buy my 'little white dress'. I knew white wasn't practical, especially on a boat but when you have dark skin it does look good… I probably would have resisted better if Sam hadn't been egging me on to buy it!

My dress purchase complete I realised the dark skin thing had been bothering me over the last few days in the Caribbean. Living in Wales I was used to being 'unusual' but racism hadn't been the problem for me that it had been for my grandfather from the Dominican Republic or even for my parents. I'd been more concerned by my lack of direction than by any thought that my skin colour might be a handicap It was when I reached Antigua that I found for the first time I was no longer part of a minority by skin colour, instead fitting in reasonably well with the local population. I wasn't a local though and I identified with the other people on yachts who were almost entirely white. I was also concerned that the locals might resent me as a a person who was either much richer than them or at least wasn't limited in my prospects of becoming much richer.

Any day now the Bilbao television programme would be aired in the UK and my family and I have been expecting and fearing attacks prompted by my not fitting the gender stereotypes but I'm beginning to suspect I've misunderstood the problem. Attacks are made all the time on the basis of race, religion, sex, sexuality, gender, class, height, money, beauty even recently, in a concocted new development, ginger hair. Every kid at school, myself included, was called names but usually it was water off a duck's back… except for those few individuals with a particular vulnerability when it could escalate to the point were they might be killed or even driven to suicide!

It seems that racist comments don't bother me but the idea of being super rich by way of Bill's legacy does. Being seen as a floating gypsy sailing from place to place doesn't bother me but being seen as a multi-gendered chimera moving from male to female roles does. Just what is it that makes me feel personally vulnerable to the masses in some areas but not in others?

I left Sam and Michael to their shopping after a couple of hours to put in both some cleaning and some relaxation time noticing that Tracy had the same idea - "Eat, sleep and pee whenever you get the chance in this life as it might be a long time until the next opportunity."

There was a brief flurry of activity when the boys turned up to pick up their scuba gear in another yacht's tender - apparently the theoretical desirability of French girls had taken second place to real American girls ready for companiable diving just off the harbour entrance around Le Pain de Sucre - but mostly we had WorthIt to ourselves and Bruce's choice of music. The afternoon was hot, I was tired and Gregorian chants I found were just perfect for laying back and chilling out.

By 5:30 the music had been returned to a more mainstream choice as the wanderers returned but I was ready for what life would throw at me even if that was dinner and dancing at Michael's expense! It's a tough life…

Dance has many facets and I assumed that I would join the boys and their friends while Michael and Samantha went off to foxtrot or whatever it was their age group did. The boys had other ideas as they planned on 1 hour dancing followed by 3 hours back on the American girls' boat. Sam too had other plans which involved my presence as she considered it her duty to introduce me into the adult world of dance. They had found a club that catered to those who wanted to dance and provided teachers for those who wanted to learn how to dance, just so long as the dance you wanted to do was salsa.

Next morning on the short sail to Philipsburg, Sint Maarten (St Martin) I had the wheel to myself for an hour and pondered what I'd learnt from my dance teacher. While learning how to salsa, for which I will be eternally grateful, I had learnt about vulnerability. My teacher was openly gay and a consummate actor. As mood and need took him he could 'do' both camp and butch. He could take the female role and 'do' both demure and sultry. In comparison I thought myself either a masculine male or feminine female. To extend my range he told me that he was the best dance instructor on the island and had successfully taught hundreds.

"I give you permission to do this. I have done this before you and you can see that it has worked. I give you permission not simply to be, but to act!"

That word permission was the key to understanding my vulnerability.

Racist comments against me in Wales were no problem because by example my parents and grandparents before me had stood up to racism and flourished even before there was legal protection. Extreme wealth had however a stigma to it left over from generations of miners dying while the mine owners lined their pockets - if I were to accept the power and responsibility of extreme wealth I had to give myself permission to do it. Nobody else would!

The same word permission applied to travel in pursuit of a living or occasionally pleasure which was ok because generations of the family had done it before and flourished. Finally there was my status as a chimera…… The media threat was a mirage for my family; only a problem when they didn't believe I could cope with it. My family hadn't run to hide at Bill's place because they were afraid of the media but to protect me! If I wanted my family and friends to have lives free from being constantly worried for me I would have to show them I could cope by facing the media rather than running. The real question was whether I could both face the media and earn a living because I didn't want my life dictated to me by Bill's money even if it became mine. So far I had survived by 'people pleasing' but every time I behaved more aggressively or manipulatively I denied it was the real me, usually crediting Latira. Maybe it wasn't the real me but my dance teacher had given me permission and showed me I could play the camp male pretending a vulnerability that wasn't real or the sultry predatory female pretending a strength that wasn't real.

"Venus," I said to myself. "Welcome to the dark side!"