After pointing to an innocent school of creepy looking lionfish to distract the circling hammerhead sharks from devouring them, Jack and Elizabeth managed to reach the narrow inlet of land without much trouble.
"That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship," Jack heaved, the Black Pearl now a dot out on the horizon line. To add to all the phallic imagery in this movie, he produced the pistol and took a seat on the sand to polish it.
Elizabeth hitched up the skirt of her shift and explored the island, the sun beating down on her, drying her off much sooner than she expected. She also had circled the island much sooner than she expected, glaring at her own footprints in front of her.
"Really not all that big, is it?" Jack asked.
"If you're going to shoot me, please do so without delay."
"Is there a problem between us? Why do you still have clothes on? Do you know how lucky it is that this is our fate and we're not being used as pin cushions right now?"
"You were going to trade Will's life for a ship! Now, granted, he's a little naïve and should have seen right through your little leverage remark, but come on! He has no dad. Take some pity on him."
"The fact of the matter, Miss Swann, is that as long as Barbossa DIDN'T know about bloody Will, I still had something to bargain with, which now no one does, thanks to bloody stupid Will, and unless you have a very pleasant way to cheer me up, I'm going to still be a little irked with him."
Well, finally, she thought, something that made sense. Considering saying that Will risked his life for them, she thought better of mentioning Will again and followed Jack into the brush.
"But you were marooned on this island before, weren't you, so we can escape the same way you did then!" But we don't have to rush it, she thought, finger-combing her hair.
"To what point and purpose, young miss? Unless you have a rudder and a lot of sails hidden in that bodice—unlikely—young Mr. Turner will be dead long before you can reach him. Now, if you'll excuse me…I left my Barry White CD somewhere here last time…" He knocked on a tree trunk and took four giant steps.
"But…but you're Captain Jack Sparrow! You don't need Barry White to get in the mood. You could get a girl into the mood with monkeys chattering in the background! You could get a girl in the mood describing paint drying! You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Trading Company! You sacked Nassau Port without even firing a shot! You declined appearing in the special pirate edition of Playgirl now are you the pirate I've fantasized about or not? How did you escape last time?"
He looked at her.
"Read about. Are you the pirate I've read about or not?"
"Last time I was here a grand total of three days, all right? Last time…" he said, opening a cellar door hidden by the white sand. "The rumrunners used this island as a cache, came by, and I was able to barter passage off. From the looks of things, they've probably long been out of business. Probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that." He climbed out with two bottles of rum in his hands.
Norrington. She'd forgotten about him, as she was sure everyone else had by now.
"So that's it then? That's the secret grand adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow?"
"Infamous?"
"You spent three days lying on a beach drinking rum?"
Jack was at a loss for words. How to explain it? He shrugged and gave it his all.
"Look for the bare necessities/The simple bare necessities/Forget about your worries and your strife," he sang, marching back to the surf.
"So is there no truth to the other stories then?" Elizabeth asked, flustered at his little bout of Disney. The audacity! Braving a lawsuit! Why did she still have clothes on, she began to wonder?
"Truth?" He pulled down his shirt to show her his scars. "No truth at all."
"How did you get that big one there?"
"Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte... just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about a half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you're in the water, love? You tell by looking from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know, was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, darling, sharks come cruisin', so we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know, it was kinda like old squares in the battle like you see in the calendar named "The Battle of Waterloo" and the idea was: shark comes to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark go away... but sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. And, you know, the thing about a shark... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be living... until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'…"
"Are you bullshitting me?" she tested.
"Yep. Nothing gets past you." He smiled and motioned for her to sit next to him, but she still stood, the waves diminishing around her ankles. Shapely calves, too.
"What about Will? I feel guilty he's about to have his throat slit while we're here on an all-expenses-paid vacation."
"You're absolutely right, love." He held up his bottle. "Here's luck to ye, Will Turner," he said and took a swig. He rolled the second bottle to her. Picking it up, she plopped down next to him and uncorked it.
"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," she whispered and chugged it herself. Wincing, she had no idea that was what straight rum tasted like. How the hell did those teenagers in the ads consume enough of it to party?
"What was that, Elizabeth?"
"It's love or darling or dearie or anything you want it to be, and it's nothing, just a song I learned back when I wanted to meet a pirate," she said wistfully.
"How's it go?"
"No. I'm not a karaoke machine."
"You're not a bitch either, love. Let's hear it."
"No," she said again. I'd have to have a lot more to drink."
He noticed her impish smile, along with the fact she was stroking the neck of that bottle like there was no tomorrow. She was intriguing to say the least.
"How much more?"
A/N: Yes, I am including a lot of the deleted scenes in this because, to me, they are part of the movie and I love them too much to not include them. It would seem wrong somehow. I do not own "The Bare Necessities." Disney does. Jack's little monologue comes from the classic movie Jaws, which I highly recommend if you haven't seen it. Haunting speech...when done by Robert Shaw, not Jack, of course. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending how you look at it, the stroking the neck of the bottle is not me just being a pervert. In the deleted scene, if you watch, our young impetuous Liz is stroking the hell out of that phallic bottle. Fun fact: the opposite of phallic is "yonic."