by Sue Seabury
Ramsey’s face went serious for the first time. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll clean that right up.”
Whew. She’d picked the right person to confess to.
A clear conscience allowed her to focus fully on the charming bungalow. One of those beautiful fuchsia-colored flowering vines twined up the walls made from intricately woven wood. Enchanting.
“What’s this plant?” she asked.
“Bougainvillea, ’cuz we invite you toboogiein yourvilla!”
He did a few steps. Kat humored him with a smile.
Ramsey quit mid-boogie. “I got your number.” He snapped his fingers. “Thirty-eight.”
Heck, if he wanted to knock five years off, she wasn’t going to argue.
He pointed at the ’38’ on the brass plaque on the door to her bungalow.
“Ah,” she said.
“I also got your key.”
He held up a key with a flourish, then opened the door. Kat’s eyes went wide. Was he implying he was going to let himself in at any time? “Your room, Miss.”
Her suitcase was already inside. Another flourish, and then he handed over the key and let go of her arm. Her brain wasn’t functioning properly. It was normal for the man to open the door for her. She exhaled and walked in. Ramsey followed.
“You got the bathroom over there, your mini-fridge here, the bed there, obviously.” Here he paused for another sassy smile. “And you got the phone right next to the bed. You need anything, you dial nine for the front desk. Everything good?”
“Perfect, thank you.” She rooted through her purse then held out a five-dollar bill.
Ramsey put up his hands. “No, Miss. My pleasure to show you the room.”
“You sure?” She kept her hand extended. “You could buy yourself a tee shirt.” She slapped a hand to her lips. She didn’t really say that aloud. It must be the lack of sleep that was making her act so strangely.
Ramsey ran his hands down his toasty brown skin. “You don’t like?”
“I like. I mean, it’s fine. Everything’s fine, wonderful, perfect! Ehem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’.” She flung the five at him and hustled off toward the bathroom.
Before she shut the door, Ramsey called out, “I want to know because we’re here to give you the dream experience, you know? Whatever you want, you just give us a shout.”
Kat turned. Ramsey had his fingers hooked into the belt loops on his swim trunks, pulling them dangerously low on his hips. He had those cut lines in his lower abdomen normally only seen in airbrushed magazine photos.
“Thank you!” she squeaked. “If I think of anything, I’ll dial nine! Ciao!”
She shut the bathroom door and leaned on it.Ciao? She needed to call Josie pronto. It wasn’t impossible to imagine she’d booked them into some kind of crazy sex resort. If it were, the Queenie woman’s behavior made a lot more sense.
She could never tell Darren if it was.
Or maybe she could.
2
Once she was sure Ramsey had gone, Kat went out to collect her phone to call Josie. But the quiet elegance of the room muted her worry about being booked into Hotel Hedonism, as well as the desire to make a call with expensive roaming charges.
The corner of the goal questionnaire poked out the top of her handbag. She pulled the piece of paper out and flung it aside. Her only goal right now was to not hop the first plane back home.
The suite radiated thoughtful hospitality: a firm mattress with deliciously crisp white sheets under a silky bedspread with a stylized peacock motif. The lounge chair was the most ergonomic she’d ever sat in, and the mini fridge had water and fruit that a little sign atop proclaimed free. But the bathroom was the best of all, a deft mix of modern and antique amenities: gleaming brushed nickel taps, a claw-footed tub big enough for her to stretch out in, and a marble vanity cleverly set in an antique wooden dresser. This was exactly what she’d do to her apartment if she had more money and the time to shop. Or so she told herself.
Next goal: clear the cobwebs from her head. She took a shower. The tub was tempting, but she was afraid it might relax her too much. No naps or she’d never get to sleep tonight.
Great water pressure and the shower head even had massaging options. Kat chose a pulsing one and cool water to keep herself alert. She got out and wrapped a thick white towel around herself, rethinking the nap idea. Weren’t siestas part of hot country cultures?
Her goal of figuring out what to wear didn’t go as well. Good thing she still had the towel on while she debated. The door burst open and a teeny-weeny-bikini-clad Queenie blew in.
“Get your suit on. We’re taking a surf lesson.”
Kat pulled her towel tighter. “Excuse me?”
Queenie put an imperious hand on her hip. “We discussed this in the shuttle. Come on.” She proceeded to rifle through Kat’s suitcase.
They had? Kat didn’t remember, which was disturbing. Her mother had died of dementia. Kat’s genetic test had come back negative, but that didn’t stop the worry. She’d been forgetting a lot of things lately.
But forgetting what Queenie had said on the shuttle ride was forgivable: an endless monologue of off-color jokes and wild remarks, punctuated with screechy tweaks to their driver’s biceps and cheeks — both sets. Kat had tuned her out after five minutes.
Queenie found a modest skirted suit and clucked her disdain before tossing it at Kat. It hit her in the face and then stuck to the top of her towel.
“Hurry up,” Queenie ordered.
Kat plucked the turquoise Lycra from her shoulder and dropped it on the lounge chair. She could see herself and Queenie in the large rectangular mirror on the wall opposite. They might be about the same age, but Queenie clearly spent a lot more time at the beauty salon. Her hair looked over-processed, making Kat’s natural auburn seem tasteful in contrast. A few grays had sprouted recently, but nothing she couldn’t handle by plucking.
Queenie should have gone with a bigger size for her neon-orange bikini bottom. Kat took full advantage of the free gym membership at the senior center where she worked as the receptionist. It wasn’t much of a job, but she needed it. Darren’s lawyer had been quite skillful.
Ha, there was a goal: to not take a vacation from her Pilates exercises.
Except, Pilates was what she did all the time at home. Surely she could come up with something more original for this very expensive trip. She’d dipped deeper into her savings than was prudent, but she’d spent her whole life being careful. A week shy of her birthday and her son Carver safely ensconced at college, not-quite-forty-three was an excellent age to give in to a little recklessness.
Except, now that she was here, what she really wanted was to dip her toe in the sea of adventure. Test the waters, so to speak. Queenie’s brand of audaciousness seemed more like jumping off a cliff.
“C’mon already!” Queenie said. “Don’t want to miss Ramsey’s show.”
“What show?” Kat’s mind was back on alert. She had no trouble picturing Ramsey as a stripper.
“Ramsey carrying the surfboards down to the beach, of course.” Queenie retrieved the suit and thrust it at her.
Kat accepted it, if only so the woman wouldn’t put a hole in the delicate fabric with one of those garish purple talons. “What kind of a show is that?”
Queenie opened her eyes wide. “Get glasses, Alice. Have you not seen the man’s muscles?”
As if to demonstrate Ramsey’s pectorals, she cupped her hands in front of her breasts. Good chance they were implants. And about to pop out of her suit.
“If Huge-O Hugo’s more your speed, I’ll send Ramsey back up to get him. Nice move there, by the way.”
“Whatmove?”
“Your whole fainting act. Guys dig helpless chicks. I try, but I never really got it down.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, her eyes went flat, and she let her jaw go slack. The overall effect was that of a corpse.
Kat’s own jaw dropped
. “That wasn’t an act.”
“Even better. Hey, ever consider a career in show biz?”
Kat crossed her arms. “No. And I didn’t sign up for a surf lesson.”
Queenie glanced at the goal questionnaire, which Kat quickly flipped over. Queenie fixed her with one eye. Josie had a remarkably similar expression when she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Aw, come on.” Queenie stamped her foot like a child. “Don’t make me go alone.”
Kat sank onto the arm of the lounger. Did she have aCan Be Guilted Into Anything sign stamped on her forehead? “I don’t know. I came here to relax.”
“Me too. I plan to relax right into Ramsey’s big ol’ muscly arms.” She wriggled to demonstrate.
In spite of herself, Kat laughed, which loosened her grip on the edge of the towel. She caught it just before giving Queenie a free show. “I just took a shower.”
“So take another one. Maybe you’ll get lucky and one of the guys’ll offer to scrub your back.” Queenie cackled.
Kat’s sex resort worries returned.
“The price is almost the same for two as for one,” Queenie said.
Uncanny the way this woman seemed to know exactly which buttons to press.
So much for rest and relaxation. The goal worksheet glared at her from the tabletop. She could wait for Josie to arrive, but if she didn’t . . . ?
Surfing was a) exercise, b) unique, and c) something she’d never try at home. It also happened to be Carver’s latest interest, but no way did Kat want to be dumped into the cold, dark Atlantic off Ocean Grove.
At any rate, it was unacceptable to spend her vacation sitting in her room. Josie would fix her with that judgmental eye, Darren would say “I told you it was a waste of money,” and Carver would shrug, already sure his Suzy Homemaker mother had zero chutzpah. It didn’t seem right to have other people determining what her goals should be, but she could work on that part later.
“Pleeease?” Queenie slumped against the wall like a top-heavy question mark.
Kat held up an admonishing finger. “Just surfing.”
Queenie’s nostrils flared as she seized Kat’s arm. “What do you mean? What am I missing out on?”
Kat pulled away. “Nothing, nothing. Just, you seem into him is all. I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Queenie gave a knowing smile as she fluffed her boobs. “I’m just here to have fun. If he’s into you, I won’t fightcha.” She winked.
Why didn’t Kat quite believe her?
“Seriously.” Queenie eyes went wide, Bambi-innocent. “You remind me of my BFF.”
Kat caught herself just in time from answering,You too. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not interested.”
“Sure you’re not. Who’d be interested in a hot, rich surfer dude who owns a tropical resort?” Queenie scoffed, then it switched over to a laugh.
Owned the place? “Seriously. I just got divorced. I’m on a break from men. Possibly a permanent one.”
“Sure. I hear ya.” Queenie’s nod was patronizing. “Just like my BFF.”
It really did seem like Kat was meant to do this activity with this woman. “Okay, give me a sec to change.”
“Meet ya on the beach!”
Queenie slammed out. Kat picked up her suit, then sank into the lounger and groaned.
* * * *
Hugo sat at his desk. He was supposed to be paying bills, but his gaze kept straying to the paperwork of Miss Katherine Dixon of Princeton, New Jersey.
He could see her big brown eyes as if they were right in front of him. He shouldn’t have touched her, but in the moment, his EMT training just clicked on. She was clearly fine, probably just tired from the flight. He could still feel her soft skin . . .
His shook his head, wiped his sweaty palms off on his lava lava, and returned his attention to the invoices.
Ramsey pounded out a happy tattoo on the doorframe. “Got a live one. Possibly two.”
Hugo stiffened and pretended to type on the laptop. Ramsey would love to catch him slacking off, and probably call his father to let him know. “Oh?”
“Yup. Crazy Queenie signed up for a surf lesson. Told her she should invite the quiet one too.”
Hugo frowned. “I don’t—”
“Ya, ya, ya. ‘Don’t talk people into stuff.’ I didn’t. All I did was show a little muscle” — Ramsey made his biceps dance — ”and tell her how surfing’s a great workout. She practically begged me to teach her.”
“But Miss Dixon—”
Ramsey’s eyes flicked to the page in Hugo’s hand. “Hey, man. The bills don’t pay themselves.” He rapped out another happy tune against the door, and whistled as he strolled away.
The phone rang. Mr. Alvarez. Ramsey couldn’t have called his fatherthat fast. Hugo looked around. What did he do, install spy cameras?
His palms went sweaty. He wouldn’t put the idea past Mr. Alvarez.
“Hola.”
“Hugo, I’ve been looking over your numbers.”
“Sir, it is the slow season—”
“You ran a promotion, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and I think it’s working quite well, actually.”
“Not well enough. You need to upsell them more. More drinks, more services, more excursions.”
Hugo chewed his lip, then said, “Yes, sir,” but Mr. Alvarez had already clicked off. Hugo tapped his pen against the bill from the liquor distributor. His vision was too blurred to read the amount.
3
Reaching for her purse, Kat accidentally pushed the goal questionnaire off the dresser. She let it fall to the floor and fished her phone out of her bag.
While the phone rang, she bent down to retrieve the page. Josie didn’t answer. Just when the phone beeped to allow her to leave a message, her eye caught on the wordgoal. She couldn’t even make a decision about a surf lesson without other people’s input. How was she supposed to manage the rest of her life on her own?
She hung up and grabbed her suit.
Her worry that Queenie would yell at her for taking so long was pointless. She was too busy flirting with Ramsey. Kat didn’t waste her time on that nonsense; the view was too gorgeous. The turquoise water, the swaying palms and the air the perfect temperature, warm, but not hot. It was like being in a postcard. Her worries ebbed like the gentle tide before her.
“Miss Kat!” Ramsey smoothly side-stepped Queenie’s octopus arms. “Over here.” He drummed his fingers on a surfboard.
“Thank you.” She reached to take it from him.
“I got it.” Ramsey winked at her as he laid it in the sand.
Just standing beside the thing made her heart beat faster. Water was slippery and she was supposed to stand on a flimsy piece of Styrofoam? Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. New goal: stay in one piece.
Her fingers went to her throat, where her heart locket usually sat. She’d left it back in her suite for fear of losing it in the ocean. Looking out at the waves, she was glad she had.
“Yolo,” she said to herself.
“Yoo-hoo to you too!” Queenie called gaily.
“That’s not. . . never mind.” Kat waved her fingers.
“Step right up.” Ramsey held out a hand.
Queenie promptly pouted. Kat sighed. She hadn’t meant to appear helpless. To create some distance between herself and his glistening muscles, she moved to the far side of the board.
“Go on, Miss Kat. I don’t bite. Except if you ask.” Ramsey grinned. “Hey, can I call you Kitty-Cat? ’Cuz you cute and kinda small, but you also got this tough, independent thing goin’ on.”
“No,” a voice boomed behind them. “You may not call a guest that.”
Kat turned. Hugo was close behind her, holding a surfboard and glaring at Ramsey. The tendons on his fingers stuck out.
“We cool, I’s just teasin’.” Ramsey gave Kat a friendly wink, then moved back toward Queenie. “We gonna start by practicing snaps.” He turned to Hugo
. “We got boards already, but thanks, man.”
Hugo gripped his board tighter. “I figured I’d help out. I have the time.”
A look of surprise crossed Ramsey’s face, but he recovered quickly with a nod. “Cool.”
“Awesome. More hands-on for us!” Queenie batted her eyelashes at Kat, then did a quick recap of her corpse face. It looked like she was suffering a seizure.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Ramsey said. “You wanna handle Miss —” He put his hands together and wobbled them around like a gyroscope, as if trying to trying to read a signal from Hugo. Kat was back to worrying about the surf lesson turning kinky. “— Kat?”
To avoid seeing Hugo’s reaction, she glued her eyes to her feet. Good thing she’d gone with nude polish for the pedicure. So sensible for the inevitable chips from walking barefoot. Her big toe had one already.
“Yes. I think that will work,” Hugo said.
A wave went through Kat, but if it was relief or worry, she couldn’t say.
Hugo had traded his sarong for white board shorts which set off his tanned skin perfectly. He had tattoos low on his waist, where love handles would be on other men. His sides were solid.
The pattern reminded her of Celtic art, but they were different. Simple geometric shapes wove together to form a complex design. Tribal, and not a turn-off since they seemed to have a deeper meaning than a Bugs Bunny whimsically stamped onto a shin. Carver wanted to get one of those things, but Kat had put her foot down. Although now that he was eighteen, there was nothing she could do to stop him.
“Lie down, Miss Kit-Kat,” Ramsey said.
Hugo glared at him. Ramsey didn’t seem to notice.
They practiced paddling, ‘snapping’ from lying flat to standing, and figuring out which foot was more comfortable in front. Kat was usually very good at following directions, but her snap-to-standing was more spaghetti noodle than jack-knife. This put her about on a par with Queenie who had the problem of additional wobble from loosely-contained boobage. At least Kat managed to fumble with a minimum of exclamations. Every time Hugo’s back was turned, Queenie made kissy faces at Kat.