YOLO_You Only Live Once

by Sue Seabury

  She took a deep breath. Carver’s enjoyment of his new freedom at college had nothing to do with not caring about her anymore. She needed to turn her own freedom into a positive, which meant not running home with her tail between her legs just because Josie couldn’t make it.

  Ramsey said she was tough and independent. He was probably teasing, but still. She could act like she was, starting with dining alone. ‘Fake it ’til you make it.’ Wasn’t that the expression? She had nine days of meals ahead of her. No way was she hiding out in her room for that long. That would be a true waste.

  In silent homage to Josie, Kat pulled out the sexy sundress again. But when she put it on, her confidence plunged lower than the neckline.

  Her white bikini top was sticking out of her luggage. She took the dress off and put on both top and bottom underneath the dress. People catching a glimpse of her bathing suit was somehow less awful than seeing her underwear. Didn’t make a ton of sense, but that’s how she felt.

  A simple French twist for her hair and then some sheer pink lipstick and a touch of mascara. The resort was casual after all. She resisted the urge to slide a ring over the tan line where her wedding band used to sit and gave Carver’s locket a squeeze for strength. There was no shame in being single.

  8

  On her way out the door, she scooped up her inflight magazine as a defense weapon.

  After a quick reconnaissance lurk in the shadows near the dining area to see if Queenie was already there — she wasn’t — Kat approached the waitress.

  “Table for one, please.” She mustered a smile to prove she wasn’t intimidated by eating alone.

  The girl looked at her with pity anyway. “This way, Miss.”

  She led Kat to a table in the center the room.

  “This big table in the middle just for me?”

  The girl gave her a genuine, lovely smile. “Yes, Miss.”

  Kat sank into the wicker chair. All she needed was a spotlight with a blinking red ‘ALONE’ sign above her head to make her humiliation complete. She hunched over her magazine and did her best to feign interest in a crawdad cook-off in some obscure town in Louisiana.

  “I have a feeling I will have to make your meal on the house.”

  Hugo was smiling down at her.

  Kat’s fingers crunched the pages of the magazine. “Why’s that?”

  He set an improbably-colored drink down on the table and placed a menu before her. “Because you are like a beautiful flower that will attract many bees to it tonight.”

  Kat didn’t know how to respond. Curling the magazine into a tube, she focused on the bold blue-and-yellow plaid pattern of Hugo’s sarong.

  It eventually sunk in that his crotch was eye level; a bulge in evidence. The heat in her face doubled. She blamed it on the balmy evening air.

  “Can I get you anything to start?” Hugo asked.

  Hand-feed me more of those chips and salsa?

  Kat shook her head and dropped the magazine. Hugo retrieved it for her, giving her an up-close-and-personal view of his rear, as well as his bare upper half.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, setting the crumpled magazine gently in the seat beside her. She could still see the bulge out of the corner of her eye. The menu was a blur. She seized her fancy drink and took a long slug. “Good with this for now, thanks.”

  Hugo rested a warm hand on her shoulder. Kat jumped.

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to startle you.” He pointed his chin toward the parking lot. She followed his gaze and, sure enough, a group of local men were checking her out.

  Now certain her face was red as the flower in the vase on the table, she lowered her head and gripped the menu like her life depended on it.

  “I bet they stay for more than one drink tonight, hoping to get a dance with you,” Hugo said.

  She very much wanted to dance, but her flimsy dress and the reality of strange men touching her was too much. Fanning herself with the stiff cardboard, she mumbled, “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “Perhaps we can change that. So, an appetizer?”

  Kat’s mind was too jangled to make any decisions. “What do you recommend?”

  “How hungry are you?” His voice caught; he cleared his throat.

  She swallowed hard. “Starved.”

  “Hmm.” His held her gaze without blinking. “Allow me to take care of you then.”

  Why did everything sound like a double entendre? Must be her.

  She sipped her fruity drink again. Another virgin, which wasn’t doing it for her right now. Queenie was right. She’d ask for a punched-up version next time. Squaring her shoulders, she looked him straight in the eye. “I entrust myself to you tonight, Hugo.”

  His lips curved up as he nodded, then he took her menu and returned to the bar.

  She exhaled. Here she’d been accusing Queenie of acting silly. Kat wanted — needed— more space between herself and that man.

  More people arrived; the bar got busy. It became clear Hugo wouldn’t have time to return. Relieved, she relaxed enough to settle back in her seat to enjoy the postcard view.

  “Oh, what a perfect table!” Queenie screeched. “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

  Kat didn’t see how she could say no. Plus, she felt guilty for what she’d said to Josie about her. “Sure.”

  Hugo returned with another colorful beverage. “Two lovely flowers together. The bees will be buzzing tonight.”

  Warmth bloomed like a hibiscus flower in Kat’s middle. Queenie only got a “lovely” while she’d earned a full-blown “beautiful.”

  “It’s a curse!” Queenie patted her hair, then gave her boobs a lift. She cackled away on a phony laughing jag. “Oh, Hugo! I hate insects! I spray them with poison! Oh! I just happen to be wearing that tonight!” She chortled some more. No one seemed to get her joke. “You know, byChree-stahnDie-ohr!” She smirked knowingly. “Crazy expensive. A hundred bucks an ounce.”

  Queenie filled the air not only with heavy perfume, but also crude jokes and lewd comments about everyone in the place. This was Kat’s punishment for saying she needed to ditch the woman. The way to fix it was to think of something positive about her.

  It wasn’t that hard. For one thing, Kat was no longer alone at a table. Second plus, Queenie’s lascivious ogling of every male in the place made Kat’s own occasional glances at Hugo seem downright tame. And third, Queenie’s sense of humor really was a lot like Josie’s.

  She’d pretend Queeniewas Josie and show her patience accordingly.

  Queenie screeched again.That didn’t sound much like Josie.

  Kat took a deep breath and wiped Queenie’s slate clean. She was stuck with the woman for the evening and would make the best of it.

  The food was out-of-this-world delicious. The coconut shrimp were heavenly and the green mango salad provided the perfect refreshing counterpoint. So many new things, she’d never remember the names of half of them.

  Hugo’s food choices softened both Kat’s angst and Queenie’s rough edges, as did the rum punches. After a few of those, Kat found herself laughing. The woman may have been brash, but some of her observations were spot-on.

  “I mean, look at Walrus King Lear over there.”

  Kat choked on her punch. Between the mustache and the paunch, the poor man did bear an unfortunate resemblance to a walrus, a sunburned one. He must be one from the fishing expedition. Despite thin hair and protruding bellies, the quartet of middle-aged men oozed entitlement as they puffed on their stinky cigars and told dirty jokes to the waitresses. Any one of them could have been Darren’s co-workers. Kat intended to steer well clear.

  “Get it,Lear-leer?” Queenie boggled her eyes, then sat back and stirred her drink coyly. “Bet he’s rolling in it though.”

  The man guffawed like a walrus.

  “For the right price, I’d do him.” Queenie held up a daggery fingernail. “As long as the lighting’s dim.”

  Kat was drunk enough to say, “D’you mean, l
ike a prostitute?” She shoved a knuckle into her mouth, but Queenie didn’t seem offended.

  “Nah, like, I’d let him take me out on a date. But it’d cost him.”

  Kat almost said something about that not being so different, except she knew Josie’s feelings about men being her personal ATM were virtually the same. She ate another coconut shrimp.

  Hugo appeared, rubbing his hands together. “Everything all right here?” His expression was that of a boy waiting to hear about his report card.

  “A-plus! Everything was so delicious, thank you. I’m stuffed!” Kat gave a slightly off-kilter tap to her stomach. “Whew! I feel like I’m going to burst right out of my dress.” Hugo’s eyes went to her décolleté. She blushed. “I need exercise, like dancing!”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Hugo said. “And you, Miss Queen? Everything to your liking?”

  “More or less,” Queenie simpered. “If you’d let us see what you keep hidden under that skirt of yours, I’d like ya better.” She let out another cackle.

  Hugo had either gotten used to her humor, or he liked bold advances. When he smiled at Queenie, Kat felt a twinge of jealousy.

  “Ah, but Miss Queen, if I reveal all to you now, what reason would you have to stay?”

  “Already paid, that’s why. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Ditto for me. Kat sat up straighter. She had made the decision — before Queenie said it.

  Queenie took a swipe at his skirt with her long nails. Hugo was faster and escaped, but backed into a local.

  Some rapid-fire Spanish ensued. When Hugo turned back Kat, he had his professional smile on. “It seems you have an admirer who would like the pleasure of a dance, as I predicted. This is Victor.”

  “Love to!” Queenie swayed to her feet. In her platform heels, his nose only reached her breasts.

  Alarm crossed Victor’s face, but when Queenie hooked his arm, he seemed resigned to his fate. Kat breathed a sigh of relief. Queenie had a lot of useful qualities after all.

  Hugo watched them walk away, then turned back to Kat. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Kat shook her head. “It’s okay. I didn’t really want to dance with some stranger who doesn’t speak English. I mean, gosh, excuse me, that sounded so rude. I’m the dummy who barely remembers three years of high school Spanish. I just meant—”

  “Would you still like to dance?”

  Kat’s heart did a little skip. “Yes.”

  “Let me see if Mister Pete is available. He enjoys teaching.” Hugo was gone before Kat fully processed the words.

  In a heartbeat, her disappointment changed to worry. She held her breath, fully expecting Pete to be Walrus King Lear. Instead, Hugo returned with the slimmest of the four Americans, and the best-looking. His self-absorbed expression and white-boy awkwardness still reminded her too much of Darren, but those familiar traits were easier to handle than the overpowering Latino sensuality.

  “Pete Pennypacker, of Philly, PA, not to be confused with Pete Pennypincher over there!”

  He guffawed and raised his cigar to his buddies at the bar who toasted back good-naturedly. Pete’s other hand was occupied with a brandy snifter, so Kat did not extend hers. But Hugo looked so sweetly hopeful about the introduction, she said politely, “Katherine Dixon of Princeton, New Jersey.”

  “I’m a Wharton man myself, but not everyone’s so lucky.” He turned to his bar buddies again. “Hey, Stan. Got an Old Nassau here!”

  Walrus King Lear raised his glass.

  “I never said I went to Princeton,” Kat interjected, more than a little displeased at being calledold. “Just that I live there.”

  Pete sniffed. If the admission got her struck from his dance card, that was fine by her.

  A ladies’ room excuse would only be a pointless delay. Plus, she didn’t want people, such as Hugo, to think she was running off to the bathroom all the time because of a urinary tract infection.

  “Excuse me,” Hugo said. “I am wanted at the bar.”

  Kat sipped her punch and kept thinking. She didn’t rule out throwing Queenie to this wolf in nerd’s clothing.

  Pete puffed his cigar and gave her a cool appraisal. Her being merely a resident of the hallowed city clearly hadn’t been enough of a turn-off because he deigned to put down his cigar and glass. “So, anyway, nice to meet ya, Cathy, you said, right?”

  “Katherine.”

  “Yeah, Cathy. Hugo tells me you’re looking to dance. As they say, let’s cut a rug — or a tile floor. Ha!”

  Kat shut her eyes. Pete picked up her hand. She followed, about as happy as the cat when Carver once tried to “walk” it.

  She told herself the dance was worth it just for the exercise. Great defense against dementia. And she needed to work off all those coconut shrimp.

  It could have been worse. Pete knew how to dance. If only he’d been less dogmatic in his instruction, she might have enjoyed it.

  “Are you catching on to the difference between merengue and bachata? Merengue is—”

  “Side and together. Yes, I remember. And bachata is step and tap.”

  “In merengue, one knee has to be bent, while the other is—”

  “Straight. Yes. I think I got it.”

  “That’s the whole secret of the Cuban walk.”

  “I remember.”

  “Maybe you need another drink to help loosen up those hips?” Pete stopped abruptly.

  Kat stumbled a little as she jerked to a halt.

  Pete smirked. “Or maybe you’ve had enough for tonight?”

  Heat swelled in her chest. How dare he? If anyone was half in the bag, it was him.

  This was her vacation, and it might be the only one for a long time. She wasn’t going to waste another minute of it on this guy.

  Still, her work motto,kill them with kindness, was firmly imprinted on her brain. Pete wasn’t mean, just clueless. By pretending he was one of the more tiresome guests at the senior center, she managed to say calmly, “You know, Pete. You’re right. Thank you so much for this lesson. I learned a lot, but it’s been a long day. I’d like to sit down.”

  It was worth the effort. Pete’s chest puffed. He released her with an exaggerated tip of an invisible hat.

  “Yolo,” Kat reminded herself sternly as she sipped her rum punch.

  *

  She shouldn’t have sat. Fatigue hit her like a sandbag. She’d just picked up another coconut shrimp to give her the energy to return to her room when Hugo came to refill her water glass.

  With an apologetic smile, he said, “I don’t know if you’re aware, I should have said something earlier, but those are fried.”

  “They are?” she garbled, then chewed rapidly. “Oh, well. They’re worth the extra sit-ups tomorrow.”

  “It does not look to me like you need extra sit-ups.” Hugo lowered his head; water gushed over the edge of Kat’s glass. “Ach, what am I doing?” He grabbed for the towel in his waistband and caught the tide just before it rolled off the table and into Kat’s lap.

  “It’s okay.” She took her own napkin and rested it next to his. The edges of their hands weren’t touching, but that electrical sensation bridged the gap. “It’s just water.”

  “It was unprofessional.”

  Kat nudged his forearm gently with hers, “It was a mistake.”

  Hugo moved a step farther away from her and drew some damp circles on the mosaic tabletop. Water droplets glittered like jewels on the blue and green slivers of tile.

  Nothing like a near-disaster to get the adrenaline flowing. While Hugo mopped, Kat moved the dishes aside, then stacked the plates, neatly setting the silverware on top.

  “Please,” Hugo said. “This is my job.”

  He held up a hand and brushed her arm accidentally. He pulled away as if her skin burned. It certainly felt that way to her. The air felt close all of a sudden, like a storm was about to break.

  A cackle from the dance floor cut through the thick atmosphere like a lightning bolt
. Kat and Hugo exchanged a glance as Queenie performed a few kicks that could potentially cause herself or her partner a groin injury.

  “Enjoy yourself out there?” Hugo asked.

  “It was . . . educational.”

  The wiping stopped. He put the sopping towel on top of the stack of plates and picked them up. “Excuse me while I remove this.”

  Kat figured he was gone for good, but he soon returned with a fresh towel and wiped more circles. His expression was grave. “You did not enjoy it?”

  Kat couldn’t bear to hurt other people’s feelings, especially not someone whose goal in life was to make people happy. “He was okay, just, very sure of himself.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “When you’re equally sure everyone else is inferior, yes.”

  Hugo’s circles slowed. “I apologize. I thought you might enjoy meeting someone similar to yourself.”

  Kat let out a mirthless laugh. “He’s a littletoo similar.”

  He raised his chin inquiringly.

  “To my ex.”

  Hugo’s wiping stopped, his hand frozen on the table. Rain pattered on the roof. “I am very sorry. I’m not doing a very good job as your host so far. I can’t even get the weather to cooperate.” His smile was apologetic. He squeezed the cloth, then dropped it.

  “You’re doing a great job.” Kat sat forward and reached out. At the last moment, she grabbed the rag instead of his hand and bunched it between her fingers. It was soft and cool, and felt good under her hot hand. “I like it here, it’s just, I came to get away from everything, men especially. I want to be left alone.” Kat kneaded the fabric. It now felt warmer, and less cloth-like.

  She looked down. Her fingers had somehow gotten interlaced with Hugo’s. The third rum punch might have had something to do with it.

  Hugo looked at their hands, then at her. By mutual silent agreement, they separated. Kat hid both hands under the table where she surreptitiously wiped the one off with the other, fingers tingling.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Hugo said, refolding his towel and wiping his own hands. “Now that I better understand what you want, I will do my best to fulfill it.”

  Summoning one final ounce of will power, Kat pushed herself to her feet. At the edge of the patio, her cork-soled slingback somehow missed the stone path. She threw a quick glance behind her and prayed Hugo hadn’t seen so he could insist on someone escorting her back to her room like some hopeless drunk.