by Lucy Morton
“Yeah, right... you do not know my family, Pam. They will remember this forever. I have not even seen my parents. I cannot look them in the face.
When I called my mother, she began to cry out and she asked me over and over, what would happen to me. Because of the life of her only daughter. "Good heavens, when your dad and I die, you'll be so lonely..." she said dramatically.
“Just go, Kate," Betty says, who has been so quite during the entire conversation. “You should live an unforgettable adventure and maybe you should do not think of men, although..." She sighs mischievously. “Well, you never know. Maybe, the love of your life is waiting for you in Greece.
CHAPTER 4
STUART
Next destination: Greece
While I am waiting in the queue for boarding, I think of the 4,782 miles between New York and Greece. There are about 16 hours of flight for me. Also I will have to stand the jet lag so badly. It’s about 7 hours from New York to Greece.
The plane is filled with groups of young men, Greek men with hot bodies, old women who remind me the Greek Yogurts ads with long black skirts and checkered bags that smell like feet.
My back is killing me and my feet have gone numb at five o’clock. "When I was twenty years old, it was not happening to me," I curse.
I am walking to the little bathroom of the plane but it is closed. Ten minutes later, I keep insisting angrily.
“Do you think you are the only person on this fucking plane? Open it right now!”
A few seconds later, a woman in her early thirties with a face consumed with shame is leaving out the door. She apologizes to me in a whisper and I see her go back to her seat. When coming out, there is a Greek girl almost taller than me, dressed in a tiny, low-cut black dress, waiting in the small hallway of the plane.
“Wow, what a cutie girl!” I catcall her.
The Greek girl laughs, touches my shoulder and she surprises me with a:
“Will you come with me?
I have never fucked in the bathroom of an airplane. It is uncomfortable but exciting at the same time. The height and prominent curves of the Greek woman I am penetrating wildly make me a little difficult to move. But the way she is gasping I know she likes it. When we finish, she licks his lips, by putting her tongue in my mouth and after getting ready a little bit, she comes out of the little room winking at me.
When I go out, I find the woman consumed by shame, who is looking at me by shaking her head.
“Just let me know if you're going to be in the bathroom for two hours," I say sharply.
I'm getting bored. I am so bored, that I fuck the Greek woman three times, until a flight attendant reproaches us for our lack of respect and antisocial behavior. The Greek woman gives me a card with her address house that I break into a thousand pieces when she is not seeing me. The girl with bitter face and tearful eyes is watching me. By being cautious, she looks at me sideways and I often see her sighing, whining or shaking her head and rolling her eyes every time she was looking at me crossing the aisle slyly towards the small bathroom of the plane.
KATE
Next destination: Greece
“What a bastard”, I think about the guy who is knocking on the bathroom door while I was crying by being locked inside of it, feeling a prisoner of my bitterness and my despair when I am seeing myself alone in a plane for 16 hours. I've seen him three times walking down the aisle to the bathroom to fuck his fuck buddy. I keep my nerves in line by eating peanuts. I do not know how many extra pounds I will have within this hellish plane full of groups of young, old Greek woman with bags that smell like dead cat and the so-called Adonis that must be homosexual like the man who should be in the next seat. There must be something good from his absence and when I make a fool of myself in my non-wedding day: despite not going in first class, I have enough space to sleep comfortably.
It’s ten o'clock in the evening in New York and the pilot alert us with kindness and diligence, that we have one more left to arrive at the airport of Samos. I look a beautiful dawn from the window and I estimate it must be five o'clock in the morning in Greece, so we will arrive at six o'clock. From Samos I have another flight of two hours and forty minutes to seven o’clock Greek hour, which it will take me to my final destination. I mentally calculate the hours I will arrive at the island of Ikaria at about 9:40 am. We chose it, because a friend of Martin told him that it was the most magical and special island in Greece.
The only thing I want is to go to sleep. Just stretching my legs and sleeping whatever I want. Then, I begin to shake myself and another tear runs down my cheek. Maybe I'm making a big deal about this and it is not so bad but... What shall I say at the hotel reception? How shall I say that I am not Mrs. Logan, that there is no Mr. Logan, and that I am the one and only, Miss Spencer? All dressed up and nowhere to go. Maybe they’ll feel sorry for me. Maybe they would laugh at me behind my back. Or maybe like Lucy, they think that the American girl will end up alone in a shack in her country, living with seven cats.
Just arriving to Greece
So we finally arrived at Samos and I could see through the beauty of a dawn in Greece through the window of the plane. From this distance, I admired the visible, white color of the houses from the sky and the blue of the calm ocean. The warm light in the sky, with their orange and pink shades. They got me thinking that Lucy was right. There will never be a moment in my life, in which I may regret not having made this trip because I am here now. Breathing, eating peanuts and standing on for the first time in my life Greek land. Waiting in the small airport of Sámos, having fun in the stores and buying magnets for the refrigerator, until I take another flight to the island of Ikaria to which I am looking forward to meet at seven o´clock.
9:40 am
The voice of the pilot saying that we have arrived at the Ikaria Island and he is hoping that we have had a safe flight. He awakens me from my dream in which I was really immersed in. In it, I was walking with my father along the endless aisle of St. Patrick's Cathedral in the direction of the altar. Martin and the parish priest were waiting for me there. Martin was smiling strangely. The guests gradually disappeared, and Freddy showed up next to me, with his thick beard, his restless gaze with piercing blue eyes and a laugh that, while still awaking, that it really creeps me out. Then Martin runs away with Freddy hugging each other, disappearing from my sight without stopping to laugh out loud. My father looks at me, ashamed and he says, "It was for the best, Kate. He was not the right guy for you”.
The wise words of my father in dreams, has made me want to call him and hear his voice. Always calm and patient, I remember the stories he read to me before going to sleep. The kiss on my forehead and the caress on my small chubby cheek. He tucked me in, turned off the light and left the door open a little, so I could come quickly if a monster appeared under the bed. I deny repressing the urge to cry because of the excitement these memories have on me. I take my bags and when turning around, I see the scoundrel who knocked on the door of the mini-lavabo of the plane we took in New York.
He is looking at me with disdain and instead of apologizing; he elbows me with intending to come by here.
“Hey, who do you think you are?” I blame him.
“Excuse me?” He laughs.
“You’ve just elbowed me.”
“Oh! I'm sorry, Your Highness!”
“Are you laughing at me?” I cross my arms.
“Leave me alone.”
He removes a lock of his brown hair. Then he frowns, he looks away from me with his brown eyes.
“You are an idiot.”
By turning back and looking at me, I feel all the wrath of the world in his eyes. There is anger that I, despite everything, I have not been able to show in my life.
“Do you know me from somewhere?" He asks, speaking up.
“What's wrong? If you do not have your Greek girl at your side, is that an irritating for you?”
“Look, if you were a man, I would...
“You would
what?” I tease him.
He contains himself. He is making his fist strongly. He is tightening the lips and he shuts up right at the moment in which the rest of passengers go to the exit door of the airplane.
What a strange feeling the guy of the plane has left me. What a bitter and American idiot!
CHAPTER 5
STUART
Welcome to the Ikaria Island!
Just as I imagined when I left New York, the jet lag has affected me so badly. It's 9:40 and I'm standing on an island I am not very familiar with yet. My body, so used to be in New York time, should be taking a nap on a bed. Or sleeping late at night or fucking some waitress from a bar that I would scratch her off from my long list the next day.
I stop thinking about the hours and also a heated and stupid discussion I have just had with an annoyed woman. She, of all people, had to be the only person on the plane landing in Samos as well, and then she took a flight to Ikaria. Maybe just like me, she closed her eyes and she pointedly pointed to the island instead of any other. I have never believed in fate or chance. But, sure indeed, in the accumulation of bad karma and having coincided with the bitter-faced blonde who had been crying inside the bathroom of the plane, it was much worse than stepping on a gum or having to endure a bird shit over you while you are walking quietly through Central Park.
The worst of it comes when I see her getting on the same bus as me. He sits down in front of me, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, crossing her arms and I decide to go to the back so I do not have to face that maniatic girl again.
I think there are 20 hotels in the Ikaria Island and the tearful blonde has to get off precisely, at the doors of Villa Dimitri like me. I have been contemplating the blue sky all the sky, the dirt roads and some others stone roads and also the low white houses with windows of the same tone than the sky.
Located on a rocky mountain, I chose Villa Dimitri because of its tranquility and location. By the sea, it was the perfect place to spend some undefined time-out days and to decide what I finally shall be doing with my life. But seeing her come before me at the gates of the Villa, there is something in me telling me that the discussion we had on the plane a few minutes ago will not be the last.
KATE
Welcome to the Ikaria Island!
Villa Dimitri includes several small apartments with kitchen on the first floor and the bedroom on the second floor. They are not very big, but the price was right. It is only a few meters from the beach and Martin and I thought about choosing it as our honeymoon spot, which it would be the perfect place to spend two dreamy weeks. However, the guy of the plane follows me and he also seems upset by the coincidence that we are both staying in the same place. I blame myself and I decide to ignore him by coming in first.
There is a tall and slender receptionist with raven black hair and almond-shaped black eyes who is there to greet me. She is showing a desirable smile and flexible hands with the computer keyboard.
“So..." She hesitates for a moment. "Is Mr. Logan not coming with you?”
“No", I say dryly, holding back my tears.
The guy of the plane is behind me, insulting that I do not get or I want to understand.
“I get it. Don’t worry, miss...” she murmurs in pity.
“Spencer," I answer.
The receptionist takes pity on me with a sympathetic look, which it is the least I least need at the moment.
“Your apartment is available. When you leave out reception, turn right and enter in Room 2. These are your keys.
I thank her with a nod and while I am turning, I almost step into the guy of the plane’s face.
“Cannot you see where you are walking?” He asks in a bad mood.
I elbowed him and with tears in my eyes I follow the receptionist’s instructions and I go to the Room 2. Along the way I meet a handsome man with a dark complexion who is smiling and he stops me sweetly.
“Miss, are you okay?" He asks, still showing me his perfect line-up and white toothy smile.
“Yes...”
“Are you American?”
I nod again, looking at the floor.
“Welcome to Villa Dimitri. My name is Stefan Kafkis, the chef of the Villa. Just in case you ever want to try our Greek dishes, "he offered graciously.
“Oh thank you very much.”
“And if you want a tour guide, it will be my pleasure to go with you.
I appreciate his offer and I tell him that we will probably see each other tonight. Now what I need is to lie down on my bed and to sleep a lot.
When I open the apartment, I like what I see. The design is rustic and austere, but everything is in perfect order. There is not much space, but a single person does not need a two hundred square meters room, either. I leave my bags on the first floor next to the brown couch and when going up the bedroom, there are some negative butterflies flying around my stomach by seeing the big bed decorated with petals of red roses forming a heart. In the middle, there is a box of chocolates and a note saying:
“Mr. and Mss. Logan, welcome to Villa Ikaria. Have a dream honeymoon”
Oh, my God... If this is not depressing, please wake me up. I pull out of bed with rage every single one of the still fresh petals. Then I open the box of chocolates and I let the chocolate to kill my pain.
It is seven o’clock in Greece. Twelve o'clock in New York. The sunset of the island wakes me up and I contemplate the sight of the balcony of my room. I see the sea, the sky at sunset and I hear funny voices around the villa. Maybe it's time to go out. Going to dinner alone and going for a walk on the beach when it is getting dark. I think of all the times I've seen something like that in romantic movies and yet I do not see myself doing it. It was already embarrassing to go eat alone to a restaurant in New York, a city where nobody looks at anyone, to sit down to dinner in a small Villa, without another diner in front of me for having a good conversation.
I enter the Wifi password that there is in a card on the bedside table and I write a WhatsApp in the chat group of the girls.
“I've already arrived to the Island! I have slept and I will go to dinner at the restaurant of the Villa now.”
“Tell me, tell me! Betty replied immediately, with little hearts emoji.
“This is nice... the sky is beautiful... The Villa is quiet, although the heart-shaped rose petals waiting for me on the bed have been a depressing thing. I've eaten a whole box of chocolates" I confess with remorse.
“Enjoy it, Kate! And eat another box of chocolates for me! If you live permanently on a diet is just bullshit", Lucy writes, with an emoji by winking at me.
“Have you seen any hot guy?" Charlotte asks, sending dirty emoji that I would rather forget.
“The chef is not bad..." I reply.
“The chef! I imagine Lucy pulling the pink and fluorescent dildo out of the drawer while she thinks of fucking a robust chef on the metal countertop beneath the stoves of a large kitchen.
“Shut up!" I send endless laughing out loud emoji although I do not even know why I am doing it. I'm not laughing. “I'm going to have dinner, girls. I will catch you up later!
The first dinner
I have not brought the fitted red dress. I just do not feel like being provocative, not even having sex with a stranger on top of the bathroom in any bar. I choose for the occasion a flowing dress and beige sandals. It is not bad at all. At least the zipper is not fighting me back.
I go to the small bathroom and finding the courage, I encourage myself to make up a little and cover the dark circles that are laughing at me in front of the mirror. When I decide that I am decent, in spite of being scared to see two more wrinkles around my eyes, I leave my apartment. I walk down the stone path to the reception. It's nice. It is surrounded by leafy shrubs and colorful flowers, lit by lanterns that are beginning to light.
The reception woman, who greeted me upon arrival at the Villa, is not there. Instead, there is a tall, hefty man with a black handlebar mustache, which is attracting my
attention.
“The restaurant?” I ask.
He does not have time to respond. The guy of the plane passes by and he stops in front of me.
“Cannot you still see while you are walking? Cannot you see the little signs? They are in English, for Americans like you and me. Over there" he says abruptly.
I roll my eyes and I look serious at the receptionist who has glared at the guy of the plane for his bad manners with me. He moves his mustache from side to side and he looks back to the screen of his computer.
I have no choice but to follow the guy of the plane and when I arrive at the restaurant, I sympathize with him, because we both stood in the entrance by watching the tables full of couples showing words of love, whispering in the ear and cuddling each other.
“Table for two?” The woman asks. The very same who received me a few hours ago at the reception.
“No!” The guy of the plane and I exclaimed at the same time.
“I want a table really far away from this woman, please", the guy of the plane begs.
Apparently, he has not been liked too well in Villa Dimitri, because they give him the worst table in the familiar and nice restaurant. Meanwhile I enjoy the nocturnal views to the sea from a table by the window. I see Stefan working in the kitchen from a small hole that is bordering the table where is the guy of the plane, taken up with annoyance in his mobile phone. I do not feel butterflies flying around my stomach as I am looking at the chef. It's an Adonis, as I thought of Martin the first time I saw him. But I feel nothing. "Grandma. Grandma", I call her mentally. The poor woman has been raising mallows for eight years, but I like to think that she hears me from some unknown dimension and she is sending me signals. "If I do not feel butterflies, can he be just the man in my life?" I would say no. He could be fine for a one-night stand (she was so modern), but not for a lifetime. "The stomach does not cheat when it comes to heart issues, Kate", she used to tell me. Maybe she was wrong. What the hell! I wanted to believe that it was the reason, my grandmother had been wrong all her life. She only fell in love once with my grandfather. When he passed away, she had some adventure, but since she did not feel butterflies flying around her stomach, they were only one night's entertainment. I do not want to think of eighty-year-old flabby asses rejoicing in a noisy bed of old docks, so I decide to stop mentally calling my grandmother.