Island Love

by Curtis Bennett

  As beautiful as they all were, my attention was drawn to one woman and one woman alone. It was the heaven sent model from the island of Antiqua. Suddenly bomb threats, terrorists, explosive devices, intrusive security measures, and flight delays no longer dominated my thoughts. Right then, I relieved the dream I had with her the night before. In that dream we were standing in line at a nightclub, she behind me. Though we were not together, I remembered turning and gazing down into her beautiful eyes and with the warmest and most charming smile I could muster up. I remembered telling her how lovely she looked. And I remembered her thanking me with the most appreciative and curious cinnamon brown eyes.

  Circling her slowly in my dream, I remember her asking me why I was looking at her so intently. Circling her still, I drew closer and told her that I was so captivated by her beauty that I just had to get a closer look. She then asked me why I found her so pleasing to my eyes. I told her that a woman as lovely looking as herself should not go throughout her day without being kissed. I told her that I’d be neglecting my manly duties if I did not taste her moist red lips with mine. With that I paused and brought my mouth over hers and kissed her hungrily. Though we paused, as I stole a kiss, my head continued to spin. Yes, I remembered that dream and in great detail. Coming to, it happened when I looked in the direction of her group a second time.

  Our eyes actually locked and for the longest second of my life. She smiled back in acknowledgement and with a prolong gaze that nearly matched mine in duration and intensity. It was the kind of event that ranked up there with a rare alignment of the Earth, the Moon, the Sun, and the center of the Milky Way. Without a doubt, her gravitational pull exerted great influence on my psyche. Inside, my heart raced madly as I fought to maintain my composure. The best that I could do was to return her gesture with a nervous smile but I believed she got the gist of my fascination, better yet, my infatuation with her for that one moment. It was a moment beyond expressed words and a gaze beyond what is considered the obvious, as my uncle had uttered prophetically.

  I wrestled with the idea of going over to her and introducing myself. I wanted to tell her that I saw her at the fashion show. I was even going to throw in that I was her biggest fan that night. But then I stopped and I thought what comes after I had said all of that? I just did not know. I did know one thing, though. Wherever she was going I wanted to tag along with her. However far she planned to venture, I wanted to be close enough to her that I could inhale her sweet fragrant scent every step of the way. And no matter how distant the land she hailed from and longed to return to, I wanted to be close enough to reach out and pull her gently into my embrace and kiss her ever so passionately whenever the urge hit me.

  I wasn’t the shy type, no way. Never had been. Well, not since I got out of high school. But I had been out of the game so long that I lacked the confidence I needed at this very moment. Man, I could not believe how suddenly my killer instinct dissipated at the sight of her. Strange how I could confront strong-willed personalities on a daily basis in the business and in heated battle and with such remarkable fortitude, courage, and confidence and now faced with introducing myself to a walking dream, I found myself as intimidated as a blind overweight mouse in a lion’s den. Deep down inside I drew upon hours of motivational training and somehow found the courage to go over to her and introduce myself.

  Just as I took a step forward a voice came over the intercom saying that the bomb scare was no longer deemed a viable threat and that our particular terminal had been secured and that we could all proceed back through the security screening area to our respective terminals. By the time the message ended, the Caribbean beauty and her comrades were already making their way towards the security screening area, carryon bags and all. It would be my luck to have gotten so close but remained so far from my objective. The one positive was that I would soon be airborne and on my way to doing what I did best and felt comfortable doing…expanding the company base and its bottom line.

  As I waited for the crowd to thin out I thought about my brief interlude. And I thought about this wacked out security policy, as well. God, I could not believe they wanted us to go through the security screening again. But we had little or no choice. It was either go through the process again or forget about flying that day. What a way to start off one’s day, I fretted. Like an obedient lamb being herded along, I joined one of several long and seemingly endless lines.

  My Jet Blue flight got airborne around 2:35 PM. We were an hour behind schedule. After a connecting flight on Cape Air airlines, in San Juan, Puerto Rico the plane landed smoothly on its belly on the tropical island of St Thomas. I glanced down at my wrist digital and it read 7:45 PM. The mountainous terrain blanketed with trees and the West Indies dialect of those handling my transactions at the airport and rental car office left no doubt that I was no longer in Ft Lauderdale, Florida but in a foreign land. How friendly a place it would turn out to be was questionable in my mind. What my martial arts comrade had shared with me, and what information I later garnished from my internet probe, gave credence to what he had said about the United States Navy and the problems it had with its sailors on liberty at this port. It was very much like crimes on cruise ships. You rarely heard about them but they occurred.

  A big fan of the James Bond movie series, I felt like an agent on a mission in an exotic land. And in many ways I was. The only thing missing in my script was a femme fatale and a romantic love interest. Fortunately or unfortunately, my current job did not require such cinematic perks as the Bond character.

  My rental, a metallic blue late model Jaguar, came equipped with a GPS system which had been preprogrammed at the rental garage. Employing its unique capabilities, I allowed it to direct me to the Ritz Carlton Club 2 Bedroom Suites where I would spend the next couple of weeks. I settled for their 2 bedroom suite because the location, situated on the highest point of the island resort, took in the dramatic and breathtaking view which encompassed the nearly private cove, crystalline waters and the horizon dotted with beautiful islands and majestic cays beyond. It was a view to die for. Extraordinary views such as this one were rare and could never be compromised for the sole benefit of one guest. Besides, why would anyone in their right mind want to surrender such tropical beauty to the eyes of one? This panoramic view was meant to be a shared experience, a paradise meant for two.

  I still thought that my uncle went way overboard with my accommodations. Like most resort villas going for $800 and above per night, the resort condos included climate-controlled air-conditioning throughout, plush interiors, double-paned windows and soundproofed walls. Both bedrooms featured lavish décor, full entertainment centers, ensuite marble and granite bathrooms with soaking tubs and walk-in closets, premium linens and down pillows and comforters. The place was definitely made for complete comfort, rest and relaxation. All in all, it was far too extravagant for me, a young bachelor, but my uncle insisted that I accept this arrangement as a gift from him and my aunt.

  Walking outside of my bedroom I stood on an oversized balcony and felt the cool trade winds blowing in from the harbor and ocean below. I wondered how I was going to spend my time here and at that moment, turned my head to the right. Adjacent to the villas stood the stately and elegant Ritz-Carlton Hotel, to which I had full access to all amenities, which included their newly renovated fitness facility, full-service spa and salon, lighted tennis courts and three restaurants; optional daily-fee watersports, sailing and diving. The brochure I had reviewed back in Ft Lauderdale showed that the fully-equipped bistro kitchens were finished with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, including a convection oven replacement for the usual stove and oven. Such beauty and sensory entrapment; I was an adventurer who had landed in Paradise and with no one to share it with.

  After settling in I called one of the contacts my uncle gave me and arranged for a late morning meeting the following day. Tired and quite hungry, I contemplated venturing out on the island in search for something to eat. Except
for complementary snacks and drinks on the flight down I had had nothing to eat since breakfast at Denny’s. But my generous and thoughtful uncle and aunt had taken this into account as well. Pulling out the brochure it read:

  Let The Ritz-Carlton's chefs cook for you - your rental of these Suites includes delicious food: three culinary presentations daily, breakfast, Panini, sandwich and salad lunches, warm evening hors d'oeuvres and desserts, and all-day coffee, tea and soft-drink service plus rum punch and wines by the glass. Your electronic room card allows only you and your party exclusive access to the air-conditioned Club Lounge adjoining a private terrace and to those delectable food selections, a computer and printer station, and boardroom facilities, along with Ritz-Carlton Club Concierge service, to arrange any requests you may have such as in-room massage, babysitting, daily activities, spa visits, taxi or limo service, or island-hopping day trips - The Ritz-Carlton's legendary service will meet your every need and greatly enhance the magic of your St. Thomas holiday.

  Setting the informative brochure down, I grabbed my cellphone and headed out for a bite to eat. Along the way I passed a large beachfront swimming pool, an adult's serenity pool, a toddler's wading pool and two whirlpool spas, all surrounded by swaying palms, manicured landscaping and soothing sounds of the water lapping on the nearby seashore. As I drew closer I inhaled the aroma of island cuisine coming from Coconut Cove Bar & Grill, which were just steps away from the pools and white sands. Every facet of The Ritz-Carlton resort experience had been planned to provide regal comforts in an intimate, casually-elegant Caribbean setting, it appeared. I was certainly impressed.

  After a quick early morning workout, I showered, had a delightful breakfast, then watched the morning news. Going over my written objectives I listened to a couple of music videos, at times looking up at them, then returning to my work. The DVD ended with Will Smith’s hit tune ‘Getting Jiggy With It’. Dressed in khaki shorts and a flower patterned short sleeve shirt and dark shades, I felt prepared to meet my contact.

  I guided the Jaguar down narrow winding paved roads, slowing down only when I encountered pedestrians or livestock in passing. Once I pulled onto the main artery I arrived in the downtown tourist district fifteen minutes later. The GPS was batting a thousand as I pulled up to the address I had been provided. The name of the business was Harold & Jones’ Realty. The area was already alive with tourist and locals, some carting goods, others setting up stands to sell their wares. Near a fountain sat several men with yellow-stained eyes and teeth and sporting dreadlocks. They were probably Rastafarians. The scent of marijuana hung in the immediate area, and it came from the direction of the men at the fountain. Not far from where I had parked was a wooden stand lined with large hand woven baskets and clay planters of various shapes and sizes. Next to it stood a couple peddling pocketbooks, sandals, hats and T-shirts.

  A short distance down the narrow block was a restaurant. Outside sat several tables with shade umbrellas and comfortable looking chairs. The place did not appear to be open but seemed in the process of making preparations to open at a later time. I made a mental note of this as a possible place to eat lunch. To keep my options open I would check out other restaurants in the area as well.

  Driving around the side of the concrete building I found a place to park in a tight parking area and exited the car. Overhead I paused to take into view a loud, low flying jumbo jet, no doubt, carrying a cargo full of arriving tourist. Perhaps it carried my romantic interest, as well, I thought in jest.

  Putting on my dark shades I grabbed my attaché case and headed back towards the front of the building and its main entrance. I was about to rap on the door when it opened wide. I assumed the stone-face man was a patron on his way out. A heavyset woman, who was probably his wife, followed behind him. She smiled and nodded her head in passing. I returned the gesture then entered the building.

  There was a wooden desk in the center of the entrance area with an attractive looking receptionist seated at it. The joint looked like something you’d see on a 40’s Hollywood set; I’m talking one of those gumshoe detective offices, with gray colored files cabinets and drab looking wooden desks, the likes you’d expect to find in a Humphrey Bogart movie. Beyond her were two offices, one I am sure belonged to Miles Jones, the contact I was here to meet. The door to the office was slightly ajar. Since the receptionist was busy taking a call, I waited.

  According to my uncle, Miles was a jovial and charismatic man he had met some years earlier at a resort somewhere in the Caribbean. The two had struck up a conversation at the resort sauna they were staying at one evening and found common interests between them and from that point on became good friends.

  Placing the phone down the receptionist turned her gaze to me and with a friendly and warm tropical smile asked if she could assist me. I told her that I had an appointment with Mr. Jones and gave her my name.

  “Oh, yes Mr. Donavan. Mr. Jones is expecting you.”

  As she stood up to announce my presence a burly man appeared at the opening of the office entrance. He was wearing shorts and an island shirt similar to what I was wearing. His dark tan stood in contrast to a much lighter complexioned man as shown to me in a photo by my uncle. But much like our Caucasian brothers and sisters, light-skinned Blacks tanned darker as well when subjected to the rays of the sun over a period of time.

  “Marcus Donavan!” he almost cheered in greeting. “Come on in. As Yvonne said, I’ve been expecting you.”

  I acknowledged Ms. Yvonne with another appreciative smile before following Miles into his office. Since my mission was a low profile one, I did not mention my uncle. But after I saw the true market value of the property and the low price it was being sold for, I no longer needed to disguise my mission. I found a way to slip into our conversation that my acquisition division represented Spirit Of Cooperation, Inc., the parent company of Almond Street Café. After I mentioned the restaurant chain, his mind went into overdrive and seconds later he made the association. “By, George, that’s Kurt Douglass’ company, if I am not mistaken!”

  “You’re not,” I assured him.

  After he relived a few tales about the times he spent with my uncle, we got on with the business of the day. I listened to his presentation and astutely made note of all of the major points of interest we agreed on and what few concerns we both had.

  Based on what I had heard and read, I made my determination on which of the two properties I would focus on from this point on. After we exchanged several more ideas and went over my proposal, which included taxation and zoning issues, I finally brought up the issue of crime. I told him that it was a major concern for me and the company. I then pointed to my internet based statistics and other supporting information. Miles assured me that although the navy had experienced a few unfortunate incidents the crimes committed were usually petty in nature and had never involved tourists or sailors who remained inside of the business district where law enforcement’s presence was more visible. He did acknowledge that several sailors had been murdered over the years the navy visited the port but added that local authorities had put additional measures into place to ensure that these dastardly crimes would be minimized, and at best totally eliminated.

  An hour and half later we wrapped up our meeting. Miles invited me out to lunch. I accepted. We would visit the site that my company was interested in buying after lunch.

  Leaving the comfort of his air-conditioned office we began our trek on foot. Though the sun was out, it was not overwhelming. The temperature was in the mid-eighties. To my surprise we ended up at the restaurant I had taken note of hours earlier. Deciding to eat outside on the terrace, we took seats under a large umbrella-shaded table then gave our order to a very friendly waitress who warranted a second and third look. Her youthful features, hour glass bode, and ample breast caught not just my mind but my imagination. Her doe-like eyes sparkled and her warm smile I found pleasantly inviting. Such natural beauty permeated the area it seemed. I began to wonder whe
ther or not my singular visit, voided of female companionship, had heightened my awareness of women I once had little time for before now.

  The property we looked at was previously occupied by a local business man who had been in the restaurant business for decades but got caught up in the downturn in the real estate market and eventually filed bankruptcy. It had served as a Greek restaurant before closing and had been sitting idle for several months. For what they were asking, it was not just a bargain but more like a steal. The location was perfect, right smack in the midst of St Thomas’ downtown tourist district, and the building was in superb condition. I told Miles that there were a few other things I needed to look into, as well as confer with my aunt and uncle, but overall, a potential deal looked forthcoming. Like any realtor wanting to seal the deal, he wanted me to feel welcomed and wanted me to leave the island thoroughly entertained so he invited me to attend a dance being sponsored by several Greek fraternities from the University of the Virgin Islands the following night. I accepted the invitation.

  For the remainder of the day I blended in with other tourists shopping and browsing around. At one point I stopped at a busy eatery to purchase a refreshing tropical island drink. Passion fruit was the flavor I decided on. Talk about delicious. I could not even attempt to put into words how great tasting this blend was.

  Around six that evening, I grabbed dinner then returned to my car and headed back to my villa. I spent a few minutes on the phone relaying my progress to my uncle and my assistant Harold Mullins back in Ft. Lauderdale. Everything looked great. I told him that I hoped to wrap this deal up by day four. The next time we would speak I would try to convince my uncle to let me return to the States and as soon as possible. Besides, I wasn’t exactly burning up the social scene like he had hoped that I would. And though Miles said that he had someone he’d like for me to meet at the dance, I had yet to formally meet the acquaintance of one person on this island paradise. Though my uncle had my welfare in mind, and I appreciated the good intentions and all, I had to find a way to back out of this vacation offer he had extended to me. I just had to.