Island Love

by Curtis Bennett

  I arrived at the address given to me around nine o’clock in the morning. I was attired in long brown trousers, a beige safari shirt, brown polished shoes, and brown-tinted shades. My neck and chest area was lightly scented with cologne I had purchased the day before on the island. The place was a mansion. It was a Mediterranean-styled residence with a red clay tiled roof and was enclosed by an eight foot tall white concrete wall. Between the wall and the residence lay a well-manicured lawn and garden area. A wide double wrought-iron gate guarded the main entrance. There appeared to be a buzzer to the right of the gate. I felt anxious and somewhat apprehensive.

  Exiting my rental, I walked over to the brick gate column which had a buzzer. For a full minute I stood there thinking that this was it. Inside of these gates was the answer I had been searching for and hopefully, inside was the woman that I loved. Finally I inhaled deeply and depressed the buzzer. Seconds later a voice came over the intercom.

  “Johns-St Martin residence,” the voice said. “May I help you?”

  “Hello,” I began. “My name is Marcus Donavan and I am here to see Leïla.”

  “Leïla is not here at this time,” the voice came back, sounding indifferent.

  “You don’t understand,” I continued, my voice strained. “I came here all of the way from the United States to see her. I am the one she was with in St Thomas and I was there on the island when she was shot and wounded. Please, I must talk to her parents.”

  “One moment, sir,” the voice replied. No doubt, this was a servant of sorts. I waited.

  After what seemed to be the longest of time, the voice resonated over the intercom system again, this time saying, “You may drive up to the front entrance now, Mr. Donavan.”

  Quickly returning to my rental, I started it up and when the gate opened wide enough, I drove through it. Along the way I pondered where Leïla might be, if not here. Perhaps she was out shopping or at the hair salon, or visiting a relative. But at this time of the day, I asked myself?

  I was greeted by an older bald headed man wearing a deadpan expression. His attire was similar to what a butler would wear. Though he wore white gloves, he did not extend his hand in greeting. He just said for me to come inside. He was the man whose voice I had heard over the intercom for I recognized it right away. As he led the way, I followed.

  Leïla informed me that she was from a prominent family but I had no idea she actually meant ‘privileged’ family. As we walked I marveled at the furnishings, the paintings and marble statues inside. The ceilings were at least eighteen feet in height. The floor was tiled in white and gold-speckled marble. A huge crystal chandelier hung in the foyer. A terrace lay beyond a pair of opened white French doors located across the expansive room.

  Arriving at a sitting area, I was offered a seat on a white velvet loveseat and was told that Leïla’s father would make an appearance shortly. I took up the offer, sat down, and waited patiently, though I felt slightly apprehensive. I wanted to make a good impression with him, thus being my first time meeting him. Believe me, this was not the way I wanted this first meeting to go down. Before my impromptu trip to Antiqua I had envisioned Leïla herself introducing me to her lovely family and in a more formal and traditional way. That would have been my preferred method of introduction.

  As my prolonged wait continued, I took a moment to take in my immediate surroundings. To my right was a white bamboo-styled end table and on it sat a mauve-colored blossom branch vase embossed with Silverstone blossoms. Branches of artificial white blossoms sprouted upward from inside of it. A three foot tall bamboo floor lamp made of natural bamboo and an illuminated white fabric shade enclosed by mirror-like metal frames spaced an inch apart was positioned opposite of me and a white velvet chair. Leïla’s parents certainly had good taste, I concluded.

  Out of nowhere a man I presumed to be Leïla’s father appeared. I stood up to greet him. He was a tall and robust looking, fair-complexioned man with a business-like smile and business-like handshake. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties.

  “Hello, I am Marcus Donavan,” I said with a warm and enthusiastic smile.

  “And I am Mr. Johns-St Martin, Leïla’s father,” he replied as he eyed me speculatively, then added, “I apologize but my lovely wife is visiting with a family relative.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I’m glad to meet you, though,” I said.

  “Yes, it’s always a pleasure to meet one of Leïla’s friends,” he replied.

  “This is a nice place you have here,” I complimented as I sat back down.

  “We find it quite comfortable,” he said, in a privileged-type way as he took a seat across from me. “Trust me…it would take a lot more than a McDonald’s managerial salary to live in a place like this.”

  I am not sure where the McDonald part came from but it was served in a condescending tone. I chose to ignore it.

  “So, you are the young man who was on the island with my daughter when she was injured,” he said leaning forward, his hands clasped together loosely.

  “Yes, I am the one who was there,” I answered.

  “She said that you saved her life.”

  “I’m not sure about all of that, sir, but I did what I had to do to protect your lovely daughter.”

  “And Leïla’s mother and I are very grateful for what you did for our daughter when she was assaulted.”

  “You’re welcomed. Now, if I may ask, sir, where might I find Leïla?” I wanted to know immediately.

  “Leïla returned to St Thomas a week ago with a cousin to pack what she had left there on the island after we returned her here.”

  “When is she returning here, sir?”

  “Son, Leïla left for the States two days ago to get settled in school, which begins in January,” he said, leaning back in the chair.

  “I wasn’t expecting her in Gainesville until just before the summer session began,” I came back. “Besides, I was curious as to why she had not contacted me since her return here.”

  “She is not attending school in Gainesville, son,” he corrected me.

  “She’s not in Gainesville?” I quipped in disbelief. “Sir, if she is not in Gainesville, where then? I have to find her. I have to talk to her.”

  “This being the first time we have met, I am afraid I am not at liberty to give you that information,” he replied, drumming the armrest with his fingers.

  I looked on in a daze, speechless.

  “As for why she has not contacted you, that I don’t know,” he said tersely.

  “I just don’t understand it,” I uttered, frustration evident in my voice. “Did she not tell you anything about me, about us?”

  “Other than saying that you came to her rescue…no, I am afraid not,” he said drily.

  For several seconds I searched his eyes hoping that he would see in my eyes the love, as well as the pain, I felt for his daughter. Recognition was not what I got back in return. My heart sank.

  “Again, we appreciate all that you have done for our daughter,” he said rising up from the chair. “Apparently, whatever my daughter meant to you was one thing. Whatever you meant to her was another.”

  I stood up, though reluctantly. I did not want to leave this house empty-handed. But I was afraid I had no other choice. Here I was, in a faraway land, out in the middle of nowhere, confused, disillusioned, and hurting deeply. The trail I had followed to get to this point had suddenly dead ended.

  “Please, Mr. Johns-St Martin, is there anything you can tell me that will help put me in touch with your daughter?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Donavan.”

  Dismayed, I averted my eyes as I pondered my next move.

  “Well, here’s my business card,” I said handing the card to him. “If you could, please tell Leïla to call me at the number on this card. I’d appreciate that very much.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Listen, I have a meeting to attend that I’m running a little late for,” he injected. “Could I offer to reimburse you
for your trip down here?”

  “No, that will not be necessary,” I quipped.

  “It’s no problem, really,” he pressed on.

  “I appreciate the gesture but again, no thank you,” I replied adamantly.

  “Charles, my butler will show you to the door,” he said shaking my hand.

  Turning, he walked out one entrance of the room. Charles, who appeared out of nowhere, as if on cue, escorted me out of the entrance I had arrived in, my head hung low.

  As I made my way back to the hotel I thought about what had just transpired. I was crushed beyond spoken words. I could not and would not accept that Leïla had ditched me and in such a cold and callous way. I was certain that there was more to this than what her father had told me. I had to believe that. I just had to. And what was all of this about Leïla not attending the University of Florida in Gainesville? It all sounded absurd. But I had little reason to doubt what he was telling me.

  I returned to a wet Ft Lauderdale the following day and a pile of work that awaited me, which had piled up during my absence. The fact that I had a job to return to helped keep my mind occupied and off of Leïla. Well, somewhat. My aunt and uncle once told me that time healed all wounds. I wanted to believe that, I really did. The pain and turmoil I suffered not knowing what had happened with Leïla kept me up at night. Though the weeks passed and then the months, at no time did I ever give up on finding Leïla. I kept checking social websites and other online sources but it was as if she had vanished off of the planet. Unfortunately, I never heard back from her cousin Iris in St Thomas and I would only pursue that lead so far. In the end I had to conclude that Leïla did not want to be found, but for what reason I could only speculate. But would my life go on?

  Chapter Eleven

  Spring was in the air and love everywhere except inside of the world I occupied. From inside of my office window I glanced down on A1A, as I had done on many of occasions, and observed people as they’d come and go. Some walked alone, others with another. They came in all shapes and sizes and nationalities, many walking and talking and holding hands. Some had in tow miniature clones of themselves carrying balloons or eating ice cream. Others were seekers, people hoping to hook up with that someone special. And then there were the observers, people like myself who had left the game voluntarily or had been involuntarily ejected from it. The reasons varied. But so did the level of pain suffered. Just the same, there was something about warm tropical climates and beautiful beaches that brought people out into the open, especially after a light rain. Just over the horizon, arched a colorful looking rainbow I marveled at. In my eyes, that was a good omen. And about now I could use some good news.

  Glancing down at my watch, I saw that it was time for lunch. I wasn’t all that hungry but I knew that I needed to eat something. Minutes later, I decided to join the promenade of tourist and shoppers and walked several blocks down A1A to a seafood restaurant that I had frequented before. I loved their menu and prices and the fact that they had an arrangement of tables and chairs along the sidewalk under large pink and white, or pink and blue beach umbrellas. Upbeat music played in the background, just below conversational level. I loved to sit there and feel the ocean breeze and scan the beach and watch beautiful women sashay to and fro. I also loved the buttery aroma of broiled seafood and the charbroil aroma of grilled steaks. The food, the sights, the sounds, they were all hypnotic and beyond delicious.

  Forty-five minutes later I headed back towards the office on foot, my palate satisfied, and my stomach full. The crowd of pedestrians had grown in number. It was true, the saying that a person could be in the midst of a large crowd and feel as lonely as a person stranded alone in the desert. I felt that way every time I made this trek. Walking behind and beside such loving couples in passing made my loneliness more pronounced, it seemed. It was as if my beautiful princess had died and I was still in mourning. It was a good thing my upper bosses were my aunt and uncle. They allowed me to take time off to clear my head whenever I needed to. They even urged me to seek professional help, but I declined. I knew that my only cure was finding Leïla and finding out what happened with her and getting to the bottom of why?

  “Excuse me, sir,” a voice cried out from behind.

  Baffled, I turned to my left. Behind me stood an attractive young woman holding something in the grip of her hand. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties.

  “I believe this belongs to you,” she said extending her hand, a hand that held a familiar item. It was my credit card.

  “I work at the restaurant,” she said smiling. “The manager said that you had left this behind on the counter. Since I was leaving early, and saw you walk out the door, I told her that I’d catch up to you and return your card to you.”

  “I really appreciate this,” I replied with an appreciative smile as I returned my card to its place in my pocket. “And what do you do at the restaurant?”

  “I’m an assistant manager,” she replied, walking instep alongside of me.

  “Are you planning on making a career out of it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she shrugged. “I really want to go to school to take up the culinary arts.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I injected gazing over at her. “What’s stopping you?”

  “Actually, I started in that field but dropped out for personal reasons, at the time.”

  “Well, there’s nothing that says you cannot return to that field and I’m sure that you will, in time.”

  “I will,” my guardian angel said gazing up at me. “You know, she must have meant a lot to you.”

  “Who?” I asked, pausing.

  “The woman that’s been on your mind,” she answered. “I mean, I only know of one thing that can come between a man and his credit card and that’s a woman.”

  “You are quite perceptive,” I replied in astonishment as we resume our walk.

  “Please, I didn’t mean to pry,” she said defensively. “But I’ve observed you over the past few weeks at the restaurant. You always seemed sad and lost in your thoughts. I figured that you had just broken up with someone or was going through a divorce.”

  “Or the woman on my mind just might have died,” I came back.

  “I considered that but I did not want to believe that was the case,” she admitted. “That isn’t the case is it?”

  “No, not really,” I said putting her mind at ease.

  “Oh good,” she said after pausing. “Look, my car is parked down this way but it was nice talking to you.”

  “And it was nice talking to you as well,” I replied shaking her hand. “By the way, what is your name?”

  “Tina Marie Cortez,” she answered with a crescent shaped smile, her Latin eyes dark and seductive. “What’s yours?”

  “My name is Marcus Donavan.”

  “Well, Mr. Donavan, do visit us sometime in the near future.”

  “I will,” I assured her. “And thanks again.”

  “You’re welcomed.”

  I stood there for a few seconds with wide eyes and watched as she crossed the busy street before resuming my walk. It had been a while since I last conversed with someone as stunning and beautiful, friendly and as kind, as this woman had been. I was intrigued with her. More soberly, beauty such as hers I had not seen the likes of since I last laid eyes on my island love.

  The small aircraft, a four passenger Cessna, took off from the Ft Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport and actually on time. I landed an hour later on a tarmac in Tampa Bay, Florida where my uncle’s assistant promptly picked me up. We arrived at their stately residence thirty minutes later. I had been summoned to Tampa to appear at an executive meeting. We were there to determine the location of our next restaurant. The following morning the three of us climbed into their brand new cream-colored Cadillac Escalade and drove over to the Spirit of Cooperation, Inc. headquarters in downtown Tampa.

  After three hours of hearing one executive after another express their views on what sho
uld be the next location to expand the business and why, along with a barrage of financial charts and profit projections and growth patterns in the area of interest that was on hand, and one long and extensive power point presentation, it was finally decided that we would scout the Gainesville, Florida area next. With my marching orders in hand I returned to Ft Lauderdale the following evening, having spent the night with my prominent relatives.

  I arrived early to work the following day and worked late into the evening. Before I realized it, it was nearing seven o’clock. The sun hung low in the sky and probably would for another forty to forty-five minutes. Wrapping things up in the office I decided to make a return visit to the Caribbean Crab & Seafood Shack, just down A1A, which was the restaurant that Tina Marie Cortez worked at.

  A friendly waitress took my order then whirled off with notepad and pencil in hand. I leaned back in my padded chair and scanned the restaurant. There was a jovial crowd out tonight. To my delight, reggae music was playing. It reminded me of my visit to St Thomas and in an intimate way. Beautiful women were in abundance tonight; but only two appeared noteworthy, interest-wise speaking. They both came with the total package; good looks, charming smiles, and an enticing wardrobe, just what it took to catch the eyes and interest of a man. As my very religious Uncle Mars might have said in this instance, “Yes Lawd…these two gaIs are truly blessed.”

  I did not see Tina, the kind young woman who returned my credit card. She must have the night off, I reasoned.

  In a short while my Caesar salad arrived and my drink as well. It was a chilled bottle of Heineken. My main order was set before me several minutes later. It consisted of grilled steak and seasoned curly fries. There was a sporting event on the wall-mounted television facing me that I paid scant attention to.