I shrug. “Sure, why not?” I’m not at all in the mood to choke down some greasy cheese, but Eros is trying so hard to be nice, it doesn’t feel right to outright reject his offer. I remind myself that giving in to his niceness is not going to keep him away from me.
“Now this young lady is a fast swimmer,” says Maryann. “How did you get so fast?”
My face heats up as many heads turn toward me. I shrug and try to make light of it. “I’ve been swimming all of my life. My parents signed me up for swimming lessons when I was really little.” Actually, I took mom and tot classes with my mom at age two. A few days after I fell in the pool and almost drowned.
“But you’re so fast. Do you compete?” asks Maryann.
“Once in a while. I swam for my high school team. Didn’t swim much in college. Now I swim with a Masters team. We have organized workouts every day.”
“I wish I could have that kind of structure,” says Randy. “But my work requires a good bit of travel. In places where they don’t have pools.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I work for a petroleum company. I’m out on a drill rig for weeks. I work out during the long holidays I have between jobs. But a few weeks away and I feel like I’m in dreadful condition. I’ve only had a bit more than a week to train for these swims. And even then I spent more time on my bike than in the pool. That short swim we just did was enough for me. I may lounge on the boat instead of doing some of the long ones.”
“Randy is an expert cyclist,” says Maryann. “And he’s done some triathlons as well. The water works a bit better for me. Now that we’ve left cold London behind, I swim three or four days a week. There’s a lovely public pool near our new home in Sydney and once in a while I venture into the ocean. What time do you usually swim?”
“Five AM. In an outdoor pool. I kind of need exercise to get going in the morning.”
Maryann shudders. “Oh, dear, that sounds dreadful. It must be dark.”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah. That’s about right. And in the winter, it’s awful getting out of the pool wet in the wind and cold.”
“You’ve got tougher skin than I do. My job is flexible so I go whenever it suits my mood and go midday most of the winter since our pool is outside as well. There is an indoor facility a bit further from us where I sometimes swim when it gets too cold. It must be bloody freezing swimming outside all year.”
“Arizona has a relatively mild climate. It’s only cold for a few months. But in the winter when it’s freezing and pitch dark, it’s hard to leave a warm bed to jump in cold water. Some of the gyms in our town have indoor pools, but they’re too crowded. Swimming outside in the summer is fabulous. It gets light at four AM. We see a lot of amazing sunrises.”
Maryann shivered. “I don’t know how you can do any swimming outdoors in winter. We often travel during the Australian winter to Europe. Then I can take a dip in the ocean or pool.”
Maryann directs her gaze toward Eros. “You’re a very fast swimmer, too. I can’t imagine they have an Olympic sized pool near here. And the ocean must be freezing in the winter. How do you keep in swimming shape?”
“I live in Athens. There are many swimming pools there. Grocery stores, too,” he says as a sarcastic smile spreads over his face.
I suppress a laugh.
“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to offend you,” said Maryann. “I love how quiet and quaint it is here. That’s what drew us to the place.”
“I wasn’t offended. But ever since the financial crisis, people act like they are shocked if anything is right with Greece. There is a lot of corruption in our government and people are worried and struggling to get by, but not everything about our country is in ruins.”
“I understand that completely,” I said. “And every country has its problems. The United States has its issues. Almost anyone can buy a gun, even someone who is a suspected terrorist. Mass shootings happen all the time. I think people have forgotten how to be civil to one another. Just look who’s running for President.” I sigh. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live someplace like this where I can just have some peace.” I extend my hand toward the calm waters in the aquamarine bay.
Eros looks at me with unblinking eyes and I detect connection and understanding there. “I have often wondered whether any of the people in America feel they are missing something when they are always running and working overtime and talking on cellulars.”
“It’s not like we have much choice. That’s America today.”
“Maybe you should live somewhere else for a while and see if it suits you better.”
I don’t answer. But it’s not because I’m ruling out the idea. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking why the hell not?
“Or maybe it isn’t possible because you have the house and car payment and the nine to five job and a very long list of other things you believe you must do.”
“Actually, I have none of those things,” I burst out with, feeling suddenly free. “I could move to another country today if I wanted to.” If I had money, I don’t say.
“You seem to be at an important place in your life. One where the decision you make will change your destiny.”
“I don’t know that it’s as dramatic as all that.”
“Isn’t it? It seems very dramatic to leave your birthplace to live in an alien land.”
“Yes, that’s true. But thinking about it. It sounds amazing. I never considered running away from this mess that is my life now and trying to start over somewhere else. I was kind of thrown into these circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
I want to kick myself for talking myself into this trap. “You know, I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“Ah, yes. Americans tend to keep their emotions and problems deep inside I have heard. Your magazines warn readers to stay away from those toxic people who talk about their problems. I imagine people who are open and honest must have very few friends in your country.”
I see his point, but feel compelled to resist admitting it. “Insulting my country won’t get me to talk.”
“My words were not meant to be an insult, Maya. I’m simply making an observation, one that seems related what you yourself said before about people not having compassion or being civil. How can anyone feel compassion for people they don’t understand?”
I’m more irritated than ever that his conclusions seem so astute. If only I could spew out some snappy retort.
“I realize my bias toward Americans largely comes from what I hear in the media. Before you came here, you must have read articles and news bulletins, and come to some conclusions about the Greek people,” said Eros.
I don’t mention all the reports I read written by financial advisors that described the Greeks as irresponsible, lazy, and corrupt. As if every one of them were the same. Or the travel advisories warning that trains, planes and buses would likely be on strike, and that streets might be overflowing with rioters. It would be embarrassing given that every Greek person I’ve met, other than Eros, has been completely charming and that I’ve had no transit problems or witnessed a single protest. It was all a bunch of media hype if you ask me. “I have noticed a certain Greek man asks way too many questions.”
Eros leans back in his chair and laughs, stretching his T-shirt tightly over his muscular chest. His laugh is full-bodied and masculine and the expression on his face is so relaxed and unrestrained.
I wish I felt comfortable unleashing my emotions. It could be so cleansing. Instead, I battle with all my might to keep them inside.
When his burst of laughter subsides, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks at me. “Ah, yes. I have asked many questions. You see I like to get to know people. I like to understand them. You’ll find many of my people are like this. Men and women alike. We like to get to know the travelers. Where they’re from. What brings them to Greece. Knowing people is a good thing here. We don’t need to preserve our own space or wo
rry that hearing about someone’s problems will make us feel depressed.”
When he blinks, I notice his eyelashes are long and curly. Every feature from his wavy unruly dark hair, thick brows and deeply emotional eyes give his face a character I want to like. “It’s dangerous,” I say too loud. I’m terrified of this magnetic attraction I feel toward Eros, of my emotions, which are rising to the surface and threatening to give my vulnerability away.
His brows raise and his eyes widen. “What’s dangerous?”
An image of Nora pops into my head. She acted like she wanted to be my friend and then later used what she learned about my personality to drive the knife in deep. She learned I was a concrete thinker and often didn’t get obscure jokes. She knew my sales presentations were more professional than entertaining. I sold to people because I got them to trust me and showed the benefits the advertising could do for their business, not because I made them laugh. But she said my serious demeanor didn’t fit for a high-profile sales person. That she had a friend who had the potential to make my boss even richer who would work for less than what I was being paid. And my greedy boss fell for that one, hook, line and sinker. “Getting to know people. That’s not always so fun. Once they know your weaknesses, they stab you in the back.”
“Ah, so you recently broke up with a boyfriend?” He raises one eyebrow and rests a sculpted cheek on a palm, gazing at me with a pensive, wide-eyed expression that makes my blood simmer.
“No. I got fired. And I didn’t do a damn thing to deserve it. I worked really hard. And my sales numbers were great. This awful woman who was our receptionist told my boss all these lies. I... I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
Maryann places a hand on my shoulder and pats it gently. “Codswallop. I’m thinking you need to talk. Don’t worry, dear. We’re not all dodgy like those work folks who did you wrong.”
A flicker of compassion appears in Eros dark, sensitive eyes. “It would be good to get some of that pain off your chest.”
“Yes, it’s really quite all right,” says Maryann. “We’re good listeners.”
Apparently, the we she’s talking about doesn’t include her husband because Randy clears his throat, glances away and starts up a conversation with Scott.
“A vacation is a terrible time to talk about work. I’ve already said too much.”
“Quoting those women’s magazines again?” Eros asks.
I laugh. “Maybe, but no one really wants to hear about all the crap I’m dealing with.”
“Dear, I really do,” says Maryann. “You’ve got me right curious now.”
The waiter walks by with a tray and places our drinks on the table. I pick up the bottle of Coke and pour it into the ice-filled glass filled. “To be honest, I really don’t want to dwell on it. It’s over and done with and what I want to do now is find a way to go on.”
“That could be good. And it could be bad,” said Eros.
“Why could it be bad?”
“Because you’ll still be angry. It’s hard to move on when you’re carrying all that weight on your shoulders.”
I shrug.
“Why not tell us a story or two about your boss from hell,” he says with a smile.
His eyes twinkle with flirtatious mischief and at the same time radiate warmth. I’m afraid to trust what I see. It could be cleansing to spew out my frustration about the years I put up with Steve’s ugly moods, how I worked overtime way too often and got little in return to show for it. It would feel like getting an elephant off of my chest. “You really want to hear about my former boss?”
“Yes, of course,” says Eros. “It will help me get to know you better. I can see by that little smile that you would love to tell us every little ugly detail about the man.”
Now everyone, even Scott is watching at me curiously, waiting for me to speak. I’ve become the pre-lunch entertainment. I pause for a moment, debating about what to say if anything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Why not tell them a thing or two. They’re not weighed down by the situation like I am. Hearing about Steve and his weirdness might even make them laugh. “He had a really nasty halitosis. Sitting next to him on the plane for long flights was hell. I used to run to the lavatory to put aromatherapy oil in my nostrils to block out the smell.”
Laughter erupts around the table.
“You never told the bloke he had bad breath?” Randy asks.
“No, but I offered him chewing gum and breath mints a couple of times.”
That incites another round of laughter.
“Tell us more about this wanker,” urges Maryann.
“He was a really stingy tipper. He would ask a porter to haul three bags and give him a dollar. I always had cash ready slip to them when Steve wasn’t looking. It made me so furious. The company is very successful. It wasn’t like we didn’t make enough money to be generous.”
“What a bloody bastard,” said Maryann. “Why didn’t you look for work elsewhere?”
I pause before answering. This question has run through my mind hundreds of time since everything fell apart. I’m almost ashamed to talk about it. How could I have been so blind to what was happening? Why didn’t I come up with a strategy to defend myself from what he and Nora were planning? I knew for a long time they were up to something. “That’s a really good question. I should have. My gut had told me to run from that job a thousand times.” I flash back to my meditations during my recent swim. I’d wanted to quit even before Nora started up with her nonsense because of the unethical ways Steve ran the business. Often Steve wouldn’t pay the freelance authors on time and in some cases, he never paid them at all. After many of the best writers quit, he “hired” some very skilled writers who would write for free. Some were Nora’s retired friends. He said it would give them exposure, help them to land more paid writing work later. What a bunch of crap.
“Were you in sales?”
“Yes. I sold advertising space for a national magazine.”
“Sales is bloody hard work and not many do it well. Almost every successful company requires a strong sales staff. You should be able to find work right quick,” says Randy.
“Yes, but...”
“You want to do something different with your life now,” says Eros.
Obviously, Eros can read me like a book. Even thinking about getting another sales job made every muscle in neck and shoulders tighten. “I think so. I’m good at sales, but something about the work just doesn’t fit for me anymore. I can’t see myself selling ads the rest of my life.”
“What do you want to do?” Eros gazes at me, not blinking. He appears to be genuinely interested in my answer.
“When I was traveling all over the country for work, I spent so many nights sprawled out on hotel beds, writing stories. Sometimes I’d write features that could fit for our magazine just for fun. I never showed them to anyone or anything. I just wrote them because I felt like it. I even wrote a short novel.”
“Did you try to publish that?”
“No of course not. I don’t know anything about writing or publishing. I’ve fantasized about quitting my job and becoming a writer, but never seriously considered it.”
“And then look what happened,” says Eros. “Maybe what happened to you was a sign.”
I can’t help smiling. Eros even thinks on the same wavelength as me sometimes. “Yes,” I say in agreement. “I think you’re right.” I clear my throat and see the waiter approaching with a large tray. “Oh, look, our food has arrived.”
“It smells so good,” Maryann says.
I try not to grimace when the waiter sets my plate in front of me. Sea bream complete with head, tail and scales. The tiny bit of appetite I had vanishes. Once everyone’s food is served, I poke my fork into the fish, trying to peel away the silver scales to search for some edible pink flesh.
Silence reigns at the table. Everyone except me is devouring their meals, obviously famished after the morning swim.
Eros pokes
a piece of fried cheese with his fork, reaches across the table and places it on the edge of my plate. “Try this. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
“Thanks.” I cut the piece of cheese in half with my fork and then eat one of the halves. The flavor of cheese and salt bursts in my mouth, rekindling my appetite. I finish the other half in a matter of seconds. “Mmm. That’s amazing.”
“I can order some for you if you like.” Eros turns toward the waiter and waves his hand.
“Can I get you something else, Miss?” the waiter asks.
“Yes, please. I’d like an order of that fried cheese.”
“Sure. I’ll bring some right out,” he says before pivoting away.
I turn back to my fish, deciding to give it a try. Despite its unappetizing appearance, the fish is flavorfully seasoned and nearly melts in my mouth. It’s been cooked just right. Cutting away the skin and sharp bones, I pluck chunks of pale pink flesh free and ferry them to my mouth.
One bite turns to two and by the time the waiter returns with my fried cheese, there’s little left of my fish except the head, the tail and some folds of silver, scaly skin.
He takes my empty plate and replaces it with the cheese I ordered. “Here you go, Miss. Please enjoy.”
I greet him with a smile. “I’m sure I will. I’ve already sampled some.” I gaze down at my plate and release a satisfied sigh. Even after eating so much fish, I salivate at the sight of the cheese. Whether talking helped my overall outlook remains to be seen, but it sure did bring back my appetite.
The waiter asks if we need anything else. After receiving only shakes of the head and grunts in response, he smiles and walks away.
Between bites, I turn to Maryann and ask what kind of work she does.
“I’m a romance novelist,” she says. She nods her head toward the end of the table and covers her mouth to mask the food she’s chewing. “Tara told me earlier she’s a writer, too.”
“Really? I’ve never even met an author before and now I know two.” Talk about a sign. Maybe Eros was right. This trip to Greece is starting to seem more like destiny than a sign that I’ve lost my mind. I’ve spent a lot of time writing during my years on the road, but have no idea how to make sure it’s good enough or how to sell something to an agent or a publisher. I wonder if they would be offended if I asked them what to do. “Have you always been an author?”
My Greek SEAL Page 5