The Adored

by Tom Connolly

  Silvana and he had said their goodbyes the previous night at 1 a.m. while the remainder of the pre-wedding party made a night of it at the El San Juan. Santa was to drive Silvana and Mare back to the barrio early in the morning. Tray had a 6 a.m. flight back to Kennedy. And except for the next two days in which he would be participating in brief patriotic celebration and Navy Seal demonstration of effectiveness, he would be home on leave for two more weeks. Winston Trout’s wedding was in a week.

  And from the panic he felt when he woke came the answer. He showered, shaved, packed, and went to Silvana’s door at 4:30 a.m., knocking quietly.

  She answered it after a time, wiping sleep from her eyes and smiling broadly at Tray.

  “I’m coming back for you in three days.” Johnson said confidently.

  “What are you talking about, Tray,” Silvana said, puzzled, since in their confusion on how to conclude this wonderful time in both their lives, they agreed on writing and when Tray returned from Afghanistan the following year he would come to see her.

  “I am not leaving you. I want you to come with me in three days.” Johnson said.

  “That’s impossible,” Silvana said, knowing this would not work. “We’ve only known each other three days. I can’t just take Mare, leave my business, and go to the States for two or three weeks while you’re on leave.”

  “I don’t want you to; I want you to marry me. I never want to be anywhere you are not.” Johnson said.

  “Tray, I care for you so much. But this is so fast.” Silvana pleaded. “Please don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us.”

  The Seal straightened up, “I’m doing this for us. You know you are all I want, and I know you feel the same way. There is nothing we cannot do together. In three days I’ll come back. I want you and Mare to come with me. While I’m away you can have the guesthouse at my parent’s place. In one year I will come back for good. I will try to cut it in half and complete my service in the New York area.”

  “You’re serious. You must be mad. Tray, please think,” Silvana begged, tears streaming down her face.

  “I am thinking more clearly,” and he placed both his hands on her shoulders, “more clearly than any time in my life. Please believe me, Silvana. I love you more than life.”

  “No, Tray, I can’t,” she cried.

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  “You said it right; I do know we love each other.”

  “Then trust me.”

  “Tray, I’m hardly over the loss of Juan.”

  “I will give you time on that, you need that, but let me help you.” He looked at her; he was not winning this battle. “In three days I will come back, and will you at least think about it and talk with me about it.”

  “Yes, I will talk.” She said firmly but lovingly, “But…”

  “Don’t,” he put his finger to her lips, then removed it and kissed her lips. “In three days,” he kissed her again. “Now get back to bed. I love you, Silvana.”

  “Oh, Tray, I do love you. Please, please, please be real. Don’t let me hurt?” she said crying, now stamping her foot down in a moment of insistence.

  “You will never hurt. I promise.”

  And he was gone.

  Santa was just coming down the hallway from her night out with the bachelor party and passed Tray Johnson who hugged her without saying a word.

  “What was that about?” Santa asked as she met Silvana at the door to their room

  “Don’t ask,” Silvana smiled as they entered the suite.

  “What did he want?” Santa asked

  “You do not need to ask,” Silvana laughed, the tears still on her cheeks

  “What do you mean,” Santa smiled, but didn’t quite get it.

  “Tray wants me to come with him in three days. He asked me to marry him. He wants me to wait for him in the States.”

  “WHAT,” Santa said so loudly, that Silvana had to put her finger to her lips.

  “Aren’t you happy for me?”

  “Of course,” Santa now laughed out loud, “But it’s not fair. I’ve been working on Edward for over two years and not a peep. Here you come along and in four days have a proposal. What’s fair about that,” she smiled, hurt and happy. And now, “So you’re going right?”

  “No, I’m not. How can I. I just met him.” Silvana said, unable to find a way out of her dilemma.

  “Listen to me. Do you love him?” Santa asked

  “Like I never thought I would again. Like the world is mine. Yes I love him, madly.”

  And this exploding romance was not the only surprise that would occur with the group of seven friends. The visit ending bachelor party, earlier the night before, was full of surprises.

  Chapter 48

  The final night of Winston Trout’s bachelor party took place amid the pulsating rhythms at the El San Juan Hotel.

  It was Saturday night in San Juan and the great mahogany lobby and bar of the hotel overflowed as hundreds crowded in to hear the Latin gods of music. And there on the dance floor was this girl, this vision in red, swaying, throwing her head back with long hair flowing, laughing. Even as the Gipsy Kings sang and strummed guitars and beat their drums, they could not take their eyes off the beauty before them. By herself on the dance floor, something had set her free. She flowed with their music, the music moved her across the floor as she swung her hips toward the band and then out towards the crowd emphasizing the beat. The lead singer, a raspy baritone, stretched his neck upward to reach the higher notes of “Bomboleo,” but his roving eyes never left the girl as she danced, stomped, and clapped her hands before his band.

  She might have been a belly dancer with the contortions she took her hips through. Her floor-length red skirt stopped at her bare tight waist. A red and black blouse was tied just below breasts that flowed out from the open buttons. When she spun around clapping, her hands over her head, a black thong was revealed through the thin fabric of the flaming skirt.

  If you only gauged this young woman by her dress and appearance, you would think differently of her. This beauty with black eyes had a long angular face with rouge on her cheeks. Her smile showed bright white teeth framed by flaming red lipstick that matched the color of her skirt. But what throbbed under those clothes, the perfectly proportioned body of an athlete and the spirit of this wild girl was infectiously charming to all watching her, and they swayed with her and the music of the Kings.

  She danced, first by herself, then with another woman. The space around them got smaller as the crowd leaned in to get a closer look. Next she reached out to an older man, then other men, as the song pulsated on and on for six or seven minutes. The floor grew smaller still as more men sought immortality in a dance with this divine creature.

  And she was gracious, dancing with each man as if they were on a date. Latin men are good dancers at any age and most gave the girl a good partner, if only for a half minute before they faded.

  The old men puffed—maybe one last chance. The young men puffed up—maybe a first chance with a daring and attractive girl.

  And Sebastian Ball, who along with Winston Trout, Gideon Bridge, and Tray Johnson and Silvana DeLuna had been watching from ten feet away, was on fire. The roulette tables still were the main attraction for two others in the party: Parker Barnes and the dancing girl’s date, Edward Wheelwright.

  When the music of “Bomboleo” stopped, the dripping wet Santa Alba left the floor to uproarious applause and rushed to the large round lounge area the group had reserved. Silvana and Tray roared with laughter at Santa’s outrageous performance. Winston, the groom-to-be, was trying to be true in thought, and Gideon, well, he was not indifferent, smiling broadly and clapping enthusiastically along with the throng.

  The lead singer of the Kings took out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat as the audience continued their roar. He smiled and pointed to Santa. A spotlight went on her as she made her way to the table, and the roar got louder. Like a rock star she turned, smiling, laughing
and waved to the band.

  Sebastian was the first up from the table to welcome Santa back from her dance-a-thon. She rushed into his arms, and he hugged the sopping wet body of this object of a new desire.

  Sebastian Ball had known Edward Wheelwright all his life, and he had known Santa Alba for two years. He did not know what to do. Santa had ignited something in him, in a space he was unaware of. He was afraid and saw risk, but there was this desire he had never known.

  “My God, Santa, what in the hell was that?” he gasped and the others laughed.

  Silvana and Tray came to Santa and hugged her as did Winston and Gideon.

  Much of the crowd that was standing in every part of the lobby watched the reunion of Santa with her friends and knew there was a special party; some longed to join in.

  Sebastian, his linen shirt wet from Santa’s embrace, alone remained standing as his friends sat back down in the large semi-circular booth. This was the young man who facilitated other’s needs. He had no needs—until this moment. Now, Sebastian felt a tugging at his life’s values. Before this moment he was happy for Edward and Santa. Now, he saw that Santa was crying out for attention, attention that Edward more and more was denying her.

  His question to himself that he must have answered this night was, would Santa be interested in him as she had been with Edward. Edward had much to offer a girl, Sebastian thought: he was handsome, fit, and remote and focused on money. It’s a good thing to be a striver but not for its own sake. There had to be something all that focus was for; it couldn’t of itself be fulfilling. Sebastian understood this and would not lose his focus. And while Wheelwright had looks and charm, looks did not totally escape the Ball gene pool, nor was he out of shape. If Sebastian Ball was remote, he thought, it may be his money that was off putting; it certainly was not him. Finally, he was not focused on money; it was just there, in enormous quantities, billions, for him and whomever he chose for a bride, to do with as they must.

  Sebastian came back to reality and rejoined the group but determined to move forward this night. He sat at the end of the booth, next to Santa Alba and could feel the heat still flowing out. The air near her body was hot.

  Santa took Sebastian’s arm, still laughing, blushing as she looked up at him. It was a look he had not known before. “Did you like my dance, Sweetie?”

  Ball’s heart stopped. Had he heard wrong? Absolutely not. Then what? How was this possible? The moment he desires this stunning creature she is his. It was not possible; she must be toying with him. She is just being her charming self; although in all the time he’d known her, he had never seen this. What was all this for—this dance, this attire; rather who was this for? Him? Edward? To make him jealous, to make him take notice. If it was to get taken notice of, mission accomplished. Four hundred men AND women all wanted a night in bed with this wild girl.

  “I loved your dance, every moment of it, my dear.” Ball replied, to Santa, not loud enough for all to hear but not a whisper.

  “Thank you, Sebastian,” and she nuzzled up to him.

  I will go mad, he thought.

  “Santa, where is Edward? I can’t believe he missed this.” Ball said.

  “I didn’t do this for Edward.”

  “Then who, you certainly went to a lot of effort. By the way, the thong is a nice touch.” He kidded, pushing hard.

  “Who do you think?” she questioned.

  He decided to go for it, “Me, you did this for me. For us?”

  Santa looked at him and began to laugh. And she laughed and laughed, and the others were silenced by her throaty laugh and her broad smile that revealed two rows of perfect white teeth. Sebastian’s face got red, he froze.

  And now they listened as she spoke. “Sebastian, you are so silly; you are so funny. This is for Winston. In one week he will be married; this is to help him get prepared.” And now looking at a pale Winston she asked, “So, Winston, are you prepared?”

  “Santa, I am more ready than I ever thought I’d be. Thank you. The next gift you can give me is to teach my bride how to do that.”

  “Winston, sweetie, you need to be born here. It’s in the DNA.” Santa laughed and her friends, including Sebastian, joined in laughing with her. And they drank.

  The Gipsy Kings continued playing. Couples took to the dance floor. Several men came over to ask Santa to dance, and she politely declined. After a while Santa noticed that Sebastian had gotten unusually quiet. As a slow song started, Santa grabbed Sebastian’s hand.

  “Come, dance with me,” she said in an excited tone.

  “Thanks, Santa, but I’d like to just sit here and watch,” a strangely subdued Ball replied.

  “There wasn’t a question mark at the end of my sentence. Come on,” she persisted, rising with his hand in hers.

  The big man reluctantly rose and followed Santa to the dance floor. As they neared the circle, the crowd parted and began cheering, hoping for an encore. Santa gently raised her arm, and they quieted, respecting her space.

  “What’s the matter, Sebastian? You got so quiet.”

  Bravely he said, “Santa, I’m having the time of my life. This is wonderful. The music of this island is wonderful.”

  “But there was something else I missed. What was it?” She tilted her head. “You went cold when I said my little surprise was for the groom-to-be. I thought it was so funny when you said you thought I danced and dressed like this for you. Only you weren’t trying to be funny, were you?” Santa asked.

  “Farthest thing from my mind,” Sebastian replied.

  “What happened, what did I do to let you think that?”

  “Honestly?” he asked

  “Honestly,” she said as they waltzed slowly across the dimly lit floor.

  “You awoke something in me,” he said, short and sweet.

  “Or something in you awoke?” she replied.

  “You,” he retorted.

  “How,” she asked.

  “I have no idea. Something was never there and now something is there.” He said, not understanding himself but fully understanding what he was missing.

  “Good,” she said.

  “What?” Sebastian said looking at her, realizing she did not understand what pain she was inflicting on him.

  “I said good. It is good isn’t it, Sebastian?”

  “It’s only good if it was intended. It’s only good if it works. Otherwise it’s like waking up in a dark room and bumping into something and wondering what the hell was that,” he replied.

  “Come with me,” and they left the dance floor. She led him out past the reception desk, outside and into the night. The evening air was pierced by the song of the coqui, the tiny frog of the island that sits in the palm trees. Santa led Sebastian past the pool area and out onto the darkened beach.

  She sat on the sand and pulled Sebastian down beside her.

  When he was seated beside her, she pushed him back, leaned into him and across his chest and kissed him.

  He lay immobile, his lips reaching hers, longing for hers, hungry for hers. He rolled her over, placing himself half on her, reaching for her hip. He thought: Oh, that hip. And he felt the thin line of the black thong. The fire was lit. He kissed her passionately; she responded fiercely.

  They went at each other, unbuttoning, sliding what would slide, pulling what would pull until they lay on the beach naked.

  Not a word was spoken from the time Santa said “come with me,” on the dance floor. Two hours later they lay beside each other, cool from the 2 a.m. breeze, spent.

  Spent is the right word. He took his large frame and placed it on top of her strong body and kissed her passionately and inserted himself into her and then pumped for all he was worth. She enveloped him. She wrapped herself around him every possible way—around his large, long probe; around his strong, wide back; around his head; around his legs with her powerfully strong legs. It was if an octopus was on him, a pulsating octopus. For whenever he pumped, she met him. And when he pulled back
, she pulled back. And this went on for over an hour, pumping at and into each other. When they came, covered in sand and sweat, a second period of love making began. Then they took each other’s clothes and wiped the sand and moisture away from their bodies and they stood. They began foreplay as afterplay, exploring every crevice and curve and organ that had not been fully explored before the rush to fulfillment. They touched each other with their toes, their hands, and their mouths. And when they were licked clean, they lay back down in the sand, spent.

  “Do you still think my surprise wasn’t for you?” she teased.

  “I don’t care about the surprise; I have the real thing,” and Sebastian reached over and gently ran a hand over one of the breasts that had been bulging through the blouse during her dance.

  Lying naked in the pitch black of the night, Sebastian and Santa looked out to the stars. With nothing but a bright night sky above them, it was as if they were there, out in the universe, floating through time.

  Sebastian thought of the stars and their energy. He knew all things were possible. He believed what Winston always told him, that man’s discoveries are just evidence that God left behind.

  He knew that energy from the sun was the answer, that it could provide most of the energy the earth required to run things. God had left many clues on how to harness the sun’s energy. He concluded he and Winston Trout would find those clues and fulfill God’s plan.

  He rose up on an elbow and looked at the beauty queen of Coamo in her naked glory. For the first time in the young titan’s life, he wanted something. And he wanted more and more of her.

  And out among the stars, with palm trees rustling in the early morning breeze, they made love again. And again.

  Later, as Sebastian looked at Santa, she asked him, “What will we tell Edward?”

  And now that the lust had been fulfilled, he wondered, what would he tell Edward. He hadn’t had time to think. He must think, and an injured conscience was beginning to weigh in: his friend, Edward.