Tropical Fantasy

by Monica McKayhan

  She immediately caught the smell of conch fritters and fried fish. She and Vince strolled along the sidewalk, taking in the eclectic stalls where food vendors sold their freshly cooked items. Friendly female vendors sat placidly in front of fruit and produce stalls bursting with bananas, plantains, papaya, red peppers, tomatoes and yams. In front of many stalls were cages of swarming black crabs and other seafood. Fishermen in rubber boots hoisted giant bags of fresh fish and cleaned the catch of the day with sharp knives right there as customers looked on.

  Interspersed among the row of stalls serving cooked food were several stands selling fresh fish. The constant calls of “fresh fish, fresh fish,” were heeded by car after car of customers who pulled up next to the street-side stall for plastic bags filled with fresh snapper.

  Vince stepped up to a fresh fish vendor and said, “I’d like a pound of snapper, please.”

  “Some fresh conch salad too, sir?”

  “Yes!” he exclaimed and gave the brown Bahamian woman a warm smile. “I love it.”

  “What about you, my lady?” The woman smiled at Sasha. “Fresh conch salad or a conch fritter?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What? You have to have one or the other,” said Vince.

  “I don’t...I don’t eat that.”

  “I’ll have conch salad,” said Vince, “and one for the lady too.”

  “I said I didn’t want any,” Sasha said, but Vince wasn’t listening.

  The Bahamian woman handed each Vince and Sasha a bowl of the native fare. Sasha reluctantly took hers, wondering who Vince thought he was—ordering for her like that and insisting that she taste something she wasn’t accustomed to eating. He was presumptuous and arrogant, she thought. But she tasted it, and it was delightful against her tongue. She’d never tried it before; the name conch just didn’t appeal to her. She’d always wondered how something with such an ugly name could possibly taste good.

  Not wanting Vince to know that she was enjoying her salad, she toyed with the fork a bit, picking over the food. They moved down the sidewalk to a fresh produce stand, where Vince purchased tomatoes, bell peppers and onions. He seemed to know his way around the island and carried himself as a native. If it weren’t for the crisp slacks, polo shirt and shined shoes that he wore, he could’ve easily been mistaken for an islander. The precision haircut and carefully manicured nails were a dead giveaway also. She immediately admired his confidence, although she hated to admit it.

  “So, obviously you cook,” Sasha stated.

  “I do,” Vince said. “What about you?”

  “I dabble a little. I always said that if I didn’t make it as a lawyer, I’d become a chef.”

  “What’s your specialty?” he asked.

  “Deep-dish pizza,” she boasted, “and I make my own crust.”

  “Really? That’s impressive,” he said. “Are you part Italian?”

  “No,” she answered with a laugh. “What’s your specialty?”

  “Fried chicken, fried fish, fried pork chops...”

  “Don’t you know that fried foods are bad for your health? That’s why everyone in the black community suffers with high blood pressure.”

  “I know, but it’s so darn good,” he admitted. “My arteries are probably already clogged with fried fish grease.”

  “You should try baking your chicken, fish and pork chops,” Sasha said. “It’s much healthier.”

  “I’ll consider that,” he said. “Maybe you can show me how it’s done.”

  Sasha realized that she’d let her guard down and needed to put her wall of resistance back up. She said, “I doubt it.”

  * * *

  “Velcome to da Bahamas,” said the chocolate-brown man as he swung her door open and held it for her while she climbed out of the car. He wore a red concierge uniform, with a name tag that read Robert. Robert’s graying hair and beard seemed to be a little matted, but his eyes were a pair of the friendliest ones that Sasha had ever seen. “Right this way, please.”

  He escorted her through the massive lobby, with its buffed floors and modern furniture. Women in short skirts moved their hips to the sounds of Caribbean music being played by a live band. As the music filled the air, a young woman greeted her with a tray filled with beverages.

  “Rum punch, my lady?” the woman asked in a soft voice.

  Sasha checked her watch. It was nine-thirty in the morning, a bit early for something harder than orange juice.

  “Sure. What the heck?” said Sasha as she grabbed a glass and headed for the counter to check in.

  A group of women dressed in bikinis and giggling like teenagers headed in her direction.

  “Sasha! You made it.” Bridget was wearing a white bikini with a blue sarong draped across her hips. She gave Sasha a tight squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here. Your mother is really working my nerves—between her and Aunt Frances, I don’t know who’s worse. But you’re here now. You can run some interference for me. Give them someone else to drive crazy.”

  “Hey, Sasha.” Their cousin Vanessa popped up from among the crowd and hugged her. “Girl, we have to do something with this hair of yours.” She brushed Sasha’s bangs from her face.

  “Our hair appointment is at eleven. Will you be checked in and ready to go in an hour?” Bridget asked.

  “I’ll do my best.” Sasha managed a smile and then caught a glimpse of Vince.

  He was engaged in a conversation with the concierge, and she couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes traced his hairline and then made their way down to the curve of his strong cheekbone.

  “Did you hear me, Sash?” Bridget was asking.

  “No, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Was Vince the perfect gentleman? I warned him to be nice.”

  “Oh, yeah. He was just...fine,” Sasha said, “but next time, I can get a cab. It wasn’t necessary for him to come.”

  “He insisted,” Bridget explained. “Besides, he rented that stupid car and thinks he knows his way around the island.”

  “He can pick me up anytime, anywhere with his fine self,” said Deja, Bridget’s friend since elementary school. Even with a full figure, she still managed to squeeze an oversized set of caramel-colored breasts into a yellow bikini top. “He doesn’t even know how fine he is.”

  “Don’t be so brazen, Deja,” said Kim, Bridget’s tall, slender friend wearing a one-piece bathing suit. She pulled her long sandy-colored hair into a ponytail. “Less is definitely more.”

  “Sasha, we’ll meet you here in an hour. We’re taking a water taxi to the salon,” said Meka, Bridget’s other maid of honor. She was carrying a notepad and following along on Bridget’s heels.

  “Fine, I’m gonna get a shower and relax for a minute. I’ll see you all later.” Sasha smiled and then took a long sip of rum punch.

  Chapter 2

  The view was breathtaking—a picturesque scene of turquoise waters and white sand. Sasha wanted nothing more than to slip into a sundress—one of six that she’d purchased at Macy’s last summer—and relax on her patio for the rest of the morning. She opened the blinds in the living room of her condo to let the sunshine in, and then hit the power button on the stereo. She slipped her shoes from her aching feet and brushed her toes against the red carpet. The decor in the condo was beautiful—a mixture of tropical colors: red, blue, yellow and green. She danced her way into the bathroom and started the shower.

  As the warm water began to cascade over her body, thoughts of Vince popped into her head. What was he doing there—in her head? Especially when she didn’t particularly like him. He’d been rude and insulting. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get his face out of her mind. He was sexy and had a great smile—the two things that she found m
ost appealing about a man. The two things that were at the top of her list, just below intelligent, educated and successful. But he couldn’t be all of those things without substance. He needed a heart and soul. He had to have character and love his mama. And he couldn’t be boring. He needed a sense of humor, and he had to be romantic.

  She knew it was a lot to ask, which is why she’d been single for so long. She wouldn’t settle again. Not as she had with Kevin. He’d been sexy all right—taught her to explore her own body and to let go of her inhibitions. He was even intelligent and educated, but that’s where it stopped. His soul was empty, and he had been selfish. He’d hung on to her coattail for years with talk of doing something with his degree in architecture, but never following through. She’d funded too many business ventures that had nothing to do with architecture, and all had failed to produce any substantial income. But she loved him, and for that reason she hadn’t seen any of the red flags.

  She stepped out of the shower and wrapped the thick robe around her body. The local radio station was playing a Rihanna tune and Sasha sang along. She pulled her laptop out of its bag and logged on, deciding to answer a few emails before meeting Bridget and the crew in the lobby. She decided to give Keira a call and see if she’d received any messages.

  “You are on vacation, Miss Thing. Why are you calling me?” Keira asked, with attitude. “Do you know how expensive international calls are?”

  “I’m just checking in,” Sasha explained. “Anything going on?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. You having a good time?”

  “The weather is beautiful, and I love my condo,” said Sasha.

  “But?” Keira detected something in her voice.

  “I need to be in Savannah for that retreat. I feel like Kirby’s up to something.”

  Kirby. The Antichrist is how Sasha often described her. She came on board soon after Sasha had been promoted to senior associate. She had been an intern—fresh out of law school. Sasha had taken Kirby under her wing and taught her everything she knew. She immediately liked Kirby because she was energetic and ambitious, yet modest and conservative. She was like a sponge, absorbing everything, and Sasha loved her enthusiasm. She wasn’t even surprised when Kirby was quickly promoted to junior associate. But soon after Sasha noticed a change in Kirby—her long conservative skirts soon became four inches shorter and her blouses became more tight-fitting and showed more cleavage than necessary. And she was spending way too much time with the firm’s senior partner, Kyle Johnson. With the two of them behind closed doors, it was obvious that something more was going on than practicing law. And when Kirby became a senior partner in half the time it took Sasha to achieve such a feat, she knew she’d have to step up her game just to stay above water.

  Sasha didn’t have a problem with Kirby’s accomplishments—even if she had pretty much slept her way to the top. But it was the sudden cockiness and the disrespect that Kirby displayed toward Sasha that she couldn’t deal with. It was as if Kirby had forgotten where she’d come from and had made it her point to compete with Sasha on every little thing. She wanted the corner office with the view that Sasha had had her sights on since the day she’d walked into Johnson, Johnson and Donovan. With older partner Louis Johnson retiring soon, one of the two ladies would be promoted.

  “Of course she’s up to something. She wouldn’t be Kirby if she wasn’t. But you’ll be there soon enough. I have you booked on a red-eye tomorrow night. You’ll be there first thing Saturday morning. You won’t miss a thing,” said Keira. “If anything goes down before then, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, please try and enjoy yourself. You’re in the Bahamas, for crying out loud! And it’s your sister’s wedding. Try to be there for her, Sasha.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Sasha said, smiling at her assistant’s advice.

  Over the past two years, Keira had become more than just an assistant. She’d become Sasha’s friend—someone she trusted and confided in. If anyone knew Sasha well, it was Keira. Keira could see right through Sasha’s hard exterior. As soon as Sasha made partner, her first business decision would be to give Keira the raise she deserved. Being a single parent with three children made it hard for Keira to make ends meet, but Sasha intended to change all that.

  “Now, get off my phone, Sasha Winters. You are not allowed to call me anymore today. Unless you’re calling to tell me that you met some sexy Caribbean hottie on the beach and he’s about to ravish you without mercy.”

  “You’ve been reading too many romance novels,” Sasha said with a laugh.

  “It could happen,” Keira said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a client on hold. Take lots of photos and send me a few by text message.”

  “Will do.”

  “And Sasha—” Keira put on her serious voice “—try to have fun.”

  “I will.”

  She hung up, logged off of her computer and decided on a strapless white sundress.

  * * *

  With a few minutes to spare, Sasha decided to take a quick tour of the resort. She took in the gorgeous palm trees blowing in the wind just outside her door. The beautiful ocean with waves crashing against the shore caught her attention as she made her way to the front of the resort. The three pools and Jacuzzi mandated that she find time for some relaxation. She ended up at the poolside bar and climbed onto a wooden stool.

  “I’ll just have a ginger ale with a lemon wedge,” she said to the bartender.

  “And I’ll have what she’s having,” said a familiar voice.

  Vince climbed onto the bar stool next to hers. Immediately she felt a tingle in the pit of her stomach. His cologne was intoxicating.

  “I was hoping to bump into you,” he said.

  “Me? Why?” she asked. “So that you could insult me some more?”

  “I owe you an apology. I was a bit rude earlier today. Accusing you of being a workaholic,” he said.

  “And shallow,” Sasha reminded him, “and insisting that I eat conch salad when I said I didn’t want any.”

  “Yeah, that too.” He smiled and raised his glass to her. “Truce?”

  “Truce,” she said, raising her glass to his.

  “But you enjoyed the conch salad. I saw you secretly eating it and scraping the bowl.”

  “I wasn’t scraping the bowl!”

  “You all but licked your fingers,” he teased.

  “You’re a trip.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he said with a smile. “So...what are you getting done at the salon today? Your hair is already very beautiful.” He unexpectedly brushed his fingertips against her forehead and pushed her bangs from her eyes.

  Who gave him permission to touch her?

  Once she gathered herself, she said, “I’ll probably just have it shampooed and styled for the wedding. And I’m long overdue for a manicure.” She reached her hand out to show him her fingernails.

  He grabbed her hand in his in order to get a better view of her tattered nails, and it felt as if a surge of electricity rushed through her. Her bare nipples strained against the fabric of her sundress. They instantly became erect, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. There was no doubt this man’s touch did things to her body. She was definitely attracted to him, no matter how much she tried to deceive herself. The feeling reminded her of the eighth grade when Todd Valentine had grabbed her hand and leaned in for a kiss. Her heart had pounded and her stomach had done somersaults. This
was ridiculous—feeling this way about a man like some silly schoolgirl.

  “Your nails aren’t that bad,” Vince said as he caressed every one of her fingers with his thumb. She wondered what she would do if he placed one of her fingers into his mouth.

  “So you made it.” The sound of her mother’s voice killed whatever moment she was having with Vince. “I’ve been all over this property looking for you!”

  “Mother. Hi.” Sasha hopped from the barstool and gave her mother a hug. She peeked over her mother’s shoulder and noticed her father standing there, too. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hello, sweetheart,” her father said and went in for a kiss on the cheek. “Glad you made it in safely.”

  “You both know Vince, right? Derrick’s friend. Um...he’s the best man.”

  “Of course,” Brian Winters reached his hand out to Vince for a firm handshake. “We’re still on for this afternoon, right?”

  “Of course, sir. Looking forward to it.”

  Sasha wondered what Vince and her father had planned for the afternoon.

  “The girls are waiting for you in the lobby,” Charlotte Winters said, casually changing the subject. “If you don’t get going, you’ll be late for your appointment.”

  She felt as if she should say something to Vince, like hope to see you later, but there was no time. Her mother nearly dragged her down the sidewalk toward the lobby.

  Rubbing her fingertips across Sasha’s brow, Charlotte said, “Sasha, make sure that you do something with these eyebrows. Get them arched. And make sure that when you get your manicure that your nail polish is a neutral color. Nothing outlandish. In fact, just a French manicure would do just fine.”

  “Ma, please.”

  “I know you’re conservative, sweetie. You don’t really need this speech, but some of these girls just don’t know any better. Those girlfriends of Bridget’s...” Charlotte lowered her voice to a whisper, “...one of them is actually wearing a tattoo, right there on her boobs. What is this world coming to?”