by Sara Forbes
He tugs the coconuts from under my arms and tosses them on the sand and slants his mouth across mine, plundering me with his tongue, making me forget everything else.
After our make out session, he pulls out a sharp stone he’s stashed in his shorts, probably for fishing or hunting. Within minutes, he’s cut little square holes in the tops of the coconuts.
“Well, aren’t you the Boy Scout.”
He hands me my coconut. “You did the hard work.”
We clink our coconuts together. Then we slurp the juice. The coconut milk is thick and sumptuous and heavenly sweet. It infuses liquid energy straight into my bloodstream.
Neither of us says anything for the longest time, totally preoccupied. It’s scary to be reminded of our feeble animal existence. Taken away from our elaborate life support systems and constructed societies, what are we? Why have I spent most of my life fighting some great theoretical injustice instead of just living in the moment and making the most of it?
And why do I sound like Annie right now?
“Jack.” I wipe my mouth on my wrist. “Are we going to be, you know...?” I gesture to the space separating our bodies, “when we get back? Or do you want to call it a day? I mean, with your schedule and position, and—”
He puts his sticky sweet fingertips to my lips. “What would you like it to be?”
“I asked first.”
“I want us to be together.” His blazing eyes scan my face. “Not just here.”
My heart squeezes with insane pleasure. “Me too,” I whisper.
It’s unbelievable that someone like him could see something in someone like me, but he does. I hadn’t even meant to confront him. It just popped out.
I want to be the woman he seems to think I am. I want to be the best version of myself there can possibly be. I need to step up my game, learn my craft properly, aim for the stars, without expecting a fairy godmother to wave her magic wand. Because, let’s face it, I’ve already had my fair share of luck—I’m the luckiest girl alive.
16
JACK
ALTHOUGH THE PAST DAYS with Mia have been like a slice of heaven, I can’t describe my blessed relief when that propeller plane touches ground. Part of me was dreading that the corrupt politicians who owned it would just leave us to languish among the pythons. But the noisy little plane lands at the designated time. This time Mia and I are standing a lot closer to the landing strip, our rucksacks on our backs, ready to jump in.
The pilot greets us with a genuinely friendly smile. He motions for us to get in. We don’t have to be asked twice.
“Food? Comida?” I ask him.
He nods and from a compartment over his head produces two bars of chocolate.
I thrust some dollars at him. He stares at the notes and then up at me, and his smile widens. He smooths them out on the cockpit’s window ledge.
“Fruit and nut or plain?” I ask Mia, holding them up.
Wordlessly, she grabs one, tears the wrapper off, and demolishes it while barely taking her eyes off me.
“Fruit and nut,” she says through a mouthful.
“Right.” I make mine disappear just as quickly and settle in the seat opposite her. We hold sticky hands across the aisle. Neither if us is curious about the view out the window. We’ve seen enough sea, sand, and sky to last us a lifetime. It’s much more interesting to look at her.
Our arrival in Aruba airport is a blur. Neither of us wants to stay in Oranjestad for the night, so I call my assistant and tell her to book immediate return tickets to LAX, including an upgrade to first class for Mia. We hang around in a restaurant and order the biggest meals they have while my assistant gets the tickets in order. Within half an hour, she calls me back, saying we’re on the six-thirty out of here.
Mia’s preoccupied. I don’t know what’s going on in her head. She managed to reach her friend Annie, but they had some kind of row, the gist of it being that Annie survived the shift in the restaurant last night but is insisting on working tonight again—despite Mia’s misgivings. I’m not sure how it all concluded.
“Come on, time to board,” I tell her. “Everything is going to be fine.”
She offers me a grim smile.
When she sees the comfortable sleeper seats, she lets out a sigh. “This is how the other half lives.”
“It’s the single greatest perk of having money,” I say.
After we’ve settled I stretch across the seat divider to kiss her cheek, making the guy across the aisle from us hike up his newspaper to obscure his face. I chuckle to myself. Before, I was always that guy. But I feel so young with her, so happy, so recharged, so full of a potent feeling that I can only describe as love. Love of life. Love of her company.
I don’t want this to be just a movie relationship. I don’t want her to drift out of my life once the shooting is done. I want to hold on to this feeling that overcomes me when we’re together.
I must drift off, because the next thing I’m aware of is the steward’s landing announcement. I lurch forward. Mia is rising from her sleeper bed, all bedhead, sleepy-eyed, and adorable. She flashes me a sheepish smile. Looks like both of us slumbered through most of the flight despite not being plane sleepers.
We sleepwalk through immigration, custom checks, and the usual international airport hassle. After the peace of the island, it’s too loud, too bright, too crowded, too polluted, too invasive. I feel like I’m in human zoo at feeding time.
We eventually find ourselves standing at the dusty entrance to LAX Terminal 2, the inevitable end point of our incredible journey, and such a fucking anti-climax I can hardly breathe.
“I need to get to Al’s.” Her voice is small and devoid of enthusiasm. I can’t believe she isn’t racing home to take a shower and collapse into bed. Such is her devotion to her friend Annie.
“Let me drive you. My car’s here.”
She seems to be weighing this against other options, which as far as I can see include a taxi rank with a very long line and not much else. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”
I’m grateful for another few minutes with her, and I’m rehearsing a scenario where I come into the diner as well, hang out for a bit, and then persuade her to come home with me.
But she’s silent as we bundle into my Audi and cruise down the freeway, none of her usual snark and spark. I guess she feels it too, this leaden weight in the stomach as we know our time in a magical land has come to an end.
How do we kick-start part two of our journey? What are the rules? I’ve never wanted so badly to see someone again.
I pull in to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant –a dilapidated affair with a cartoon image of a fat guy in a chef’s hat holding a plate with a burger. Al himself, I suppose. It’s a greasy spoon straight from the movies where you’d expect to find waitresses with southern accents and terrifying perms who refer to everyone as "hon," or "suga.”
“OK, this is me,” she says. Her voice sounds too high.
“Can I see you again?”
She hikes up her purse on her shoulder. “Sure, you’ll see me tomorrow in the studio.”
“You know what I mean. I have to go to Italy for the Cardano planet scenes, so it needs to be soon, like, before that soon.”
I sound like a dork.
“Soon. Yeah, I’d like that.” She dips her head. Her cheeks are flushed. That’s got to be a good sign.
“Tomorrow night?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
I watch until she disappears into a door. Tomorrow night. Great. Except there’s no way I can wait that long.
***
MY APARTMENT SEEMS even emptier than usual when I get home. I raid the fridge because I’m still hungry, make three cups of coffee just because I can, and then have an invigorating shower, thinking of Mia all the time. She’s under my skin, and I can only function by shooting a load under the water, thinking of us lying on that sleeping bag under the palm trees.
But as soon as I’ve dried off and cha
nged to clean clothes, fresh desire for her builds up again, accompanied by a hollow ache. I need her here. Right now. I need to feel her, taste her, make her come undone in my arms. And then I want to talk and kiss and find out more about her. Get drunk with her. Talk about her life, her interests, her passions. Where she lives. I know too little about her. I want to know everything.
I amble around my furniture, fidgeting unnecessarily with things, none of which seem real or important anymore. Is it possible she’s feeling anything like this?
Is she thinking of me right now?
It’s too soon to call her. If anything were wrong, she’d call me. I made her promise that much.
I settle down to FaceTime Felix. I need to get out of my head. I should invite him over; it’s been too long. Maybe we can go for dinner. I’d like him to meet Mia. I think they’d get on.
There I go, thinking about her again.
17
MIA
ANNIE’S SITTING BY the window in Al’s even though her shift isn’t over yet. Weird. I crane my neck to see if the boss is in the kitchen.
“Al’s not here,” she calls out and beckons me over. “Quick, sit down. I can’t wait to hear!”
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, puffing. “Luggage took ages. Why are you sitting there?”
“I’m taking my break.”
I slide into the seat opposite her. Her mug of steaming chai tea sits calmly beside a plate with a caramel donut. I stare at each in confusion then back to her face.
“My trade union-sanctioned break every fifteen minutes every four hours,” she explains.
“OK,” I say slowly, “What happened last night? I was so worried. Did you come in?”
She holds my gaze over the brim of her cup. Her dark bobbed hair is down today and she’s the picture of innocence, which she tries to offset by smoking, something I tell her to stop doing for the sake of her skin, if nothing else. “Promise me you won’t overreact, but you were right, Mia.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Al made a pass at me.”
My gut twists. I open my mouth to speak.
She holds up her hand. “But he didn’t get very far.”
“What do you mean?”
Her face breaks into an impish grin. “I kneed him in the balls.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Are you crazy? What then?”
“He was bent over in pain. I just left him there, in the booth by the door and went home. Ivan told me later that he’d sat it out for an hour in the staff bathroom but then went back to work when things got busy.”
My head swings around automatically to search for him, even though she’s said he’s not here. “Where’s he now? What happens when he comes back?”
“That’s the best thing. When I woke this morning, I was all set to call in, but when I picked up my phone, I was overcome by this sudden crazy streak of anger. I didn’t want to slink away when he was the one who did wrong.”
She pauses. “So, I came back in. And here’s the crazy thing. We talked. We actually talked. Right in this booth.” She slaps the tabletop. “He even apologized and said it was probably what he needed.”
“People don’t change like that,” I say.
“I don’t know. He really seemed to be under the illusion that I liked him.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream at her for being so stupid. “Oh, Annie.”
She takes a bite of her donut, chewing rapidly. “I also told him he can expect the police if he refuses to pay us when we leave, so I’ve spared you that particular conversation.”
“You are totally crazy, but you’re my hero. I can’t believe I wasn’t here to support you.”
“If you’d been here, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have had to. And things would have gone on as always.”
“I should go away more often.”
“No.” She grabs my hand. “I don’t mean that. I’ve been terrified and I’ve barely slept in two days. You have no idea the hell I’ve been through. I’m so glad you’re back. But what about you? Why do you look so freaking happy? What’s the story with Jack?”
***
“AND THEN HE dropped me off here.” I wave my dishcloth out at the street, which is now dark. “I have to face him tomorrow at work.”
Annie’s wringing out a mop into a bucket, scrunching her nose in disgust as if she didn’t do this work several nights a week. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, we’re fine. It’s just everyone else I’m worried about.”
“Hmm. Any word from him?”
I pull out my phone I’ve been checking every five minutes and shake my head. “I don’t know what I expected. He must have heaps of work to catch up on. And some guys are just not into texting, I guess. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Hunger or heat made me delusional. Maybe now that he’s back on home territory dealing with business, he wants to forget it all.”
“Yes, maybe all those things. But then again, maybe not.”
“Some help you are,” I grumble. “I just don’t want to invest my heart into something that’s not real.”
“Does it feel real?”
“It did. Very real. I thought for one moment I had it all figured. I had a man by my side that I l— Well, that I liked. A lot. And I knew what to do, and my life would be successful. It seemed within my grasp if I just played it smart and worked hard on building up my acting skill set. But sitting here—” I scan the dreary décor of the diner that’s been as much my home for the past year as our dingy apartment. “It’s just too hard to believe. I don’t really belong in his world. Just as he doesn’t belong in mine.”
“Why create artificial barriers, Mia?” Annie lays her mop aside, comes around the bar, and slings her arm around my shoulders. “Look at you. You’re jetlagged, overwrought. Don’t come to any conclusions until you’ve had a good night’s sleep, OK? Then when you see him tomorrow in the studio, it’ll all be different.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I groan. “It’s going to be a case of Little Miss Producer’s Pet. I don’t think anyone will believe we did nothing on the island, not after witnessing that kiss. And who knows what kind of mood Janet will be in, after I stole her place. I wouldn’t be surprised if she went around calling me a whore and complaining about unfair treatment. What if she gets a lawyer?”
“Jack can help you. He’s the boss, after all. It’s his job to manage his staff.”
“The thing is, I don’t blame Janet or any of them. I’d despise anyone who acted the way I’m acting now.” I sigh deeply. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
“You’re worrying too much about what everyone else thinks of you.”
“Well, yeah. I’m human you know, even if I go around in alien costumes. I’m going to feel those accusing eyes on me when I start to say my lines. Everyone will be watching like vultures when Jack and I interact.”
“Let them,” Annie says. “And then decide whether he’s worth it or not. Look at me, Mia. Don’t let fear stop you.”
She’s so right. Given what she’s gone through with Al, these are not just empty words. I need to have the guts to follow my chosen path.
18
JACK
FIRST THING WHEN I get home is to dial Felix. My twin sounds groggy, like he’s just gotten up. Or maybe he’s drunk? But he rarely drinks, let alone goes over the limit.
“Everything OK, Felix?”
“I’m tired, bro. Big game last night.”
His deadened voice sends a jolt of awareness through me. “Oh yeah. Oklahoma.”
“Yeah, fuckers. I kind of had to do it.”
“And?” I snap.
“It was the seventeenth, Jack! I hate seventeen, you know that.”
I rub my hand over my jaw. Felix and his numbers. So irrational. “Please tell me you pulled out when you had to.”
“Yeah, like you always do.”
“Felix—”
“I’m not discussing this on the p
hone.”
“Come over here then.”
“OK.”
He sounds docile. Most unlike him.
***
I LET MY BROTHER into my apartment and, without comment, he heads straight for his usual place on the sofa and settles against his favorite cushion. There are creases all over his white button-down shirt tucked crookedly into his dress pants. His normally flawless face is marred by the dark purple shadows blossoming under his eyes. His blond hair sticks out in all directions, like straw.
After a period of silence, I address the elephant in the room. “You look like a scarecrow.”
“Not so hot yourself, Giorgio Armani.”
“What’s the damage?”
“Half.” Felix drums his fingers on the curved edge of the armrest and returns his gaze to my face with a defiance that sets off all my warning bells.
“Half what?”
“A million. Give or take.”
Something collapses in my stomach. This is the biggest sum he’s ever asked of me. I don’t have it. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Would I be sitting here if I was?”
“God. Felix. I don’t know what to say. I mean, that movie I was working on? Look, it’s not going to make the profit I thought it would.”
“I’m sorry, bro. Like, that really sucks and everything.”
I don’t need his sarcasm right now. I stomp out of the living room area into the kitchen and pace around the island. “Why do you have to gamble, Felix? Does it make you happy?”
When he doesn’t answer, I go back in and sink onto the sofa beside him. “Say I hand you the money. Then what? You’d blow it all on poker again. Maybe not in a day or a year, but in a couple of years. I can’t let that happen. My conscience won’t allow it.”
“So, it’s like that?” he scoffs. “Your high principles. Well, these thugs have sent me death threats and I’m not listening to your pontificating.” He rises, grabs his leather jacket from the coat stand, and storms toward the door.