Sunscreen & Coconuts

by Eliza Lentzski

  “You should have flown First Class with me.”

  “You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “You know I would have paid for your upgrade,” Racy countered.

  “You know I don’t like handouts.”

  She sighed loudly. “I know.”

  I often wondered why Racy insisted on spending time with me. As an investment banker, she made significantly more money than I did. I consistently felt like my budget held her back, but to her credit, she worked hard to not make me uncomfortable about it. She just couldn’t control that I always felt uncomfortable.

  “How was your flight?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “This vacation isn’t off to a great start.”

  Her smile flattened. “Oh, no. What happened?”

  “Not important. It’s fine. Let’s get through Customs and find the resort shuttle. I’m ready to actually relax.”

  From the slow-moving line to retrieve our checked luggage, we moved next to the even slower-moving line towards the island nation’s customs agents. For it supposedly being the slow season, the line wrapped back and forth through the large ground-level space.

  Racy had her phone out and blindly shuffled forward in line without looking up from her phone screen.

  “I hope you’re not doing work,” I chastised.

  “Just a few more e-mails before I totally go off-grid,” she promised.

  I leaned against a concrete column. I was more than eager for vacation to actually start—to be through customs and at the resort where I intended to change into my bathing suit and read my book by the pool and not leave my cabana until it was time to catch my flight back to the States. I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers against my temples.

  “Headache?”

  I didn’t know how Racy had seen me; her eyes hadn’t strayed from her phone.

  “Uh huh.”

  “There’s aspirin in my bag.” Instead of getting the medicine for me, she shrugged off the shoulder strap and dropped her purse into my hands.

  I unzipped the main zipper and rummaged around inside. Instead of finding the shape of a pill bottle, my fingers closed around a different kind of shape.

  “What is this?” I asked, pulling the red, shiny orb from her purse.

  Racy’s eyes flicked briefly in my direction before returning her attention to her phone. “Looks like an apple. It came with my in-flight meal.”

  “You can’t smuggle fruit into a foreign country!” I hissed.

  “Then throw it away.”

  “But we’re in line.” I felt myself begin to panic. “I can’t get out of line to find a garbage can.”

  “I’ll save your spot,” she offered.

  My voice pitched. “No savsies!”

  She arched an eyebrow at my anxious outburst. “We really need to get you away from those kindergartners.”

  “First grade,” I corrected her.

  “Whatever. Same thing.”

  I normally would have set the record straight about the many and varied differences between kindergartners and first graders, but I had an apple to make disappear.

  I continued to pick apple remnants from my teeth after we breezed through customs; I’d never eaten a piece of fruit so quickly in my life.

  Racy and I left the air conditioned confines of the Willemstad airport in search of the shuttle that was supposed to bring us to our all-inclusive resort. The sun was bright outside of the airport, and I could feel the heat of the blacktop beneath my bargain store flip-flops.

  I juggled my bags, searching for my sunglasses. Racy continued to walk at her brisk, city pace while I dug around for the sunglasses I was sure I’d seen earlier. I walked, shuffling in small steps, my eyes lowered to the inside of my purse.

  “Racy. Hold up.”

  “I see our ride,” she told me.

  “Just give me a second.” I stopped so I wouldn’t trip on my flip-flops.

  “I’m gonna check-in with the driver.”

  “Wait,” I pled.

  I successfully located my sunglasses at the bottom of my cavernous bag, but when I looked up, I realized I’d found my sunglasses but I’d lost my friend. I scanned the immediate area with no sign of her aqua-blue romper.

  A small man with a clipboard waved in my direction. I looked to my right and to my left. He appeared to be beckoning me, but I couldn’t understand why he was standing in front of a beat-up, white passenger van. That couldn’t be our ride to the resort.

  I took a few tentative steps in his direction, not completely committing. A big, floppy white hat appeared through the opening of the sliding side door. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach. What was Racy doing in that dilapidated van?

  “Hustle up, Mercy,” she called to me. “We’re all waiting on you.”

  The man associated with the battered van hustled to my side. “Help you with your bag?”

  He didn’t wait for my response. He grabbed the long handle of my wheeled luggage and my sweaty grip slipped. I could only watch in anguish as the man loaded my suitcase into the back of the van. I winced when he slammed the back door shut.

  “Inside please, Miss,” he encouraged.

  I supposed if I were going to be kidnapped or murdered for stepping into a stranger’s van, at least I’d be going with my best friend.

  I ducked my head and entered through the sliding side door. The back of the van was filled with other people, but I spotted Racy and her giant hat in the middle row. The man who’d sat next to me on the plane was alone on the short bench immediately in front of me. A young couple—newlyweds maybe—sat in the very back. They were too busy taking selfies from multiple angles to notice anyone else.

  The air conditioning had been running, so at least it was mildly cooler in the van than outside. The side door slammed behind me, and I had no choice but to sit down. I ducked my head so as not to start vacation with a concussion and flopped down on the middle row of seats next to Racy

  I reached for the closest seatbelt. “Are you sure about this?” I quietly grumbled.

  I uselessly mashed the ends of my seatbelt together, but the pieces wouldn’t fit.

  “It’s fine. I’m sure the hotel’s regular shuttle vans are just all filled up.”

  “I thought you said this was the slow season,” I practically accused.

  “Okay,” she shrugged, recognizing the flaw in her argument, “maybe the regular fleet is being maintenanced.”

  The man with the clipboard hopped into the driver’s seat and shifted the vehicle into drive. The engine revved and the airport began to disappear in the rearview mirror. Any misgivings I’d had would have to be put on hold.

  The man taking up the front bench leaned forward to talk to the driver. “What can you tell me about Le Mirage?”

  The driver turned his head slightly. “Pretty good time.”

  “What about the women?”

  “Depends on what you like.”

  I glanced sharply in Racy’s direction, but she was back on her phone.

  The man eventually sat back in his seat and left the driver to his task.

  “I booked us a snorkeling excursion for tomorrow morning,” Racy announced.

  “Just now?” I marveled.

  “Those things fill up fast, so I made arrangements when I booked our hotel. It’s a smaller group so we’ll get plenty of individual attention.”

  “Kind of like this five-star shuttle experience?” I couldn’t help the dig.

  Nothing about our vacation thus far had me feeling relaxed. The van bumped down dusty, unpaved roads. No street signage reassured me that we were going the right way. Small shanty houses lined the street. The driver frequently slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting livestock that darted into the road.

  “What have you gotten us into?” I muttered for only Racy’s ears.

  “Lighten up, Mercy. We’re on vacation now.” Her words said one thing, but the confidence had drained from my friend’s tone, which made me even m
ore worried.

  The van approached a mechanized gate. The security fence around the perimeter of the property was too high to see what was beyond the gate. I knew we’d probably come to our resort, but between our dented van and how rocky the trip had started, I expected the worst: American women being sold to the highest bidder, just beyond the gate.

  The driver rolled down his window and typed a code into the security box at the entrance. I leaned forward to try to make out the numbered sequence, but the fatheaded man seated in front of me obscured my view. I exhaled loudly; we might have needed to know that code in order to escape.

  The mechanized gate soundlessly opened and our van inched forward. My previous misgivings melted away upon seeing the grand driveway leading up to the resort’s main building. The driveway to the resort was close to a quarter mile of lush vegetation and meticulously landscaped yard. Vibrant flowers in full bloom lined the long paved driveway that led up to a towering building that looked like a giant thatch roof. As we approached the main building, my excitement increased; the lobby area was open on all sides with a clear view of the ocean just on the other side.

  I only looked away from the picturesque vistas when I felt a hand on my knee. Racy’s smile looked smug. “I did good, right?”

  As much as I hated giving her too much credit, I nodded.

  The young men working the valet stand opened the side door. Everyone in the vehicle poured out onto the concrete sidewalk and waited while staff worked quickly and efficiently to unload our luggage from the back of the van.

  A woman with a tablet approached Racy and me while we stood on the hot concrete.

  “Bon bini. Welcome. Names please?”

  “Racine Sawyer and Mercy Lewis,” Racy provided for the both of us.

  “Ms. Sawyer, Ms. Lewis, welcome. I have you in an ocean view room with two queen beds, checking out with us on December 27th. Is that correct?”

  “You got it,” Racy confirmed.

  The woman swiped two key cards through a credit-card reader attached to the top of her iPad.

  “Here are your room keys. I won’t need to link your credit cards since we’re an all-inclusive resort. You won’t need to charge anything back to the room, and please remember not to tip your servers or other staff.”

  “Why not?” I felt compelled to ask.

  The woman smiled evenly. “Because we’re all-inclusive.”

  She hadn’t answered my question, but she pressed our room keys into our hands and moved on to the next hotel guests before I could ask any additional questions.

  “Well that was weird,” I grumbled, shouldering my toiletries bag.

  “What is?” Racy asked.

  “Why can’t I tip if I want to? Are they trying to keep their staff in perpetual poverty?”

  Racy laughed. “You and your conspiracies. They probably want all their guests to receive the same treatment and have the same experience. If you start tipping, it throws that philosophy out of whack.”

  “If you say so,” I said, still not convinced.

  Our room was located in the main resort building; a short elevator ride to the third floor had us to our final destination. Once I ascertained that my key card worked on our room door, I felt myself finally beginning to relax.

  “Do you have a bed preference?” Racy asked before throwing her oversized purse on the closest bed.

  I shook my head, not really paying attention; I was too distracted by the big blue ocean beyond our hotel windows.

  Racy flopped down on the first bed, apparently claiming it for herself while I continued to walk towards the full length windows that turned out to be sliding doors that opened onto a narrow balcony. Quiet music filtered up to our room from the large pool directly beneath the balcony, but I was far more impressed by the crescent-shaped lagoon at the edge of the resort property. I couldn’t hear the ocean, but I could definitely smell it in the warm, salty air.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. The warm sun was gentle and reassuring on my face.

  Racy’s knowing voice called to me from inside the room. “Ready for this vacation to start?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  CHAPTER two

  I probably would have benefited from a power nap or at least a quick shower, but I was too impatient to be poolside with my book for any of that. Racy and I changed into bathing suits—hers a revealing bikini and mine a more modest one-piece—and we headed down to the resort’s aquamarine colored pool.

  “I did good, right?” Racy boasted as we entered the pool complex.

  A narrow sandy beach connected the winding serpentine pool to a man-made lagoon that offered more daring swimmers some refuge from the ocean’s swelling waves. The resort grounds were dotted with beach loungers and thatch-roofed palapas where I could picture myself planted for the rest of our vacation. The sun was hot and just the barest of breezes came off of the ocean to provide some respite from the early afternoon heat.

  “I’m nearly ready to let you plan all of my future vacations,” I approved.

  We found two unoccupied loungers in an area that offered views of both the pool and the beach. I unpacked my bottled water, the novel I’d purchased at the airport, and my sunscreen onto a small table beneath my personal cabana. Once I removed my cover-up t-shirt, I began the task of layering my exposed skin with a healthy layer of sunscreen. Skin cancer aside, typical of redheads, my pale skin tone easily burned, and there was no way I was going to let myself get fried on our very first day in the sun.

  “Damn, Mercy. Is that SPF 200?”

  I paused my sunscreen application long enough to stick out my tongue at my friend. Racy had stripped down to her neon orange bikini—sure to attract stares from miles around. “Laugh all you want. I’m staying safe.”

  Racy tucked her sunglasses into her beach bag. “You coming in?”

  “In a while. I want to let my skin get warmer.”

  “And let the paint dry, too,” she quipped.

  Before I could offer a reaction to her insult, Racy jumped into the saltwater pool. The splash of her less-than-graceful entry had threatened to dampen my paperback book.

  “Watch it!” I called to her once she resurfaced.

  “Relax, resting bitch face,” she retorted as she bobbed in the pool. “Don’t forget you’re on vacation.”

  My only response was a weak growl, but instead of continuing to be argumentative, I settled back on my lounger while Racy splashed around in the pool.

  I exhaled, loudly and deeply, and let the day’s stress escape my body along with my breath. It had been an annoying travel day of disequilibrium and anxiety, but now that we’d reached the resort and I was sitting poolside, I could finally start my vacation.

  “First day?”

  I looked away from the pool to see a small dark man in the resort’s uniform—a white polo and blue shorts. He’d appeared from seemingly nowhere.

  I shifted on my lounger and held my book closer to my chest. My bathing suit covered me well, but it still felt foreign to be so exposed in December. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”

  “I recognized the look—like you’re just realizing you’re finally away from it all.”

  “You must see that a lot,” I observed, feeling a smile come to my lips.

  He smiled wider. “Everyday,” he confirmed. “All around this pool.”

  “Oh, garçon!” Racy’s unnecessarily loud voice interrupted the conversation. She remained in the water, but clung to the edge of the pool. “Excuse me—can we get, like, a tray of tequila shots? Pronto?”

  The poolside waiter dipped his head in a curt bow. “I’m sorry ma’am, we only serve beer and cocktails by the pool. I can get you one of those if you’d like.”

  Racy stuck out her lower lip. “I really don’t want all of that filler. I’m counting calories.” She seemed to press her arms against either side of her breasts which had the effect of emphasizing her already impressive cleavage.

  “Senora is more than welcome to go to th
e Thirsty Coconut, our full-service bar, for those kinds of drinks.”

  Racy’s breasts lifted even higher until they threatened to pop entirely out of her bikini top. “How about just bring the entire bottle, and it’ll be our little secret?” She batted her eyelashes and tilted her head to the side. “No one has to know where it came from.”

  The man laughed and waggled his finger. “This is not my first day on the job, ma’am.”

  “Two mojitos would be lovely, thank you,” I interjected. I could see no positive end to the conversation unless I stepped in. Racy was naturally argumentative and tended to get her way.

  The waiter nodded his head and smiled. “Right away.”

  When the waiter had left to retrieve our drink order, Racy climbed out of the pool. She dried off with a large beach towel before flopping into the empty lounger beside me. “So much for all-inclusive,” she huffed.

  I set down my book. “Are you more upset that your breasts didn’t convince him to bend the rules or that he kept calling you ma’am?”

  Racy looked down at her aforementioned chest. “They’ve never let me down before. Come on, girls,” she addressed her cleavage. “Don’t fail me now.”

  + + +

  At the edge of the resort property was a thatch-roofed, standalone bar. The structure was held up by wooden posts instead of actual walls, which created a seamless transition between the sandy beach and the tiled bar floor. Lazy ceiling fans slowly rotated above our heads, mixing the cooler salty air with the afternoon heat. American surf rock music piped through the PA system. The horseshoe-shaped bartop was vacant with the exception of two men in golfing shirts and full-length khaki pants. They were obviously there together, but the empty stool between them indicated they weren’t together together.

  A lean man in a collared polo with the resort’s logo embroidered on the right breast pocket stood behind the bartop. His brown hair was nearly as long as mine, which he wore in a loose skinny ponytail that hung between his shoulder blades. His skin was deeply tanned, making it hard to tell his age. He could have been my age or he might have been well into his sixties. I spied the hint of a sun-faded tattoo of a blue bird peeking out from the edge of his polo’s shirtsleeve.