Told from the wife's perspective. This is one of my longest stand alone tales.
*****
I remember this starting with Tim and I scarcely believing our good luck. A five bedroom bungalow on a deserted coast along the Caribbean Sea in Panama, close to the Columbian border. The price was a steal since it was the off season. Tim used a portion of his advance for the novel he was working on to pay for part of it and I used some of the money my mother left me to cover the rest. Two months in the Caribbean sun.
Tim's publisher was very excited about Tim's newest novel. It was sure to sell even better than his last one had. There was sure to be a deal for the movie rights. All the novel needed was a final polish. Tim would plunge into that task and finish as quickly as he could so that the two of us could enjoy the sun and white sand.
Tim and I were essentially paupers when we got married. ALL of our friends and both sets of parents discouraged us from tying the knot.
They did not doubt that we loved each other but were concerned about how we could subsist on the pittance of a pay check each of us brought home. Their hearts were in the right place but they simply did not see what we both saw in each other. It was more for me than Tim's height and muscles. Tim loved my ballet body but was really in love with my soul. We believed in each other. I knew that Tim's prose could wring emotion out of the stoniest cynic, all he needed was a voice giving him confidence. I was that voice. There is a lot of me in all of the female characters that Tim writes about. It is no accident that all of his books have been dedicated to me.
Tim's last book "The Tattooed Soul" had been the breakthrough both of us had been hoping for. It broke big time. Page one of the New York Times Book Review, a movie deal and a raft of interviews that had us completely spent. Of course as soon as it hit, his agent and publisher both were demanding a sequel or at least a follow up novel of equal quality. It took Tim about six months to pull an idea out of the ether. He wrote the first draft with a white hot intensity and before the year was out, had the first draft on the desk of his agent. Tim had sold the novel based upon the prospectus and the first three chapters, however, both Sol, his agent, and Tim knew that the novel needed a bit of polish before it was ready for final submission. That was the reason for the trip. Tim could write during the day and at night the two of us could make love. It would be the honeymoon we could never afford when we first got married. At least that is the way it was supposed to happen ...
For the first two weeks everything was like a dream. Tim wrote during the day, savoring the words as he typed them on his laptop. The passages he read aloud, awed me. He had more than surpassed his previous novel. If the rest of his creative process matched the first, we were looking at a National Book Award! Maybe even a Pulitzer! Tim's work was that good. Then came the troubles. Tim had taken a break and the two of us spent the day on the beach. We made love on the warm sand and spent the whole day enraptured with each other. We were a long way down the beach. It was so isolated I didn't bother putting on my bikini top. I still remember how sweet Tim was that day.
"Valerie," he said, "after seven years of marriage you still turn me on like you did when I first saw you. I fell in love with you at first sight and I'm still falling."
I kissed him and held him close in response. Tim is not a mousepotato. He works out whenever he gets a chance. He find that a vigorous workout helps stimulate his mind. When I first started dating him, some of my girlfriends thought he was a model. When I told Tim that little snippet of information he laughed and said HIS friends had told him the same thing about me! Tim is an even six feet tall, has dark curly hair, brown eyes, a broad chest and a slim and trim body that I practically ache to touch. I know I'm attractive but I try not to let it go to my head. I appreciate the stares and whistles I get from other men. they like my long legs, modest bust, long blonde hair and blue eyes. but Tim is the only man who makes me want to cream my panties. We are a perfectly matched couple,
As I was saying we were way down on the beach for most of the day when we returned to our beach chairs. I threw on my wrap, it zippered up the front and covered me nicely. Tim slid on a polo shirt and tucked the chairs and the novels we didn't read under his arms and we headed back to the bungalow. Once we entered the house we realized that we were not alone. Several large and horrible looking guns were aimed at us once we reentered the bungalow through the sliding door to the deck that led to the beach.
"Freeze!" we heard.
I looked at Tim and he flashed a concerned look my way. We raised our hands above our heads The books and chairs clattered to the floor. At first I though that it was a legal matter but I quickly realized that these men were NOT Panamanian police officers.
"Who are you and what do you want?" asked Tim
"Silence gringo, you Yanqui pig!"
The man speaking was obviously the leader of this band of about half dozen formidable looking men. He was tall and broad and clean shaven, a livid scar adorning his left cheek. He looked like a South American Indian. His hair and eyes were both coal black. The men surrounding him appeared to be powerfully built and of various races. Each one handled their weapons in a way that showed that they knew what they were doing. Also with them, an attractive Latina woman in a floral dress. She looked at me contemptuously.
"I am El Jefe, the boss. I make quite a nice living supplying decadent Yanquis like you with Cocaine. Because of the interference of your DEA and FBI I am forced to move my base of operations. This bungalow will do nicely until things cool off in my native Columbia. We believed that this casa was empty, but no matter. We found your passports when we searched the house. We will find USES for the two of you." As he spoke, his eyes took a tour of my body. I did not like the gleam in his eye.
Tim found his voice and said, "We will leave quietly, we will remain silent, you don't have to hurt us."
"Shut it pig!" the man then spat at my husband's feet.
"You Yanquis think you can talk your way out of anything. I despise Yanquis! Interfering with the Columbian government, interfering with my operations, enslaving my people with your money and decadent culture. White people like you stole my country from native people like me. I do what I do not only because it it lucrative but also because, in my small way I can stick a knife in the back of the great white Yanqui imperialists. I'm a capitalist with a communist soul. You two, pampered, rich, spoiled, are everything I detest. Enslaving you will be just punishment for your country's many sins against my people and my operation."
"Enslaving?" said Tim, not comprehending or not wanting to comprehend the words El Jefe had spoken.
El Jefe met Tim's gaze and replied "Yes you Yanqui dog. You two will experience the oppression your own country so carelessly administers to my country you will experience what we natives have endured for centuries." he paused for effect and then said, "Or would you rather I kill you both where you stand instead? "
