The Dalmation Coast Ssn 01

Spliti was a desperate mix of achievement-focused impressiveness covering up the stains of a complicated slavic past. Kay turned up the collar on his faux-Lacoste polo neck as he stepped down the staircase which connected the Wizair Boeing 737 to the almost-melting tarmac. Early afternoon. It was the time of year, even in this part of Europe, when daytime lasted forever. Kay's Baltic roots yearned for cold when it was summer; for light when in the perma-blackness of the winter.

Carmela had messaged him eight times when he finally turned his phone back on.

"Get here soon dickhead family driving me crazy already"

"Booked a water sports trip Thursday that ok?"

"You still vaping? Pick me up some violet sticks?"

"What the fuck happened to your flight. Shanice is here and she wants to see you for some fucking reason you better be here"

There was a picture message. Her legs on a sun lounger. Presumably at the family compound in front of the voluminous infinity pool. Olive thigh-gap imposed around a powder-blue bikini bottom. She was giving him the middle finger from underneath the fabric.

Kay instinctively turned the phone screen forty-five degrees so that less of the temporary residents of the shuttle bus had a chance to have her form impressed upon them.

"Fuck you and your shitty ass job was followed by four dollar-sign emojis and another middle finger."

Kay smiled. There was a simplicity to their respective geographical realities that made this whole thing make sense. Not a couple. Not in love. Not fuck-buddies or booty-calls either. He would come to Croatia when he was coming this way anyway and she was here for the holidays. And they would hang out. It was physical in as much as they were male and female but it wasn't the main part of it. The conversation, the fun. That was what kept him coming back. If she married some Azerbaijani prince and was just his friend it would take pretty much nothing out of the interaction. Which she probably would.

=======

"Ti se salis?"

Kay's Croatian was non-existent, but he figured that his offer of two hundred kuna for the trip up the Adriatic coast hadn't been received well. He threw another few notes through the plexiglass window of the small cab. The driver grunted his acquiescence and they hared northwards, his chauffeur obviously making up for the meagre payment by reducing the journey time and quadrupling their chances of exploding on the more-dangerous-than-most roads of the Balkan coast.

Kay rolled the window down. Rolled, manually. The taxi felt like it could have served Gorbachev's diplomats. The hot air streamed in through the crack in the glass and it was liquid oxygen. The sea. Scents of fishing, of waves crashing against the bouldered coast. Kay put in his airpods and allowed himself that moment, that pre-moment of getting off the flight and being there. Five weeks with nothing but this. Carmela. More specifically, Carmela's Dacha.

The driver turned around a full one-eighty as they reached the gated mansion. You sure about this buddy? Written in his eyes. Sure enough, something clicked in the robot-and -human mechanism which granted entry to the compound, the gate rolled sideways and the taxi kicked forward and up the winding, crushed-marble drive to the entrance of the vast property.

=======

Kay's best-face was as good as anybody's. When asked to create the best possible impression in whichever situation he found himself, he normally generated success on the fly. Even the imposing one, now, of negotiating the exchange between Shanice, Carmela's stepmother, who was seemingly very frustrated by the telephone conversation that she was having with Carmela's actual father, Eduardo. The reasons why were bleeding out of the terse conversation between them. It was still unclear why Shanice was even there. Other than that she owned the property, that is.

"You were in Dubai for weeks in May, Edu." Shanice was a digitally unaged fortysomething version of Michelle Obama who oscillated between uncomfortably close and uncomfortably distant with respect to her relationship with her stepdaughter and any of her associates. Her hands were on her hips. "I know, this was supposed to be our fortnight." She paused for effect. "But you took five weeks on that goddamn contract. This will be two weeks. Three, tops. This is a huge deal for me Edu. London is the one market I need to break this year." Her hands were on her hips. Kay looked around, still holding his suitcase, absolutely desperate to pee. He didn't interrupt.

It was impossible to see Eduardo's expression at the end of the line, but it was certain that he knew that he was fucked, and now needed simply to absorb his wife's passive-aggressive rant before hanging up. To be fair, thought Kay, it was the business trips like this that made Shanice's make-up startup so profitable. Her energy, her talent. It paid for this luxurious-to-the-obscene, tax-haven position on the Adriatic Sea. Eduardo contributed also, obviously. His business was officially cobalt extraction in the Caucuses, but whether or not this was true was anyone's guess. It could be anything. Kay didn't ask. Oil? Drugs? Israeli-built rocket defence systems? All of the above?

"I'm going to go now." Shanice walked away now, across the vast, flat lobby. "I will meet you in a few weeks. Let's go back to that place in the Maldives."

"Not that place," Aubrey was Shanice's daughter and Carmela's stepsister. Like Kay, she'd been waiting obediently as the matriarch paced rhythmically on the wood-effect tile. "It's so, like, bad for the environment."

Shanice shushed her with a finger. "I don't need your vegan hippy liberal shit right now Aubrey."

Eduardo was still talking himself into a hole on the other end of the line. Shanice interrupted him for the last time.

"Yes sweetie. Yes... Yes. Carmela is here anyway. The girls can catch up." She caught Kay's eye. He tried to minimise his body profile. "Her friend from England is here too, so she's fine. Aren't you honey?" She eyed her daughter, still smarting from being put in her place so strongly. Aubrey shrugged.

"Tell him I'll call him."

"D'you get that?" Shanice was starting her hang-up process. "Yeah. Love you too. See you soon." Checkmate.

=======

"What was supposed to be happening?" Kay sipped his gin and tonic, realising that he already knew the answer to the question. They'd found a spot well away from Shanice and her army of assistants and hangers-on, on the outdoor dining table which jutted out over the cliff above the sea. Beside them the infinity pool was glass-clear. The Adriatic was speckled with cylindrical white cloud formations.

"Dad was supposed to be coming here." Carmela's drink was mint-green with crushed ice spilling onto the white table mat. "They were all gonna do some travelling around Italy. I guess that's not happening now." She was still scrolling down with her left hand as she spoke. Kay took her right wrist. She smiled and dropped the device.

"Sorry. Fucking instagram haters."

"So much for having the place to ourselves." Kay said it like he owned the multimillion-dollar palace. "Who's the other one?"

Carmela's half-sister and her friend had also vacated the villa while her mother ordered others to pack and clean and make preparations. They had found a spot on the loungers near the pool, on the opposite side of the infinity pool, and were in the youth uniform of baggy gymshark wear and long browsing sessions through tiktok.

"Some skinny bitch from her college."

Kay raised his eyebrows. There was little to her, true. Like Aubrey, most body fat, and with it body shape, seemed to have disappeared in the name of athletic prowess. More like instagrammability, Kay thought. Even if he was just the same.

"Sorry. I dunno. I guess it's nice she's got a friend. Must be a fuckup doing this tennis thing all the time."

Kay gestured with his shoulder. "Is she... you know?"

"Her girlfriend?" Carmela brayed, spinning her iphone around on the polished glass surface of the table. "I don't think so, no. Last time I facetimed, Aubrey'd broken up with the last one, some other tennis player. They're all fucking lesbians."

"Huh,"

Carmela instinctively picked up the phone and put it down again. "I'm thinking we need to keep our distance this evening. I don't want Shanice's fucking imagination running away from her as usual."

Kay bit his tongue. It was clear, luckily, that Carmela had no idea about their history, if it could be called that. And Kay needed that to continue to be the case.

=======

The obsidian-black wet room of Kay's room was among the finest shower facilities he'd ever experienced. The shower itself had eight different outlets, including one which had initially shot an ice-cold jet of water directly into his perineum. He'd been keeping a lid on his libido for a couple of weeks, with prospect of Carmela on the horizon, but the circumstances had nullified their recommencement, even if only temporarily. As a consequence he'd struggled to keep down his erection, particularly after managing to remove the upward ice-spray. She got into his brain, within him. She took control of their sex in a way few others had.

There was a knock at the door. Kay scrambled into one of the villa's provided robes. The material was smooth against his still-wet skin, and it nullified the lingering heat of the summer day. He squeezed his dick down a couple of inches. Could it be Carmela? Had she managed to slip through the net?

He opened the door to one of Shanice's minions. He recognised the guy as one of her general fixers. Despite the hour and the heat, he was still in a smart shirt and chinos.

"Mr Kollaste, apologies for disturbing you at this time."

Kay was still securing his robe. And his penis.

"Uh, no. It's okay. What, erm. What can I do for you?"

"Mrs Angalmore has requested that I seek you."

Shanice still used her maiden name after her marriage to Eduardo. Partly a branding decision - the famous crossed-A adorned the counters of the most exclusive make-up counters across the world - partly due, conceivably, to the original wife, Carmela's mother, having retained the Sochiak name for herself. And her prestige.

"Seek me," Kay scrambled. It was an odd choice of word. "Yeah, um. Give me a minute."

He pushed the door half-shut as he recalled the position of his suitcase and therefore his underwear. A pair of basketball shorts and a vest completed the heat-busting look. He followed the assistant up the central staircase. There were four huge rooms on the first floor, as well as a second living room. His voluminous one was, he reckoned, the smallest. Above them were two suites, each an apartment in itself. Shanice had the master, obviously. The other was where she'd sequestered her daughter and the friend.

Thoughts roamed through Kay's mind. It was a couple of years ago when it'd happened. He'd been doing physio for Carmela in a luxury hotel in Zurich, she'd been top-500 in the LTA tennis rankings herself at that stage. When she'd been called away for a media thing, Shanice had rocked up, apparently desperately in need of some deep-tissue TLC for her overused ankles. Kay had obliged. More than obligated. Of course he had. It ended up with her paying for his ticket to Coachella that year.

Kay could hear excited squawking from the adjacent, closed door. Smart shirt and chinos was already padding down the massive central staircase. The door clicked and unlocked, and Shanice greeted him in a shimmering white bath robe, tied at the waist. She eyed him up-and-down. The outfit suddenly seemed excessively frivolous, as if he should have donned a set of nice slacks himself for the journey upstairs.

"I see your taste in clothes hasn't improved."

He looked around, as if she had directed the comment at someone else.

"It's hot."

"It is that." She reached a hand behind her, massaging the trapezius on her right side. "I need your professional expertise." She paused. "If you're willing, of course."

Like he had a fucking choice.

"Absolutely. What seems to be the problem?"

"Neck pain again. Stress, probably. Can you come in, squeeze out some of the lactic?"

"I will make every effort." You're a pussy, said his internal manager.

Shanice's quarters were the type of thing that garnered six-million-plus views on YouTube. A huge bed - emperor size, was that a thing? Modernist, quality furniture. A couple of chairs, a velvet chaise longue. The view over the sodium-yellow lights in the Adriatic - yachts, tankers - was wide and unobstructed. Kay shuffled inside, his feet so comfortable in the plush carpet that seemed to take heat away from his body. Shanice divested herself of the robe, leaving it in a pile on the floor in front of the carpet. A single piece of silk nightwear outlined her form.

Why hasn't she already got someone for this shit?

"Happened on the plane over," Shanice was talking again. Again feeling the muscles in her upper back. "Air travel is killer on the equilibrium."

"It is." Kay just kept on agreeing. Show a bit of initiative, came the call. "Lemme see what I can do with it."

Shanice pointed to the bed. "You want me here?"

Fuck no, Eduardo will have my balls.

"Yeah sure. Maybe just get comfortable with a couple of pillows for me." Kay was in robot-professional mode. Shanice did as she was told. A rare feat, thought Kay.

"There's some oil on my bedside table."

There was. Vanilla and chrysanthemum oil. Six-hundred-bucks a bottle. Kay had never been trusted enough to use it when he was freelancing back in France.

Shanice had already settled happily in the centre of the bed. No chance of skirting the edges, Kay was getting on. He knelt next to her right side. The first few movements were always diagnostic, feeling for knots and obvious signs of injury. She had a strong back. This was not a figure acquired through good genes alone. But there were the usual worry lines of a life spent facing challenge; of climbing the mountain each day. He worked his magic. It was real, he did do this well, better than most, he reckoned. How to release the tension, unlever the tension in individual muscle fibres. She breathed as his rhythm built.

She didn't deliberately take the robe down - the shoulder straps had already fallen down from her shoulders as a result of his movements. But she did consciously roll it down further - to allow him to access her lower back. The top centimetre of her buttock crack, exposed above her black underwear. The silhouette of her breasts squashed against the lilac bedspread. There was a professional, mindful version of himself in combat with the grinding pressure of his pent-up libido. Her breathing had slowed.

"Now I know you're gonna take care of Edu's girl, this next couple of weeks." Kay uh-huhed his assent. "But I've got another job for you too. You keep an eye on my daughter too." It was another order, he knew. They were stacking up. "No fucking nightclubs. She needs to rest that ankle so she can be ready for the September tournaments. I want a champion Kay. She could be anything. The new Coco."

Kay didn't know whether it was a realistic notion, or the over-expectant hyperbole of a pushy parent. Knowing Shanice, it could be both.

"I'll try my best." It was a shit thing to say.

"Figure it out. Hire a boat. Take them scuba diving or something. Get takeout, watch some movies. Whatever. But no stress."

"Yeah, yeah."

They fell into silence for a minute more.

"I'm gonna sit up," she said. "I'm gonna fall asleep if I stay here, and I need you to just get into my splenius, as a last thing. That's okay?" It was still an order. Her knowledge of the nomenclature of the muscle groups of the human body was remarkable if unsurprising.

"Yeah." He took his hands off her. "You need me to go for a moment?"

"Forget about it." She answered him by swinging her legs around to the edge of the bed and sitting up, her black beauty facing the black unknown of the Adriatic. Her silk piece hung around her belly button like a towel. He sat behind her, but her breasts were visible in the partial reflection of the glass. And she knew it.

He did, as usual, as told, getting into the long muscle which joined the base of the head behind the ear to the spine. There were a couple of tight knots in it - perceptive.

Kay stole occasional glimpses over her shoulder, but was working hard to not be aroused. And succeeding.

"Can you pass me that oil?" Shanice asked over her shoulder.

The palm-sized portion she poured into her hand was probably enough to cover a family meal at Mcdonalds and a movie ticket for four. She smeared some on her forearms and her upper chest, her hands coming to rest on her breasts. She started working the oil into her nipples, which obviously grew in size. Kay kept working his muscle fibres, but realised that he was watching her in the window's half reflection. Shanice knew he was.

Within that motion they stayed. Two minutes, four. Six. Shanice's breathing was paced the same, but it grew deeper. Her eyes were closed.

"I think you're done," Kay's voice was quiet but packed with as much resolution as he could muster. She opened her eyes and laughed.

"I suppose you are." She stood and faced him, the unreflected image of her chest glinting in the soft-white light of the room. "Now it's time for you to go." Another order. He nodded.

"And go in that top drawer for me as you go." Her smile was catfish-wide now. He pulled open the cabinet and retrieved the white-and-silver object, realising that it was a vibrator only as he handed it to her.

"Now go on," she shooed him towards the door with one hand. The other was pulling those panties down, and she was stepping out of them as she closed the door.

=======

Weed was the only thing capable of suppressing his libido sufficiently in this situation. Jerking off would too, but that would be a waste. He didn't want the olfactory risk of his grass wafting anywhere near Shanice's suite, so his balcony was off the table. The terrace at the back was a better look. One of the final members of Shanice's people was doing some final tidy-up in the lobby as he made his way to the ground floor. He nodded to her as he pushed carefully and quietly through the heavy glass sliding doors. Poolside was refreshingly cooler, and the first rinse of marujuana smoke through his chest was like water. For the first time since he stepped onto the tarmac in Croatia, hours earlier, he felt something like peace. He tracked the progress of a huge cargo ship in the distance, its shipping containers illuminated from above, creating a jigsaw puzzle of light.

There was a rattle behind him - a much less elegant opening of the patio. Kay expected Shanice's staff, and was surprised when the figure he had passed in the lobby didn't appear.

"Shit. D'you have weed?"

It was Aubrey's friend. Kay hadn't had a conversation with her in the whirlwind of activity between his arrival and now. She was the definition of early 2020's zeitgeist, rich-international youth style. Almost entirely hidden in a huge white t-shirt with a gaudy orange-and-pink quad bike design, her ultraslim legs poking out the bottom, crowned with ultraviolet-yellow sliders. Large, black-rimmed glasses were accompanied by the requisite airpods dangling out of her ears. There was an angular symmetry to her features - not classically beautiful, but her glass-blue eyes and platinum ponytail gave her a Nordic charm.

He looked down at his joint, which was half gone.

"Yeah. Do you want...?"

She nodded enthusiastically, joining him against the glass railing which separated them from the ink sea. He passed the cigarette and she inhaled, coughing and spluttering as she exhaled.

"Fucking hell. That's got a kick." Her accent was hard to place. Not English, not American. Somewhere in between. He took it back from her as she offered.