Chapter 9
By six o'clock, I was drunk. I'd gone down to the hotel bar and had several cocktails. I skipped dinner, and as I sat there, I remembered Melanie and her offer. "Hey," I called out to the bartender. "Where's the Holiday Inn?"
"It's just a couple of hotels up the beach. It's the one with the big assed parking lot."
"Oh, yeah," I said, "I know the place."
I paid my tab and left. It was still light out, but there was a weird feel to the atmosphere. The sky was completely overcast, with big, billowy clouds blowing by, and the threat of rain hung heavily in the air. The wind whipped the palm trees, and flags snapped noisily. Everything had a kind of sepia tone to it.
I walked into the bar and looked around for Melanie and her two lovers, but they weren't in the place. I had a Coors and played a game of Ms. Pac Man, as I waited in hopes that they showed up. I didn't know their last names or their room number, so this was my only chance to find her. Finally, after an hour, I gave up.
As I was walking through the parking lot, a car pulled up next to me. I jumped back, thinking it was Mike, and I was about to get my ass kicked. Instead, the window came down to reveal Melanie inside.
"Hey, were you looking for me?" she asked with a smile.
"Yeah, I was," I admitted. "Where you headed?"
"Toronto," she said, with a pretend pout. "We don't want to be here when the Hurricane hits, so we're getting out early. Aren't you leaving?"
"No," I said. "I don't think so."
"They're calling for evacuations," she said, looking concerned. "Haven't you been watching the news?"
"No, not really."
"Hurricane Bob is headed right this way!" She exclaimed. "It should be here overnight. They're telling all the tourists to get out now."
"Oh," I said. "Okay."
"So, go home, Bob!" She said.
"Meh," I said dismissively. "I've always wanted to have a hurricane party."
"You're staying?"
"Yeah."
"You're nuts!"
"Probably."
She got out of the car and hugged me. "Don't be stupid," I may want you to come to Toronto and visit me. "So, don't get killed by a hurricane."
"I won't."
She shook her head. "Are all American this crazy?"
"Probably." I hugged her back. "Have a safe trip home."
"Thanks," she said, then reached into the car to get her purse. She took out a pen and paper and gave me her telephone number, full name and address. "Please, let me know if you survived."
"I will," I said. "I promise."
With that, she got back in the car and drove away and out of my life forever. I let go of the piece of paper and watched it float away with the wind.
I made my way back to the Polynesian and walked into the bar.
"Back so soon?" the bartender asked.
"Yeah, I struck out," I said as I sat down on my earlier stool. I noticed an attractive woman was seated a couple of stools down. She was older, but very attractive, with long reddish hair. She was slender with long fingers that implied long and shapely legs to match.
She appeared to be in her late thirties, maybe early forties. As I stared, she looked up, and the green in her eyes sparkled like two emeralds. "Can I get another Cosmopolitan?" she asked the bartender.
"You aren't evacuating either?" I asked, turning to the lovely redhead. She looked my way, and our eyes met. I can't adequately describe what I felt. It was like a million volts of electricity shot into my head, electrifying me and charging me up at the same time. When she smiled, I felt my heart melt.
"No, I came here to get away from things at home," she said. "They're still there, so I'm staying here."
"You're not afraid of the hurricane?" I asked.
"Not so much," she said. "We all have to go sometime. I'm here to have fun and get my mind off of things. If a hurricane hits us and we all die, we won't be around to care."
"I'll drink to that," I said as I tossed back my booze. "Mind if I join you?"
She looked around the bar. We were the only customers in the place. "I think you already have," she said with a slight laugh. "We have the place all to ourselves."
She was both witty and feisty, a charming combination that made her more interesting than just her physical attributes. I wanted to get to know her more. "Then do you mind if I come closer, so we don't have to talk so loud?"
"You have my permission to approach," she said with a wink.
I picked up my cocktail and slid down past the intervening stools to sit next to her. Her soft fragrance was like a combination of vanilla and roses. I inhaled it deeply and introduced myself.
"I'm Bob," I said, tipping my drink to her.
She gave me a disbelieving look. "Like the hurricane?" she asked playfully.
"Exactly," I said. "Now, you're stuck here with two Bobs."
"Well, I'll drink to that," she said with a wink. "I'm Denise, by the way."
"So, what is it at home you're trying to get away from?" I asked. I knew it was none of my business, but she had mentioned it.
She peered at me over the rim of her Cosmopolitan, as she measured me up.
"That's kind of personal," she said. "I don't know you well enough to tell you my dirty secrets."
"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," I offered. "Plus, we'll never see each other again once we leave here. What's the risk in confiding?"
"Maybe I just don't want to talk about it," she offered.
I thought about it for a second. "If you didn't want to talk about it, I don't think you would have brought it up."
"Good point," she replied. "Okay, you have a deal. You tell me your secrets, then I'll tell you mine."
"Well, then we should get another round and maybe move to a booth," I said. "It may take a while."
"Why do I get the feeling this is some nefarious plan of yours to get me in bed?"
"Because it is a nefarious plan to get you in bed."
She laughed. "Well, at least you're honest."
"So, how's it working?" I asked.
"How is what working?"
"My nefarious plan."
"It's too soon to tell," she replied, standing up. "I'll tell you after we share our secrets."
We moved to a booth in the dark corner of the bar. I sat down across from her, but she patted the seat beside her. "I don't bite," she said.
"Damn," I replied. "And here I was hoping you were a vampire."
Denise smiled and gave me a sultry look. "Vampires bite and then suck. Like I said, I don't bite."
I chuckled at the innuendo and sat down beside her as the new set of drinks arrived. I then bared my soul and told her the entire sordid story. She listened patiently, asking questions here and there to better understand.
"And, so this just happened today?" she asked.
I nodded.
"And how do you feel about it?"
"Ambivalent," I said, "is probably the right word to describe my feelings. I was pissed at first. It's not just about the sex, to me, it's about lying and deceiving. I mean, if we talked about it and agreed to be open, then I wouldn't care what Connie did and with whom. But, we had just talked about being exclusive, and I made it clear how I felt about her fucking that dirtbag. Now, I just don't give a shit. So, yeah, ambivalent kind of sums it up."
"That's a good word," she said. "It's kind of how I feel about the collapse of my marriage. Ambivalent."
"I'm getting kind of hungry," I said. "Would you like to have dinner? Then you can tell me your story."
"I'd like that," she agreed.
We called the bartender over. He told us the kitchen was closing, so if we wanted food, we better hurry up. Not only that, but our choices were limited to things that didn't require much cooking.
We ordered nachos, french fries, and two salads. While we waited for the food to come, Denise excused herself and went to the ladies' room. When she returned, she'd freshened her makeup, brushed her hair out, and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her swimsuit underneath.
She had small but very pert breasts that stood out proudly. She was petite, much shorter than my six-foot-one frame. She had what looked like a dancer's legs, long and shapely. She was beautiful, with a dynamic personality that made her even more attractive.
She settled in the booth, took a sip from her cocktail, and began her story.
"So, how old do you think I am?" she asked, tilting her head coquettishly.
"That's a dangerous, no-win, type of question," I said.
"Be honest," she said, "I won't hold it against you either way."
I stared at her. Her skin was smooth and soft, with almost no wrinkles to speak off. Her eyes, bright and lively. Her breasts were perky. She carried herself with a confidence that came from maturity. The fact that she was asking me, though, told me she must be older than she looked.
She could be as young as thirty-six or as old as forty-two. I opted for the younger of the two ages. The worst thing would be to be wrong while guessing too high.
"You don't look it," I began, "but I think you're likely older than this, just by the way you asked, however. I'd say you look to be in your late thirties, say thirty-eight."
She smiled and kissed my cheek. "Bless you, young man," she said with a playful wink.
"I just turned forty-seven in May," she declared.
There was no way I would have guessed that, and I told her so.
"Well, it's true," she confirmed. "So, I've been married for just over twenty years. My husband and I never had children because I can't. I had a problem with my ovaries as a teenager, and they just don't work right. I was actually okay with it. I can't imagine bringing kids into this fucked up world of ours. Plus, there are enough unwanted kids out there to adopt. I knew my husband wanted kids, but he seemed to accept our situation without ever complaining or blaming me.
