"Do you have to work?" Jill opened the French doors and stepped onto the hotel balcony. The heat took her breath away, but it was a dry heat; she adjusted quickly. Her eyes tracked a dark-skinned windsurfer zigzagging near the fishing boats in Fort-de-France Bay.
Peter's arms enveloped her. "Just three days, my love. We'll have the weekend to ourselves."
She turned to him. He kissed her lips. His fingers touched her bare waist. His touch was electric. She willed him to drag her to the bed and make love to her with the doors open.
Instead, he held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I have to leave for my first meeting now. You should visit the spa and go shopping. There's also the beach."
"You know I hate the beach." She pouted and feigned to collapse. "Without you, I'll turn to bones."
His arms caught her. He showered her face with kisses until she giggled. He always knew the things to say and do that made her world blissful. When they were apart, however, her ever-present anxiety drifted back over her like a dark cloud. How could she know—truly know—he would love her forever?
He led her into the bedroom. "I have a gift that may entertain you when I'm working." He reached into his suitcase and produced a piece of gold foil in the shape of a business card. He handed it to her and turned to the mirror to put on his tie.
She squinted at the card. It read:
"In recognition of your awesomeness and goddess-like beauty, and in deference to your needs, by your husband's preeminent authority (JK), this 'Hall Pass' is good for three (3) consecutive days of flirting and sexual activity with whomever you desire."
She snorted and arched her eyebrows. "You'd actually be okay with that?"
"As long as you follow the rules on the back."
She turned over the card and read aloud the fine print:
"Hall Pass expires in three days. Recipient agrees to tell husband every detail. She agrees to practice safety, including, but not limited to safe sex. Under no circumstance may she catch feelings for any third party."
Jill felt lightheaded as she set the card on the nightstand. She attributed her giddiness to the heat or perhaps the two cocktails she drank on the plane. "I appreciate you being deferential to my, um, needs—but I don't think there'll be any flirting or sexual activity, except with you."
"It's yours to use or not, as you choose. There's plenty to do in Martinique—whether you do it alone or with new friends." He faced her and stuffed a file in his briefcase. "Presently, I must extol the benefits of American wind technology."
"Good luck, my love!"
"Thanks. My last presentation ends tonight around eight o'clock. Then we'll have a nice dinner, okay?"
"I'll be waiting for you right here." She flopped onto the bed as the door closed. A single, fat tear rolled down her cheek.
After a few moments, she wiped her face and pulled herself from the bed. She fished a novel from her suitcase and returned to the balcony, where she stretched out on a reclining chair. The sun was blinding. Two lovers strolled by along the strip of sand below the hotel. The couple made Jill's heart ache for Peter. She wished he did not have to work so much. She might like the beach if they could stroll it together, holding hands and gazing lovingly in each other's eyes. She held a hand to her brow and looked out at the bay, searching for the windsurfer, but he was gone. She opened her book and read the first page. She then set the book on its spine atop a table and returned to the room, where she plundered the refrigerator for a miniature bottle of Pino Grigio and a bar of dark chocolate.
The shimmery Hall Pass caught her eye on the way back to the balcony. As far as she was concerned, it amounted to little more than Peter's whim, a fantasy they occasionally played at between the confines of their own sheets—but one she would never actually indulge. She picked it up and brought it out with her to use as a bookmark.
The sun shone on the chair when she returned. She read a few pages. She felt tipsy from the airline cocktails and wine. Within twenty minutes, the blistering sunlight burned her bare thighs to a bright pink. She stuck the Hall Pass in the book and retreated to the room. There, she sat on the bed and considered her options. Three days was too long to be cooped up alone in a hotel room, particularly as the balcony was apparently uninhabitable in the afternoon. Although the island held little sway for her without Peter, for her sanity's sake she would simply have to leave the sanctity of the hotel without him. She might find a quiet café, perhaps one with some local flavor, where she could read in the shade.
She gulped the rest of her wine and changed into a loose-fitting dress. She retouched her makeup. She threw the book in her purse and took the elevator to the lobby. She asked the concierge where she might find a unique spot without tourists and followed his directions to a former garage that had been converted into a quaint, sparsely populated café. She claimed a table in the front where she could watch the street and ordered a carafe of wine.
When she opened the book, the Hall Pass stared back at her: "...flirting and sexual activity with whomever you desire."
Would Peter actually be okay with that? she thought.
She would certainly not be okay if the roles were reversed. Just the thought of him having sex with another woman was enough to bring her to tears. She tucked the Hall Pass in the back of the book and looked around to make sure nobody saw it. She glanced up when two Martiniquais sat at the bar and ordered drinks. When the men looked at her, their faces lit up. Jill was used to that look—and it secretly thrilled her—for it reassured her that she was a young, beautiful woman. But the fact that men's attention excited her did not mean she wanted to sleep with every man who looked at her. She smiled politely and returned to her book.
Soon, other patrons, all Black Martiniquais, arrived at the little café, until it was full of men, and some women, chatting merrily in French. She could not understand their words, but she liked the way their French sounded both melodic and guttural in the local dialect. Each time Jill dared look up from her book she caught several men apparently enthralled by her. When she caught them looking, they commented to each other and stared right back at her unabashedly. Every time, she blushed and darted her eyes back to the book. She had to admit that, if she had to be without Peter, being brashly admired by strangers in a café was distracting enough to make her loneliness tolerable. She steadily sipped the wine and kept her eyes glued to the book, but inwardly she pretended the men were waxing about the qualities of some piece of art they were about to steal. The fantasy quickened her heartbeat and made her a little wet. She did not as much read as pretend to read, quickly draining her second and then her third glass of wine.
"Your carafe is empty," said a man standing beside her. "May I buy you a drink?"
