"Thanks again, Chief!" shouted Lloyd Danvers as he left the beach to walk the short distance to his bungalow. He was plumb worn out and waterlogged after a day of pre-planned waterfront activities and anxious for some alone time. Lloyd was one of only two salesmen at ToneDef Communications honored that year with a week at the Clitz Royal Resort in Grand Cayman. Known facetiously as Club Davos for the abundance of top political figures, CEOs, and Hollywood elite who traveled there to see and be seen, Lloyd found the environment and its clientèle overly pretentious. Nonetheless, the allure of the luxurious accommodations was undeniable.
This visit, his third, he was a 5th wheel. Sharon had been overwhelmed with a bathroom remodel and had stayed back home in Scarborough, leaving Lloyd to spend his days with one of his entourage: his boss, the boss's wife, his rival Chad, and Chad's girlfriend-in-progress. As for late afternoons such as this one, it was typically just Lloyd and his left hand, then a catnap before dinner. Today, however, was an exception to the rule, for when Lloyd unlocked his Hacienda-style front door, he thought he heard giggling buoyant on the private saltwater pool just beyond his lanai. He grabbed a cold beer on his way to investigate, and shortly thereafter, his suspicion was confirmed.
"Kerry?"
Waist deep in the pool with a lavender martini perched in her piano fingers was Lloyd's Mistress of Mississauga, as he called her, and if that wasn't surprising enough, she had company.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"You told me your wife wasn't coming, so I thought I'd surprise you."
Kerry placed her plastic martini glass on the edge of the pool at Lloyd's feet and twisted her long fawn mane high on her head to better secure it with the wide-toothed comb, while Lloyd gazed down into the deep gorge formed by the compression of her cowajungas by the balconette bikini.
"You know Dragana, of course," she said, smiling up at him with an exaggerated wink, as if to suggest he had locked legs and swapped gravy with the woman he now recognized as one of the resort staff. Tall, very thin, and surprisingly pale, with a stylish black satin bob, cut shorter in the back and angled to the front, she wasn't Mexican like most of the menial workers; she was some sort of East European transplant who worked in the front office and wore tropic-casual attire, rather than a uniform. Regardless, he'd had only minimal contact with her and it had been strictly business.
"She let me in," Kerry added.
"Ciao, Monsieur Danvers," said Dragana, addressing Lloyd in the disparate dialects, "You no mind?"
Of course he didn't mind, well, notwithstanding the worry his boss would discover the subterfuge; that would be a disaster of extraordinary magnitude. Their wives were tennis partners; there would be no way to protect Sharon from the scandal, and having been duly embarrassed, she would be compelled to divorce Lloyd just to save face. As for Chad, he'd love nothing better than to see Lloyd lose his job so that The Chadster could turn his #2 salesman jersey in for #1.
All torqued up with the pessimistic possibilities, Lloyd plopped on the edge of the pool and took a long draw of his beer to settle himself. Then realizing he had over-reacted, as he was inclined to do, he talked himself out of the scary scenario he had just conjured. He was pleased his paramour was about to be under him, and it was just for one night; he was headed home tomorrow. If he could just get rid of this office manager person, he and Kerry could get in a quickie before dinner, then he'd make up some excuse to get back here early and bed her again for the night - the ENTIRE night. For obvious reasons, that was nearly impossible to negotiate back home, and knowing it was now in the cards had Lloyd hardening with new optimism.
"So Dragana," he asked, interrupting the chitchat, "Who's minding the office?"
"Arturo," she answered, then proceeded to explain just who this Arturo fellow was in broken English mixed up with some Spanish, which she appeared to speak with more proficiency. But it may as well have been Maltese since it all sounded like gibberish to Lloyd.
"She's off the clock," said Kerry, disappointing him with the translation, for he wanted Dragana gone, so he could cream the Twinkie with Kerry.
Just then the mid-afternoon sun broke over the west end of the bungalow, flood-lighting the outdoor space and prompting Lloyd to lower his Maui Jims. He labored to his feet, wincing with the painful ping in his left knee, leftover from the knee surgery two years previous.
"Can I get you ladies anything while I'm up?" he asked, just out of politeness - he didn't really mean it.
Dragana pointed to a bottle of sunscreen on a chaise next to the pool. Lloyd held it up for her consideration, and when she nodded, he threw it into the water in her direction, prompting a thumbs up. Her gestured instruction had come through loud and clear, and Lloyd felt lucky the lotion was all she wanted and she hadn't attempted to describe some fancy umbrella drink in East European Spanglish.
Having limped to the kitchen, he poured out the last half-inch of his flat, warm beer, then rested his palm on the cool concrete counter and watched Kerry through the window as she smoothed the sunscreen over her sun-kissed shoulders. Damn, she was hot, and for some inexplicable reason, she was all his. Theirs had been such an easy, uncomplicated relationship, from the moment the young doe-eyed beauty had taken up residence on the barstool beside him at Toronto's Festival of Brews.
Kerry Coltrane was a successful freelance clothing designer, working with luxury fashion houses - Gucci, Prada, Armani and the like. She was powerfully engaging and dangerously charismatic, and in spite of the obvious age disparity, they had a lot more in common than just beer. The hours flew by unnoticed, and when she peered through Lloyd's nerd-black glasses to gaze into his admiring eyes, and leaned in for an Eskimo kiss, it didn't matter the festival was over, because he knew they weren't.
And so, after texting Sharon to tell her he was too drunk to drive home and was staying at a downtown hotel, he spent the night with Kerry at her condo in Mississauga. It began as benign as it could have in those circumstances: a whiskey nightcap accompanied by some light touching and soft kisses on the couch, but not surprisingly, it bloomed into rapacious rub-a-dubbery, then a straddle, some titty badgering, and finally a BJ in her bed while her Westie, Wagyu, looked on.
In the past, Lloyd had avoided the seduction of a sidepiece, as any such temptation ended with a recall of that bunny boiling on the stove in the movie, Fatal Attraction. But now, three years after he succumbed to Kerry's indecent proposal, he had the combo to her condo, a garage door opener, and he was the dog's best friend.
Per their routine, Lloyd would leave work early on Wednesdays and spend the afternoon in her bed, in her arms, and between her legs - it was literally a hump day - then a nap, a homemade meal, and the half-hour drive back home. Kerry was quite comfortable with the arrangement; there were no arguments and no demands. As for Sharon, she never questioned Lloyd's loyalty, probably because there was no indication he wasn't. He labored long and hard for the benefit of their expanding family, when he could have retired years ago. So, it was fine with her if he wanted to blow off steam once a week after work. Obviously she didn't know it was Lloyd who was getting blown, and as far as he was concerned, she never would.
Just then Lloyd felt a tingle in his trunks, and he realized he needed to get out there and move things along. In just over an hour, he'd have to report for pre-dinner refreshments, and Kerry wouldn't be on the menu until much later - a torturous delay for the dessert he hungered for right now. He hobbled down the hall to the bathroom to retrieve a little blue pill, then stepped back out onto the lanai with a cold Modelo Negra in hand.
"DO me," said Dragana, provoking a chuckle from Lloyd as he took up his previous position on the pool edge. Obviously, she meant "Do ME," but had placed the emphasis on the wrong word.
