Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 03 - Insatiable (5 page)

We passed the main building of the hotel. The sounds of clinking glasses, cutlery against plates, and voices straining to rise above it all reached us. Couples stood on the balconies. Backlit by the hotel’s bright and welcoming lights, they look like silhouettes putting on a play. We continued under a star-filled sky past empty beaches and breaking waves until we reached a mansion that was lit up for the night. It was a modern building, all glass and concrete. The landscaping was minimalist and a pool glowed deep ocean blue, its surface shimmered as a soft breeze passed by.

Our driver stepped out of the golf cart and offered me his hand. I heard a door slide open as I stepped onto the paved path and looked up to see a short, squat figure silhouetted against the house’s light. As he came down the steps to greet us, the moon came out from behind a passing cloud and illuminated his face. He was smiling at us; his teeth were so straight and white that only an orthodontist with the help of a skilled dentist could maintain such perfection. His hair was thick, wild and as black as the sea that fronted his home, yet his eyebrows were perfect arches above deep-set eyes.

“I am Alejandro. Welcome,” he said, offering Blane his hand. They shook and then he turned to me. “Welcome.” I put my hand out. Instead of shaking it Alejandro cupped it softly and lifted it to his lips. He lightly kissed right above my knuckles then lowered my hand and released it. I smiled, pleasantly surprised by the antiquated gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. Please come in.” He waved toward the house. We followed him along a paved path cut through the sand to the patio surrounding the pool. It was made of a cement-like material with chunks of something in it that caught the moonlight and twinkled.

“Glass-fault,” Alejandro said. I looked at him. “The pavement, it’s glass-fault. It is made of recycled bottles from the hotel.”

“Oh, neat,” I said, sounding like a simpleton.

“I am trying to make my carbon foot print as small as possible.” He laughed. “My feet are not very big, why leave a huge mark on the planet?” He laughed some more. Blane and I joined him. Alejandro led us up several steps to the patio where a man waited. He was unusually tall, seeming even more so when compared to Alejandro. “Cocktails?” Alejandro asked.

Blane ordered a vodka martini and I asked for a tequila gimlet with just a splash of cranberry juice. Alejandro decided to have the same and the tall man turned on his heel in a military manner and walked into the house. Alejandro gestured to a table and chairs facing the sea. A woman wearing a blue maid’s uniform and a white apron brought us a plate of cheese, fruit and nuts.

The three of us sat out on the deck listening to the lapping of the sea at the shore and the rustle of the wind in the palms fronds. The silent man returned with our drinks and after he was gone Blane said, “I suppose we should cut to the chase.”

Alejandro smiled and nodded. “I like a man who is direct.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Ana Maria,” Alejandro sighed, and looked out over his pool, past his beach, beyond the Caribbean, to the horizon, the thin line marking the end of what humans can see. “She is so young.”

“Far too young to leave her parent’s house,” Blane said.

Alejandro laughed softly and turned to look at Blane. “You know my mother, my birth mother, probably had me when she was younger than Ana Maria is now. Do you know much about the Mayan culture?” he asked, turning to me.

“Not much,” I admitted.

“It is a fascinating history.”

“Most peoples are,” I said.

He laughed. “You’re right. I suppose because my blood is Mayan I find it more interesting than others.”

The maid came to the door and announced that dinner was ready. We followed Alejandro into a large room with cream walls. A modern dark wood dining table with matching chairs was set for three. Alejandro offered me a seat to the left of his. The place setting was beautiful in its simplicity. The glasses - one for water, one for wine - were clear with long stems and no pattern. White soup bowls sat on white plates. The cutlery had soft edges and modern lines. The texture of the placemat and napkin reminded me of a tightly woven basket.

Soup arrived, green and creamy. “It’s asparagus,” Alejandro told us, as it was ladled into our bowls. When the staff left, the soup tasted and complimented, Blane brought up the girl again. Alejandro lifted his spoon to his mouth and swallowed before answering. “I am afraid I am in an uncomfortable situation here.” He put down his utensil and leaned back in his chair. “As you know, my uncle is my employer, and beyond that I respect him greatly. But, I do not know if I can help him.”

“Do you know where she is?” Blane asked. Alejandro closed his eyes and laced his fingers together. We waited. The tall, statue-like man came into the room to clear our plates. Alejandro stayed in his meditative state

“Alejandro?” Blane said. Alejandro’s eyes opened and he looked at Blane but did not answer. “You know you can’t keep her.”

Alejandro smiled and nodded. “I don’t think anyone can. She has her own mind. I’ve never met a stronger one.” Alejandro sighed. “She is here.”

“Where?”

“Ana Maria,” Alejandro said quietly, almost to himself.

“Yes, where is she?” A blush of red started to creep up Blane’s neck.

“You will not find her unless she wants to be found. Ana Maria is very much in charge of her own destiny.”

“She is only a child.”

Alejandro’s eyes jumped to Blane’s face. “You underestimate her at your own peril.”

“What are you talking about? She’s a kid.”

Alejandro pushed back his chair and stood up. He was not tall or big, but there was something set in his face that made him frightening.

“Don’t,” came a soft voice from the patio. We all turned to look. Ana Maria stood in the doorway wearing a dress that made her look much more like a woman than a girl. Alejandro’s face softened at the sight of her. She crossed the room to his side. Ana Maria was only slightly taller than our host. Alejandro looked up at her. “Mrs. Franks, Mr. Franks,” she nodded at us each in turn. “You look a lot like my father’s friend, Blane,” she said. “And you,” she said turning to me, “I recognize your face.” I felt uncomfortable sitting down while they both stood. Blane rose out of his chair and I followed.

“Ana Maria,” Blane said, “Your parents are very worried about you.”

She smiled down at her feet. “I find it hard to believe that it is me they worry about.”

“Your mother is very upset,” I told her.

She looked into my eyes and said, “You have been deceived.” It was a creepy thing to say and I felt a chill run through me. Ana Maria turned away, the hem of her long, open-backed dress swished across the glass-fault floor as she crossed to the bar. I watched her shoulder blade shift as she lifted ice cubes out of a silver bucket and dropped them into her glass. Ana Maria’s movements were elegant and I imagined she must have taken ballet. She picked up a decanter of light brown liquor and poured it over the ice which cracked loudly in response.

“Anyone else want a drink?” she asked.

“Look Ana, you’ve got to come home,” Blane said.

She laughed as she crossed the room. “I don’t have to do anything.” She walked past us and out onto the patio. Blane went after her as she floated down the steps onto the beach. She turned toward the hotel and disappeared from view. Blane reached the sand and looked after her. He turned to me, “She’s gone,” he said.

“I told you that you could not find her if she did not want to be found,” Alejandro said, behind me. Blane was standing in the moonlight alone. He twisted one more time to check the beach but clearly he saw nothing. Blane came back up onto the patio and rushed at Alejandro.

“Do you know how pissed Pedro is going to be when he hears that you’ve been hiding her?” Blane asked. Alejandro did not answer. “Are you sleeping with her, is that what this is about?”

Alejandro’s face reddened. “I am not,” he said.

“Well, you certainly look like you’d like to,” Blane said. Even in the soft light I could see that Blane’s face was red with anger. He turned away from Alejandro and focused on me. He threw up his hands and stormed back toward the beach.

“Shall I arrange transportation?” Alejandro asked me as we watched Blane disappear down the path. I thought about following him, walking all the way back to our bungalow and then I looked down at my shoes. “Or perhaps we could have one more drink?” Alejandro suggested. I smiled at him. “I cannot help you find her, but I will certainly offer you my hospitality.”

“As long as you help me to a drink I think we’ll get along just fine,” I said.

“Certainly.” He held his arm out toward the house and I stepped back inside.

DRUNK FOR A REASON THIS TIME

“You’re drunk,” Blane said, when I stumbled over the doorframe into our cabana.

I laughed. “Doesn’t take much.”

“What?” He was lying on the bed but when I knocked into the coffee table and nearly went down he stood up. “I can’t believe you’re drunk.”

I waved him away with a big, sweeping arm gesture that sent me off-balance, but luckily I landed on the couch. “I’m surprised you’re not,” I said. His forehead wrinkled into a look of disgust. I smiled. “Who do you think I got drunk with?”

“What?” He only looked confused for a second and then understanding bloomed across his face. “Alejandro.”

“Of course. I’m going out on his boat tomorrow. I understand him.”

“What do you understand?”

“His love for her. It’s not sexual, you must understand. You must understand. He kept insisting that I understand. Guy can’t hold his liquor.” Blane came and sat next to me. There were two of him for a second but then they merged into one very handsome man. I smiled and blushed and leaned back, which turned out to be sideways and fell off the couch.

Blane picked me up and I remember laughing as we both tipped back onto the couch. “Did he say where she was?” he asked, his voice strained with the weight of lifting me.

I shook my head. “He doesn’t know. He has no control over her. She is apparently a very powerful little girl. She has her own agenda, he said.” I curled up into a little ball and felt very tired and very comfortable.

The morning light filtering through our white curtains woke me. I blinked against the sun and rolled away from it; closing my eyes, I buried my head into the pillow. I heard the shower running and smelled soap. I stretched, pushing my feet out from under the covers and over the edge of the couch. Blue licked my toe. I yelped and then laughed. Sitting up I realized my hangover wasn’t that bad.

I needed to go for a run. It would help dissipate any remaining alcohol in my system and give me time to think. I hurried, wanting to be gone before Blane got out of the shower. He was going to ask me a lot of questions about my drunken night with Alejandro and I needed to clear my head. I pulled on my jogging shorts, a sports bra and white tank top. Grabbing my iPod shuffle and headphones, I attached Blue to a leash and slipped out the door in my bare feet.

It was a gorgeous day, the sun was bright, the sky that incredible blue and the Caribbean, well, it’s the Caribbean, isn’t it? I walked away from the bungalow toward the main building of the hotel letting my body get used to the idea of moving rather than drinking. I hit play on my shuffle and White Snake’s “Here I Go Again” filled my ears. I started to pick up my pace, jogging right at the line of the sea, avoiding the water but taking advantage of the hard-packed earth. Blue kept pace with me, my slow jog equivalent to his walk.

I’ve had a lot of drinking partners, I thought, as the song made me run faster.
 
But none quite like Alejandro. Firstly, I’ve never sipped tequila on a suede couch with a Mayan. Let alone a Mayan who admits, but only in the strictest of confidence that his cousin is “not like other girls.” He seemed to believe that there was something unnatural about her.

Before I could finish my thought the music picked up and I stopped thinking about Alejandro, the tequila, his couch, the case and my life. I raced past the main building of the hotel, my heart pounding against my chest as I maneuvered around children building sand castles and overweight tourists lying out, scorching their skin in an attempt to get that healthy glow.

Blue and I were past the hotel and the crowds when my breath gave out and I had to slow down. I jogged slowly, trying to keep running but looking down at Blue, I knew that I wasn’t going any faster than a slow walk. I took huge, heaving breaths as the song faded away.

Before the next one began I looked up and saw that I was passing Alejandro’s house. There was no one out on the patio and all of the glass doors were closed. I wondered if he was out jogging like me or if he slept in. Perhaps he was already at work. We’d arranged to meet for cocktails on his sailboat at sunset. He’d asked me toward the end of the night. And as I remembered it, looking up at his empty house, I thought there might have been a note of desperation in his voice, a plea in his eyes.

My lungs recovered and George Michael and Queen started to play
Somebody to Love
. This song is hard for me to hear but I listen to it anyway. I picked up my pace leaving Alejandro’s house behind. The beach ahead of me was deserted as my feet pushed through the sand. Blue picked up his pace to keep up with me. And then the beat started and I could hear the crowd clapping. It starts soft but then builds. This version was recorded live soon after Freddy Mercuries death and you can hear the desperation in Michael’s voice. And the crowd responds, yelling back at him. All of them are pleading to find love.