The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir (32 page)

Josh paced the living room. “Then why can't I stay home and do it? I can stay by myself, I'm four-teen! It's not like I'm gonna burn the house down.”

“Are you nuts? I can't leave you alone for a week.” I stepped in front of him to stop his restless striding. “I trust you completely, but if Child Protective Services found out, they'd haul you away to a foster home so fast your socks would fly off. And I'd be arrested for abandoning you.”

“That's just stupid. They don't need to find out.”

I looked at him and shook my head.

“Okaaay. I'll go to Grandma's. I just wish I could go on vacation with you guys.”

“Next time.” I gave him a big hug then kissed his forehead.

Once Josh and the dogs were settled at Mom's, I let out a sigh of relief. I couldn't believe I was actually going on a vacation. When the Lincoln town car dropped us at the airport, I practically ran to the terminal.

Steven laughed at my excitement. “Hey, slow down or you'll arrive on the island before the plane.”

dreadlocks and coconut oil

Sunday, March 16

I rolled onto my back and stretched, looking for a cool spot under the sheets. I looked up through the filmy mosquito netting draped around the bed and squinted until my eyes adjusted to the morning light. The ceiling fan beat a slow rhythm in the moist air. Faint lyrics of “Jamming” by Bob Marley drifted into the bedroom.

Steven peeked through the doorway. “Hey, sleepy girl, you're finally awake. Come outside, I made breakfast and put on a little island music for you.”

I wrapped a bright pink sarong around my body and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I padded barefoot out to the patio and saw Steven had set the table with glasses of orange juice, a plate of sliced watermelon, a fresh baguette, and brie. Tropical blooms in a water pitcher sat in the center of the table. I settled myself into a patio chair and Steven carried out the rest of our breakfast: scrambled eggs and sun-dried tomatoes wrapped in flour tortillas.

When I looked up from the table, the turquoise ocean looked like a liquid jewel stretched all the way to the horizon. Gentle, rolling wave caps reflected the sunlight. It was all so beautiful. I could barely speak. I felt if I could choose my own heaven, I would want it to be here.

“Think you can handle this for a whole week?” Steven said with a grin.

Steven had rented a two-bedroom villa on St. Jean Beach. He arranged to have the refrigerator stocked and a maid come in daily.

“This is amazing. You're amazing.” I leaned across the table and gave him a nibbling kiss.

“When we finish breakfast, let's go for a swim. The water is great. I went in while you were still sleeping.” I saw tiny droplets of water still clung to his chest.

I lingered over breakfast, soaking up the view from the patio. It seemed so surreal. The entire week stretched out in front of us with absolutely nothing we had to do. We could sleep all day. Stay up all night. Walk up the beach. Play in the surf. Lie on the sand. Six lazy days and seven quiet nights. It was an eternity. It was paradise.

When I stepped off the patio, the sand pressed between my bare toes like powder. Steven and I ran across the beach and into the water. Steven struck out into the gentle swells with a strong crawl stroke. I waded in up to my waist and looked down through the water at my toes; I could see the frost-colored polish glittering like pearls emerging from the sandy bottom. I turned and floated onto my back, blinking in the bright sunlight.

“You can take your top off if you want,” Steven called out as he swam back in my direction.

I looked from one end of the beach to the other; it was deserted.

“It doesn't matter if anyone comes around. It's a French- and Swedish-held island, and the women go topless on beaches in Europe all the time.” He smiled his encouragement.

Well, it would keep me from getting tan lines… But with my luck, I'd end up with a tropical fish chomping on my little pink sinkers. Oh, what the hell, I'm on vacation.

I reached behind my back and pulled the strings to free my top. The bright floral triangles of material floated for a moment and began to sink. I scooped the top into a ball and chucked it far up onto the beach while I held one arm across my chest. I ducked back into the water up to my chin and looked around again.

It felt strange being topless in public. It was different at the club. That was a stage show, and in there, I was someone else.

Steven swam up behind me and turned me around with his hands on my hips. “Look at you, island girl,” he said.

I moved into his embrace and we shared a salty kiss.

cheeseburger in paradise

Monday, March 17

“Let's take a walk to the marketplace and rent some scooters so we can explore the island,” Steven suggested. “How does that sound?”

I rolled over in bed and snuggled against his bare shoulder. I didn't care what we did as long as we did it together.

After breakfast, we prepared for the day's adventure.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” Steven asked as he bent to buckle his basket-weave Mephisto sandals.

I lifted the bottom of my long, gauzy skirt and stepped down the steep stairs of the patio. “Sicily. I'd love to go to Palermo where my grandparents lived. Just find a bench in the middle of town and sit with you, watching people go by.”

We walked in the dirt along the narrow, rough-paved road toward town. Our hands swung slightly, matching our stride, fingers interlaced together.

“So, you're not a sight-seer, tour bus type of girl?” Steven moved to my other side, separating me from the passing cars.

“Nope. I would just want to find a little family restaurant, eat there at every meal, and try everything on the menu. I'd want to vacation there the same way I'd live there.”

Steven smiled and brought my hand to his lips to kiss my fingertips.

I was hot and sticky by the time we reached town. The sun beat down on our shoulders during the walk and it seemed that steam came right up out of the ground.

While the lanky shop owner and Steven laughed and chatted in Swedish, I wandered between the rows of brightly painted motor scooters.

I didn't feel confident about riding one of the small-wheeled machines. Ten years ago, I often rode my Kawasaki Ninja, lane-straddling in Newport Beach along Pacific Coast Highway at seventy-five miles an hour, wearing L.A. Gear high-tops and a thong, but that was a long time ago. A very long time ago. And these just didn't seem as stable. I grasped a handlebar and gave it a shake, making it rattle all the way down to the kickstand.

“Are you ready to go?” Steven handed me the key to a sky blue scooter.

“Sure. Let's do this.” I offered a big smile of false bravado. I started the engine and gave it a little gas—a little too much gas. It made a sound like an angry sewing machine and nearly shot right out from under me. I lifted the thumbs-up signal to Steven then death-gripped the handlebars.

Pulling out of the driveway, I wobbled like a foal on new legs. Steven rode ahead and led the way over the hill into Gustavia.

My tires bounced on the uneven pavement. Thirty-five miles an hour seemed far too fast for the rickety little machine. I hoped I wasn't going to end up looking like a pink skid mark on the pocked asphalt.

We rode through the small town along the harbor.

The hull of an enormous, pristine white yacht gaped open, exposing racks of wave runners and a smaller boat inside.
Kingston, South Africa
was painted on the stern. I tried not to gawk at the opulence as I putted by, engulfed in belching puffs of exhaust. Each yacht was grander than the last. The small harbor looked like a yard sale for lifestyles of the rich and famous.

We finally stopped off for lunch in a bright yellow café across from the original Cheeseburger in Paradise, the legendary burger joint in the Jimmy Buffet lyrics.

The entire week passed and it was like listening to a new favorite song; it could play on the same loop over and over and I'd never get tired of it.

When we returned to Orange County, Steven and I waited for our suitcases at the baggage carousel in the John Wayne Airport. I leaned against his side and thought about the paradise we'd left behind. Just being with Steven, wherever we were, I felt more at peace with my life than I ever had.

sex toys r us

Saturday, March 29

I walked up the apartment steps carrying two trays of fruit. The invitation to Tawny's lingerie party had come as a surprise, but I decided to go anyway.

I rang the bell and waited.

Tawny threw open the door. “Hey, long time no see! Come in.”

Her long dark hair had a new reddish tint in the thick curls. It suited her.

I set the fruit on her bar counter and removed the foil covers. Steven had cut and assembled the platters while I was in the shower.

The fruit was perfectly sliced and arranged on banana leaves and set in a herringbone pattern with the fruit fanned into color wheel designs on top: watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, strawberries, grapes, and bananas.

“Wow! Did you do this?” Tawny looked at the platters with her mouth agape.

“Are you kidding? If I made it, the fruit would be chunked and thrown into a bowl. My boyfriend, Steven, did it.”

“Are you sure he's not gay? I can't believe a straight guy put this together,” she said.

The women at the party gathered around the trays, murmuring their surprise.

“Okay, ladies, I finally made it.” A chubby blonde with a Southern accent bustled into the room carrying a large suitcase. “Ladies, have a seat and we'll get started.”

She cracked open the case and passed around clipboards laminated with cutouts of nude men. “Gather 'round and all y'all take one.”

It was like preschool paper dolls, porn edition. One clipboard made the rounds and brought nothing but giggles as it passed from one woman to the next. It finally ended up in my hands. The naked man de jour was dressed in a fireman's hat, jacket, and boots. He was gorgeous, but sadly, the poor man was sans pants. I say sadly, because his hose wouldn't put out the flame on a campfire marshmallow. I clipped my order sheet so it covered his tragic little flaw.

Ready to get the party started, Tawny dove her hand into the woman's suitcase and pulled out an enormous purple dildo.

“I named mine Barney.” She held it up like the Olympic torch and then wiggled it to show its flexibility.

Tawny was always ahead of her time. When it came to sexuality, she was a new millennium woman back in the 1980s.