Unbroken Connection (22 page)
DEPARTURE
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D
IVE
B
UDDY
: solo
D
ATE
: 12/20
D
IVE
#:—
L
OCATION
: Tap Lamu
D
IVE
S
ITE
: Queen Nautica
W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: sunny
W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: calm
D
EPTH
: way shallow, I admit it
V
ISIBILITY
: nice
W
ATER
T
EMP
.: 84
B
OTTOM
T
IME
: 10 whole days
C
OMMENTS
:
Sukanda, the concubine, has arrived. I saw her name on the manifest. She isn’t fourteen. She doesn’t look twenty. Maybe eighteen.
The Dutch dude, Maximillian Von something, leaves her on the dock with a mound of gear bags and suitcases. He’s big—6 foot plus, red-faced, hammy. He crosses the gangplank carrying nothing.
“Good morning, monsieur.” Claude puts out his hand. “I am the chief dive master, Cla—”
“Bar? Where?”
Claude points.
Sukanda, dressed in a straining bikini top and wispy black shorts, stands on the dock with all the lout’s crap to manage. She has a slight Thai frame, straight long black hair—short, not even five feet. Surprisingly stacked. She tips back her head, pushes her hair back from her face—every move seductive as a panther—discovers Claude and me gawking at her, and unleashes a smile.
We head down the gangplank the nano second that smile touches us. Claude shoulders me out of the way, but I keep close on his heels. Freak, she’s like this exotic little morsel that shouldn’t be left out in the sun.
She does the traditional Thai greeting, presses her hands together in front of her beautiful cleavage and bows. “So-wa-tika.” Who knows how they really spell it. “I Sukanda.” She looks up at us through her long black lashes. “Suki.”
Claude and I awkwardly return the gesture.
I feel her eyes on me—flush like a kid. I look into her face. “I’m … I’m … ” Never this nervous around chicks.
“Michael.” Claude, the jerk who is conveniently not wearing a shirt, steps in front of me. “Welcome, mademoiselle, to my father’s yacht. I am Claude.” He bows again.
She launches into rapid French.
Claude beams like he’s going to burst. He takes her elbow and places his other hand on her bare back. “Let me escort you aboard, Sukanda.” He turns to me like I’m some scrawny hired hand.
“Make sure the deck monkeys load this gear first—don’t take your eyes off it until it’s stowed.”
I hate it when he calls the local boys that. The way he talks about his woman back in Khoa Lak is worse.
Sukanda smiles over her shoulder at me as Claude whisks her away.
The jerk. He’s got a girlfriend.
Freak. So do I. Leesie’s ring is still there, resting lightly on my chest under my shirt. What am I thinking? Everything I shouldn’t.
Mademoiselle Sukanda isn’t the average Thai chick like the giggling little girls in the bars or my nurse, Ning, back at the hospital. She’s regal. A princess in chains. A work of art. Any connoisseur would appreciate her. Claude’s mostly blocking my view of the backside of this creation, but I manage to catch a glimpse. Her hair hangs thick past her waist. When she moves, her short shorts reveal a flash of the perfect curves of her firm butt. Freak, it’s better than Leesie’s.
I watch her and Claude as he guides her to the open-air lounge where Max sits—a drink already in his meaty grip. The thought of him and her together makes me nauseous. He’s got to be pushing sixty.
She changes in his presence. Maybe I’m imagining it—I’m not there, and they are all speaking French—but instead of lithe panther strolling proudly through the jungle, she seems to shrink. Not quite scared kitten. More like a wildcat on a leash in a circus show. Behaving but not happy about it.
This crazy protective Lancelot feeling washes around inside me, and my cell rings.
Freak. It’s Leesie. She does have radar. “Babe?”
“Hey.”
“You called. Cool.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“What happened to the cell phone ban.” I crane my neck. Sukanda and Claude are moving again. He’s showing her to the suite on the top deck.
Leesie says something I miss.
“What?” Get a grip. The love of my life is on the phone, and I’m drooling over this amazingly beautiful surprise dropped into this ugly hole. “I’m sorry. I missed that.”
“You’re busy. Should I call back?”
“Just a minute.” I motion to the deck guys to grab Sukanda and the guy’s gear first. I grab the last bag and follow them on board. Maybe she’ll smile again when I drop this off.
“Michael? Are you there?”
“I am busy—but don’t hang up. I can’t believe you called.”
“You haven’t been online.”
“No connection.”
“I’m glad I caught you.”
“Me, too.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“You, too. Sorry we’re not spending it together.” It should be us in that suite. Not Maximillian the Magnificent and his lovely, trained tigress.
“It wouldn’t have—no. Not today.”
She pauses, and I don’t add anything. It would have worked. My damn nose starts to sting.
“We’re having Gram over Christmas Eve. She’s going to spend the night.”
Now there’s a lump in my throat. She does this to me every time we make contact now. “Thanks for looking out for her.” I sniff away the emotion.
“It’s nothing.”
She pauses, but I miss the cue.
“Michael—what’s up? You’re not there. Really.”
“We’re loading passengers. Lots of noise. I’m helping with the bags.”
“Okay, call me back before you’re out of cell range.”
“Sure. As soon as I can. I’m glad you’re talking to me again.” I glance down at the outline her ring makes under my T-shirt. “Later.”
“Bye.” She hangs up.
Freak. I didn’t tell her I love her. I’ll say it first thing next call. I love you, Leesie. I love you, I love you, I love you.
I boost the heavy bag up on my shoulder, conscious that the muscles in my arms bulge when I do it, and catch up to the deck hands. I walk ahead of them to the cabin’s door and knock. Claude opens it. He’s laughing. So is Suki—sensuous and teasing.
“Good, Michael.” He raises his hand.
No way he’s going to dismiss me like a bellboy. I elbow past him and set the bag at the goddess’s feet. “Sukanda.” Her name tastes like sweet ginger on my tongue. She turns her beautiful face in my direction. I manage to keep my train of thought this time. “We’ll stow your gear in a locker on the dive deck. Do you have the keys?”
She picks up a tiny silk purse, draws out the luggage keys with two long fingers, and rubs them together. She walks out the door. Claude and I follow—shoot each other dirty looks behind her back.
She unlocks the largest dive bag. “This is Max’s gear.” She unlocks a second bag and pulls out a beat up, black backpack. “Mine.”
I’m swift to take the neat, but worn, bag from her.
“The rest in cabin.”
I motion to the boys, nod to Sukanda, and take the gear down to the lockers myself. I don’t want to leave Claude alone with her, but what else can I do?
It’s the deck guys’ job to stow the gear, but I need to do this. Max’s stuff is brand new. Expensive. Gigantic. Figures. Sukanda’s gear—packed as tight and efficient as her perfect body—is beautifully worn, like she’s been diving all her life. Born to the water like me. I take a long time hanging it up.
Then its dinner, and I have to smile and charm the rest of the female passengers, talk shop with the men, attempt to get people to sign up for courses—advanced certs, Nitrox, specialty crap—all the time trying not to stare like too much of a freak at Sukanda. She’s wearing one of those wrap around dress things—gold and black leopard print, more like a big scarf—that she ties in the front. Her knot is low so most of her is out there. Every single male here is hoping it’ll slip. It doesn’t really need to. The wrap is dark but sheer. You can see her through it. She’s just got a thong on under. How can I not stare?
I stick my hand in my pocket and touch my cell phone. Freak. We’re a good hour out of port.
I didn’t call Leesie.
BARRACUDA
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D
IVE
B
UDDY
: Sukanda
D
ATE
: 12/21
D
IVE
#: free dive
L
OCATION
: Ko Miang, Similan Island #4
D
IVE
S
ITE
: Honeymoon Bay
W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: hot
W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: hot
D
EPTH
: hot
V
ISIBILITY
: hot
W
ATER
T
EMP
.: hot
B
OTTOM
T
IME
: too long
C
OMMENTS
:
We cruised out to the Similans last night. Anchored in Honeymoon Bay off Ko Miang. Serious. That’s what it’s called. Why do you think I wanted to bring Leesie here? There’s a lonely white sand beach that runs all along the bay. I wanted to spend a couple days on that beach with her.
I wake before everybody else, watch the sun come up from the dive deck, and then get ready to go for an early morning free dive. We’re close enough to the sugar white strip of beach to relax there after our morning dive. I think I’ll head in that direction. Pretend. I don’t have a buddy, so this is more of a swim, but it will be good to get in the water again. Feel it. Taste it. Let it flow over me, cool and delicious.
I drop my massive fins, free dive mask, and snorkel, pull my T-shirt over my head, and stare down at Leesie’s ring. The rising sun’s soft rays bring it to rosy life. I can’t swim with it loose like this. It’s fine under my wetsuit—no chance of killing myself getting it hooked up on coral with it there. I pick up my black Lycra rash guard.
“It’s a shame.”
I jump about a mile.
Sukanda leans over the balcony right above me. She’s wearing her black bikini top with last night’s dress tied as a skirt this morning. “Don’t cover up your body with that ugly thing.” She pouts. “Ruins my view.”
She stares at me like I stared at her yesterday. I flush, drop the Lycra shirt and gaze down at Leesie’s ring.
“She dead? This girl you wear ring for?”
I shake my head.
“You somber—like one who has lost.”
“My parents died a year ago.”
“I”—she drapes her left hand, that flashes with gems on every finger, artistically at her throat—“orphan, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Life.”
I sit down on the bench and stare out at the water, my dive forgotten.
A light patter of bare feet on the stairs and deck mixes with morning seabirds calling. Sukanda appears with a hot cup of tea in her hand and sits beside me. She leans against the back of the bench and tucks her legs under her butt. Her arm brushes mine, sets my blood pumping.
“This?” She points to Leesie’s ring. “Your mother’s ring?”
“No.” I pick up the ring and slip it onto the tip of my pinky and battle to keep my brain on it instead of the exotic girl breathing lightly beside me. “She just hasn’t said ‘yes’ yet.”
Sukanda laughs, low and throaty. Turns me on even more. “You too young for marry.” She snuggles up against my arm. “Not enough fun yet.”
I get a strong urge to throw her down on the bench and go for it right there. I take the quickest escape route—dive off the back of the boat. Even leave my snorkel and fins behind.
But Sukanda’s still there when I surface. She’s on her feet, assessing me. She makes sure I’m watching when she loosens the knot and lets her skirt fall in a filmy puddle around her feet. She moves like an exotic dancer down to the dive platform and, with a sinuous organic movement, dives in. I’ve never seen anyone look good in a thong bikini, but Sukanda’s butt is as muscled as her abs.
She’s gorgeous in the water. More fish than girl. Natural—like it’s her primordial substance. She swims under me. I submerge and follow, wishing I at least had a mask so I could see every curve of her naked backside. She outlasts me on a single breath easy. I don’t know anyone who can do that.
She comes to the surface when I give up and splashes me. “You good. Don’t swim like scuba.”
