Vacation Therapy (2 page)
Authors: Lance Zarimba
I bolted forward and snatched my Ian Rankin out of the carry-on. Maybe, if I got involved in my book, I'd be safe. Avoid looking left, and maybe avoid a conversation, one that could last until we landed in Mexico. I always got stuck next to a chatty traveler. Flipping the book open, making sure it was the right way up, I tried to shake the feeling of being stuck next to the only psycho on the plane. So far, no eye contact. I was safe.
Besides, reading helped distract me from my fear of flying.
As I found my place, I used my peripheral vision to scope out my neighbor. The words blurred as the image of a tan man swam into focus next to me. Brown hair with blond streaks, a sheer T-shirt sculpted to his torso. Very short shorts revealed long, deeply tanned legs. They were perfectly formed with great muscle definition and not a hair in sight.
This guy must be a body builder, no doubt. In the hospital's rehab unit where I worked as an occupational therapist, all I saw were flabby or flaccid muscles on the patients who had suffered from a stroke or a head injury.
I turned a page and almost jumped out of my seat when the man moved and reached for his carry-on. My knees slammed together as he removed a bottle of lotion. He flipped open the lid, squeezed a blob into his hands, and started to rub the cream onto his long legs. He slipped his feet out of his leather woven sandals, his toes as deeply tanned as the rest of his body.
I jerked back to my book when I felt his gaze on me.
Don't make eye contact
.
A light fruity aroma wafted around me.
I inhaled. Kind of a feminine lotion to be rubbing over your body, I thought. I knew Molly only used 100% natural lotions, so I guessed he must be health conscious also. With all the time he spent working on his muscles and tan, I was sure he was very aware of what he applied to his skin.
I sniffed again, deeply.
Watermelon?
That's what it smelled like, watermelon. Great. Just what I needed. A good smelling scent to make my mouth water. I prayed my stomach wouldn't start rumbling. If only I'd asked someone sooner... If only I had eaten something... If only I would've found out more about this trip... If only...
I was being ridiculous. All men on this flight, yeah right. There were women here, somewhere, I knew that. I just missed them when I was talking to Molly.
Maybe you'll wake up from this dream.
Stop it.
Nightmare?
I'm on vacation.
Relax.
Breathe.
I inhaled deeply again and stopped in mid-sniff. Would he think...?
Glancing up from my book, I wasn't able to take my mind off the concerns that were threatening to overtake me. I was sure I was picking up on old stereotypes. Television and the media planted all the wrong ideas in people's heads.
But why weren't there
any
women on this flight?
The flight was rough, and turbulence shook the plane. I peeked out the window once at the end of the flight and watched as we landed on a much too short runway. The airline was going to send me a bill for the removal of my fingernails from the padded armrest. Grabbing my carry-on, I joined the men heading down the plane's aisle, ignoring the melee of excited chatter and tossing of beach balls and carry-ons that surrounded me.
Nearing the plane's door, a blinding light welcomed us. Had I died and gone to heaven? As I approached the hatch, a blast of hot, humid air greeted me. This wasn't going to be heaven. Waves of heat rose from the asphalt and melted my shirt to my skin.
This was hell.
Two burly men pushed a wheeled staircase up to the plane from the runway. It felt like stepping into a movie from the seventies. It was probably still the seventies down here.
As I descended the stairs, the airport looked like a revolution was underway. Uniformed militia lined the runway, machine guns slung over their shoulders, and bandoleers of bullets crisscrossed each chest.
Had war broken out while we were in flight?
Welcome to Mexico.
I didn't have a chance to relax. After customs, signs and security guards herded us to a tour bus, which hopefully was our last leg of the journey.
The bus lurched to an abrupt stop, and I awoke. The bus's door opened and Madonna's “Holiday” welcomed us. Everyone stood and pushed down the aisle to get out the door. I shook my head and waited for the crowd to clear.
A row of staff lined each side of the long canopy that lead to the lobby. As I descended from the bus, and my feet hit the tiled walkway, someone thrust a margarita into my hand from the left.
"Greetings! And welcome to Club Fred. I'm Mike, and this is John and Gary,” a short man with closely cut hair said, as he pointed to a slim blond with long hair and a bald bodybuilder. “We'll be your hosts for your week here in Mexico. If there are any problems, please don't hesitate to speak to one of us. We'll try and help you as much as we can.” His infomercial voice was infused with enthusiasm. “Unlike the
other
resorts, which use international staffing to blend cultures, we at Club Fred bring our own
special
staff to meet your own
special
needs, and we use the locals for the rest."
I knew I'd be talking to these guys a lot sooner than they thought.
"Those travelers who already have a roommate, please follow John and Gary to the pool area. They'll be handing out your room assignments and keys. Those of you who are seeking a roommate, please line up in the lobby area. Try and find a partner to share a room with before I get back.” Mike motioned for John and Gary to lead the way to the pool.
The herd of men followed, and Mike brought up the rear.
I watched the crowd thin and disappear. Tentatively, I glanced around the nearly vacant lobby. Two guys with multiple piercings stood close together talking animatedly. A willowy man stood in the center of a mound of suitcases, hatboxes, and steamer trunks. He turned and stared at me.
I avoided eye contact, but involuntarily turned toward him, since he was the only one left. I swallowed hard and almost took a small step forward, when a hand ran up my back and stroked my shoulder. It circled over my deltoid.
"I see you're looking for a roomie. How about me, big boy?” A husky voice came from behind me.
I cringed.
Don't turn around. Pretend you didn't hear that. Don't turn around
, my mind screamed, but against my will, I turned around to see who had caressed my shoulder.
"Surprise!” Sergio spread his arms out to the side, almost spilling his drink. His spiked blond hair contrasted against his deep tan. A flowered lei hung around his neck, clashing with the Hawaiian shirt and white shorts that covered his slender body.
The lungful of air that I'd been holding burst forth. “You scared the hell out of me."
"What? Moi?” He pointed to his chest and tried to look innocent. Then a puzzled look crossed his face. “What the hell are you doing here? You're not..."
But he didn't wait for my response, he figured out my problem.
"Molly. She asked me about male vacations.” His animated speech came to an abrupt stop. “I thought she was asking for someone else. She didn't want a... Oops. She didn't know this was gay?” His confusion turned into gales of laughter.
"I don't see what's so funny,” I said. “What are you doing here?"
"I'm on vacation. Well, kinda. I was hired to cut hair in exchange for a discount.” Sergio leaned forward. “I get to keep the tips, so I may even make some money while I'm here.” His eyebrows rose and fell with excitement.
"Are you looking for a roomie?"
"Sure. Aren't you?” He scanned the dwindling crowd. Leaning forward as he took a sip from his drink, he whispered, “Slim pickings around here."
"I was kind of hoping to be the last one picked, or not picked, so I could get a room all to myself,” I confessed.
"No such luck, babe. They overbooked the resort. I heard that they were hoping some of the guys wouldn't show. There aren't any single rooms left. Believe me, I've already asked."
Sergio saw the disappointment in my face. He reached forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Taylor, you can bunk with me."
"What?"
"Whoa! Chill out. I didn't mean it
that
way. I meant, I guess, I'd be willing to share a room with you. Jeez, I didn't think
you
were homophobic?” He lowered his voice, “And this isn't the place to let that show, if you know what I mean."
"I'm not homophobic..."
Sergio cocked his head. His expression plainly revealed his doubt. “Now you can see what it's like on the other side of the fence. You'll be the minority here, just like I am back in South Dakota. Gays don't exist there, except for me.” He gave me a wistful smile.
"Sorry, Sergio. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just a little stressed right now, and I don't want to ruin your holiday.” I looked over at the only other option for a roommate.
The willowy man waited, sitting on top of a steamer trunk with various colored feathers and other clothing items sticking out of the side. The other two guys, who didn't look old enough to shave, but had all available body parts pierced, several times, looked like they had paired up. Or were they stuck together by the magnetic field their piercings were generating?
I looked back at Sergio. “Are you sure? I don't know what you were looking for in a roommate, but I doubt that I'm the man of your dreams."
"If only you knew,” Sergio said, under his breath.
That remark didn't calm my nerves.
"So do you want to share with me, or do you have another preference?” Sergio pointed to Leona Helmsley and her luggage.
The magnetic brothers were gravitating to the pool. I hoped they wouldn't fall in and rust. I stuck out my hand. “Hi, I'm Taylor Kozlowski. I'm from South Dakota. Sioux Falls to be exact. Are you looking for a roommate?"
"I'd thought you'd never ask.” Sergio grabbed my hand and kissed it, batting his eyes at me.
I pulled my hand out of his grasp and mumbled, “Thanks a lot."
"He's mine, all mine,” Sergio said to the only person within earshot. “So don't any of you girls get any ideas. Keep your claws to yourself."
I felt my face burn, but I couldn't think of anything nice to say.
A hand slipped into my back pocket. “Hey, blondie. You can room with me,” a husky voice said from behind me. He squeezed my butt once before he removed his offending appendage from my pocket.
Sergio and I spun and stared. My mouth dropped open. The man who had goosed me was half human and half...bear. Maybe Bigfoot, I wasn't sure. He wore a black leather vest that barely covered his big, hairy chest. His Levi cut-offs were short, way too short, but I think they were cut that way on purpose.
It didn't appear that there would be any reasoning with this guy.
Sergio grabbed my arm, concern in his eyes.
Bigfoot ran his fingers through his beard and then down his chest. Was this his come on? His body looked like he would have to comb his entire torso, even more frequently than I brushed Regan, my schnauzer.
I swallowed hard.
"Do something,” Sergio hissed.
My head shook slightly.
"What would Molly do?” he asked.
And with those magic words, the idea came. “I think he was talking to you,” I said, and bent over to retrieve my carry-on.
"What? Oh.” He paused for a second, almost dropping his drink. “No, I think he's talking to you.” Sergio poked me, and my bag fell back to the ground.
I pushed his hand away and faced the man. “Were you talking to me?” I pointed to my head. “I'm not blond."
The hairy man stepped forward, raising one hand at us.
Sergio's eyes widened. “That's a laugh. Are you calling me a blond? This comes from a bottle, honey.” He motioned to his bleached, spiked hair standing straight up on top of his head.
"If you weren't blind,” I pulled on a lock of my hair and held it for Sergio. “You'd know that this is brown. You'd better get your eyes checked."
Bigfoot moved closer, but Sergio flashed him his palm.
Sergio reached over and tugged on the tuft of my hair. “That shade of
blond
must have come from somewhere. Hmm. Your mother's a hairdresser, isn't she? Maybe she taught you a few of her tricks."
"You leave my mother out of this. If the sun didn't highlight my hair so much, it wouldn't look so... so... blond!"
"Ha! See. You admit it. You are blond.” Sergio poked me in the chest.
"At least mine is natural, not from a bottle...of Clorox."
"Why...” Sergio expelled the air nosily.
"Or is it Hy-lex? I keep forgetting which one is cheaper."
"Excuse me,” the hairy man interrupted.
"Stay out of this,” Sergio and I said in unison, but didn't look in his direction.
I felt Bigfoot's hand pat and squeeze my butt. “All I'm looking for is a roommate here.” He squeezed me one more time on the word here.
I jumped from his touch, he pulled his hand back.
Sergio saw what Bigfoot had done and jumped between us. “Did you just touch him? Who said you could touch him?” He pushed the yeti back. “I can't believe you grabbed his ass.” Then he turned to me. “I bet you liked that."
"What?"
"You heard me. You just wanted to pair up with somebody else on this vacation.” Sergio grabbed my arm. “Well, it's not going to happen. We're going to
our
room, right now."
"But...” The hairy man took a step forward, hand extended, concern in his eyes.
"But nothing.” Sergio spun around, stopping the bear in his tracks. “Come on dear, let's go find our room."
I bent, picked up my carry-on, and tossed the strap over my shoulder.
Sergio linked elbows with me. He set his drink down on a table and escorted me to the pool to get another key for his room. Under his breath he said, “Good thinking. Sparring with Molly really pays off."
"You're telling me,” I agreed.
"I know. Where do you think I get some of my best insults?"
