Wet: Part 1 (7 page)

oOo

“It’s official!” Rhees complained when she came back from lunch, her tone loud and resigned. “There isn’t one ounce of peanut butter on this whole freakin’ island!”

“Peanut butter?” several people said at once.

“That stuff is disgusting. Why do you want peanut butter?” Tracy asked.

“Are you kidding? It’s a main staple for me. I might have to go home early just because I’m going to die here without it.”

Dobbs walked up. His large, tall body cast a shadow over Rhees. “They have Vegemite. Have you tried that?” He pushed the wire-framed glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

“Is that like peanut butter?”

Paul walked up at that moment. “No. Vegemite is a disgusting paste that tastes salty, malty, and bitter.” He took a stab at Dobbs, his Australian friend, and didn’t actually intend to engage Rhees in conversation. She didn’t want to talk to him either, so she walked off, leaving Paul and Dobbs to discuss whether peanut butter or Vegemite held the honor as the most disgusting food on the planet. 

She wandered into the office and decided to work on the Dailies.

“Bloody hell!” Claire threw her pencil at the wall.

“What’s wrong?”

“A potential customer I’ve been working on decided on another destination. We only have one group of tourists on the books right now, and that’s next week. We have nothing after that. We need more customers. The students are good money while they’re enrolled, but they don’t leave when they’re finished. They stay for months and once their instruction is done, they get to dive at a very good discount. It’s killing our bottom line.”

“Is the shop in trouble?”

Claire glanced at her and then looked around to make sure no one lurked within earshot. “Not really, but sort of. Like I said, the students are good money but once they’re done . . . It would be best if we could just keep a steady stream of real, paying customers coming in. Right now, I think Paul is subsidizing the shop from his personal bank account.”

The thought of the shop not doing well made Rhees sad. She’d fallen in love with it and the island. Except for Paul, and maybe Shelli, she really liked it there.

“So how do we get more tourists?”

Claire shook her head. “I don’t know. Paul is supposed to be some toff, the dog’s bollocks in the business world, but for some reason, he hasn’t put his heart into this. He would rather dive, ride jet skis, surf, parasail, and shag every woman on the island. You name it—anything but work. Oh, did I mention, shag every woman on the island?” They both laughed.

Later, Rhees thought about what Claire said as she wrote the daily post for the shop’s blog. She still needed to post the dive pictures for the day, one of her Dailies. While she waited for the computer to load the pictures, she scrolled through past posts, the ones Paul had posted before she took over. Every post looked the same, a picture of some sea creature, a picture of a wreck, a picture here and there of divers diving. She looked the website over and started surfing the Internet and various social media sites.

She went back to the shop’s site and read through the comments. She noticed one past customer, a female, had posted a comment with a picture. Rhees stared at the picture for a minute. Paul stood next to the woman, his arm around her and there was no doubt in Rhees’ mind that he had slept with her. The comment read, “This is my dive master. Can you see why I can’t wait to go back to Paradise Divers?” Rhees rolled her eyes.

Nothing else really stood out. She searched the Internet again. She searched other dive shop sites and studied them. There were a few things she thought would be nice to incorporate into Paradise’s web image, but she was under strict instructions from Mr. Grumpy Pants on how he wanted it done. She sighed.

oOo

Rhees walked into her apartment, happy to be home. It had been a particularly stressful day, so she’d left the shop a little early. She strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, trying to decide what she wanted to do for dinner. She settled on a quesadilla in hopes of saving a few pennies. 

She turned and noticed Regina’s laptop on the table. Regina had apparently left her camera to upload pictures to the computer, and Rhees watched as pictures of Paul flashed one after another on the screen. She moved to the table, sat down and watched mindlessly at the sheer number of pictures running across the screen. When it finished, the file sat open, revealing a folder devoted entirely to Paul.

Regina walked in and froze. “What are you doing home too early?”

“You mean
so
early.” Tracy wasn’t around to correct Regina’s English, and Rhees couldn’t believe how easily she’d stepped into the role. She pointed to the computer. “What is this?”

“Nothing!” Regina raced over and shut the screen.

“Why do you have so many pictures of Paul?”

“That is not none of your stupid business.” Regina scowled.

“Regina, really?” Rhees asked. Though she knew the answer, she couldn’t understand why. “He’s a spoiled brat.”

“He’s beautiful,” Regina whispered, and then looked panicked. “Please do not tell anyone about this.”

Rhees rolled her eyes. “Of course, but Regina, there are other things—better attributes—that make a man desirable. There are more important things to consider than looks. Paul’s a mean, horrible person. Why would you want someone like him?”

“You do not know him like I know him. He is caring, and generous, and smart, and charming—”

“Stop. You’re wasting your time. I’m sure even a serial killer has his moments.” Rhees meant to sound sarcastic and funny.

“Look at him. He’s so beautiful.” Regina opened the laptop again and they waited for the file to open up. She scrolled through picture after picture of him. She had pictures of him smiling, laughing, talking and having fun. There were pictures of him scowling, worrying, and even looking sad.

“I like these best,” Regina said and she scrolled down to a different set of pictures, at least fifty of them, showing him sitting on the corner of the deck, staring out over the ocean, watching the sunset—alone, after shop hours.

Rhees had never seen him be anything more than a primal, instinctual caveman, the hunter who did nothing but spread his seed and grunt. She never pictured him to be the type to sit and contemplatively watch a sunset. There was one picture in particular. Rhees couldn’t take her eyes off it—the longing in his eyes.

“What’s he looking at in this one?” Rhees asked quietly, actually feeling her heart soften a bit for him.

Regina shrugged and got all nervous for some reason . . . which brought another question to Rhees’ mind.

“How did you get these? Don’t tell me you actually spy on him?”

Regina squirmed uneasily, but didn’t answer. 

“Regina. Do you do anything all day besides take pictures of Paul?” Rhees couldn’t imagine it. Regina shrugged and opened another folder and scrolled through pictures of other people from the shop and around town. She had pictures of places and things depicting a typical day on the island, but the file was much smaller.

“You’re a very good photographer. You’ve really captured life here. Can I use some of these on the shop’s blog?” Rhees asked, unsure how Regina would feel about sharing her life through the lens with the world.

Regina shrugged again.

Rhees wondered how she would be able to pull it off, but she had an idea she hoped would attract more tourists to the shop.

Chapter 6

R
hees told Tracy and Regina she wanted to eat at home. She used being tired as an excuse, but she really just wanted to save a little money. Her budget was in dire straits, and she needed to buckle down and save some money somewhere, or she would starve to death before her scheduled flight home.

She planned to eat, read, and write in her journal. Actually, she called it her “Whine List”. She worried that when she died, someone might read it and think of her as the most pathetic, depressed person in the world. They would never know the truth based on the words in the book. A journal was supposed to be a chronicle of a person’s life, but she only wrote when she felt down. Putting what bothered her down on paper helped rid her emotionally of the negative energy so she could concentrate on the positive. She found herself writing a lot more often recently.

She still schlepped tanks and cleaned the bathroom, still did the Dailies every day, and she still had never gone out to get her required open water dives. The training dives were all included in the price of her tuition, and at first, she didn’t mind waiting, but she was running out of time.

With her vacation more than half over, she’d started considering the possibility she might not get certified at all. She shook her head. “Even Mr. Grumpy Pants isn’t that cruel. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

oOo

Rhees’ eyes grew tired from reading. She decided to call it quits and go to bed. The clock only said eight thirty, but she told herself she would appreciate the extra sleep in the morning. 

Tracy and Regina burst into the apartment and ran into their bedroom while Rhees brushed her teeth. She quickly rinsed and followed them into their room. “What are you guys doing home so early?”

“Changing our clothes. There’s a dance contest. You should come.”

“No thanks. I was just going to bed.”

“Everyone who dances wins money,” Regina said to tempt her.

“I got almost six dollars last time, and I have absolutely no rhythm,” Tracy said. “The winner got thirty-one dollars.”

“Really?” Rhees could use a little extra cash. Even a few dollars would help. She was acutely aware of how close her budget was going to be. “What do you have to do?”

“Dance.” Never one to beat around the bush, Regina didn’t bother to hide what she thought of Rhees’ question.

“How does it work?”

“Each girl has a number. They pass a tray around the bar while we dance, and the spectators put money in the cup of the dancer they like the best. When it’s over, they split the money. The winner gets half of the take, the bar keeps twenty-five percent, and they split what’s left with all the other contestants.” Tracy explained it while she wrapped a skirt around her waist and took her T-shirt off so she could remove her bra. She put her shirt back on and asked, “How do I look?”

“You get more money if you wear something sexy,” Regina said. “Come with us. You would definitely help pad the pot. The guys are always more generous when someone like you is dancing.”

“Paul will probably be there.” Tracy glanced over at Regina, and then they both looked at Rhees to watch her reaction.

“No way, then.”

Regina walked up to Rhees and put her hands on her shoulders. “He still has the hots for you. It is obvious.”

Rhees put her hands on Regina’s shoulders, mimicking her. “I. Don’t. Care.”

Regina acted like she didn’t even hear. “That is why he tries so hard to prove he does not, but everybody knows it.” Regina leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I have pictures to prove it.”

“And you’re telling me this because you think I give a crap?”

Regina sighed, obviously baffled at how Rhees could be so immune to Paul. “No. I’m telling you this because Paul has money . . . and he drinks a lot, and when he drinks a lot, he gets very generous at the dance contests. Put on something sexy, bat your eyes a little, and then dance. If you really hate him for the way he’s been treating you, make him
pay
.” She smiled mischievously.

Rhees thought about it for a minute. Regina’s logic didn’t make sense to her but she needed the cash. “Wait for me.”

Rhees ran to her bedroom and dug down to the bottom of her duffle bag. She pulled out a dark brown spandex dress. It brought back sad memories. She’d always lived at home, even while enrolled at college. One neighbor woman, Mrs. Michaels, had taken an interest in Rhees’ welfare after her mother died, and even more so after her father’s funeral. She’d helped Rhees through all the details that needed attending to. The day Rhees locked the door of her parents’ house for the final time, she had to sell it to finalize the estate, she’d slipped over to Mrs. Michael’s to say good-bye. The older woman surprised Rhees with a present. 

The kind woman said she couldn’t let Rhees go off to an exotic island without a little black dress, but she thought Rhees always looked better in brown. Rhees didn’t have the heart to tell her she could never bring herself to wear something so tight, but she packed it anyway, feeling touched and indebted to the woman for all her help.

Rhees put the dress on and found the bronze sandals she wore her first day on the island. She hadn’t worn them since that day and it made her surprisingly happy to have an excuse to put on her favorite shoes again. She looked in the mirror. She’d lost some weight since arriving on the island, and the dress no longer felt so grossly tight, but it was still a little too much for her. She wished she had something else to wear instead, but she heard a whistle from the door.

Tracy and Regina looked her over with obvious respect. “That should do it,” Regina said. “Can you dance?” 

“I’ve been told I can.” Rhees smiled. Her mother had always said she started dancing before she could even walk. 

“We are going to kill something tonight!”

“You mean, we’re going to make a killing,” Tracy corrected Regina.

“That is what I just said.”

oOo

A restaurant, hotel, and bar, the Emerald Starfish had it all. It derived its name from the elaborate mosaic of a starfish on the floor of the bar. The pieces of the mosaic were really just broken pieces of bottles, but there were a lot of green pieces, a sure sign the artist drank a lot of beer. It was a nice place, but off the main street, so they occasionally held dance contests and other gimmicky events to draw customers.

Rhees had never been there. “What an interesting place,” she said, looking around, following her friends. Everything sat under the open sky except the scattered hotel cabanas, the kitchen, and the actual bar. It felt almost like a maze in the jungle, or a tropical botanical garden. There were amazing pieces of mosaic art scattered around the grounds, set against the foliage. She wondered why the shop gang didn’t hang out there more often and enjoy its beauty. She loved it.

Rhees didn’t know where they were going, so she followed Tracy and Regina through the jungle maze to the bar. They walked by the bathroom along the way and the door happened to be open. It was the nicest public bathroom she’d seen on the island and her mouth hung open in awe as she walked by.

The walls were decorated generously with more beautiful mosaic art, and a real toilet sat inside instead of the outhouse-type hole in a wooden bench at Tanked, but one thing really caught Rhees’ eye—finally, she’d found a public restroom where she could wash her hands. The thought sounded so heavenly, she almost prostrated herself on the spot to pay homage.

When she finally looked forward again after coveting the bathroom, the most famous area of the Emerald Starfish, the magical bar, loomed ahead. The Starfish, a huge, amazing, circular work of art, lay on the ground in front of the bar. There were a few tables around the fringes, some set back in the bushes as most of the walls were nothing more than jungle vegetation. The actual bar sat around a large tree with a roof while the leaves of the tall trees overhead made up the only ceiling over the rest of the place. It felt like being in an elaborate tree house, and Rhees fell in love. 

They proceeded straight to the bar to sign up for the contest, and Rhees almost changed her mind when they said the contestants were required to drink a shot of tequila and two bottles of beer before they could dance.

“It’s free! It’ll help you dance a little better.” Tracy didn’t waste time downing her shot. She picked up one of her beers. “It helps if you drink it fast.” She guzzled the whole bottle in one attempt.

Regina followed her lead so Rhees gave in and did what they did.
It was all she could do to swallow the burning tequila. Christian stood nearby and pushed a lime into her mouth to help. She thanked him when she finished cringing. The milder beer actually tasted good after that, at least for the first few gulps. She downed it fast, like Tracy said, but had to stop to take a breath. The next attempt didn’t taste as good and she had to drink the rest one gulp at a time.   

She self-consciously waited for the contest to get started, watching more and more male spectators show up, plus a few girls. She tugged at her dress, pulling it down, pulling the sleeves up, folding and unfolding her arms, leaning, then not leaning against the bar. Typical island style, they took their time, giving all the men time to ogle the dancers—her.

She regretted wearing the dress. Several of the girls wore colorful sarongs and a few wore colorful skirts. She was the only one in a solid dark-color, tight-fitting dress, and she felt very out of place. Mrs. Michaels had been wrong. A little black—or dark brown, in this case—dress might be a must everywhere else, but not on this island.

She stood with Regina and Tracy at the bar, drinking her beer. She looked around, concentrating on the beauty of her surroundings instead of her crumbling nerves. She really liked this bar. Her eyes reached the northeast corner, and her stomach did a somersault when she noticed Paul at one of the tables set back in the foliage, making out with a girl she’d never seen before.

Before she could turn away, wishing she hadn’t noticed him, he got up and left with the unknown girl in tow. Rhees blew out a breath of relief. Her nerves frazzled already, she didn’t need him there. She imagined trying to dance while he gave her his usual murderous glare. She shuddered.

When one of the bartenders, doubling as a contest official, gathered the contestants to explain the rules, she realized her head seemed a little fuzzy. She took note of the way the alcohol affected her ability to think straight. Her chest felt warm and her muscles relaxed, but her courage still waned. She’d heard alcohol bolstered your courage, but she’d need more courage than she had at the moment. She ordered another beer.

A man pinned a piece of fabric with a number on each of the contestants.

“The DJ plays the songs, and you dance. It’s that simple. If he decides to change the song during the contest, to see how you adapt, it’s his choice, but as long as the music is playing, you should still be dancing. When it stops, it’s over. Anything goes girls . . . and guy. Work the crowd,” he said, looking disgruntled in Christian’s direction.

“Hey, girly guys like to dance . . . and win a little money,” Christian said and everyone laughed. “I made the regional ballroom dance finals every year of secondary school.” He leaned over and whispered to Rhees, “They don’t like it when I dance, but there’s money in my cup every time I compete, so they won’t tell me I can’t.”

The bartender continued, “Once the competition starts, stay on the starfish or you’ll be disqualified. Have fun and win us all some cash.”

He told them the contest would start in about fifteen more minutes and encouraged them to warm up—or warm the spectators up, if they wanted. Rhees followed Regina, Tracy, and Christian onto the dance floor and waited. There were six other girls as well, but Rhees didn’t know any of them.

A few of the girls were already dancing—if you could call it that. Tracy was one of them. They moved around the edge of the dance floor jiggling their breasts and making lewd gestures, already soliciting votes from the men standing around the circle.

“That isn’t dancing or sexy. That’s just gross. Of course, I may be wrong. I don’t know the first thing about being sexy,” she mumbled, not meaning for anyone to hear her.

“Oh, please,
you
are sexy,” Christian answered.

She broke into laughter, a sign the alcohol might be doing its job. “And are you a good judge of a woman’s sexiness?”

He acted coy and grinned, knowing what she meant. “Hey, which one of us is driving Paul crazy? You must be sexy . . . to have a man that fine all sweet on you?”

She stopped laughing. “I’m not doing anything to Paul, and he is not sweet in any way, shape, or form.”

They both laughed and she was grateful for the distraction, but once he turned his attention to one of the other girls she didn’t know, her jitters returned. She began to feel queasy. The nervousness and the alcohol were not a good mix for her. She rushed off the dance floor, toward the bathroom that had made such an impression on her, hoping she would make it before she threw up.

She reached the bathroom just as Paul opened the door and backed out of it. The girl he’d been making out with earlier hung onto him, coaxing him to come back inside by trying to unzip his pants.

“Maybe in a few days,” he told her.

“I know, you said that, but we had so much fun,” she said, giggling.

“Behave! I don’t want to miss the contest.” He gently pulled himself away from her and held her hands so she couldn’t try to undress him again.

“How about tomorrow then?”

“That’s too soon. I’ll see you around. Maybe in a few days.” He turned and bumped into Rhees.

Rhees stood frozen. She was astonished that she couldn’t seem to get away from him.

He stood, just as shocked to see her, and they stared at each other for longer than she could handle. She suddenly just wanted to get home, but the bathroom door remained open, blocking the path. He stood in front of the door, making her exit impossible. He would have to move for her to get by, but he didn’t, and she refused to ask him to move. In her flustered, intoxicated mind, she forgot about being sick, and about leaving, and raced back to the dance floor to get away from him.

The second and final warm-up song started and all the other contestants were dancing now. She folded her arms and stood on the edge of the dance floor, bothered that Paul seemed to mess with her life every time she turned around. It angered her. She still hadn’t decided whether she planned to dance or not.