SIX

 

Sometimes Cute Things Come in Drunk Packages

 

Harrison

 

 

“Did I miss anything good?” I ask Lolita, the other bartender on shift this evening.

The snorkelling trip I was captaining got back late so I ended up missing the first half hour of the shift, leaving Lolita alone to handle things.

Without looking at me, Lolita says, “We've got about twelve customers down on the beach in addition to the ones you see here. There’s a drunk blabbermouth redhead sucking back piña coladas over at the far corner, otherwise everyone seems to be behaving themselves.” She continues pouring the ingredients for margaritas into the blender while she talks. A second later, she turns it on and the loud motor overtakes the reggae music we play before supper. When she shuts it off, she says, ““You’re covering for Fidel again? You didn’t cover any shifts for me when I got a puppy,” she says.

“Did you give birth to the puppy?” I ask with a grin.

Narrowing her eyes, Lolita says, “Did Fidel?”

“Touché,” I answer, grabbing a beer from the fridge for myself and surveying my surroundings.

The bar, which is a large open-air square structure with a grass peaked roof, sits at the top of the resort’s private beach. There’s a large wooden platform that extends out to one side, where thirty tables are spread out under as many umbrellas. The three other sides of the bar have sand leading right up to the counter, and instead of stools, there are wooden swings, which make for some interesting moments depending on how much people have to drink. Rosy’s been after me for years to get rid of them, but I love them — the comic relief they provide is amazing.

I glance over at the redhead, pleasantly surprised to see she's kind of adorable in that girl-next-door, natural sort of way. Her long, curly hair looks like it’s just barely under control, and at any moment, it might spring up and out to the sides. She's humming and patting her hand on the bar top to the reggae beat. Hmm…looks single too. The single ones always have a paperback with them.

Lolita must be watching me watch the redhead because she sidles up next to me and says, “Stay away from that one. She'll tell you her entire life story if she thinks you're willing to listen. Apparently, her groom didn't show up to their wedding so she decided to go on the honeymoon alone.”

“Huh. That takes a lot of guts when you really think about it.”

“Trust me. She’s crazy. You do not want a piece of that.” Lolita finishes popping tiny paper umbrellas into the drinks she just made and picks up the tray, disappearing down to the beach where guests wait on loungers.

Grabbing a rag out of the drawer, I wet it, then spray down the shiny wooden bar top with some cleaner and get to work on today’s watermarks. The sun is starting to set, which means the crowd on the beach will soon be heading back to their rooms to get ready for dinner and things will get a lot quieter for the next couple of hours.

As I wipe down the area closest to the redhead, she smiles at me, her eyes growing wide with what looks like pleasant surprise. Holding her empty glass up, she says, “Hey, Big Pants, this drink is not going to drink itself. Refill itself. Did I just call you Big Pants?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure you did.”

She bursts out laughing and slaps her forehead with her palm. “Sorry. That sounded better in my brain. I was aiming for feisty but missed. I meant to call you Handsome, then I thought I’d call you Big Guy…”

“Well, Big Pants could be taken as a compliment, depending on how you mean it,” I say, not bothering to suppress a laugh.

She shuts her eyes for a moment and scrunches up her face. “But that would make me extremely flirty, and I’m not that kind of girl.” Her accent is very familiar, and I know immediately she’s from Avonia by the way she pronounces flirty.

“Right, you’re just feisty. Not flirty.” I stare at her for a moment, taking in her bright blue eyes and the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She is cute. Too bad she’s been drinking. “It was a piña colada, right?”

“That's the one.” She nods with her entire upper body. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“I’m a mind-reader.”

“No, you’re not!” she slurs, giving me a skeptical look.

It’s tempting to mess with her a bit, but I decide to let her off the hook. “You got me. I’m not a mind-reader. My co-worker over there told me,” I say, pointing to Lolita as she walks back up the steps from the beach with a tray full of empties.

I pour some pineapple juice into the blender while the cute redhead sways back and forth, singing along to Bob Marley’s Stir It Up. For someone so hammered, she’s not a bad singer, and I find myself joining in. Lolita passes by behind the cute redhead, twirling her finger by the side of her head and mouthing “crazy.”

I slide the drink over to her, and she catches it, but barely, even though I aimed it right into her hand. Wow, she is really tipsy.

“I love this song. Who sings it again?”

I open my mouth to tell her, but she holds up her hand. “Wait! Now I rememer, rebember...ha! Rebember. I made up a new word, Handsome.”

“Is that so? What does it mean?”

“I don't have the first clue, but it sounds like it should be a real word, doesn't it?” She stares at me while she sticks her tongue out in search of the straw. When she finally gets it, she clamps on with her full pink lips and takes a long drink. “What should we say rebember means?”

Lolita gives her a hard look. “How about regretting something you did because you had too much to drink?”

Freckles stares at her for a second, then whispers loudly to me, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Grinning, I say, “Don’t worry. She doesn’t like me much either.”

Lolita rolls her eyes and walks over to one of the tables to take their order.

“Heh! You’re funny. My mouth is numb.” She mashes her fingers against her lips, poking and prodding until her eyes widen in triumph. “Ahhh, I’m finally numb! I’ve been waiting to feel nothing since…well, when was the last time I felt unhumiliated? Hmm…must have been in the garden outside the church. Before the text message. Hey, but you know what? I didn’t die from embarrassment like I thought I would. Good for me. I should celebrate with another drink.”

“Do you want to maybe get something to eat first? I’d hate to see you overdo it.”

Shaking her head, she says, “Don’t worry about me. I’ve never taken anything too far in my entire life. I’m just going to sit here and drink until I forget my own name.”

Hmmm, maybe Lolita was right about staying away from this one. A couple sits down kitty-corner to Freckles, and after I take their order, I notice Freckles is staring at them. She slurps more of her drink, then asks, “Are you on your honeymoon?”

They cuddle up to each other and say yes, then start nuzzling each other’s noses.

“Me too,” she says loudly, interrupting them.

Uh-oh. She’s gotten to the obnoxiously drunk stage. I cut in, hoping to draw her attention from the happy couple. “Your honeymoon, huh? Where's the lucky guy?”

“Oh, I left him at home.”

“Really? So he’s not so lucky after all?”

“Sure he is. I left him alive.” She giggles, pulling the straw out of her glass and tipping the drink back, only to have the ice cubes and remaining colada smack her in the face.

Wincing, I hand her a napkin so she can dab the white milky drink off her cheeks. “Was he cheating, then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, pointing at me with the napkin. “Except to say twenty-four hours ago, I would have told you I had the perfect life — I was about to become Mrs. Richard Tomy, we were going to spend our honeymoon here at this lovely resort, then go back home, finish saving up the down-payment on our dream house and start a family.”

“And now?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she answers, her words slurring together.

“Righto. I forgot you already said that.”

“I did. And I don’t,” she nods firmly. Taking a deep breath, she says, “Except I will tell you a little secret I haven’t told anyone.” She gestures for me to come closer. I lean across the bar and she whispers, “I’m going to get him back.”

I lower my voice to match hers. “Get him back as in you’re hatching some sort of revenge plot?”

“No, silly. I’m going to get him to fall back in love with me.” She gives me a confident look, then narrows her eyes at me. “Hey, you’re making me talk about it and I already said I didn’t want to. That’s a bit rude, really.”

“Sorry,” I say, trying to look very serious. “Won’t happen again.”

I busy myself refilling the fridge with beer, then flick on the white lights that line the roof. The sun has set now, and I watch as couples slowly make their way from the beach and head in the direction of their rooms.

Freckles leans on one elbow. “I want to go for a swim. What time do the pools close?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” Lolita answers.

“That’s no fun. I want to have fun. I want to swim!” she says, whipping her arms out to the sides and knocking her book onto the floor. She looks down at it and shrugs, then her eyes light up. “Ooh! I should have another drink!”

“You’re missing the word ‘not,’” Lolita mutters, “as in you should not have another drink.”

Freckles pauses, then says, “You’re right. I should stop here, or, tomorrow, I'll be rebembering all over the place.” When her eyes meet mine, she snickers at her own joke. Her eyes fall on the happy newlyweds, and her shoulders drop. “What the hell? One more round. But nothing too sweet. Just a shot of something hard, and only if you'll join me.”

“Why not? I’m always up for some fun,” I say, pouring us each a shot of spiced rum. Holding mine up, I wait for her to clink her glass to mine. When she finally manages it, I say, “To happy endings.”

She bursts into laughter, sprawling her upper body and arms lazily across the bar. “Happy…hahahaha…endings…hahahahaha! God, it's been a very long while since I've had one of those.” She gives me a naughty look and licks her lips. “What time do you get off work, Handsome?”

Aaaand that’s my cue. I better get her back to her room before she finds some arse who will take her up on whatever she’s offering. “I could leave now if you want.”

Her eyes grow wide. “Won't you get in trouble?”

“Lolita will cover for me,” I say.

“Really?” she asks, her mouth falling open for a second. “Wait. I don’t want to get you fired or something.”

“Trust me. I won’t get fired,” I step out from behind the bar and make my way over to her. “Besides, some things are more important than work.”

“Yeah, right. Like what?”

I pick up her book off the floor and dust it off, noticing the nearly-kissing couple on the front. “Like…happy endings.”

She snorts, then says, “I’m not this type of girl.”

“What type is that?”

She leans in. “Wanton. The type that goes off with a man she doesn’t know and does wild and delicious things.”

When I look down, I see her hands on my chest and she’s petting me like I’m a horse. “Oh, these are nice pecs. Very hard.”

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, yes, they’re much harder than most men’s.”

“No, I mean, are you sure you’re not that type of girl?” I ask, glancing down at her very busy hands that are running over my abs now.

“Positive. I’m always a good girl,” she says, and the way she says it, I can tell it’s most likely true. “But you know what? I don’t think I want to be good anymore. I want to be very, very bad!”

“Thought so. How about we start with a walk and see where we end up?” I turn back to Lolita and mouth, “Back in a few.”

She nods back, knowing the routine. I generally manage to corral the overly drunk women over to the burger bar for some fries (they always want salty fried food at this stage), then take them safely to their rooms where I make up an emergency and leave them at the door with the suggestion of watching Mamma Mia on demand. Works every time.

Freckles lets go of me and sets off in the direction of the beach.

I bring her book for her and follow her closely in case she starts to take a header down the steps. “You know, if we’re going to spend the evening together, shouldn’t we at least tell each other our names?”

She hops from the third stair down onto the sand, then turns to me. “You know what? Let’s not tell each other. It'll be better this way. That is, unless you object to being called Handsome.”

“I thought I was Big Pants?” I ask, chuckling to myself. She doesn’t answer because she’s too busy spinning in a circle. Okay, let’s try this again. “All right, Handsome it is. What should I call you?”

She stops spinning and giggles. “Hmm, I don't know. Gorgeous, maybe? Or Beautiful? Either works for me.”

“Both fitting descriptions, but somehow missing your true essence.” And making it difficult to find out her room number if she passes out.

“Oh, am I more than a pretty face?” she asks, snorting with laughter.

“Definitely. A guy can tell right away.”

“You’re nice. You know what? I’m going to tell you my real name, which is a huge secret.” She stretches both arms out to the sides to indicate the enormity of this information. “Breeze.”

“Breeze?”

“Yup. I had a wild, hippie mother.” She does a spin with her arms outstretched while she answers.

“Cute. Is that on your passport?”

“Nope. My grandparents legally changed it when I was ten.”

“To what?” I ask, but it’s no use because Breeze is already kicking off her sandals and dancing toward the water.

The moon hangs low in the sky, giving a pale grey glow to the tide as it sweeps across the beach and then retreats. I pick up her sandals, then follow her down to the water just as she lifts the bottom of her long skirt and lets a wave lap over her feet.

Turning back to me, she calls, “Come on in! It’s wonderful!”

I stay back a bit, thoroughly enjoying watching her.

“From now on, I’m never going to be boring again! Instead, I’ll be a totally brazen adventure seeker!” she shouts into the wind. Laughing, she turns back to me. “Let’s see how adventurous I can be…”

Then she tugs her tank top over her head and lets it drop.

Uh-oh. I guess I shouldn’t have poured her that last drink.

Before I can say anything to convince her not to, she unties her wraparound skirt, letting it fall into the surf. She’s now standing in front me in her bra and knickers — and a rather alluring set at that. Very lacy and very small.

Now, I know I should not be looking, and I promise to stop in a second, but it’s really hard not to stare at those curves…

But I will stop. I swear.

She runs a few steps farther into the water, squealing a little as it hits her upper thighs. “I think this island has turned me wild! I’m the life of the party now!”

Okay, I’m still staring. I can admit it. But really, at this point, it’s kind of a safety issue for her.

“Come on! What are you waiting for?” she yells, just before a wave knocks her onto her knees.

Oh, shit.

Dropping her sandals and book, I jog down to her just as the next wave hits. She’s on all fours now, with water rushing over her head, soaking her from head to toe. When the water recedes, she sputters and coughs while I lift her up to standing. Her drenched hair is covering her entire face, and she flips it, whipping me in the face. I wince a little, then chuckle before I realize I’m still holding her up by the waist. And she’s almost naked. And damn, it’s been too long since I’ve held an almost-naked woman.

But, this one is not for me. Not tonight anyway.

“Never turn your back to the waves,” I say. “You could get hurt.”

She smiles lazily at me. “Yeah, that's a good rule when it comes to men too.”

“Not all of us,” I say, brushing the remaining hair out of her eyes.

Her hands are petting me again, and I don’t seem to be stopping them as they work their way around my neck. She swallows hard, staring into my eyes for a moment before glancing down at my mouth.

Do not let her kiss you, Harrison. Seriously, dude.

She leans in and I pull back a little, staying just out of her reach, even though it damn near kills me. I give her a half-smile, knowing I’ve got about one minute to find out her name or room number before she either passes out or starts vomiting. “So, Breeze, what’s the name you go by now?”

“Kiss me, and I’ll tell you,” she says, lifting onto her tiptoes and pressing herself against me.

I was wrong. I only had about ten seconds, because now she’s completely passed out.