The Mykonos Mob

by Jeffrey Siger

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tip you well.”

  “Your money’s no good in here.”

  A flash of neon behind the bar caught Andreas’ attention. A young female had walked in wearing skintight Lycra leggings patterned in screaming neon flames that locked eyes up and down the bar onto her butt. Above a tanned and toned bare midriff, she wore a multi-colored, checkerboard- and helix-patterned sports bra several sizes too small to conceal most of what lay beneath. As a final attraction, her sneakers matched the electric rainbow scarf tying her dark brown hair back from a brightly made-up caramel-color skin. She walked directly to the son’s table and sat next to him.

  Jason turned his head to see what had caught Andreas’ attention. “Do you know her?”

  “No. I was just wondering how many different patterns and colors could fit on a single body.”

  “How old is she?” said Yianni.

  “Not sure, but something like fifteen.”

  “He likes them young,” said Andreas.

  “What can I say? He and I are the same age.”

  “Which makes it hard to imagine why, with all this around him,” Andreas waved his hand at the room, “he’d stick to one girl.”

  “I didn’t say he did.”

  “Meaning?”

  “When she’s with him, she’s his girl, and when she’s not, it’s a whole different story.”

  Andreas stared. “I still don’t get you.”

  Jason leaned across the bar. “You know the song, ‘Love the One You’re With?’ That’s how it works here. Every girl at the table is one of his girls. Until he tells them to love the ones they’re with.”

  “Like father like son,” said Yianni.

  Jason shrugged. “We don’t talk about that in here.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Really, man. What are you doing working in a place like this? The father runs the biggest prostitution ring on the island and now you’re saying he’s turned his son into a pimp.”

  “Like I said, making money. We all know that if you want to live on this island you can’t fight the devil or city hall. Especially when they team up together.”

  “I never heard it put that way before,” said Yianni.

  Jason grinned. “Well, out here on the beach it’s the motto.” He glanced around the bar. “Time to get back to kissing up to the paying customers. Good seeing you.”

  “My best to your mom and dad,” said Andreas.

  Jason nodded and moved on.

  Andreas and Yianni did the same.

  Lila had agreed to meet Toni at her “office,” a trestle table nestled up against the stucco front wall of a tiny taverna, tucked under a weather-beaten blue-striped awning on the southwestern edge of the old town harbor. The taverna stood directly across a flagstone road running between the taverna and a narrow bit of beach. Each morning farmers sold their fresh produce from the backs of tiny vans and trucks parked along the road, and fishermen offered their fresh catch from a marble stall permanently mounted on the sand.

  Here, too, each morning, the island’s fine-feathered symbol, Petros the pelican, strutted about, hard at work creating the island’s emblematic symbiotic tourism experience. His routine had him using his bill to prod tourists into buying him fish, and then posing with his benefactors for souvenir photographs of them feeding him their purchases. He’d created a win-win proposition for the fishermen, tourists, and himself. If only some of the other businesses along the harbor had such intuitive marketers as that pelican, when it came to capitalizing on the island’s storied history.

  The taverna owner had been a friend and fan of Toni’s music since she first started playing on the island, and according to Toni, they had an arrangement: Toni could use the table whenever she wanted, without charge, as long as her clients paid for what they ordered and Toni pushed them to tip well.

  How long that arrangement would continue was anybody’s guess. In summer, the island was awash with monied foreign investors eager to capitalize on its popularity. Any day now, the owner would probably decide it was time to cash in, while things were hot, before the big crash that everyone expected to come. Until then, though, it was business as usual at the office.

  Lila parked in a private lot up by the bus station. She usually parked there, and normally it took ten minutes of brisk walking along narrow, twisting, uneven flagstone paths, through a maze of sun-bleached shops and homes, to reach the harbor. Today, it took fifteen because she had to weave her way through throngs of cruise-ship tourists.

  When Lila reached the port, she saw Toni sitting with a woman wearing oversized sunglasses perched, hairband style, atop straight dark hair framing a round expressionless face. She thought that must be Toni’s friend Stella, who’d married a local boy she’d met here on holiday. In their long night of huddled conversation, Toni had described fellow expat Stella as her best friend on the island but her polar opposite when it came to such things as punctuality. A difference Toni attributed to Stella growing up in a prim and proper Manhattan household.

  Lila arrived at the table in what she took to be the midst of a heated argument. “Hi, Toni. Sorry, I’m late.”

  “No problem. Stella and I were just engaged in our normal back and forth over how much she hates her husband.” Toni turned to Stella. “This is Lila, the very nice lady I was telling you about.”

  Lila stuck out her hand. “Hi.”

  Stella nodded and shook hands but said nothing.

  “Uh, perhaps I should come back at a later time,” said Lila.

  “No, please sit. Right, Stella?”

  Stella nodded.

  Lila sat on the side of Toni farthest from Stella. Toni poured Lila a cup of coffee from the pot in front of her. “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Today, I think I’ll stick to black.”

  Toni looked at Stella. “Do you have anything to say to our guest?”

  “I hate my husband.”

  “How about something original?”

  “He didn’t come home again last night.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” said Toni.

  “Does the sky have stars?”

  “I meant, does he have a steady girlfriend?”

  Stella looked down at an untouched glass of orange juice. “For him, every tourist girl on the island’s a potential score.” She touched the glass with the fingertips of her right hand.

  Lila said nothing, but appreciated how upset the woman must be. She wondered how she’d react if her husband cheated on her. No, she knew. It would be done, over, finished. None of this bullshit about staying together for the kids.

  Stella ran her fingers up and down the glass. “I guess I should be thankful that he doesn’t embarrass me by going after local girls.”

  Toni picked up her coffee cup. “Stella, my love, you have one very screwed-up relationship. You are married to a kamaki who considers seducing women a national sport. Rationalize it any way you like, and as long as it works for you, it works for me. But don’t seek out my opinion again. I’ve been down this conversation road with you way too many times. You know where I come down on it.”

  “Cutting his balls off is not a viable alternative.”

  “But it will work.” Toni took a sip of coffee. “And if you use a rusty butter knife, you might even enjoy it.”

  Stella sighed. “Thanks for your understanding.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Stella sighed again, picked up the glass and took a sip of the juice. The waiter placed a toasted cheese sandwich in front of Toni, and Stella promptly picked up half of it.

  “Hey, that’s my breakfast,” said Toni.

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “Dimitri doesn’t charge me.”

  Stella batted her eyelashes, took a bite of the toast, and offered the other half to Lila. “I’m sorry for being so rude before.
It’s just that my husband is such an asshole.”

  Lila gestured no to Stella’s offer. “So it appears.”

  Stella smiled. “I can assure you that I’m not insane, though it may seem that way at times.”

  “At times?” said Toni snatching the remaining half of the toast from the plate. “Any time you get on the subject of your husband, the folks with the straitjackets start hovering around.”

  “There are a lot more toxic relationships on this island than mine.”

  “Considering the island we’re on, I wouldn’t take that as encouraging.”

  Lila sat with her eyes bouncing from one face to the other. She couldn’t recall witnessing an exchange quite like this before. At least not since college.

  “Okay, Stella, you’ve piqued my curiosity, possibly even Lila’s, so why don’t you tell us whatever bit of ‘toxic relationship’ gossip’s on your mind.”

  “Fine,” muttered Stella, turning to face Toni. “You were late getting here again this morning, and I saw this young woman walk in, sit at the table next to me, and start sobbing.”

  “And you, being the soft-hearted sucker that you are, asked what was wrong.”

  Stella ignored Toni’s comment. “It took an hour for her to unload her truly sad and unbelievably naive experiences with men on this island.”

  “Coming from you, it must have been a doozy of a story.” Toni raised her hands in a sign of supplication. “But okay, I’m hooked. Let’s hear the story, abridged version, please.”

  Stella exhaled. “She’s a self-described ‘free spirit’ from California. She came alone on holiday to sort out her feelings over whether to accept a marriage proposal from a stockbroker suitor.”

  “Ah, the quintessential California romantic dilemma. Free spirit versus free market.”

  “It’s not funny, Toni.”

  “I’m sure. Sorry, go on.”

  “Anyway, she got here three days ago and immediately took off to our most notorious party beach, where she met a beach waiter who came across as the nicest guy in the world.”

  “Plus great pecs, I’m sure.”

  Stella frowned a smile. “Anyway, they got to talking and she told him why she’d come to the island. He asked her what she wanted in a man, and she told him in precise detail. Which, from the way she droned on, likely described her dream man down to the length of his toenails.”

  “Let me guess what happened next.”

  Stella continued. “The kindly waiter suggested that they meet up later that night at a club in town.”

  Toni picked up the thread of the story. “And when she got there, the waiter hadn’t shown, but a buddy of his was there to offer the waiter’s apologies.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “What can I say? They talked and, lo and behold, the waiter’s friend miraculously possessed all the mystical qualities of her ideal man.”

  Toni waved for more coffee as she recited the next line in Stella’s story. “Precisely as she had described to the waiter earlier that same day on the beach.”

  “You got it.”

  Toni shook her head. “I assume she got it too.”

  “Yep, she brought him back to her hotel room and they went at it as if there were no tomorrow.”

  The waiter set the coffee down in front of Lila on his way to another customer.

  “And since that blessed evening, her ideal man hasn’t called, written, sent flowers, et cetera. But you, being an ever-optimistic soul, pointed out that it’s only been two days.”

  Stella sighed. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Come on, Stella, It’s the oldest hustle on the beach. One guy approaches the woman, acts as the innocent interrogator of her desires, and passes the details on to a buddy, who later just happens to bump into the woman at a place where she’s supposed to meet up with the original guy. New guy turns out to be the ship owner, brain surgeon, or cowboy of her dreams, and in rejoicing at their miraculous fate in finding each other, they’re off to bed practicing for her honeymoon night.”

  “I know all of that.”

  Lila sat transfixed by what she was hearing. How do these women know these things? I must have been raised in a bubble.

  “So,” said Toni, “did you encourage her by saying he might return, or did you decide to tell her the truth?”

  Stella nibbled at her lip. “I didn’t have the chance to do either.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s more to her story. Last night she went back to the place where they met, hoping to find him.”

  “And?”

  “He was talking to another girl. She went over to him and he told her to fuck off.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “How?”

  “This morning she was sitting in a taverna a couple of places down from here, sobbing to herself, when the waiter who’d set it all up in the first place walked by. He saw her and came over to ask what was wrong.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Stella continued. “She told him about his shit of a friend, and the waiter agreed. He said he had no idea his friend was so insensitive. He spent fifteen minutes consoling her, then she excused her herself to go to the bathroom.”

  Toni raised her eyebrows.

  Stella swallowed. “A minute later he followed her into the stall, and they had consensual sex with her leaning over the toilet.”

  “This can’t be true,” blurted out Lila. “I mean I’m not a prude, but this can’t be true.”

  “I’m sorry to say that it is,” said Stella. “And it’s a rather benign story compared to tales of what other men on this island have done to tourist girls.”

  Lila shook her head in disbelief. “What did you tell her when she told you what she’d just done in the bathroom?”

  Stella peered over the tops of her sunglasses. “‘Go home. Straight home. Marry your boyfriend and never come back here.’”

  Toni clapped. “Bravo, Stella, the perfect advice.”

  Stella stared at Lila. “I know, I should have followed it myself.”

  Lila raised her hands in a sign of peace. “It’s not for me to judge.”

  “But I will, because Lila doesn’t know you as well as I do. It’s never too late to deal head-on with an asshole.”

  “On that note, I’m out of here.” Stella stood up and grabbed her bag. With her other hand she reached out to shake Lila’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I promise to be in better spirits the next time we see each other.”

  Lila stood and hugged her. “No need to apologize, your reaction is fully understandable.”

  “Thank you,” said Stella. “As for you,” she turned to face Toni, “take some lessons from your friend on compassion.”

  “I call it enabling.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Me or your husband?”

  Stella stormed away, calling back over her shoulder, “Both of you.”

  Lila and Toni sat quietly for a moment, watching Stella tear across the harborfront.

  “I may have sounded a bit rough on her, but early on I realized that I’m about the only person on this island with whom she feels comfortable unloading the details of her lousy marriage. That makes me feel responsible for reinforcing that she’s the one being wronged.”

  “You mean she doesn’t see it that way?”

  “As a foreigner married to a local, Stella’s complaints about her husband to another local are generally met with some form of lecture on how it serves her right. After all, they’d say, she voluntarily decided to marry one of the island’s sons without appreciating the wandering-male side of their culture. On the other hand, if she complained to another ex-pat married to a local, all she’d hear would be how much worse that person’s life was compared to Stella’s.”

  Lila wond
ered whether her jaw was hanging open. “How do you know these things?”

  “That’s an interesting question. Probably a combination of watching my father the diplomat in action, listening to my mother the crusader, and far too many late-night gigs learning when to charm and when to roughhouse a boisterous bar crowd.”

  “Sounds stressful.”

  Toni shrugged. “What isn’t? Take my work…” She picked up a document from the table. “This is a list of items stolen over the last few days from my clients. It’s up to me to figure out ways to recover them.”

  “I’m married to a cop, so I understand all that, but is it really what you want to do for the rest of your life?”

  “I guess it’s the challenge, but I love what I’m doing. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing it. Plus, I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m not married, don’t have children, and don’t plan on changing any of that in the foreseeable future.”

  “I used to think much the same way when I was working at a job that I liked,” said Lila, biting at her lip.

  “I take it you’re not happy with what you’re doing now?”

  “That’s just it, I’m not doing a thing. I’m looking to find something to do that makes me feel relevant and involved in the world.”

  “You’re raising children.”

  Lila waved her hand. “That’s the traditional cop-out for a lot of women. I’m not knocking those who think that way, it’s just not how I wish to pass my life.”

  “Understood, but for what it’s worth, I’m having fun living my life, and for me that’s enough for now.”

  “I know a lot of women who would envy you,” said Lila. “They live desperate lives, some quietly, others aggressively, but all driven to avoid confronting deep-rooted insecurities that haunt them, often through frenetic lifestyles filled with endless social events, whirlwind affairs, and extravagant expenditures.”

  “First-world problems, as they say. It’s hard to image women with so much, feeling so empty.”

  “It’s sad but true. There’s a lot of angst out there among people you’d never suspect.”

  “Well, come with me tonight and see how the other half lives. Not to say their mental health is any better.”