“What? I liked your book. I was so impressed and proud. So proud. So cool. I thought about writing you and telling you that. But, the road to hell and all…”
You shouldn’t be here, Ryan. You should never have been anywhere.
“We’ll go, Lexie. We can get on a plane and go. This is a stunning place, but I don’t want to ruin Olivia’s wedding.” He offered an apologetic smile. “I don’t want to do this to you.”
How was I supposed to tell them that they couldn’t leave the island; the airport was closed on the off chance there was a murderer on the island. I walked up to the owner standing behind the bar and tried to get her to find me a room for them, far away from the resort. As soon as the airport was open, they’d be gone.
We had an account at the “staff hotel,” so it would be the most likely choice. It was difficult explaining to her that they were not leaving because they didn’t like the resort, but that we just didn’t want them here.
“Flozzie,” I put my hand on hers, “this is the most beautiful hotel in the world, but those people…they are bad.”
Flozzie called a water taxi. Before gathering up Emma, Ryan grabbed my hand, “Lexie. Trust me. All I can say is I’m sorry.”
I won’t lie. I won’t say that I didn’t have a compulsion to hijack a fishing boat to head down the canal with him, drinking rum punch and making out like a pair of lust-struck teenagers, hiding in the dark waters off the Panama Canal, living the high life until they turned off my AmEx.
Like always, though, my loyalty to Olivia and moral compass would never let me go down that avenue. That train of thought quickly left the station.
But, what if? The most nagging question of all time.
While arranging his exodus, I learned that, of course, he hadn’t been Left Behind at all. Twice divorced, three kids, and currently single. Ryan owned a line of pseudo skate wear. He had done well.
The water taxi arrived and I went to grab Emma’s luggage. She stumbled as she walked behind me, trying to apologize, “I see I went a little too far, maybe. But I was making a point. I was actually trying to do her a favor. Maybe this Mr. Wonderful who Olivia is marrying isn’t so great after all. Maybe—”
“Emma. Shut up. As soon as I can get you off this island I will…”
She dropped her luggage and pouted like the spoiled brat I’d known so well growing up. “No, I won’t leave. I was invited. My father is expecting me. My sister is getting married. You can’t make me leave. You can’t force me on to the plane.”
She’s right. Is there any rational thought in that narcissistic head?
“She would never do this to you.”
“Wouldn’t she?”
“What were you thinking, Emma? Bringing Ryan? That break-up almost killed her. And to be honest, I’d fear for your life. You’re looking at, at best a knuckle sandwich, and at worst….”
This seemed to be enough convincing for her.
I happily sent them off in a water taxi to Tango Vista, the “staff’s” third-rate hotel. There was no resistance on Ryan’s part. Before he got on the boat, he whispered close in my ear, “I can’t say that it hasn’t been nice seeing you. Red has always been your color.”
I clenched my jaw as I blushed, remembering the red underwear I had purchased at the Fall River Factory Outlets prior to my sweet cherry being plucked.
“You don’t,” I called after him, “ever date your high school girlfriend’s sister.”
He continued looking at me, taking me in completely, as they motored away.
How am I going to explain this one?
How am I going to deal with figuring out Nico’s death when getting them off the island was becoming my first priority?
Help! Somebody. Anybody. I beg you.
I ran back to the bungalow, grabbing my phone and slam book, trying to call Olivia one last time.
I can’t protect you if I can’t find you.
There were three other resorts, Walter’s bungalow and every restaurant on the two islands that I would have to visit, and a party to host. There was hardly time to visit even one resort.
I resolved myself to stick around the hotel and keep trying to call her. Worst case scenario, I’d wait for her at the end of the dock, quickly filling her in on the info. Olivia wouldn’t make a scene at a party, would she? Old Olivia wouldn’t, but new Olivia? The jury was still out…
Chapter 7: Nobody Really Cares If You Don’t Go to The Party
The sun was starting to go down, and the first night’s cocktail party would be beginning soon. There was still no sign or communication from the bride.
Migs had showed up early to set up lighting and the ridiculous addition of a step & repeat with the corporate logos of the bride and the groom, sandwiching the wedding’s official logo. Another thing that seemed to come out of nowhere, clearly a later addition on Olivia’s part.
Add hosting to the pile of things I am terrible at. Walking around a party, in my slightly socially awkward way, making sure everyone had a cocktail and a smile on their face, didn’t exactly help my number one priority. But what Olivia wanted, Olivia got. That was the rule. Always.
Migs was being a terrible flirt, trying to get me in all kind of semi-suggestive poses, as well as surprise candid one. I gave him my poor excuse for a dirty look. “Migs, if you keep doing this, I’m throwing you and that $2800 camera right off this into the water.”
“Take it easy.” He took his camera out of reach and then rummaged through his bag, pulling out a fairly substantial double-sided document. “Don’t bankrupt me. I get docked for every shot on this list I don’t get. Do you understand this kind of pressure?”
I grabbed the list, another recent addition of Olivia’s which I hadn’t been privy to. “I never saw this.” The list was a whole new level or ridiculousness. My lifelong ability to keep her in check was disappearing quickly before my weary eyes. What other surprise additions lay before us?
Right on schedule, the guests started arriving, one group after the next. I’d never be able to pry her away from her party.
I’m never going to get a moment alone with Olivia.
Maybe it’s better that I just wait until morning.
Maybe it’s the responsible thing to do.
I still waited on the dock, under the pretense of wanting to welcome everyone. The last to show up was a group with Olivia. The group skipped down the dock together, only stopping for a quick kiss on the cheek. She whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” before disappearing into the crowd.
My moment had passed.
As we walked up the dock, dreading entering the party already in full swing, Migs started taking random pictures, mostly focusing on me.
“No posing. As is.” Migs smiled. “Sorrowful, bitter, beautiful, broken-hearted.”
I reminded him, “I broke up with him.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” A moment of sincerity before he continued, “But they do say that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
The party was too crowded. Both Olivia and Walter were washed, revamped, and gussied up. Olivia glided easily back into charming hostess mode. She was in her element as center of attention. Walter looked like a cross between crying all day and a really bad flu. Olivia smiled at me and mouthed, “Thank you.” Walter looked meek and lost.
What had Olivia whispered to him to keep him quiet?
Was she going to try to keep this secret through the wedding?
Has she really become so out of whack to lose any sympathy for a dead friend?
Maybe not friend. Benefactor.
And then I was ambushed by Marianna. She was another one of Olivia’s pretty friends (though not as pretty as Olivia, who always had to be number one among her friends). While growing up, she and Olivia had gone skiing and horseback riding together; all the things I couldn’t do. Dance clubs. Surf camps. Bungee jumping. Kung Fu.
She consistently reminded me of the all t
oo familiar feeling of the humiliation I felt when I was dancing, one of the other simple pleasures I was not well-trained in. I had never learned to ride a bike, so the phrase “it’s just like riding a bike” had no meaning to me. Throw in the lack of skiing, knitting, and tennis, and my activities were pretty much limited to bowling and reading books curled up in my favorite window.
A glass of champagne was quickly in hand, and Marianna was smiling like the most carefree of souls.
“Lexie, you are actually looking rather good with a little sun. Too bad you didn’t have time to have those dresses let out a little. But you still look just…lovely,” Marianna was the queen of the backhanded compliment.
I grasped for some witty and cutting comment and found none, simply saying, “Come on, Marianna. That’s not very nice.”
She gestured to handsome Migs, having a quick glass of champagne before he embarked on his tasks. “You don’t know how to flirt. I mean, at all,” she judged.
“Really? Well, neither do you.” Boy, I had made my point.
“As a friend, my advice is to step up the wardrobe. You aren’t going to snag a husband wearing the Target collection.” For as long as I could remember, her one and only goal was to get married. And to marry rich. So far, no takers.
“Smile!” Migs said, bouncing out of nowhere, his flash momentarily blinding me. “Let’s see your best Cheeseburgers in Paradise look. Come on Lexie. Flash me those fabulous choppers. I’m utterly hot for your canines.”
How could you not give a little smile at that?
Marianna patted me on the back as if I were a puppy and quickly walked away, heading right towards the hors-d'oeuvres. I noticed Olivia alone and tried to make a beeline.
Amanda made her way over to me, looking infinitely better than me in our matching dresses. “Where were you? You and Nico? Have you seen him? There’s fashionably late and then there’s call the cops late.”
Don’t call the cops. Please. Whatever you do.
“It’s a very long story.” I was weary.
“Another time then. Get your hosting groove back on.” She took my hand and pulled me over to an older man standing alone. Starting then, this party was back to being my responsibility. “Have you met Walter’s Uncle Gordon?” Amanda graciously introduced us.
I attempted a few more interactions, looking for a group where I could be comfortable. No one seemed to want to be interrupted by the least personable island guide. Olivia was always my safe place at a party, never minding me standing next to her while I became comfortable. Her mother seemed like a safe choice, but as I started walking towards her, a finger tapped on my shoulder, revealing Becky, intent on talking to me.
Becky had been Walter’s right-hand assistant, and she had traveled with Walter and Nico for twenty business weeks of the year. Nico had been very devoted to this investment and to his best friend.
Olivia went through a period of time where she was sure Walter was cheating on her with Becky. For a smart woman, she tended to make bad choices in men along the way. The fact that Becky, a work associate, was invited to this intimate gathering was not in Olivia’s plan, but Walter put his foot down on that one.
“Great party,” Becky said, launching into a mile-a-minute commentary. “Great atmosphere, great piña coladas, great sound of those nutterbutter howler monkeys in the distance, if you stand in the far corner near the kitchen.
“Cool island, cool people, not so cool weather, but that’s okay. Hot, hot, hot! I mean better than New York where it’s like 18 degrees and everyone’s mascara is running down their face while you walk to the subways or even when you wait for a cab. You can never get a cab anymore, did you notice? Really kills your mascara and your shoes and your sanity, right? Don’t even start me on Uber surge pricing.
“I talk too much and sound crazy, but you seem like a good person to talk to and I’m maximizing. You know? Have you seen Nico?”
Maybe she had been waiting to talk all day, but I agreed with her after every minute of her random observations, both entertained by her and waiting for my chance to exit. With her big, eager eyes and stream of consciousness conversation, she was terribly charming.
Charming but exhausting.
I needed a breather and headed to the outer boundaries of the bar. Regular Josh was the only one not attached to anyone in the group. I grabbed two glasses of champagne and approached him, remembering the kind smile. Sometimes, kindness goes a long way. I walked over to him. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Sure.” He took my drink offering.
“I’m Lexie.”
“I know.”
“You wrote a book,” I stated, reaching for any conversation.
He nodded. “Yes. You wrote a book too.” His smile from the afternoon was nowhere to be seen.
“So, we both wrote books,” I said, hoping to seem interested and interesting.
He-half-heartedly held up his glass to meet mine. “The difference being, that people actually read your book. That must have been nice.” He pointed across the room to a tall sinewy bespectacled man, looking at everyone as if they were part of a sociological research study.
Lloyd. Black hair, smirking, creepy, but when he dressed up, somehow he was magnetic. Dangerous.
“But what I’d really like to do is write a book about him. That’s Lloyd,” he said. “In college, we called him The Dissector.”
“I know,” I said in fear. “I know all about The Dissector.”
I’d read about him in with slam book with complete fascination. We’d been repeatedly reminded about him. He was a doctor and medical researcher. In college, he took his biology and anatomy classes very seriously and was lauded uncomfortably by his medical peers on his ease, precision and passion with the scalpel. He was now an MD, Ph.D., and whatever other Ds there were. The fact that he may or may not be have gone on a serial killing spree was just the icing on the cake. Eventually, it became a big joke between Walter and his friends, but Josh never stopped taking it seriously.
Medical research.
Serial killing.
Please don’t let me put this two and two together.
“You’re right. He would make a great book,” I commented, nervously fixated on Lloyd and Nico’s intense interaction I’d noticed on the beach early today when we all arrived for lunch at Red Frog Beach.
“I think he killed those girls. I thought it then and I still think it. It added up. I was on campus at the time and we were all scared still. Horror-stricken, even. Still am in a way. Though sometimes I think I’ll drop the idea altogether.”
“Glad he’s not staying at our hotel…”
“Don’t worry. You aren’t his type anyway.”
My problem, perhaps—that I wasn’t a type at all.
I wanted to ask more, but Olivia yelled from across the room, “Pay attention to me! I’ve got something to say.”
She was a woman who loved speeches. She’d get in front of a group and speak, sometimes for far too long; anytime, anywhere, any subject.
She started, “Walter was going to speak, but he now feels very strongly about waiting for the big day. So, here goes nothing. We kept this wedding small because we wanted to spend serious quality time with everyone, and for our close friends and families to get to meet the small group we love with all of our hearts.”
Close friends? I wasn’t so sure about that. They were a mixed bag of nuts for sure. Unusual for sure, charismatic undoubtedly, but I would never have used the word close.
Walter had his arm around Olivia’s shoulder, pulling her close, both of Olivia’s arms around his waist. She looked around the party, catching each guest’s eye before she started.
“When I was writing this speech - yeah, not off the top of my head - I wrote the word love 22 times. How many times can I say love? A lot. A lot more than 22. I’m going to keep this short because you’ll be hearing more of this from me probably every night. A lot. You know, after a month of dating Walter, I staggered away from a lunch
with him, didn’t go back to work, and wandered Manhattan, thinking that I had so much love for this man that I didn’t even know how to process it. That I didn’t know where to start.” Olivia was glowing, staring at him with adoration. “It was the best day of my life at the time. It really was.” Instead of kissing, they hugged, tightly, as if their lives depended on it.
Had anyone ever loved me a fraction of that much?
People clapped instead of toasting. Hooray for love.
Through my sad Salty breakup mode, I could still be so proud of her. Despite the last year, she was the closest thing to a sister I ever had. For better or for worse?
My conversation with Josh seemed to have unceremoniously run its course. “Well, I guess duty calls,” I said, referring to nothing.
“Got it,” Josh nodded to himself. As I walked away, he grabbed my arm. “Hey, by the way, I really understood your book. I didn’t put two and two together at first, that you were the author, but I’m impressed. I didn’t know you wrote it until Becky told me. We’re here all week so maybe we’ll have a chance to talk when you aren’t on the clock.”
I appreciated the enthusiasm, though I hated going through the whole story repeatedly. “Another time, I would happily talk about it.”
After all, we’d be here for a week.
DAY TWO
Chapter 8: Left Behind
I was wide awake at the break of dawn, having tossed and turned over visions of Nico dead and an anonymous person snorkeling through the water with a huge needle in their fist. I turned over, thinking it was the normal time to get up, and had the horrible realization that it was 5:45.
It was pointless to try to go back to sleep. Dressing was a chore because I had hardly anything of my own to put on. Olivia had allowed only one carry-on suitcase from each member of the bridal party to ensure we’d stick to the prescribed garb. I headed out to my favorite hammock. It looked like rain, which wasn’t a big deal in itself. Rain on the island was a twenty-minute downpour, and then a return to hours of sunlit paradise. Repeat. All day. We were officially in what was referred to as the rainy season.
Drowning Lessons Page 5
