“Oh yes, an hour,” Phoebe parroted.
“Well, I understand that the Villa Rose's main chef, Caleb Wright, is on honeymoon, so I guess we will have to make do with his assistant.”
Phoebe nodded again. “That’s fine.”
“So how is work going so far?” He asked her interestedly and Phoebe found herself cataloguing his features and trying to find somewhere on his face that she could enjoy looking at.
She hadn't stared at him directly before or taken him in properly. She had always felt an odd repulsion to imperfection and looking at him made her uncomfortable. She almost felt like gagging.
His nose was battered-looking and crooked. He had a scar from the end of his eyebrow to under his chin on the right side of his face and there were three on his forehead that gave him permanent looking frown lines. They puckered and clustered together, and there was what looked like a burnt mark on his left jaw.
The complexion on his face was uneven: light areas mixed with dark splotches, like he had been burnt and he had bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept for weeks.
He was staring at her too and Phoebe wondered if he could see the rejection in her eyes.
He gently prodded her back to the present with a half-smile. “Work today so far?”
“Er...a bit boring. It's Monday, middle of the month routine stuff.”
His teeth were yellow—she shuddered. How could she eat while looking at his teeth?
Surely he was rich enough to fix them and fix his scars? His body was okay...more than okay. He was in a polo shirt and she could see his bulging biceps, not too big and not too small. He had a scar on his arm too but that she could live with. It started from his wrist and snaked all the way up his arm, in a thick line—banging body and a hideous face.
His hair was thick, curly, and he had it overly long, usually at church when she spotted him he had it short to his scalp. Now she realized that he had corkscrew curls with a spattering of gray at the sides.
“Phoebe?”
“Yes.” Phoebe replied weakly.
“Are you okay with my scars? You are staring at me fixatedly, pretty much how I am staring at you, but I am sure for different reasons.”
“What happened to you?” Phoebe asked, her eyes drawn once more to his face. The revulsion was not as immediate as it was before, but the thought of gagging was lurking at the back of her mind.
“When I was seventeen, my entire family; me, my twin brothers—both fifteen—my younger sisters—ten and eight—and our parents were on our way from a family reunion in Al Ghabah. Father was piloting his personal Cessna. It developed mechanical problems, he crash-landed in a remote area and the plane was engulfed in flames. I was the only survivor, almost died in hospital but here I am.”
“Your whole family died?” Phoebe asked aghast.
“Yes,” Ezekiel shrugged. “I try not to dwell on it. Usually I don't give explanations for my scars but I find where you are concerned I am making several exceptions to the way I operate.”
“You are?” Phoebe asked, still unsure if what was happening was real.
“Yes Phoebe Bridge, I am.”
*****
They dined outside at Villa Rose on a deck that led all the way out to sea. For the first time in her life, Phoebe understood what first class treatment felt like from the moment they arrived.
Chris Donahue himself greeted them. He looked at Phoebe in shock but he quickly masked it. He then introduced Ezekiel to the host who was a pleasant faced gentleman who was eager to please.
She looked over at the blue Caribbean Sea and imagined that she didn’t have work in the next twenty minutes and she was taking a leisure lunch with nothing else to do when she got home but to take a spa treatment.
“Where do you go when you zone out like that?” Ezekiel asked Phoebe curiously.
“In my mind building up fairytales. I wish I did not have to go back to work, that this could be my lifestyle,” Phoebe said to him truthfully.
He had been in the process of sipping some water but he placed it back on the table.
“Is that so?”
Phoebe laughed self-consciously. “I am sorry. I am not usually so forthright with my thoughts. I don't know what's come over me.”
“I like that about you.” Ezekiel contemplated her seriously. His deep brown eyes were boring into hers as if he could see into her soul. Phoebe was the first one to look away.
“I hope you know that you can always be honest with me. I've been around long enough to be un-shockable.”
Phoebe relaxed in her seat. She found Ezekiel both repulsive and strangely easy to be around. The sense of ease she felt when she spoke to him in the dark last night persisted, even though she could see his face.
She had to conclude that he was growing on her because she didn't feel like gagging as she did earlier.
“So why did you choose Three Rivers church as your church?” she asked him interestedly.
“I was invited by Chris Donahue about three and a half years ago. He and I are practically neighbors up at Bluffs Head. He mentioned that he was a Christian and I mentioned that I was looking for a church community to spend some time when I am in Jamaica. I happened to visit one day and the singing was excellent.”
Phoebe nodded and then glanced at her watch and gasped. “Oh my, my time is up.”
Ezekiel nodded. “Of course.”
He snapped his fingers and the host came running. In no time they were on their way back to the bank.
“Maybe I should buy this bank so that I can extend your lunch hours,” Ezekiel said contemplatively.
“You can do that?” Phoebe asked breathlessly.
Ezekiel laughed, “I can.”
He didn't elaborate just smiled quietly and out of nowhere Phoebe felt a rush of attraction toward him. It wasn't only looks that made a person attractive, she was beginning to realize; it was also power. Suddenly Ezekiel Hoppings was not so bad looking.
He lifted her hand and kissed it. She felt a tingle race all the way to her toes and she gasped. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them, a pleased gleam in them. “Thank you for having lunch with me, Phoebe.”
The smile she gave him when she left the car was puzzled. What on earth just happened in there? She rubbed her hand in puzzlement as she headed into the bank. Her co-workers all stared at her, a new alertness in their eyes. Phoebe imagined that they were thinking that her life was suddenly interesting.
She picked up the flowers that she had left on her desk and inhaled its sweet scent. She went to the kitchen and put the flowers in a glass of water and found herself smiling in bemusement as the water overflowed the glass because she left the pipe running.
Chapter Nine
The rain was drizzling lightly when Phoebe left work, promptly at four. Charles and his friends were waiting for her outside and she briefly wondered if she was crazy—going to the beach with a bunch of people who were free at four o'clock in the evening.
She headed toward the bank’s front door while Vanessa held it open for her.
“Phoebe, where are you going now?” she asked curiously.
Phoebe smiled. “To the beach with a group of friends.”
“Wow,” Vanessa looked at her enviously, “I had no idea you were so popular; first you go to lunch with someone in a Bentley and now you are off with friends. Usually you are reserved and keep a low profile.”
Phoebe shrugged and headed to the bus. This time the boys made a concentrated effort to treat her normally. Their girlfriends were in the bus along with a girl Charles introduced as his sister.
Phoebe was squeezed up between her and another girl who was singing to the music loudly. They were already in their bathing suit tops and shorts.
Phoebe was sure that she was the same age as the girls but she felt so much older. They giggled about everything, but instead of freezing them out with one of her superior smiles, she made a concentrated effort to set her face in pleasant lines.
She smiled slightly. It was ironic that she had made that promise just last night and today she went out with the richest man in Jamaica, who seemed as if he liked her. A deep warm feeling enveloped her and she tried hard to temper the anticipation that was gripping her mind.
When they arrived at the beach, they headed to where the boys deemed their spot, which was under a palm tree. Everybody laid out their towels and threw on their stuff. Phoebe had forgotten to bring a towel, so Charles patted a space beside him on his towel. It was broad enough and had the pattern of a lion on it.
Phoebe crouched beside him gingerly and tried to avoid touching him. She felt self-conscious in her one-piece bath suit, but the other girls were in much scantier apparel. They had run into the water as soon as they threw down their things and were squealing and laughing.
What did they find so funny? Phoebe tried to think ‘simple’ and to lighten her mind, but she still found herself cynically wondering how they could be so happy when they didn’t even have regular jobs?
Charles was looking out at the water, a smile lit up his face and he turned to her. “Want to get wet?”
“No.” Phoebe frowned, “not yet.”
“You don't mind if I run in, do you?”
“No,” Phoebe grinned, “run ahead. I'll just sit over here.”
He ran toward the water in his red trunks and Phoebe spared a minute to admire his torso. He had a footballer’s body: lithe and not heavily muscled. She wondered if he played the game and then her mind wandered to his face. He was good-looking and the Mohawk haircut that he wore fit his features perfectly—he was a nice enough fellow. She lay on her belly and watched as they frolicked in the water. Just then his sister, Pinky, came out of the water and came to sit beside her.
“I am so tired.” She groaned glancing at Phoebe while she rummaged in her bag.
“Huh?” Phoebe looked at her properly for the first time. Charles had introduced them earlier but like the last time when he had introduced his guy friends, there were about five girls and she had been struggling to remember the names of each of them.
“Tired,” Pinky said, dragging a chocolate bar from her bag. “Want piece?”
“No thanks,” Phoebe said, “had a heavy lunch today.”
“Ah,” Pinky nodded, “with that rich guy.”
“What? How do you know about that?” Phoebe asked, looking at Pinky. She couldn’t recall seeing her when she went to the villa, she would have remembered her. Pinky had her short natural hair dyed in a platinum blonde color. It should have clashed with her honey brown complexion but it didn't.
Pinky shrugged. “I work at Villa Rose, filling in for the receptionist. Don't know how long I'll be there, though. Mr. Donahue, seems to dislike me.”
“Is that so?” Phoebe asked looking at Pinky with new eyes.
“Well,” Pinky said, “he finds fault with everything I do.”
“Maybe because he likes you.” Phoebe gave Pinky a knowing look. “You are a pretty girl.”
Pinky giggled. “I doubt that. Mr. Donahue is obsessed with some woman who designed the place. That's what I heard through the grapevine, anyways.”
“Her name is Kelly,” Phoebe said sitting up, “and yes that obsession of his runs deep.”
Pinky shrugged. “Enough about me. What are you doing with my brother if you are going out with that rich guy?”
“Hanging out,” Phoebe said, surprised that she was so easy in Pinky's company.
“He likes you,” Pinky said mournfully, “but I am sure you know that. And I am sure you will break his heart. My brother can't compete with the guy I saw you with at lunch.”
“There is no competition going on. I’m just talking to the two of them.”
Pinky sighed, raised her eyebrows at Phoebe, and then silently chewed her chocolate bar. Phoebe felt like defending herself but the opportunity was lost when Charles and his friends came back, talking and laughing.
“Where's the guitar?” one of the girls asked, “I want to hear music.”
Darren ran to the bus and got it and the conversation ran to general subjects until he came back. The guys all took turns playing and singing. Phoebe was actually enjoying herself with them.
Somebody had brought cookies. “Got it from the leftovers from the lunch buffet at my hotel,” one girl said. She was short and fat and sitting on the lap of one of the guys. Phoebe had stopped trying to remember their names. Yesterday she had called him Sleazy, in her head.
Apparently there were quite a few leftovers because the girl had a whole container of cookies. They passed it around and chatted effortlessly, including Phoebe in their group as if she had always belonged.
When Charles got the guitar he cleared his throat. “Well this song is dedicated to my friend, Phoebe.”
Phoebe had been chewing her biscuit slowly; half listening to them, half thinking that they weren't such a bad group of people after all. She came to attention when Charles said that and looked at him sharply. “I hope it's not a love song.”
“No,” Charles replied when the laughing had stopped. He strummed the guitar and sang Bob Marley's song ‘I'm Hurting Inside.’
He did such a good imitation of the singer's voice that tourists who were passing by stopped and listened. His voice wafted on the evening air as the soulful song resonating with Phoebe—the song expressed how she was feeling perfectly.
She desperately wanted to be happy. She had tears in her eyes when he was finished playing and vaguely heard the clapping behind them. She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. If only she could be at peace in her mind. If only she could accept life as simply as these young people did.
When she opened her eyes Charles was looking at her knowingly. He came and sat close to her and then squeezed her fingers. She could smell his maleness and took a weird comfort in his presence.
Chapter Ten
Phoebe slept soundly that night. She had given in when everybody had encouraged her to take a dip in the sea and when she got home she had felt bone weary. Her mother had looked at her contemplatively and then went back to her reading with a small smile on her lips.
Phoebe was too tired to question her about the look but when she woke up in the morning her mother was sitting at the foot of her bed with a pleased smile on her face.
“Spill it,” she said simply, staring at Phoebe. She had on a faded blue sari and looked like she had been up for hours.
“Spill what?” Phoebe asked, glancing at the clock. It was five-thirty in the morning.
Nishta chuckled. “Can you imagine my absolute shock when one Mr. Ezekiel Hoppings called here last night while you were out? You left your cell phone on the center table in the hall, so naturally I answered it.”
Phoebe groaned. “You spoke to him?”
“Of course,” Nishta said smirking, “and then I called Willis to research the man on the Internet. Can you imagine what he found?”
Phoebe groaned again and pulled the sheet over her head. “I am not plotting anything with you. For once, can I please live my life like a normal woman?”
“He is the one,” Nishta said, gleefully. “He is the man to get us out of this hell hole. He is the man for us...I mean you.”
“He is not handsome,” Phoebe mumbled under the sheet. “Remember you said that the two most important things in life are looks and money.”
“When did I ever say that?” Nishta asked feigning shock. “Well if I did, I’ve changed my mind. The most important thing in life is money, at least for right now. And right now, money is pursuing you. If you mess this up, Phoebe, I don't know if I will forgive you.”
Phoebe groaned. “Leave me alone.”
Nishta got up off the bed. “Don’t disappoint us, Phoebe. That man is more than loaded and I don't like how you are suddenly going out with that boy from next door. You were at the beach with him...Have you lost your senses? Have you forgotten everything I have taught you?”
“I am trying to.” Phoebe squinted up at h
er mother. “Last night I finally realized that I am how I am because of you, and I hate it. I hate myself. Every time I try to be a better person your voice is in my head beating like a drum. Last night, for the first time in years, I felt happy, like how I could be if I were normal and didn't have you as a mother.”
Nishta gasped. “You ungrateful wretch, I sacrificed my life to raise you.” Tears came to her eyes. “All I want is the best for you. Why can't you understand that and why are you so ungrateful?”
Phoebe sighed and got up from the bed. “Stop pressuring me to pursue rich men and get married.”
Nishta wiped away her tears and sniffed. “You deserve the best. Haven't I told you, time and time again, that with your looks you are entitled to the best in life?”
Phoebe sighed heavily and was about to retort when a knock sounded on the front door.
She looked at her mother curiously and then at the clock. When she peeped through her window, there was the same uniformed chauffer that had come to the bank yesterday and outside, beside her rusty gate, was a red Honda Civic with a big bow on it. She gasped. She had told him, that night at the party, that she wanted a car—he was taking her seriously. The thought sent her sitting back on the bed, hard. This was turning out to be her fairytale, except that she didn't love the man, and suddenly she felt guilty.
Nishta looked at her curiously and then almost tripped over her sari to look through the window.
When she saw the car she gasped. “Have mercy! There is a car with a bow out there.” She swerved around and looked at Phoebe, a greedy gleam in her eyes. “I am loving this. Stop acting like this is a bad thing. Go and receive your present and look happy about it.”
*****
Phoebe looked at the car keys in her hand and then at the car. Her mother had run outside and removed the bow as soon as the chauffer left. She sat in the car, grinning like a Cheshire cat and honked the horn.
Unholy Matrimony Page 5
