"It's a little walk to the Pirate's Cove," Alessandro said, guiding her by the elbow, "but it will give you a chance to see the village."
"That's fine," Andrea replied, trying to keep her mind off what Jerry must be thinking, though she owed him no explanation about what was going on in her life, or whether or not she was romantically or sexually involved with Alessandro Cavallaro. Still, she wondered...
Alessandro curved his arm around her shoulders, gathering her against him. "It's a nice town," he said, drawing her attention to the line-up of businesses along the main street of Andros Town: a grocery, a liquor store, a bank, several shops peddling local crafts and souvenirs, and restaurants touting Bahamian food. Leaving the main street, they walked through a labyrinth of narrow lanes lined with pastel-painted houses, and as dusk was fading, they turned down an unlit street bordered by buildings in various stages of renovation and decay...
And that was when Andrea felt her first twinge of apprehension...
...I know all about gigolos and purse snatchers and walking alone at night, and all the other dangers lurking out there...
Her own words. She glanced at Alessandro's profile, now almost masked by darkness. What did she really know about the man? He claimed he had a yacht and a villa, and Val reaffirmed it. But how credible is the word of a woman who was after Jerry for his money? In fact, Val and Alessandro could be a working team. She was on the verge of insisting Alessandro take her back to the ship, when he announced, "Here we are."
Andrea stared at the weather-worn sign with the words, The Pirate's Cove, scrawled in white paint by an imperfect hand. An overhead light, mounted on a tall pole, lit up the front of the building. An eclectic-looking structure made from weathered boards, The Pirate's Cove was anything but what Andrea was expecting.
Alessandro, seeing her uncertainty, curved his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him, and said, "Don't worry, the place might look like a pirate's den but the food is incomparable. And you won't find a tourist here."
…a place for lovers...
Andrea glanced at Alessandro. He'd given her no reason to mistrust him. When she was drowsy from the effects of the drink he'd prepared in his stateroom the night before, he could have taken advantage of her, but didn't. And he wasn't now. He was simply taking her to a place away from the mainstream, where islanders went to eat Bahamian food...
Inside was a noisy, smoky room smelling of bodies and old cooking grease, and packed with what were clearly islanders, though some looked disturbingly hard-faced. Andrea felt completely out of place in her Armani outfit, and she wondered why Alessandro hadn't told her to wear something less pretentious. Looking at him with apprehension, she said, "I really feel out of place here. I think we should leave."
"But you look beautiful, and you are with me, Alessandro Cavallaro. No one will bother you. Besides, you dressed for me, not for those in this room, right?"
"If you put it that way, yes, I suppose," Andrea admitted. Yet, all around, she felt eyes on her. Not friendly ones, she noted.
Alessandro seated her at a small table off to one side of the large crowded room then excused himself for a few minutes, leaving her sitting alone. Feeling edgy to the point of being frightened, she placed her handbag on her lap, beneath the tablecloth and out of sight. Frommer's Guide warned of purse snatchers in the islands. And muggers. And drug dealers trying to pedal their stuff. She was on the verge of panic, when she spotted Alessandro coming toward her. He gave her his irresistible smile, and said, "I'm sorry, cara mia, but I planned to meet a friend here. Someone you would enjoy knowing. But now we'll have drinks."
…a place for lovers...
Andrea looked around for crisply-dressed waiters, or musicians playing violins, or one or two couples peering across candlelit tables at each other, but all she saw were hard-faced men and loose-looking women. "I'm not feeling very comfortable here," she said. "It's not what I expected. Could we go to the feast and fire dance instead?"
"As you wish," Alessandro replied, without argument. "We'll take a taxi back if that makes you feel more comfortable."
"Well, yes it would," Andrea said, a sense of relief dispelling her earlier doubts.
"But first, my little South Carolina bird," Alessandro said, in a soft, soothing tone, "I'd like you to have their special drink, along with a platter of authentic Bahamian conch fritters."
"One drink and fritters, then I want to leave," Andrea insisted. It came to her unexpectedly, that she wanted to be with Jerry. She had no idea why. Alessandro was an attractive man with charm, and money, and everything a woman should want. But... She wanted to be with Jerry...
Alessandro reached across the table and took her hand. Peering into her eyes, he said, "Andrea, trust me. You are safe here with me. I would not let anything happen to you. Now relax, and I'll get our drinks and order the fritters."
Andrea didn't like the idea of being left alone at the table again, but she knew she was being silly. Alessandro was a formidable-looking man. Well over six feet tall, solidly built, broad shoulders. And he had a demeanor about him that not a man in the place would challenge. It was also clear, from the looks of those around her, that they considered her his woman. Alessandro Cavallaro's woman. A troubling thought. Somehow she felt he was known well here, and feared...
A long time ticked by before Alessandro returned to the table, followed by a man carrying a tray with two tall drinks and a platter of conch fritters. Deciding to put something in her stomach before having the drink, Andrea sank her teeth into a conch fritter and was pleasantly surprised. Smiling at Alessandro, she said, "I'm sorry for doubting you, but I was expecting a much different place..."
"A place for lovers?"
"Well, yes."
Alessandro reached across the table and took her hand again. Looking into her eyes, he said, in a voice that sent a chill rushing through her, though not a chill of pleasure, "A place for lovers is wherever two lovers can be together." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, holding it tight enough that it would have been awkward to pull it away, yet wanting to do just that. "I brought you here because it's away from tourists, away from our fellow passengers, away from your husband," he said, eyeing her steadily. "I want you all to myself, cara mia. Now relax and enjoy your drink." He nudged the glass toward her.
Andrea slipped her hand from his and took a sip of her drink... sweet and citrusy and spiked with rum. But it also had a strange bitterness that made her lips purse.
Alessandro laughed. "It's the bitters you are tasting," he said. "They are used to cut the sweetness of the grenadine and crème de cassis. But it will help you relax. When you're finished, we'll go to the fire dance."
Andrea took another sip, rolled it around in her mouth, and let it slip down her throat. It wasn't so bitter now. After another few fritters, she finished the drink and set the glass down. She started to eat one last fritter, but her stomach was beginning to feel a little queasy...
...an Italian gigolo who'll drop you like a hot potato...
It crossed her mind that there could have been something bitter in the drink that had nothing to do with cutting the sweetness. But Alessandro was not a gigolo, so it was simply nerves brought on by the thought of going to the fire dance where Jerry would be watching them. Dismissing her earlier doubts, she smiled at Alessandro, whose face looked a little blurry, but handsome... He smiled back and placed another kiss on her palm...
***
Through a haze of smoke, while standing in a darkened corner of the Pirate's Cove, Jerry watched Andrea and Alessandro Cavallaro, who were sitting at a small table, heads bent toward each other, eyes locked. Cavallaro had Andrea's hand sandwiched between his, and whatever he was telling her, she was sucking it up. But she also looked a little... stoned—swaying in her chair, bracing her free hand against the table. Andrea rarely drank, and whenever she did, she always stopped when her nose felt tingly. He was glad he'd followed them, which wasn't difficult. When the passengers began funnelin
g off the ship, Andrea was so caught up in hanging onto Cavallaro's arm while talking and flirting, she never looked back.
He hadn't intended on following them at all, but Andrea's comment about Cavallaro wearing a thong, which was an oblique reference to having sex with the man, hit him like an iron fist to the gut. He'd wanted to run his fist through something. Anything. Cavallaro's face. Better yet, that thong-clad package of his that Andrea seemed to covet. Though he shouldn't be surprised. There had been a time when she'd been eager to warm his bed. More than eager. She'd been passionate about it. He'd never wanted for lack of sexual adventure with her. And with Andrea, sex had been an adventure because she had a way of luring him into yet unexplored sensual territory. The thought that she was working her magic on Cavallaro made him want to throw the man down one of those bottomless blue holes he'd read about, that dotted the island...
He scanned the crowd. Everyone appeared to be islanders. Not very reputable ones either. But Andrea didn't seem to notice the people, or that the room was so smoky it was hard to breathe, or that the din of voices was so loud you could barely think, as she sat gazing at Cavallaro, who was smiling into her eyes.
But something about Cavallaro wasn't right. He wasn't a gigolo. The man did own a villa in Majorca and a sixty-four foot yacht, information confirmed with a call to a contact in Italy. But there was no logical reason why a man with a luxury yacht would spend time on a second-class cruise ship in the Bahamas when he could be cruising on his own vessel in the Mediterranean. Or why a man with Cavallaro's wealth and looks would go after a woman ten years older, who was attractive enough, but no breathtaking beauty.
Jerry also noticed something about Cavallaro he was certain Andrea was not aware of. The man's gaze kept shifting beyond Andrea, as if he were looking for someone. And he frequently glanced down at his watch. He was up to something, and Jerry intended to find out what it was, or at least see that Andrea returned to the ship safely. She'd been his wife for twenty-five years, she was the mother of his children, and he owed her that much.
When he saw Andrea put her hands to her temples, he edged his way closer. He noticed then that her eyes were closed. Cavallaro leaned forward and studied her closely. Then he stood, reached out and touched her arm so she opened her eyes, then looked as if excusing himself—gesturing toward the door, then placing his hand over his heart as if apologizing.
Andrea nodded and watched him walk away.
After Cavallaro left, Jerry waited, wondering if the man planned to return. Andrea was looking decidedly ill. She kept glancing around, assumedly for Cavallaro, but there was no sign of the man. Then abruptly, Andrea rushed from the table, pushed her way through the crowd, and went into the ladies room.
Jerry waited for a few minutes for Andrea to come out, at which time he intended to take her back to the ship. But when several more minutes ticked by, and she still hadn't come out, he sent a woman in after her. Moments later, he heard a scream, and the woman came rushing out...
CHAPTER 5
Andrea opened her eyes and everything was stationary. She knew she was in a medical clinic somewhere on the island—the hospital gown she wore had little pink and blue starfish on it—but she remembered little after Alessandro left the table to make a phone call. When the room started spinning and tilting she'd rushed into the restroom, feeling like she was on the verge of getting rid of the contents of her stomach, then she felt like she was falling into a dark tunnel. After that, everything was jumbled... being moved around... opening her eyes and everything spinning... Alessandro's face coming in and out of focus... total darkness...
She raised her hand and felt a tender spot on the side of her head...
"Don't worry, Mrs. Porter," a woman's voice said. "You have a nasty bump on your head, but you'll be fine."
Andrea looked around and saw a woman dressed in a blue lab coat, standing just inside the curtain-enclosed cubical, a disposable thermometer in her hand. As the thermometer came toward her, Andrea opened her mouth and the woman slipped it under her tongue. Andrea looked around the small area. Hanging on a line-up of metal hooks was her crocodile-printed military jacket, black silk leggings, and black bikini panties and half-bra. The crystal-encrusted leather boots stood on the floor beneath. The word that came to mind was hooker.
The nurse removed the thermometer. "No fever," she said, tossing the thermometer away. "You had a touch of tourista. We get a lot of that here, usually from the water. But it also could have been the food. It said on your chart you were at the Pirate's Cove when you got sick. It's not too clean there. But you're fine now. Just go easy on the food today. The doctor will be in soon to talk to you about that."
"How long have I been here?" Andrea asked. The sun was well up, but she had no idea what time it was.
"About twelve hours," the nurse replied. "You were brought in last night around nine, but the doctor was delivering a baby at the clinic in Nicholl's Town and didn't get here until after midnight."
"My stomach feels sore," Andrea said.
"That's because it was pumped," the nurse replied. "But you were doing a pretty good job of getting rid of everything in it before then, which is probably why it's sore. The doctor will talk to you about it when he stops in to see you. And your husband said to tell you he went to find something to eat and will be back later."
"My husband?" Andrea said, confused. "Are you talking about a tall man with an Italian accent?"
The woman looked at her, puzzled. "Tall, black man, but no Italian accent. He insisted he was your husband. He was talking to Dr. Soros about your condition, demanding blood be drawn for a blood test. Dr. Soros saw no need, but your husband got pretty... umm... insistent about it."
"Insistent? In what way?" Andrea asked. Jerry could be formidable when he wanted something, every bit as formidable as her father was when he wanted something. She'd often wondered what would happen if both men wanted the same thing. Who’d come out the victor. In fact, for twenty-five years she'd felt like she was sitting on a keg of dynamite, just waiting for one of the men to light the fuse...
"When Dr. Soros assured your husband there was no need to draw blood, your husband slapped a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table and told the doctor he could either draw blood, or see his attorney in court. Dr. Soros refused the money, but had the blood drawn." The nurse filled a cup with water and set it on the tray beside the pitcher. "Your husband was very agitated. Worried, I suppose. He seemed to think there was more to it than just a case of food poisoning. But you can talk to him about it when he returns." The woman drew the curtain closed as she left.
Andrea stared at the black bikini panties and bra, wondering whatever possessed her to wear the things. How humiliating to have them hanging in plain view...
"So where's your lover now?" Jerry asked, emerging from behind the curtain that was still swaying from the nurse's exit.
"I don't know," Andrea replied. "He's not my lover."
Jerry walked over to where the underwear hung, and toyed with the lacy edging of the bra. "Your Italian stud then," he said. "I forgot. You're more interested in what's inside Cavallaro's thong than what's inside his head."
"I don't even know that Alessandro wears a thong," Andrea clipped. "That's what Val told me. She's very open about discussing the physical attributes of her toy boys."
Jerry looked at her with awareness, then studied her for a few moments before saying, "I suppose she likes to talk about their failures too."
"She doesn't have a problem with that," Andrea said. "Size seems to be important though. She was impressed with what Alessandro had to offer and assumed I'd be interested in knowing, since he and I had cocktails a couple of times."
"I get the picture now," Jerry said, his face hard. "Since your husband's having trouble getting it up you figured Cavallaro could give you what you want. Well, baby, your stud took off about the time you got sick so I guess you'll have to find another one."
Andrea looked at Jerry, so proud, so humiliated b
ecause he thought he was less of a man after one failure. "I'm not interested in finding a stud, Jerry. The problem with our marriage has nothing to do with whether or not you can perform in bed. It has to do with the fact that we can't seem to be in the same room more than five minutes before wanting to kill each other. And right now we're stuck on this island, we have no place to stay, and I have nothing to wear but an Armani outfit that makes me look like I want to get screwed, like you so tactfully pointed out."
Jerry looked at her steadily, seeming to be digesting that, then said in a more conciliatory tone, "I'll see what I can find. There are a few resorts up and down the beach near where the ship docked. One of them is bound to sell clothes. I'll also find a place to stay for a couple days and see about hiring a boat to intercept the ship later. But as far as I'm concerned, the less time aboard the ship, the better."
"Funny. I thought you wanted to get back to your sugar baby."
"Look, I'm not interested in a woman half my age, or any other woman aboard the damn boat. Like I said, this cruise has been hell." He walked out, sending the curtains swishing and swaying as he left.
Andrea stared at the Armani outfit, all sleek and glittery, like the wares of a streetwalker. Jerry was right. When she'd put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, with its skin-tight leggings, and tall crystal-encrusted boots, she did look like a woman who wanted to get screwed. But not by Alessandro. She just didn't want Jerry to know he was the only man who made her feel that way. Now, all she wanted was for Alessandro to be the man she thought him to be, smooth, charming, entranced with her, so she could explain to him that she enjoyed his company, and respected him as a man, but was not interested in him as a lover... And prove to Jerry she was not the naïve fool he'd pegged her to be. Jerry had been so smug about it, so sure she could not possibly attract a young good-looking man like Alessandro.
Never Too Late Page 8
