Caribbean Crossroads

by Connie E Sokol

  Brittany opened a salt substitute packet, easily continuing the conversation. “It actually helps us better now. You know men, when you’ve had an emotional connection it helps when you dance. Makes it seem more real. Like the way he holds me, or looks at me, like he’s really looking. But that’s just performing. It helps for others to know it doesn’t mean anything in particular.” Brittany looked at Megan purposefully.

  At that moment, Brittany’s words felt true. At least, Megan wanted them to be true. She remembered the way he had looked at Brittany during the dance—close, caring, romantic. But as soon as they were done, he broke apart, like they’d been studying calculus. She felt momentary solace.

  But then, what did that mean for the way he had been with her in the Green Room, winking at her on stage, talking with her in the cinema? Was that just performing? Did it not mean anything?

  “So did you two date a long time?” Megan ventured as far as was wise. She focused on cutting her eggs.

  “Oh, you know how it goes, especially in the performance business.” Brittany carefully scooted out ham chunks from her egg whites and pushed them to the side. “We met at Three Pines College and hit it off right away. He was more gung-ho than I was, but, that’s Bryant. When he sees what he wants, he’s kind of laser beam about it.” She laughed lightly. “And it was okay, I went with it, because he really is a great guy. But then this intensity, it kept going, and turned more serious and before I knew it, he wanted to get married. It was so fast, and too stressful. He can be so intense, almost demanding, at least then.

  “And suddenly, he was gone. A lot. But like I said, when he sees what he wants …” She sipped her orange juice. “He was already onto the next thing. Doesn’t know what he wants one minute then suddenly does the next.”

  “You mean, he left the cruise ship?”

  “No, we were done with the tour. He worked with a house-building program and decided to stay on, without a lot of input as they say. Bryant’s just like that.” She shrugged, looking past Megan’s shoulder and smiling at someone, then the Princess Wave. “I mean, he was okay about it. But, seeing as we had been seriously dating for several months, I guess I would have liked more say in the matter.”

  Megan tried not to show confusion. From Brittany’s version, Bryant wasn’t looking too good in real life. Trying to jive this version with Jillian’s didn’t quite add up, at least in the way she wanted it to. But then, Jillian had told her she wasn’t exactly omnipresent during that phase of her life.

  “Is that what made it break up?” said Megan. It came out before she could think. A hard expression fleetingly crossed Brittany’s face. Then the sentinels.

  “Oh, you know those things are always complicated. I had some needs—you know women. We crave connection, not just for the first two weeks. He was more focused on the thing of the moment, unable to ultimately commit. To anything long-term, really. And I could feel it. A woman wants to know it’s a done deal. So someone else offered to fill those needs, and be there. But then, I could have been more grown up. It was a learning lesson, for both of us.”

  Brittany pushed her plate gently away. “I’m sure he’s more mature now. Time does that, changes people.” She looked at Megan, “And things. He’s likely in a better place.”

  That’s what she said, but an undercurrent passed from her, clear and unmistakable—“Bryant is this way and will always be this way.” Like a friendly warning. But why would Brittany want to warn her? And about what exactly?

  She said Bryant was unable to commit. That he wanted what he wanted and focused until he got it. That she had felt pushed. Megan wanted to disregard it, but was it so false?

  She had seen that he was unable to commit in his life, bouncing from college to cruise ship to lumber yard—or the avoidance of it. And intense, demanding? Yes, she’d seen that to. On the dance floor, just the two of them—“Do you dance like you talk? Come here.” He had that forcefulness, to be sure. And she had liked it. But isn’t that how it always started? You liked the thing you came to hate.

  Unsettled, Megan was about to ask a delicate question when Chalise approached the table, almost bouncing in her enthusiasm.

  “Finally, we get an excursion today, can you believe it? Everyone’s going ashore, you gonna join us? It’s a can’t-miss.”

  “Is that the excursion or Garrett?” said Megan.

  She shrugged. “Does it matter? Either way it will be exciting.” She winked. “Bryant will be there. Coming?”

  Brittany looked directly at Megan, who flushed involuntarily. “Tenzanio’s has the best shopping—Fossil bags and Prada for practically nothing. And the beaches are gorgeous, like crushed white shells.”

  “Sounds great,” said Megan, though inside she’d rather do a tax audit. Something passed through her soul, making her uncomfortable that Brittany encouraged her to go knowing Bryant would too. Megan wanted to say no, right then and there, but somehow couldn’t verbalize it.

  “Okay, we’ll catch you at the landing dockside.” Chalise smiled exuberantly and hustled off, presumably to get ready for Garrett.

  Megan stood. “Well, I better go. I’ve got a few things to do. Thanks for breakfast, and, for telling me your thoughts. It’s very private, and I’ll keep it that way.”

  “I know you will,” said Brittany, with a peculiar expression.

  As Megan walked away, that expression stayed with her, but why, she didn’t know. One thing she knew. When that shuttle left, she would not be on it. Not until she figured out who Bryant really was—is—and got her bearings again. She would not be duped like before. If he conned her, she’d have learned nothing. But the stories were so different—from Jillian, from Brittany. It was time to get some facts about Bryant, and she knew exactly who to get them from.

  ***

  Megan approached the gangway leading to the dock, ready for some new sights and sounds. It was only after Jillian confirmed that Bryant wasn’t going on the excursion that she had agreed to join them. More time away from him, like the past few days, that’s what she needed. After divulging her private thoughts to Jillian, Megan felt that familiar warning. It was too close and too fast with him and these emotions, and she didn’t know what to make of it. All she could feel were bits of puzzle pieces—his behaviors, their conversations—and she needed to know, had to know, what the picture made before she let herself be pulled in. Not that she planned to anyway.

  Megan breathed in deeply. It felt good to get out.

  Five minutes later, Megan regretted ever befriending Jillian. On the dock, surrounded by five or so adoring females, stood Bryant.

  Tugging Jillian’s arm, Megan spoke in a tense whisper. “You said Bryant wasn’t going.”

  “I know. I lied.” Jillian looked around for Derek.

  “Lied? Just like that? What kind of a friend are you?”

  “The kind that gets my friend over herself, and hooks her up with a gorgeous singing basketball star.” She shook her head. “That every girl had such a friend.”

  “No, I mean it, Jillian. Stop the matchmaking, you don’t know what you’re doing.” Megan panicked. She had decided not to tell Jillian what had happened in the Green Room, and now, this would only make it worse. “I’m not kidding.”

  Jillian smirked with a complete disregard for her most urgent plea.

  Megan gestured with both hands open, beyond frustrated. Was she the only sane person left on the tour? How in the world was she going to act around Bryant? They hadn’t spoken in days. What would she say? Well, that was easy, she’d play mute. There would be no need to talk because she wouldn’t go near him.

  About 12 of them squeezed into the small, obviously worn shuttle. The driver wound through the streets like a back roads bus on a Peruvian mountain highway, all the while singing loudly to a South American song. Squished next to others, Brittany and a cast girl sat on one side of the bus, Megan and Chalise sat on the opposite side and adjacent to them sat Chad and Bryant talking about Tesla coils and eng
ineering components.

  Megan hugged her beach bag and set her face in a bored expression. Occasionally, she felt him looking at her, but for whatever reason, he left her alone. Good. Maybe that tense Green Room conversation had been just the ticket and he’d leave her be.

  They arrived at the shuttle drop-off feeling slightly shaken but alive. The driver made a long announcement in a thick accent that most of them didn’t understand, except to be back by five o’clock or they would miss the shuttle to the boat. And that taxis would take them anywhere they wanted to go, for cheap. Even Megan knew that was not true but they smiled anyway.

  After he finished, the group began breaking into clusters following the buddy system. Whatever happened, Megan didn’t want to be with the main crowd, and most definitely not with Bryant.

  Jillian came to Chalise and Megan, the others standing close by deciding their destinations.

  “Hey, where do you guys want to go? Derek has to help one of the lighting crew find some special bulbs that burnt out, but he didn’t want me to miss the shopping. Anybody game?” She included the girls standing nearby. Bryant, Chad, and some others stood within listening distance.

  The girls added a happy yes, and one of the crew said there was an incredible restaurant by the main strip of stores which got a response from the guys.

  “I think I’ll just hit the beach,” she said quietly to Jillian.

  “Can’t,” she shot back, “have to stay in the buddy system. Anybody want to hit the beach after shopping?” Several were in agreement. “Okay, if we have time that sounds perfect. I think we can all share taxis,” and she began divvying people into groups.

  Megan opened her mouth to speak but closed it as soon as she saw she was outmaneuvered. That was Jillian for you.

  Ultimately, Bryant, Chad, Brittany, and Jasmine ended up in one taxi, while Jillian and Megan shared another with two crew guys. It was a tight squeeze but with comfortable chatter. Both groups merged at the main strip loaded with badly dressed—and hardly dressed—tourists. Brightly bedecked locals called out to them from the shop fronts in broken English and encouraging gestures, inviting them into their stores with a frantic wave or a shock-white smile.

  The group mingled and talked throughout the few hours with Megan careful to keep her distance from Bryant. The success made her careless so that when they entered the restaurant, she was looking at the décor before she knew the seating arrangements.

  “Over here, they can seat us now,” said Jillian, pointing the way for Megan, Jasmine, Bryant, and Chad.

  Megan looked stricken, but Jillian was having none of it.

  “Hello, didn’t you hear? They can seat us but only at two tables. You guys take the outside.” She leaned into Megan. “Brittany doesn’t want more sun on her skin and Chalise wants to talk to me about Garrett. Not exactly guy conversation, if you know what I mean.” She added with a certain smile, “And be nice to Bryant today.”

  Megan gave her a look.

  The waitress led them informally to a table poorly shaded by an obviously fake thatched roof umbrella. Plastic silverware lay strewn on the white plastic table.

  “Trust me, the food is better than the decor,” said Jasmine, pulling out her iPod earbuds. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she wore a sixties tie-dyed shirt over a flowing skirt.

  “Nice skirt,” said Megan. It looked cool and comfortable.

  “They’re the best air-conditioning around,” she said, settling in a chair next to Chad, and took up a menu. “You should get one. They sell them at that corner store we just passed.”

  Megan gazed up the street at the store just as Bryant took the seat next to her. She ignored him and continued, “You’ve been here before?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Jasmine. “The chimichanga is good, and safe. They deep fry it. You can get a lot of stomach bugs on these trips so be Indiana Jones—‘Choose wisely.’”

  The waitress took their order, smiling and wearing a red, yellow, and green colored blouse and skirt. All of them ordered chimichangas.

  Jasmine and Chad struck up conversation, something about natural energy sources. Bryant turned to Megan.

  “So, Berlin, feeling less hostile today?” His eyes crinkled in that almost laughing way.

  She immediately appeared interested in the store fronts and noisy tourists. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You did good this week, dance wise.” He leaned back in the chair. “Got the salsa solid, anyway. You stopped looking at your feet.”

  A sarcastic remark was on her tongue but she saw his earnestness and simply said, “Thanks.”

  Both of them sat for a while in silence, gazing at the passersby. Megan felt her face flush with the awareness of his tanned arm close to hers, his strong legs almost touching her knee. What was the matter with her?

  Remember, Casual Acquaintance. Be polite. She added, “I never really thanked you properly for your help.”

  “Lunch would work.” He squinted at her, smiling. She ignored the familiar tingle in her tummy.

  “I thought Dancing with the Stars coaching was included.” She went to take a drink of water.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “Only do bottled at these places.”

  “Oh. Thanks. Again.”

  “That’s included.” He smiled at her, relaxed. She tried to look indifferent but those eyes, that energy, like he could read her real thoughts. She could smell his ocean scent and felt the pull of his easy, inviting smile. Without the fight, she could feel herself slipping into that comfortable realm with him, letting down her guard. Truly, it was too exhausting to keep it up. But what else could she do to stay emotionally safe? She needed a new strategy.

  A Buddy. That was it, like she had been with Sam’s friends. A light-hearted go-to pal. Someone to talk sports with and shoot hoops, none of this emotional garbage. Just keep it light, fun, devil-may-care. Yes, that would work. Because Casual Acquaintance definitely wasn’t working. They practically had sparks coming out of their faces already.

  “You know,” she said, “I finally figured out what’s wrong with your face.”

  “Oh, here we go.”

  “No, I mean, there’s something different that I couldn’t put a finger on. But it just came to me. It’s your nose.”

  He nodded, understanding. “I broke it.”

  “Football injury? Star QB makes the game-winning play, cool victory dance at the end?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Hockey injury?”

  “In northern California?” He cocked his head. “It was a fight.”

  She was shocked, he didn’t seem the aggressive type. “Any bars involved?”

  “No, just my brother.” The waitress arrived with the food on large platters—a sea of refried beans, Mexican rice, and sizzling chimichanga bars loaded with toppings. They each dug into the offerings.

  After a few minutes, Megan started again. “So, this fight, what was it about? Two brothers fighting over the same woman kind of thing?”

  He spread the toppings then sliced a big chunk. “It was a cow,” he said and popped the piece into his mouth.

  “Oh, that’s rich.” She cut into her meal. “Come on, details.”

  He shrugged and swallowed. “I was supposed to sell her. I’d raised her—well, my brother, Mitch, and I. But he’d lost interest after a month, and said so. I’d done all the work. And I’d already talked to Wendell about the sale—when she’d be ready and all that. And you better believe I had every penny of that $1400 planned out.”

  “You actually raised a cow, surfer boy? Do they even have cows in California?”

  “Yeah, they come down for the wine festivals.” He cut another bite.

  “So I’ll say, just to be a sport, that you actually did raise a cow. Did you have a farm?”

  “No, it was an experiment of my dad’s, trying to teach us suburban white trash some good old-fashioned values.”

  “Did it work?” />
  “I raised the cow, didn’t I? Man, this is good.” Stuffing more food in his mouth, his apathy only fueled the fire. She really wanted to know.

  “So then you wanted to sell it. For?”

  He paused. “A GTO.”

  She stared. “I’m guessing that’s a car?”

  His turned his head sharply. “Guessing? A ’69 GTO? That’s the best muscle car there was, at least for sale, and restoration. And Mitch bought it right out from under me, and gave the guy the promise of my share of Zippy, if you can believe that.” He banged his fork on the plate as he cut another bite.

  Jasmine looked up from her meal, earbuds hanging out, as Chad looked up from his electronic game; they returned to both.

  “Zippy? Is that a real name for a cow?” Megan bit into her chimichanga. “And obviously you’ve come to terms with this experience, your anger and all that. What happened?”

  “Dad said for us to go work it out.”

  “So?”

  “Do you only speak in monosyllables?” he said.

  “Wow, that was a big word, and you didn’t even sound it out.” She chewed slowly, a half-smile with closed lips.

  “Yeah, we worked it out. On each other’s faces.”

  “Sounds helpful. How did he look?”

  “Busted jaw and 13 stitches.” He tried but could not repress the smile while Megan shook her head in disgust. “Come on. It’s a big deal to be fourteen and take down your older brother.”

  “How much older?”

  “Twenty-two months.”

  “Hail the conquering hero.”

  He passed her tabasco sauce which she ixnayed.

  “At the time he was a wannabe body builder, so a little more to it than that.” With a few more bites he finished the rest of his chimichanga. “I couldn’t use my hand for a week, but it was okay.”

  “So, you’re good friends then, you and your brother Mitch?”

  “Yeah, the best.”

  “That sounds about right.” She smiled at the irony, finishing another bite.

  He glanced sideways at her. “You got brothers?” The sunlight caught the waves in his hair. With his white shirt, khaki shorts, and easy repose, Megan found herself thinking how nice sitting together on the beach would be.