Claude points.
Sukanda, dressed in a straining bikini top and wispy black shorts, stands on the dock with all the lout’s crap to manage. She has a slight Thai frame, straight long black hair—short, not even five feet. Surprisingly stacked. She tips back her head, pushes her hair back from her face—every move seductive as a panther—discovers Claude and me gawking at her, and unleashes a smile.
We head down the gangplank the nano second that smile touches us. Claude shoulders me out of the way, but I keep close on his heels. Freak, she’s like this exotic little morsel that shouldn’t be left out in the sun.
She does the traditional Thai greeting, presses her hands together in front of her beautiful cleavage and bows. “So-wa-tika.” Who knows how they really spell it. “I Sukanda.” She looks up at us through her long black lashes. “Suki.”
Claude and I awkwardly return the gesture.
I feel her eyes on me—flush like a kid. I look into her face. “I’m … I’m … ” Never this nervous around chicks.
“Michael.” Claude, the jerk who is conveniently not wearing a shirt, steps in front of me. “Welcome, mademoiselle, to my father’s yacht. I am Claude.” He bows again.
She launches into rapid French.
Claude beams like he’s going to burst. He takes her elbow and places his other hand on her bare back. “Let me escort you aboard, Sukanda.” He turns to me like I’m some scrawny hired hand.
“Make sure the deck monkeys load this gear first—don’t take your eyes off it until it’s stowed.”
I hate it when he calls the local boys that. The way he talks about his woman back in Khoa Lak is worse.
Sukanda smiles over her shoulder at me as Claude whisks her away.
The jerk. He’s got a girlfriend.
Freak. So do I. Leesie’s ring is still there, resting lightly on my chest under my shirt. What am I thinking? Everything I shouldn’t.
Mademoiselle Sukanda isn’t the average Thai chick like the giggling little girls in the bars or my nurse, Ning, back at the hospital. She’s regal. A princess in chains. A work of art. Any connoisseur would appreciate her. Claude’s mostly blocking my view of the backside of this creation, but I manage to catch a glimpse. Her hair hangs thick past her waist. When she moves, her short shorts reveal a flash of the perfect curves of her firm butt. Freak, it’s better than Leesie’s.
I watch her and Claude as he guides her to the open-air lounge where Max sits—a drink already in his meaty grip. The thought of him and her together makes me nauseous. He’s got to be pushing sixty.
She changes in his presence. Maybe I’m imagining it—I’m not there, and they are all speaking French—but instead of lithe panther strolling proudly through the jungle, she seems to shrink. Not quite scared kitten. More like a wildcat on a leash in a circus show. Behaving but not happy about it.
This crazy protective Lancelot feeling washes around inside me, and my cell rings.
Freak. It’s Leesie. She does have radar. “Babe?”
“Hey.”
“You called. Cool.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“What happened to the cell phone ban.” I crane my neck. Sukanda and Claude are moving again. He’s showing her to the suite on the top deck.
Leesie says something I miss.
“What?” Get a grip. The love of my life is on the phone, and I’m drooling over this amazingly beautiful surprise dropped into this ugly hole. “I’m sorry. I missed that.”
“You’re busy. Should I call back?”
“Just a minute.” I motion to the deck guys to grab Sukanda and the guy’s gear first. I grab the last bag and follow them on board. Maybe she’ll smile again when I drop this off.
“Michael? Are you there?”
“I am busy—but don’t hang up. I can’t believe you called.”
“You haven’t been online.”
“No connection.”
“I’m glad I caught you.”
“Me, too.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“You, too. Sorry we’re not spending it together.” It should be us in that suite. Not Maximillian the Magnificent and his lovely, trained tigress.
“It wouldn’t have—no. Not today.”
She pauses, and I don’t add anything. It would have worked. My damn nose starts to sting.
“We’re having Gram over Christmas Eve. She’s going to spend the night.”
Now there’s a lump in my throat. She does this to me every time we make contact now. “Thanks for looking out for her.” I sniff away the emotion.
“It’s nothing.”
She pauses, but I miss the cue.
“Michael—what’s up? You’re not there. Really.”
“We’re loading passengers. Lots of noise. I’m helping with the bags.”
“Okay, call me back before you’re out of cell range.”
“Sure. As soon as I can. I’m glad you’re talking to me again.” I glance down at the outline her ring makes under my T-shirt. “Later.”
“Bye.” She hangs up.
Freak. I didn’t tell her I love her. I’ll say it first thing next call. I love you, Leesie. I love you, I love you, I love you.
I boost the heavy bag up on my shoulder, conscious that the muscles in my arms bulge when I do it, and catch up to the deck hands. I walk ahead of them to the cabin’s door and knock. Claude opens it. He’s laughing. So is Suki—sensuous and teasing.
“Good, Michael.” He raises his hand.
No way he’s going to dismiss me like a bellboy. I elbow past him and set the bag at the goddess’s feet. “Sukanda.” Her name tastes like sweet ginger on my tongue. She turns her beautiful face in my direction. I manage to keep my train of thought this time. “We’ll stow your gear in a locker on the dive deck. Do you have the keys?”
She picks up a tiny silk purse, draws out the luggage keys with two long fingers, and rubs them together. She walks out the door. Claude and I follow—shoot each other dirty looks behind her back.
She unlocks the largest dive bag. “This is Max’s gear.” She unlocks a second bag and pulls out a beat up, black backpack. “Mine.”
I’m swift to take the neat, but worn, bag from her.
“The rest in cabin.”
I motion to the boys, nod to Sukanda, and take the gear down to the lockers myself. I don’t want to leave Claude alone with her, but what else can I do?
It’s the deck guys’ job to stow the gear, but I need to do this. Max’s stuff is brand new. Expensive. Gigantic. Figures. Sukanda’s gear—packed as tight and efficient as her perfect body—is beautifully worn, like she’s been diving all her life. Born to the water like me. I take a long time hanging it up.
Then its dinner, and I have to smile and charm the rest of the female passengers, talk shop with the men, attempt to get people to sign up for courses—advanced certs, Nitrox, specialty crap—all the time trying not to stare like too much of a freak at Sukanda. She’s wearing one of those wrap around dress things—gold and black leopard print, more like a big scarf—that she ties in the front. Her knot is low so most of her is out there. Every single male here is hoping it’ll slip. It doesn’t really need to. The wrap is dark but sheer. You can see her through it. She’s just got a thong on under. How can I not stare?
I stick my hand in my pocket and touch my cell phone. Freak. We’re a good hour out of port.
I didn’t call Leesie.
Chapter 24
BARRACUDA
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
DIVE BUDDY: Sukanda
DATE: 12/21
DIVE #: free dive
LOCATION: Ko Miang, Similan Island #4
DIVE SITE: Honeymoon Bay
WEATHER CONDITION: hot
WATER CONDITION: hot
DEPTH: hot
VISIBILITY: hot
WATER TEMP.: hot
BOTTOM TIME: too long
COMMENTS:
We cruised out to the Similans last night. Anchored in Honeym
oon Bay off Ko Miang. Serious. That’s what it’s called. Why do you think I wanted to bring Leesie here? There’s a lonely white sand beach that runs all along the bay. I wanted to spend a couple days on that beach with her.
I wake before everybody else, watch the sun come up from the dive deck, and then get ready to go for an early morning free dive. We’re close enough to the sugar white strip of beach to relax there after our morning dive. I think I’ll head in that direction. Pretend. I don’t have a buddy, so this is more of a swim, but it will be good to get in the water again. Feel it. Taste it. Let it flow over me, cool and delicious.
I drop my massive fins, free dive mask, and snorkel, pull my T-shirt over my head, and stare down at Leesie’s ring. The rising sun’s soft rays bring it to rosy life. I can’t swim with it loose like this. It’s fine under my wetsuit—no chance of killing myself getting it hooked up on coral with it there. I pick up my black Lycra rash guard.
“It’s a shame.”
I jump about a mile.
Sukanda leans over the balcony right above me. She’s wearing her black bikini top with last night’s dress tied as a skirt this morning. “Don’t cover up your body with that ugly thing.” She pouts. “Ruins my view.”
She stares at me like I stared at her yesterday. I flush, drop the Lycra shirt and gaze down at Leesie’s ring.
“She dead? This girl you wear ring for?”
I shake my head.
“You somber—like one who has lost.”
“My parents died a year ago.”
“I”—she drapes her left hand, that flashes with gems on every finger, artistically at her throat—“orphan, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Life.”
I sit down on the bench and stare out at the water, my dive forgotten.
A light patter of bare feet on the stairs and deck mixes with morning seabirds calling. Sukanda appears with a hot cup of tea in her hand and sits beside me. She leans against the back of the bench and tucks her legs under her butt. Her arm brushes mine, sets my blood pumping.
“This?” She points to Leesie’s ring. “Your mother’s ring?”
“No.” I pick up the ring and slip it onto the tip of my pinky and battle to keep my brain on it instead of the exotic girl breathing lightly beside me. “She just hasn’t said ‘yes’ yet.”
Sukanda laughs, low and throaty. Turns me on even more. “You too young for marry.” She snuggles up against my arm. “Not enough fun yet.”
I get a strong urge to throw her down on the bench and go for it right there. I take the quickest escape route—dive off the back of the boat. Even leave my snorkel and fins behind.
But Sukanda’s still there when I surface. She’s on her feet, assessing me. She makes sure I’m watching when she loosens the knot and lets her skirt fall in a filmy puddle around her feet. She moves like an exotic dancer down to the dive platform and, with a sinuous organic movement, dives in. I’ve never seen anyone look good in a thong bikini, but Sukanda’s butt is as muscled as her abs.
She’s gorgeous in the water. More fish than girl. Natural—like it’s her primordial substance. She swims under me. I submerge and follow, wishing I at least had a mask so I could see every curve of her naked backside. She outlasts me on a single breath easy. I don’t know anyone who can do that.
She comes to the surface when I give up and splashes me. “You good. Don’t swim like scuba.”
I float out of her splash zone. “I free dive.”
She draws her face into a fetching confused knot. “I not know this.”
“Hold your breath—like you were just doing.”
She strokes close to me. “In my country, we have not name for this.” She closes her eyes and licks the saltwater on her lips. “Everyone just does it.”
“In Thailand?” I haven’t seen anyone swimming or diving like Sukanda.
“No. This is not my country. I am of the Moken.”
“The Sea Gypsies in Burma—Myanmar?”
“This is what English call us.”
“How’d you get”—I motion with my head back at the boat and Max.
“I run. Twelve years old. Get to Thailand. I start in shows.” She frowns. She swims closer but doesn’t touch me. “Many men. Make good money. Now Max.” She holds out her left hand so I can see the giant cluster of diamonds on her third ring. “He buy me house.”
“And I’m too young?”
“I twenty-six. Very old not married.”
“He says you’re twenty. I say not even.”
“He thinks. He want young. An Asian woman can be any age you want.”
She’s right. You never really know if some chick is fifteen or thirty.
She lets her body brush mine. “For you this morning, I be eighteen? nineteen?” She melts under the water heading for the beach. I feel awkward as I duck dive and swim as fast as I can to keep up with her. She wades up onto the beach and throws herself down on the untouched sand.
I follow—entranced, captured, stand over her staring as she stretches her arms over her head. I drop to my knees beside her. One of Suki’s hands slinks back down, slips a Trojan packet out of her bikini top, and flips it at me.
“I moonlight. Max is too cheap. You like me?”
Freak. This is her job. And I fell for it. Every tiny sliver of bait hooked me in. I drop to my knees, pick up the condom. She’s a prostitute. This is criminal. Depraved. But she is so—
“How much you pay?” She puts her hands to the back of her neck like she’s going to untie her bikini top.
I touch her nicely toned shoulder—draw a line down her wet arm with my finger. “Sorry, Suki—no wallet.” Freak, I want her. I lean over her so I can see better when she drops her top. Leesie’s ring flashes in the sun.
“I take that.” Sukanda reaches for it.
I jerk back.
She raises up on her elbows. “I worth that easy.”
I stand and back away into the water with my hand clutching Leesie’s ring. What am I doing? It’s not like Leesie would ever know, but I would. Am I this much of a sucker? This unfaithful? Maybe those jerk missionaries were right about me. I turn around so I won’t stumble and cut my feet on the coral rocks half buried in the sand.
Sukanda follows. “I take cash, too.”
“I’m sorry—no.” I have to get away from her. She didn’t want me, but I am dying for her.
“Claude give me cash.” Her laugh sounds coarse now. “Last night very nice for him.”
It makes me sick she’s trying to play me off Claude. “And Max doesn’t care?”
“Max drunk or asleep. Come back to beach.” Her perfect, professional seductress mask slips, and I see a cold, hard businesswoman. “Give me money later.”
It tears me up that this is what she is. What her poverty, the world—men—creeps like Max, Claude, freak even me—have made her. Here is this wild beautiful sea creature spoilt. It makes me think of all those dolphins, dead and drowned in a fishermen’s net. Leesie still wears that necklace. Save the dolphins. Save the sea gypsies—Moken—save this one. Can anything or anyone do that? Leesie would claim her God can. All those girls in the bar vying for a man. Thousands more in worse conditions. Little boys, too. All that evil for some creep’s pleasure. I think Leesie’s God has an awful lot of work to do. I know what she’d say. We’re his servants. Get busy. Teach them to save themselves.
Sukanda catches up to me. “Please, Michael. You want.”
“You’re right. I want.” I’m not going to condemn her. Who am I to condemn her? I link arms with her and wade deeper, pull her along with me. “I’m just a poor dive instructor. I can’t afford you,” I lie. I want to lecture her, tell her to go straight, to leave Max. I want to kill Claude for using her. All I say though is, “I’m sorry.”
She pouts up at me. Then she’s gone, cutting through the water, not a playful porpoise or siren seductress now. She’s full-blooded barracuda.
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG /
12/23 1:51 AM
Leesie327 says: I felt so dumb. He didn’t want to talk to me.
Kimbo69 says: What do you expect?
Leesie327 says: He was begging for me to call last time we chatted.
Kimbo69 says: Guys are all about what’s in front of their nose…trust me…I know.
Leesie327 says: He was busy—that’s all.
Kimbo69 says: Distracted?
Leesie327 says: I bugged him when he was working. He has a job.
Kimbo69 says: I’m thinking he was loading that special cargo you told me about.
Leesie327 says: The concubine? No. We talked about that. It makes him sick.
Kimbo69 says: That’s so rude you call her that.
Leesie327 says: The other words that denote her profession aren’t in my vocabulary. You’re right, though. I shouldn’t be mean. Wouldn’t it be awful to have to live like that? I don’t know if she has to, but it would be awful.
Kimbo69 says: She could be a slave. Some guy is selling her around. That’s supposed to be huge over there.
Leesie327 says: Maybe Michael can help her.
Kimbo69 says: You want him to buy her?
Leesie327 says: Sick. No. He’s got a lot of money. He could send her to school somewhere. My room’s empty. She could stay there free. Or at Gram’s.
Kimbo69 says: You think this woman would go for that?
Leesie327 says: She’s really young.
Kimbo69 says: Gosh, Leesie. Don’t be an imbecile. You can’t bring anyone you want into the country and set them up to live in your old pink bedroom. Geesh.
Leesie327 says: I told you I’m stupid. Aren’t there groups who liberate girls like that. I should send Michael a website or some kind of contact, so he can do something.
Kimbo69 says: That could be dangerous.
Leesie327 says: You mean someone might try to hurt him?
Kimbo69 says: Maybe, but I’m thinking dangerous for YOU…she’d be awfully grateful.
Leesie327 says: Don’t be gross. Michael doesn’t think like that about anyone but me.
Kimbo69 says: He didn’t call back.
Leesie327 says: He was mega busy.
Kimbo69 says: Still, he didn’t call back.
Leesie327 says: And how’s your break going so far?
Unbroken Connection Page 15
