Heavy Turbulence

by Kimberly Fox

  He holds up his glass. “Cheers.”

  We both take a sip and he’s smiling as he places his drink down. “You know it’s not all bad news.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “We still have six days left,” he says, leaning closer to me. My pulse speeds up a few notches as I get ready to hear what I know is coming. “I have a large suite with no one to share it with. We can turn that frown upside down, and turn those legs upside down, over your head.”

  I try to give him my most serious face but the alcohol is making it hard to do anything but smile. “You can’t be serious.”

  He nods. Yup, he’s serious.

  “You need a rebound. They call me Mr. Trampoline.”

  I laugh so hard that the tequila sunrise that was in my mouth sprays on his arm. “You can’t be serious,” I say, wiping my chin.

  “Oh I am,” he says. “Take off your shoes and climb aboard the Trampoline. It’s going to be a wild ride.”

  The laughter keeps bubbling up out of me. “Could you be any cheesier?”

  He just shrugs. “That usually works.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to meet the type of girls that that works on.”

  He grabs the little umbrella from my drink and puts it in his mouth. He stares at me like I’m a puzzle that he hasn’t quite figured out how to put together. “It appears that I have to up my game with you. Challenge accepted.”

  “I know that a broken hearted girl who was just cheated on should be easy pickings for you but I’m this close to swearing off men forever,” I say, holding up my thumb and finger an inch apart. “I’m thinking maybe a small house on the corner of the street, ten cats. That might be the new me.”

  He holds up his drink. “Well let’s celebrate the departing of the old you with a bang. Literally.”

  I bite down on my straw as I watch him drink. His lips are curled around the glass in an almost sexual way. His arms are looking fine in his black tank top. He’s got me thinking: Why. The. Fuck. Not?

  It might salvage this shitty week.

  Megan walks into the bar, looking like shit. She sees us and stumbles over. “Hey Ethan,” she says, not really looking at me. “Can I steal her for a second?”

  “Just give us one minute,” he says. Megan nods and heads to the bar. She orders a bottle of water and gags as she sips it.

  Ethan leans in close to me. “Look,” he whispers, touching my arm. “You don’t have to decide now. You don’t even have to decide tonight.”

  He stands up off the bar stool and slips a key card into my hand. “But when you do decide, I’ll be waiting.”

  Holy shit.

  I could shove it back at his chest and refuse it, leave it on the table, but instead, I slip it into my beach bag. It might come in handy later.

  He grins as I make it disappear.

  “Am I ever going to get my underwear back?” I ask, biting on my straw.

  “You’ll get it back when you’re ready to wear it for me. They’re mine. You’re never wearing them for anyone else.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “How do you know I haven’t already?”

  He smirks. “Because they’re not shredded to pieces. Any straight man who sees you in those would lose his mind and rip them to shreds.”

  The thought of him ripping them off me to get at what laid hidden underneath makes my heart pump faster.

  I hold my breath as he leans in close to my ear. Shivers cascade down my back from his warm breath on my neck. I can smell his cologne from last night mixed with the scent of his suntan lotion. “They’ll be waiting for you in my room whenever you’re ready to wear them for me.”

  I answer with a gulp.

  “Room 327,” he says. “Anytime.”

  I sit there in stunned contemplation. “Thanks for the drinks.”

  He winks. “Anytime.”

  God, that guy. So tempting. So hot.

  The two hostesses by the door smile at him as he passes. They crane their necks out the door and giggle together as they watch him walk away.

  He could fuck both of them over the buffet bar and he chooses me. I don’t get it.

  Megan stumbles over from the bar, looking like she spent the past week in a crack house.

  I sing to her as she comes:

  “Here comes the bride. Looking undignified.”

  She smiles weakly but plays along.

  “The guests are horrified. She’s contemplating suicide.”

  “She drank some cyanide. The bathroom is occupied.”

  “She puked up all her pride. Her shits are liquefied.”

  “Alright, that’s enough.”

  “Agreed.”

  We laugh just like we used to. We’re always coming up with little rhyming songs like that, playing off each other. It’s just one of the weird things we do. Or used to do.

  She collapses onto the stool and lowers her head to the bar as she groans like a dying baboon. “Did you bring me home last night?” she asks. Her voice sounds like she’s been gargling with sandpaper.

  The bags under her eyes are as dark as a Whiskey bottle and her brown hair is a mess. “You really don’t remember any of it?” I ask.

  “Barely.”

  I chuckle. “You tried to make out with me.”

  She raises her head an inch. “Was I a good kisser”

  “Mmmmm,” I say looking up at the ceiling. “You tasted like rum and vomit but your tonguemanship was superb.”

  “Yes,” she says pumping her fist. “Nailed it.”

  Our laughter fades and she sits up straight. “I feel like things have been weird between us lately. I don’t like it.”

  I feel a tightness inside that comes whenever I think about this. “I know.”

  She puts her hand on mine. “Let’s do something just the two of us tomorrow.”

  “I’d like that.” I curse myself when the first thought that pops into my head is that I won’t be able to see Ethan if I leave the resort. What is wrong with you?

  “Let’s do some snorkeling,” she says. “It’s on me.”

  “That sounds fun,” I say nodding. It would be nice to spend some one on one time with Megan. It’s something that I feel has been lacking lately. And it would be nice to get away from Aaron and Stephanie and just have some fun.

  I hold my nose as Megan reaches over the table and hugs me. “I have to go back to bed,” she groans. “I feel like I drank that vat of green goo that the joker fell in.” One of our favorite movies is the original Batman. Even a hot Christian Bale has nothing on Michael Keaton. We’ve watched it dozens of times.

  “Yeah, you look like you bathed in it,” I say with a laugh.

  She stands up with her shoulders back and clears her throat. “There goes the bride,” she sings. “Looking pretty fried.”

  I join in.

  “She’s running off to hide. And everyone will think she died.”

  We both burst out laughing like we’ve done a million times over the years and I feel better about us.

  Maybe this week won’t be so bad after all.

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan

  Day Two

  The bride and groom never showed up for dinner tonight so everyone went their own way. My aunt and uncle asked me to join them at the steak house restaurant on the resort but I have plans of my own that involve a nice, hot piece of meat. But when I devour it I won’t be sitting in a restaurant.

  My heart pangs when I see my little steak outside watching the coy fish in the pond. She looks stunning in a short green skirt and loose white top that falls over one shoulder. Her hair is down and her cheeks have a red glow from laying around in the sun all day. She looks upset. Tense. She probably got into a fighting match with that piece of shit, Aaron.

  “You look stunning,” I say walking up beside her. I lean in with an unshakable desire to smell her. “Mmm,” I groan. She smells like apricots and candy.

  Her eyes have a wetness to them and her posture is stiff. She s
teps back and looks me up and down with pursed lips. “Why are you after me?” Her gorgeous eyes narrow like she’s confused. “Are you setting me up for a joke with Stephanie or something?”

  This is not the same girl that I had drinks with this morning. Aaron and her must have gone at it. And by the way that Aaron is slamming back drinks at the bar she gave it even better than she got it.

  “It’s simple really,” I say, stepping forward to bridge the gap between us. “You’re the hottest girl in here and I like you.” How could I not?

  She tucks a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear and watches me. Her white shirt falls over her suntanned shoulder and I can’t stop looking at the pink strap of her bra peeking out and tempting me.

  She studies me, trying to piece me together like a puzzle. She wants to believe me but she thinks I’m lying. She thinks I’m playing her. She’s probably been burned before.

  It started out as a game with her in the airport when I claimed her panties but now there’s something more. Maybe it’s all this wedding talk but I’m interested. She’s funny and smart and of course, I want to ravish that hot body of hers.

  “Come have dinner with me,” I say.

  She glances back at the buffet in the distance with the lineups of excited kids and annoyed parents.

  “Not here,” I say, shaking my head. This won’t do with a girl like her. She deserves the best. “Come with me.”

  I take her hand in mine and gently pull her towards me. This time she doesn’t pull her hand away. This time she lets me lead her.

  I take her to the lobby where all of the bell boys and taxi drivers are running around like ants. A thin young Mexican guy, a little younger than us, is wiping the bumper of his car with a rag. Just the kind of guy I need, someone who takes pride in their work.

  “Hey amigo,” I say, stuffing a hundred dollar bill into his hand. His eyes bulge out when he sees the number on the corner of the bill. “Can you be our tour guide tonight?”

  He shoves the bill into his pocket and smiles. His teeth are insanely white and his jet black hair is meticulously combed to the side.

  I pull out another hundred dollar bill and hold it up for him. His eyes go wide. “This is for you when she gets back here safely,” I say, pointing to the angel standing by the purple flowers. She walks over to join us.

  “Okay,” he says. “Where would you like to go? Señor Frogs, Hard Rock Cafe?”

  “No,” I say shaking my head. “None of that touristy shit. My girl over here wants to see the real Mexico. Where do the locals go for dinner?”

  He smiles. “La Rumba.”

  “Take us there.”

  Our driver for the night runs around the taxi and jumps into the driver’s seat. I open the door for Tanya and stick my chest out as she goes to get in.

  “Your girl?” she asks with a raised eyebrow as steps in the car.

  I close the door and then bend down and look at her through the open window. “Tonight you’re my girl. And I don’t want to hear any complaints about it. Okay?”

  I brace myself, ready to hear one, but her mouth is shut and she’s trying not to twist it into a smile.

  The car roars to life and I walk around the back to the other side with the image of Tanya’s stunning face still playing in my head.

  The car is immaculate inside and smells like fresh pine. The driver looks at us through the rear view mirror and his eyes light up. “I’m Jorge.”

  “Hi Jorge,” Tanya says warmly as she reaches up and pats his shoulder.

  “I’m Ethan and this lovely lady here is Tanya.”

  Jorge turns and smiles. He’s bubbly and excited. “I’m going to take you to the best place in Cancun.”

  “Where is this place?” I ask as he pulls away from the curb.

  “Is so good,” he says with a thick accent. “My uncle is the owner. Every Mexican in Cancun goes to eat there. Is so very good.”

  “I can’t wait,” Tanya says with a smile.

  I can’t stop looking at her. There’s a strong urge coursing through my veins to rip off her skirt and get to the real meal underneath. “I can’t wait either,” I say, staring at her bare legs.

  Twenty minutes of chatting with Jorge later and we arrive at the restaurant. It’s not exactly what I had in mind. I wanted fancy wines, waiters in tuxedos and hundred dollar meals. This looks like a shack with its straw roof and Christmas lights hung up all over it. Spanish music is blaring on the huge patio that’s filled with dozens of picnic tables squeezed together. Locals are everywhere, eating, dancing, drinking, talking and laughing. Kids are running around the tables laughing while their parents dance on the tiny dance floor. It’s chaos.

  “Wow,” Tanya says, sucking in a quick breath. She’s staring out the open window of the car as her lips part into a wide smile. “This is perfect.”

  I tap Jorge’s shoulder. He just got fifty dollars added to his tip. “Good choice,” I whisper. Tanya looks happy and that makes me happy.

  Jorge beams as he jumps out of the car. He’s a cute kid.

  “Wait here,” I say to Tanya as I get out and hurry around the car to open the door for her.

  “I can open a door.” She laughs as she gets out. “But thank you.”

  We follow Jorge to the patio and as soon as we arrive he disappears into the kitchen. There’s definitely no place like this back home.

  A young waiter holding a tray of steaming food rushes past an old man dancing with his granddaughter. The tables are filled with food and the seats are filled with smiling faces. A happy group at one table slam their glasses together in a cheers while another group at another table sings to the song playing through the scratchy speakers.

  Tanya is watching the scene with sparkling eyes. She’s loving it. Her hips start to move a little bit, swaying from side to side. She’s itching to dance. I lick my lips with the thought of her dancing. I want to see her shaking her hips and moving around on the dance floor. But what I really want to see is her swaying on the bed with me on top of her.

  Jorge comes back out with the chef. The large, older man looks like a Mexican Chef Boyardee in his tall white chef’s hat and his gray, bushy mustache. His white apron is tight across his big belly. It’s splattered with barbecue sauce, avocados, tomato sauce and other colorful smears.

  “Welcome, welcome,” he says with a thick Spanish accent. He continues speaking fast in Spanish and it all goes over my head. From the look on Tanya’s face, it goes over hers too.

  “My uncle says to have fun and make yourself at home,” Jorge says, translating. “He’s going to cook you the best meal in Mexico.”

  “Gracias,” Tanya says, leaning in and shaking the chef’s hand. He smiles and blushes a bit.

  I guess she doesn’t just have that effect on me. But he better not get too close or I’ll slap him across the head with an avocado. I’m only partly kidding.

  Jorge clears a path through the crowd and we follow him to a table. All of the picnic tables are in long rows where the people eat communal style. He clears a small space for us between two families.

  I was thinking something a little more private where I could get to know her but she looks like she’s loving it so I just go with it.

  Jorge sweeps his arm across the table, pushing a plate of nachos, fajitas and some little breaded balls of something to the side. A little old lady sitting on the bench looks up at me with wrinkly eyes. She shifts to the side and pats the bench beside her.

  Tanya and I look at each other and laugh. “When in Cancun,” I say. “Do as the Cancunians do.”

  We squeeze in the tight spots. Tanya sits next to an old, hunched over grandfather, which I guess is my neighbor’s husband of ninety years by the look of them.

  The woman looks at me and smiles, showing off her astonishing lack of teeth. She’s wrinkly as an old pear with wild, unruly gray hair but her eyes are shining with a hint of mischief in them. She looks like she’s had a few too many tequila sours.

  I
nod to the man next to me who looks to be in his early forties. His young daughter is sleeping on his lap.

  Everyone smiles and starts shoving the plates back in front of us. “Comer, comer,” the old man beside Tanya says.

  The young man beside me grabs a plastic pitcher of yellow slush and grabs two cups on the table. He dumps out the ice and melted slush already in them onto the grass and fills them both up. He hands them to us with a smile. “Drink up,” he says. He has a subtle accent but his English is very good.

  Tanya eyes the dirty, used glass and then smiles at me. So they’ve been used before. Who cares?

  I raise my glass and say, “Cheers.” Everyone along the long table jumps at the excuse to drink and raises their glasses too and yells “Cheers!”

  The drink is like fruity candy. It’s the best drink I’ve had since stepping off the plane.

  The man introduces himself as Manuel and then tells me the names of over a dozen people. “That’s Roberto, Carlos, Rosa, Maria, Antonio, Josefina…” by the time he’s finished my brain is a jumble of names that I’ll never remember. Tanya nods and smiles at each one of them as they’re introduced.

  “Where are you from?” Manuel asks, stroking his sleeping daughter’s brown hair.

  “Chicago,” I say over the music.

  “Ah!” he says, leaning back and smiling. “The city of Brotherly Love!”

  “Ha!” Tanya says pointing at me. “I told you!”

  Manuel wraps his arm around me and refills my drink. “Who are all of these people?” I ask him.

  He points to the old man beside Tanya who has taken an interest in her. “That’s my father-in-law, my mother-in-law,” he says, pointing to the old woman who’s grinning beside me. He points to the beautiful woman across the table on Tanya’s other side. “My wife, this is my daughter.” He begins pointing to people all over the place. “My cousin, neighbor, brother, another cousin, my aunt…”

  I tune Manuel out as his father-in-law grabs a plastic flower from the vase on the table and gives it to Tanya. He’s hunched over and looks old enough that he could have been one of the founders of Mexico. He says something in Spanish and for the first time ever I really wish I had paid attention in Spanish class.