Izzy As Is

by Tracie Banister

  What about voodoo, or vodou as it’s called in the Dominican Republic? On my various shopping excursions into Santo Domingo and Boca Chica, I’ve seen street vendors selling tarot cards, herbal remedies, protective amulets, ritual oils, even love potions. (I was tempted to purchase one of the latter, but decided my own personal mojo is stronger than anything magical would be.) Could the exec Eduardo fired in the Santo Domingo office (this guy’s screw-ups were why Eduardo had to race down here) have been vengeful enough to get himself an ex-boss voodoo doll? If so, he might be sticking pins in faux Eduardo’s crotch right now! I immediately start researching how to counteract a voodoo hex and that’s when I receive a FaceTime call from Zane. I haven’t spoken with him or anyone from home since we got to the Caribbean, so it’ll be nice to catch up.

  “Hola!”

  “Woah!” Zane’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. “Are you on Cleavage-Cam?”

  I realize that the angle I’m holding my phone at is giving him an eyeful of my tetas, which are being squished together and pushed up because of the way I’ve got myself propped up.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities with my bodacious rack.”

  “I wasn’t complaining; I was just a bit startled. Those boobs of yours should come with a warning label. If I had a heart condition, it would have been all over for me.” He smirks. “So, what’s up? Are you enjoying your getaway?”

  “It’s been a blast!” I hope my enthusiasm doesn’t sound as forced as it feels. “We’re staying at this incredible resort called ‘Island Bliss,’ which is five-star luxury all the way. Check this out . . .” I sit up and turn my phone around so that I can pan from one end of the pool area to the other.

  “A swim-up bar. Nice!” he exclaims.

  “And the cocktails are amazing.” I pick up my coco loco and take a noisy slurp through the straw to illustrate my point. “I’ve been waited on hand and foot here, the food is to-die-for, and there’s so much cool stuff to do!” Okay, I’m starting to sound like one of those full-of-crap travel brochures.

  “Uh huh.” He doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “Glad you’re having fun. We miss you here, though. Any idea when you’ll be coming home?”

  “Not sure. Eduardo’s business is taking a little longer than he thought it would, but I can’t say that I’m in any hurry to leave this life of leisure and pampering behind. This afternoon I’m signed up for the three-and-a-half hour Chocolate Dreams package at the spa—a sugar scrub followed by a body wrap and massage, all done with products made from fresh cacao.”

  “So, you’ll smell like a double fudge brownie when you’re done.”

  “I’ll taste like a double fudge brownie too, and Eduardo loves sweets, so . . .,” I trail off, leaving the rest to his imagination.

  I only hope that this chocolate-flavored seduction plan of mine resuscitates Eduardo’s flagging libido when he gets back to the hotel tonight. To be cute, I thought I’d leave a trail of Hershey’s Kisses from the door of the suite to the bed where he’ll find me draped across the duvet in all my naked, irresistible glory, and of course I’ll have several cans of whipped cream at the ready since nothing goes better with chocolate.

  With a roll of his eyes, Zane says, “I don’t really need to hear about your sex life.”

  “Let’s talk about you then. What’s happening? Anything new and exciting to report?”

  “Maybe. I went to dinner at Sybil’s last night.”

  My stomach drops. ¡Ay, mierda! I’ve been so consumed with this trip and my relationship with Eduardo for the past week that I’d forgotten all about that bleached blonde cougar being on the prowl for some fresh man meat. I hope she hasn’t sunk her teeth into Z while I’ve been gone. I should have warned him against her predatory ways before I left town. Friendship fail, Izzy!

  “Was her husband there?”

  “No, I think he was away on business. He seems to travel a lot.”

  Which makes it easy for his wife to stray!

  “And why did Sybil invite you over?” To offer him an indecent proposal, I’d be willing to bet.

  “She wanted to talk about my career, what my plans are moving forward, what she can do to help. She really likes my work and was pleased with how well it was received at the show.”

  I think it’s his body, not his work, she likes, and what she wants to “help” him with is climbing on top of her.

  “It’s great she recognizes and appreciates your talent, but why do you think she singled you out of all the artists who participated in that exhibit?”

  Come on, Z, you’re smart! If you’ll give it some thought, you’ll see that this lady is not on the up-and-up and her interest in you goes beyond the professional. Girlfriend is working an angle, and I’m sure of this because it takes a manipulator to know a manipulator. I can only hope that in fifteen years, I won’t be as desperate and obvious as she is.

  “That’s what Sybil does. She sponsors a new artist every year, features their work at her gallery, introduces them to the right people in the art world, gets them press.”

  “Uh huh, let me guess, all of these pets of hers are young, male, and good-looking.” And she gets unrestricted boning rights to each of them as long as they’re under her wing.

  “I don’t like what you’re implying,” Zane says stiffly.

  “My bad. I shouldn’t have implied anything; I should have just come right out and said what was painfully clear to me the night of your show—Sybil Lyndon is warm for your form, and she’s auditioning you for the role of her next boy toy.”

  “And you’re basing this on the three minutes of time you spent exchanging small talk with her at a party?” Zane lifts a brow questioningly.

  “Three minutes in which she did everything but pee on you to mark her territory.”

  “Sybil has a strong, commanding presence and she likes to get her way . . . sound familiar?” He directs a pointed look at me. “But that doesn’t mean her heart isn’t in the right place. She’s already been so kind and generous with me. She even offered me her guest house to live and work in.”

  “How convenient for her! She won’t even have to leave her property when she wants a booty call.”

  Z frowns at me. “You’re wrong about Sybil. She expects nothing in return for her largesse; she says that nurturing artistic talent is its own reward.”

  “You’re not seriously considering taking her up on her guest house offer, are you?”

  He shrugs. “It’s something to think about. I’m surprised you’re not all for it since you not-so-lovingly refer to my current residence as ‘the crap shack.’”

  “It really is awful. I mean, I know you like the location, but . . .” I stick my tongue out in disgust. “Still, the crap shack is preferable to you getting stuck in the black widow’s web.”

  “She’s not a widow.”

  “Not yet, but I looked up Sybil’s husband online after meeting her and he’s like a hundred. So, he could keel over at any time. Or she could smother him with a pillow while he’s sleeping and no one would question his death since he’s so damn old. El homicidio perfecto.”

  Zane shakes his head in disbelief. “The poor bastard who marries you had better sleep with one eye open.”

  He’s not wrong, but still . . . rude! My phone chimes with a reminder. “Ooooo, Z, I gotta bolt. My beauty team awaits me at the spa.”

  “Yeah, my lunch break is almost over, and Esteban’s got an afternoon shoot I need to prep. So, I’d better get to it.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” I inquire before he can end the call.

  “Need me to water your plants?”

  “Nah, I’m sure they’re already dead. What I need is for you to proceed with caution where Sybil is concerned. And for the love of Dios, do not move anywhere near her. That would just be asking for trouble.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement. Let me know when you’re back in Miami.”

  “Will do. ¡Adiós!�
�

  I disconnect the call and start tossing all my stuff into my straw tote bag.

  “Señorita Alvarez . . .”

  “Sí?” I raise my eyes to see my favorite poolside server, Alonso, bearing a silver tray with another coco loco on it.

  “This drink is from an admirer who hopes you will accept it with his compliments.”

  Free alcohol? Don’t mind if I do!

  “Happy to, but I’ll have to take it to-go as I’m on my way to a spa appointment.”

  Rising to my feet, I slip my cover-up over my head, which doesn’t really cover up much of anything since it’s a crochet tunic in the same vibrant color as my bikini with a fair amount of peekaboo action going on, then slide my feet into a pair of tan leather sandals.

  “Gracias, Alonso.” I relieve him of the coconut and suck up enough of the icy cold cocktail to give me momentary brain freeze. When I’ve recovered, I lean into him and say, “Who sent this drink?”

  He inclines his head to the side, indicating that I should look across the pool, where there’s a gentleman in a Panama hat lounging under a cabana. His hair is silver and his skin is so dark and crispy from the sun that he looks like one big melanoma. He raises his glass in the air, toasting me, and I return the gesture halfheartedly.

  “Ew, he’s old enough to be my father,” I whisper to Alonso.

  “I believe he does have a daughter about your age. Twenty-one, right?” He flashes me a flirtatious smile.

  “Oh, Alonso, you flatter a girl. If I weren’t already spoken for . . .,” I flirt right back.

  “Alas, it was not meant to be, señorita.”

  “But we’ll always have the pool, won’t we? And our shared fondness for coco locos. Thank you for introducing me to these, by the way.” I take another sip of the cocktail. “I will be forever grateful.”

  “El gusto es mio,” he assures me.

  Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I say in parting, “Tell the old coot that while I appreciate the booze, I’m not in the market for a sugar daddy. So, he should seek his fun elsewhere.”

  “He dared to dream, señorita. We cannot fault him for that. Of course, his wife would if she knew.”

  “He’s married?” I feign shock. “The dirty dog! And here I thought his intentions were honorable.”

  Alonso and I burst out laughing at the same time.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Hit me,” I tell the blackjack dealer.

  I know it’s a risky move since I already have a six of clubs and a ten of diamonds, but no guts, no glory, right? And I’m not playing with my own money anyway. When I told Eduardo I was going to spend my evening at the hotel casino, he called ahead and had five hundred dollars waiting for me at the cashier’s booth. (You can also play with pesos here in the Dominican Republic, but trying to convert currency in my head is not my idea of a good time. So, I’m happy to stick with dollars.) I’ve got two hundred riding on this hand and I have some sort of gambler’s intuition that the dealer’s got more than sixteen (he’s already showing a face card), so I feel confident (sort of) that this is the way to go.

  Come on five card! You know you’ve always been my favorite number.

  I hold my breath as the dealer slowly draws a card out of the shoe. When he flips the card over and sets it down on the green felt in front of me, I see that it’s the four of spades and I smile, feeling very pleased with myself. While I wait for the dealer to check with the other players at the table (they both ask for a card and go bust), I take a sip of my Santo Libre, which is another rum cocktail I’ve discovered here in the Dominican Republic. This one’s got Sprite in it, so the drink is sweet and bubbly.

  The moment of truth arrives, and the dealer moves to reveal his second card . . .

  “Yes!” I shriek and do a fist pump when the card turns out to be a nine of diamonds, which means I bested the house by one. In yo’ face, cute blackjack dealer!

  Hmmmm, have I ever slept with a guy who worked in a casino before? I don’t think so, but I kind of like the idea of getting busy on a blackjack table and this dealer displayed some impressive hand skills when he was shuffling the cards earlier that made me feel a bit tingly (although to be frank just about anything would cause that sensation right now since I’ve been so sex-deprived the last ten days).

  As you’ve probably already guessed, Operation Chocolate Seduction did not pan out as I’d hoped it would. I laid on that hotel bed in my birthday suit, working on my come-hither look, for three solid hours. Eduardo kept texting saying that he’d be at the office for another half-hour, then another, then another until finally I gave up on him, ate way more of the Hershey’s Kisses than I should have followed by a whipped cream chaser, and fell into a sugar coma for the rest of the night. I didn’t even realize Eduardo never came back to the hotel until I woke up alone the next morning and saw that he’d texted to tell me he was staying in town for the night. His Santo Domingo office is just a twenty minute drive from the resort in Boca Chica, so he couldn’t even put that small bit of effort into seeing me. I’m not going to lie; it’s very disheartening. When Eduardo invited me to come on this trip with him, I really thought that our relationship was headed in the right direction—toward a long-term commitment, but now it’s like he’s taken twenty steps back.

  We’ve been totally disconnected ever since we got here, and I don’t know if I can keep blaming that on his preoccupation with work. Whatever’s going on, it’s his fault, not mine, because I have been the perfect girlfriend in every possible way and if he can’t appreciate how fortunate he is to have me in his life, then screw him! I’ll just take all my winnings tonight (current haul: twelve hundred) and use that to pay my bills when I get back to Miami and have to start looking for another rich guy to be my hubby. Eduardo’s loss!

  The dealer adds another black chip to my pile, and it’s time to play the next hand. Still feeling the exhilaration of winning the last game, I decide to go all in and shove my chips forward. The dealer’s eyes slant down to my almost empty highball glass, then up to my face and he purses his lips with concern. Obviously, he thinks I’m snockered and making bad decisions because of it.

  “I feel lucky,” I proclaim with a cheeky grin. Also, I’d like to get lucky tonight and since my boyfriend is not fulfilling his duties in that regard, maybe I will jump this . . . I zoom in on the dealer’s name tag . . . Pablo’s bones later. He does appear to have a nice build underneath that dorky polyester uniform of his as the sleeves of his starched white shirt are stretched so tight across his biceps that the seams look as though they might burst at any moment.

  Pablo makes his first pass around the table, dealing every player a card. I get the Queen of Hearts. Gotta love the irony of that since I’m striking out in the love department right now! Pablo’s card is the eight of clubs. I cross my fingers in my lap and pray to the Almighty that my next card is a high one. When Pablo lays down the ace of hearts in front of me, I whoop so loud everyone at the roulette table next to us glances over. I, then, leap out of my chair, shouting “Blackjack, baby!” and do a little dance including a lot of booty shaking that garners me even more attention from the other casino patrons.

  With a smirk, Pablo waves me back down into my seat. He goes through the formality of playing out the rest of the game, but there’s no way I can be beat by the dealer’s hand. The best Pablo can hope for is to get twenty-one and tie with me, which doesn’t happen. He ends up with cards totaling twenty and has to pay up on my big bet. Twenty-six hundred smackeroos! Hot damn! I am on a roll!

  Now the question is: Do I press my luck here at the blackjack table, or do I give another game a try? Roulette might be fun. No, wait, I want to play the game where you throw dice (craps?). That always looks exciting in movies. I can blow on the dice and say, “Vamos! Mamá necesita un nuevo par de Jimmy Choos,” and my fellow gamblers will cheer each time I make a good roll. (Not exactly sure what numbers are money-makers in craps, but I can quickly look up the specifics of the game on my phone.
)

  I’m draining my glass of its last dredges of Santo Libre so that I can leave it behind when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  “Disculpe, señorita.”

  I turn around to see a short, chubby-cheeked man with a faint scattering of facial hair, wearing the casino uniform with black vest and bow tie.

  “You must have been reading my mind. I am in dire need of another cocktail.” I shove my empty glass into his hand. “Would you be a doll and bring me a refill over at the craps table?”

  “But I am to take you to dinner,” he protests.

  “Dinner?” I frown. “I don’t remember making a reservation at any of the restaurants tonight.” I’ve mostly been eating room service on the balcony of my suite.

  “Señor Sandoval asked me to collect you. He wishes you to join him.”

  What? Eduardo’s back at the hotel, and he’s inviting me to dinner? He told me he’d be working late tonight, so I figured I wouldn’t even be seeing him until tomorrow morning. I can’t believe we’re finally going to get to spend at least part of an evening together. Woohoo! I jump to my feet, feeling a flutter of excitement.

  “Lead the way, mi hombre.”

  The thought of sharing a meal with Eduardo has me so flustered I forget about my winnings until we’re halfway out of the casino. I have to rush back to the blackjack table and with an apologetic smile to Pablo, sweep all my chips off the table into my evening bag. It’s so full that I can barely close the thing, but I don’t have time to cash them in now. I have a man waiting for me!

  I strut out of the casino on the same strappy silver heels I had on the night of the art show—the night Eduardo whisked me away on this not-so-dream vacation. My silver ball drop earrings and backless turquoise print maxi dress are new, though, and I’m glad I got dressed up this evening even though I didn’t think I had anyone special to get dressed up for. I wonder where Eduardo is planning to wine and dine me? There are several nice restaurants here at the resort, or maybe I’m being taken by chauffeured car to some charming, out-of-the-way spot, or . . . option number three, which is apparently some kind of al fresco meal because my mysteriously silent escort just opened the door leading out to the pool area and is motioning me through.