Samantha and I finished our conversation, and I flopped down on the bed. My phone was still in my hand and my pulse started to race as I punched Mick’s speed dial number.
Chapter Seven
Awake at 6:00, I was jogging on the beach by 6:30. The sun was just coming up, and although the air was warm, it wasn’t yet hot, and the humidity was still low. It felt good to use my muscles after the weakness from the heatstroke yesterday.
The beach was serene at this time of day. There were a few early birds hunting for shells, a man and a woman were holding hands while walking barefoot in the low surf, and there were a few other joggers.
Darby must have come in late last night. I had shut the door between our rooms when I turned my lights out at midnight and never heard a sound from his room. My heart was heavy when I climbed into bed, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Mick hadn’t answered his phone when I called, and I didn’t leave a message.
The ocean had a calming effect on me, and I could think more clearly in the fresh morning air. I would try again today to talk with Mick. My anger was gone, and I was starting to miss him intensely. There is something to be said for homesickness. Because I had run away instead of facing my troubles, I wasn’t 100% in vacation mode, and I was longing to be back home. Back home in Mick’s arms, if that was possible. I needed to know that I positively had nothing to do with their marriage breaking up, and that his teenage son wouldn’t resent me for being in his father’s life. We still needed to talk it all through.
I pulled up suddenly and stopped. What was that? I heard a sharp crack to my right in the sea oats at the edge of the sand. My heart stopped. I suddenly felt cold, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I looked intently into the grasses but didn’t see anything obvious. There was no movement other than their gentle sway in the breeze. I looked around the beach and everything was as it should be; nothing was out of the ordinary. The events of yesterday must have set me more on edge than I realized. Darby was right, I was acting paranoid. The joy of the jog was gone now. I took off my running shoes, tied them together by the laces, and slung them over my shoulder. I turned around and walked in the surf all the way back to the hotel.
Darby was sitting in the lobby reading a newspaper when I walked in. “Hey, g’morning, Sunshine,” he said. “Want to join me for breakfast?”
I smiled at him and said, “Let me grab a quick shower, and I’ll meet you in the restaurant.” I ran to catch the elevator.
Forty-five minutes later, we were sitting down to pancakes, sausages, and orange juice.
“What did you do last night?” I asked him with my mouth mostly full. “You came in late?”
“I did,” he answered and wiped his mouth with a napkin before continuing. “I had dinner at the seafood bar next door and stayed for the duration.” He smiled and shook his head. “There was a party in the back room, and the people at the table next to mine invited me join in,” he paused for effect before saying, “and I came in second in the karaoke contest.”
“Get out!” I squealed shoving him on the arm. “I had no idea you were a singer.”
“I’m not,” he said laughing. “It was a party and the adult beverages were flowing. Truth be told, I think I almost won the whole darn thing because I kept adlibbing words to songs and making them about the people at the party. It was fun.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it,” I said laughing. I tried to picture the scene. “But I would bet you almost won the whole darn thing because you smiled that big smile of yours at everybody.”
He turned his smile on me and asked. “What did you do last night? Did you feel good enough to get out for a bite to eat?”
“Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you. Skinny Guy knocked on your door. I swear, I was totally freaked out.”
“You’re kidding?” he asked puzzled. “What did he want?”
“How would I know?” I asked him incredulously. “I didn’t answer the door. I was scared out of my mind.” I lowered my voice. “But, Darby, he wasn’t creepy looking like I imagined he would be. He was actually kind of good looking, like a young Marlon Brando. Did you ever know or date someone like that? Maybe he had shorter hair when you knew him? Why would he be knocking at your door?”
“No,” he said. “I’m sure I don’t know him. I don’t know why he would have knocked on my door.”
“Think for a minute” I continued to push him. “Could he have ever been at your apartment back home? There was something familiar about him.”
“Absolutely not,” he said adamantly. “I have very few visitors at my apartment, so I’m positive he’s never been there. Susan, I don’t know him,” he insisted. “You probably saw his face here, or on the beach, or at the races, and you didn’t realize you were looking at him”
“You’re probably right,” I said backing off. I didn’t want to push this too far and upset Darby. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact I still think he was the one who ran us off the road. And then to see him at your door …” my statement trailed off. “Something’s up with him.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him, I promise,” he said without conviction. “Now, what do you want to do today?”
I knew he was placating me, but I dropped the subject. “I think I’ll take a break from the sun. If you don’t mind, I’d like to do some shopping this morning, and then I think I’ll check out a racquetball club I found in the phone book. It’s just north of here a couple of miles. Do you have plans for the car? Should I take a cab?”
“You can take the car,” he said as he finished off his stack of pancakes. “I’m going to spend most of my time at the hotel pool today. I want to check out the cabana boys.”
I shot him a look as if to say, “really?”
“I’m just kidding!” he said laughing as he pulled the car keys from his pocket. “I’ll work on my tan, swim, drink pina coladas, and then maybe take advantage of some of the spa facilities.”
“Well, you can check out the cabana boys if you want,” I said putting the keys in my purse, “but save some of those big smiles for your date tomorrow night. What’s his screen name anyway?”
“You know how cheesy screen names can be,” he said as he smiled and looked down at his watch.
“Tell me!” I insisted as I punched him lightly on the arm.
“Ok, but promise you won’t laugh,” he said.
I half nodded my head.
“It’s purpleflamingo,” he said.
I laughed out loud, “And you wanted to talk to a guy who thinks he’s a purple flamingo because … ?” I let the question hanging.
“No,” he scoffed at me. “I wanted to talk to a guy who was discussing chicken marsala recipes on a food forum. He’s actually an accomplished chef, but decided it wasn’t the career for him. As it turns out, he loves Florida nightlife and enjoys performing at the restaurant. I guess it’s really quite a gig.”
We were done eating, and Darby signed the bill. We had agreed when we first arrived that everything would be charged to his room, and we’d work it all out when we were home again.
We left the restaurant and headed toward the elevators. He pushed the button for seven. “Have you called Mick yet?” he asked.
“I tried last night,” I said shrugging, “but he didn’t answer. “I don’t know if he deliberately ignored my call, or if he really wasn’t available.”
“I’m sure he was unavailable,” Darby said sympathetically as he slipped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a light squeeze. “Don’t read too much into it. If he calls, answer your phone; otherwise, call him later.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll do that. Will I see you for dinner this evening?”
“Of course. How about a pizza?” he asked. “There’s a place over by the Yacht Club that was featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Want to check it out?”
“Sounds great,” I told him as he stepped into the elevator. I gave him a little wave good-bye before the door
s closed and said, “I’ll see you later.”
We went our separate ways.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was driving north on Gulf Boulevard, on my way to a small elite shopping plaza in South Pasadena where I intended to give my credit cards a healthy workout. The windows were up, the air conditioner was on full blast, and a top 40 station was blaring on the radio. Traffic was moving along at a good clip, but I was in no hurry and didn’t feel like speeding. I was singing along with the radio - loudly. Humph, I could have given Darby a run for his money at karaoke.
A green Sonic flew past me on the left at a high rate of speed. I didn’t see who was driving. My heart skipped a beat. Was that Skinny Guy again? I turned the radio down to concentrate on my driving and surroundings. A minute later, I saw what looked like another green Sonic going past me in the southbound lane. Before I arrived at the plaza, another green Sonic, driven by a young girl talking on her cell phone, passed me. My paranoia factor was running high. I was either starring in a Hitchcock thriller, or, with a calmer head, I could only surmise this was an obviously popular color and model of car around here.
I parked the rental car at the south end of the lot and went into the first boutique, Rainforest Skins. I was taken aback by the amount of lush, tropical plants in the small space. Interspersed throughout the plants were handbags and belts made from exotic skins. The handbags were so beautiful they took my breath away. There were crocodile, python, and ostrich purses in some lovely hues. The belts were mostly snakeskin, but a hot pink crocodile belt caught my eye. It was thin with a gold buckle and would be a perfect accent for the ivory linen dress I bought last month. The price tag told me the belt was out of my league, but not by much. The clerk swiped my card, and I was on my way to the next shop.
Shopping always cured what ailed me. Tensions slipped away when I was spending money, especially on clothing and shoes. The reason I worked two jobs was to support my shopping habit. At least it was at first. I enjoyed working at the racquetball club so much, I would still work there even if I didn’t want the extra money.
I stepped into the next small shop which specialized in Italian silk ties. There was very little decor outside of a few wooden accents. The small space was filled with racks, some extending from floor to ceiling. The lone male clerk behind the main counter was fussing with merchandise in the case. It crossed my mind that Mick always wore such handsome ties to work and he would love these beautiful silk ties. I picked out a power pink Versace tie with a faint Roman coin motif. The tie was more salmon than pink, in my opinion. If things didn’t work out for me and Mick, I could always give the tie to my dad at Christmas.
I also wanted to get something for Darby as a thank you for allowing me to crash his vacation, but I had never seen him wear a tie and didn’t think one would be appreciated. I held up a purple tie with large floating paisleys and was reminded of my new-found knowledge of Darby’s gayness and accidentally let out a chuckle/snort. The clerk shot a look of disapproval my way. I put the tie down, handed the Versace to him, and said sweetly, “I’ll take this one, please.”
I passed on the bath and lotion shop, the home decor shop, and the men’s shoe shop. I nearly squealed out loud when I walked into the next shop, Swimming In Heels. Shoes and swimwear. I could spend a week in this store, and it was going to break the bank for sure.
Over an hour later, I had three pairs of shoes stacked on the counter. The first was an Italian pair, navy with white polka dots, and sporting a 5-inch wood heel. They looked quite retro, and I knew they would be fantastic with my J Brand skinny leg jeans.
Italian peep-toe flats with a peacock print and yellow accent were next. They were bold and sassy and not like anything else in my closet. They were a must-have.
The trio was rounded out with a Kate Spade braided leather sandal in gold. I was in shoe heaven.
But I wasn’t leaving the shop without a new swimsuit. My first choice was a fire-engine red suit with a bandeau top and hipster bottom. Oh my goodness, I almost felt naughty in it. I wasn’t well-endowed, but I wasn’t on the flat side either. The bandeau top was extremely flattering and had a pushup effect. Hours and hours of racquetball certainly paid off when it came to swimsuits. The red suit was happily placed on top of the shoe boxes.
A simple two-piece, terrycloth suit was my second choice. It was a light beige color that nearly matched my own skin tone. The top tied around my neck, and there was a terrycloth bow on the front. The bottom was also a hipster as was popular right now. I loved the simplicity of the swimsuit and added it to the stack.
I looked at my watch. If I was going to have time to play racquetball, I was going to have to give the shopping a rest. My budget was screaming for me to stop anyway. I happily paid for my purchases and left the shop.
My arms were full, and I had to walk quite a distance back to the south end of the lot. I rounded a mini-van and could see the problem before I even walked up to the car. Four flat tires.
“COME ON!” I yelled in exasperation as loud as I could.
I set my packages on the ground next to the car and leaned against the door. I knew without a doubt Skinny Guy was responsible for this. But why? I called a cab for rescue and called the car rental agency for retrieval of the car.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back in my hotel room, I looked over my purchases and was delighted all over again. There was no way I had enough room in my luggage to get all of this back home to Ohio. Maybe Darby had some extra room in his bags.
I packed my gym clothes and court shoes into a small folding bag I had brought with me. I would rent a racquet and purchase balls at the club. As I looked around the room before leaving, my eye caught the pink tie one more time, and I decided to try calling Mick again. My heart started to race as I punched his number, and negative thoughts came pouring in. What if he didn’t want to see me anymore? What if he decided to stay with his wife? What if he wouldn’t talk to me?
His phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.
I really needed to shake this off. I knew if I hadn’t run off to Florida, this would have been resolved by now. I needed to keep the guilt and angst at bay until I could talk with him.
I ran down the hallway to the elevator and hoped the second cab I had called today was still waiting for me. It was, and I hopped in.
When we pulled into the parking lot at the Bay Racquet Club, I couldn’t help but notice a green Sonic in one of the parking spots. “For crying out loud,” I muttered under my breath.
“Something wrong?” the cab driver asked.
“No, it’s nothing,” I told him. “And certainly nothing you did.” I paid the fare and gave him a generous tip.
As are most racquetball clubs, this was a large building. I walked into the lobby and was impressed by its size. Our lobby at home was small by comparison. One corner of the room had sports clothing and merchandise for sale. A juice bar was to the left of the main desk. Overstuffed sofas and chairs were spread throughout the large open area. Four courts, two on each side of the lobby, had glass back walls. Two of the glass courts had matches in progress, and I could hear the echo of voices and balls being hit on the back courts. There were four women chatting together on sofas, and a few more people were standing around watching the matches in progress. One guy in a club shirt and khaki slacks was working behind the desk. I walked up to speak with him.
“Hi, I’m Susan Hunter,” I told him. “I called about getting some court time this afternoon. I was told you could arrange a couple of matches for me?” It was more of a question as I was looking for confirmation.
“Hi, Susan. I’m Dale,” he said as he looked over his appointment book. “Yep, you’re scheduled for court number three in 20 minutes. There’s no one on there now,” he said as he handed a towel and a locker key to me, “so, if you want to get changed and take some time to warm up, that would be ok. The ladies locker room is down the hallway to the right, the doorway will then be on your left.”
“Ok, great. Thanks,” I told him with a smile. I started to walk toward the hallway, but turned back to Dale and said, “Oh, I also need to rent a graphite racquet, and I’d like to buy a new can of Ektelon balls.”
“Sure,” he acknowledged. “I’ll get those ready.”
I changed into a pair of dark brown cotton shorts with a matching top. The top was a tan color with brown cap sleeves. My ankle socks were white with brown and pink polka-dots. My white court shoes had my trademark pink laces. I stopped at the desk to pick up the racquet and balls. Dale gave me a quick once-over with an appreciative look as he handed the equipment to me and said, “Your first match is with Ron. He’s in the locker room changing, and he’ll be out in a few minutes.”
I opened the door and stepped onto the court. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled a big smile. A little over a year ago, before I ever hit my first ball, before I had ever swung my first racquet, I fell in love with just stepping onto the court. There was something almost overwhelming about the experience. The walled space with such high ceilings, the echo of everything – a ball bounce, a sneaker squeak, a voice. The sounds were much more intense when the action was underway. The cool air-conditioned court would soon feel overheated.
The feeling never went away and it was there today. It was even more exciting to be playing in a new venue with a mystery opponent. I bounced the ball a few times. A new ball would make the match more interesting as it had its most zip right out of the can. I bounced the ball again and hit it into the front wall. It came back toward me, bounced once, and I hit it again into the front wall. I continued to hit simple easy shots into the front wall, returning as many of them as I could. I sent up a few high ceiling shots to warm up my upper body, and then moved into the service box to hit several serves along both sides of the court. I was feeling warm and just about ready. I tossed the ball into the back wall and set up for a low forehand shot into the right-front corner. I did the same thing facing the left side and set up for a backhand into the left-front corner. The shot was perfect and rolled out for an ace. I smiled.
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