by Beth Orsoff
Before he could answer, we both heard someone call “Lizzie” and looked around for the source. Michael was waving to me from fifty yards down the beach. I had no choice but to wave back.
“I should probably go,” Jack said.
“You don’t need to leave.” I’d get rid of Michael somehow. But he picked up his pace and arrived thirty seconds later, sweat trickling down his forehead and out of breath. Despite the constant heat and humidity since we’d arrived, this was the first time I’d seen him perspire.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too,” he said and kissed the top of my head before offering his hand to Jack. “Hi, I’m Michael, Lizzie’s husband.”
Was that really necessary?
“Jack Traynor,” he said, shaking Michael’s hand. “I’m the scuba instructor.”
Michael sat down in the empty chair I’d offered to Jack. “So how’s my girl doing?”
“Good,” Jack answered, before I could. “They’re all doing great. And I really do need to be heading out. Nice meeting you Michael, and Lizzie, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ten a.m. at the dock, right?”
“Right,” he said.
“And don’t forget your towel,” we both said in unison, then laughed.
At least Michael waited until Jack was a few feet away before he said, “What was that about?” in a rather accusatory tone for someone who was only playing my husband.
I watched Jack walk down the beach a little longer before I turned back to Michael. “We so need to talk.”
He groaned, just like a real husband. “Can it wait until later? All I really want now is a cold beer and your room key.”
“My key? Wait, what are you doing back here this early? I thought we weren’t meeting until six.”
“We’re not, but I lost my room key. I asked for another at the front desk, but they told me they’d have to charge us $75 to replace it.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“I agree,” he said. “That’s why I need your key. I’m going to take it into town and have a copy made for two bucks.”
I pulled the room key out of the zippered pocket in my beach bag. It was a metal key, not a computerized card, but it stated Do Not Copy at the top of it. “How are you going to get around that?”
“Don’t worry,” Michael said and tucked it into his shorts pocket. “I know a guy. See you at six.” He took off down the beach before I thought to ask him how he lost his key in the first place.
I spent the rest of the afternoon weighing the pros and cons of continuing this charade with Michael. This time I didn’t need to make a list.
Chapter 13
IT’S NOT THAT I didn’t enjoy Michael’s company and didn’t appreciate what he’d been doing for me, but he was getting a little too comfortable playing my husband. And despite his acknowledgement that our relationship was platonic, I could tell he wanted more. Not that he wanted to marry me. He just would’ve preferred spending the week as my real lover rather than my fake husband.
And yes, I admit, my motives weren’t altruistic. Having Michael around was ruining any shot I might have with Jack. Now I just had to figure out how to get rid of Michael, in a nice way, and have Jack find out about it so I looked like the injured party instead of the shrew. Too bad Jack thinks we’re already married. I could have Michael dump me at the altar. I was getting good at that.
I showered, dressed, blew dry my hair, and put on make-up, but I still hadn’t devised a plan to ditch Michael. I paced the room until 6:15 and when Michael still hadn’t showed, I walked over to the lobby.
He wasn’t there either. I didn’t know what else to do, so I ordered a drink at the bar and waited some more. I was wandering around the lobby with my pina coloda when John and Cheryl spotted me. I couldn’t have missed them since both their faces were bright pink and Cheryl was wrapped in floor-length sunflower yellow sarong.
“There you are,” she said. “We just stopped by your room, but you weren’t in.”
I didn’t think Michael would’ve made plans with them and not tell me, but I’d only known him two days. “I’m waiting for Michael. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No,” John said. “We wanted to invite you to a rematch pool tournament tonight. You game?” He laughed and said, “Get it? Game?”
“Got it,” I said, and gave him a fake smile. He was a lot funnier when he was drunk, or at least when I was drunk. And with his yellow polo shirt tucked into his khakis, he was also committing the unpardonable sin of dressing the same as his wife. “I think we’re going to have to take a rain check on that one. Michael wants to go dancing tonight.”
“Ooooo dancing,” Cheryl said. “Honey, let’s go dancing with them instead.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” John asked, patting her belly.
“I’m pregnant, honey, not an invalid.”
I liked Cheryl better when she let her inner bitch shine through.
John ordered a beer for himself and a ginger ale for Cheryl and the two of them sat with me until Michael breezed through the lobby twenty minutes later wearing black trousers, a white linen shirt, and his ubiquitous gold chain. Whatever tension he’d been carrying earlier had disappeared.
“I thought we were meeting in the room,” Michael asked, when he spotted me on the sofa.
“So did I, but when you didn’t show up—”
“Cut me some slack, babe,” he said, checking his watch. “I’m barely five minutes late.”
Babe? “Michael, it’s 6:35. You’re thirty-five minutes late.”
Cheryl stood up and tugged at John’s arm until he stood up too. “We should be going.”
“You don’t need to go,” I said, out of politeness as opposed to actually wanting them to stay.
“We do,” she said. “If I don’t keep eating the nausea takes over and I’ll spend the rest of the night with my head in the toilet.”
“Rain check on the dancing though,” John added.
“Were you two coming dancing with us?” Michael asked.
“Another time,” John said, as Cheryl pulled him away.
Michael waved them off then turned back to me. “Nice save, huh?”
“What save?”
“The way I got rid of them with the fake fight.”
“So you did know you were half an hour late?”
“I’m really sorry about that. I got hung up with a colleague and then I still had to copy the key. Here,” he said, handing me mine, “before I forget.”
“You have colleagues on Camus Caye?” I thought his colleagues were all back in L.A.
“I don’t want to talk about work. C’mon,” he said, taking my hand after I slipped the key into my purse. “If we don’t get to the restaurant by seven they won’t seat us.”
“Where are we going?”
“A place you’ll like. They have tablecloths.”
That was fancy by Camus Caye standards. Good thing I’d worn a sundress.
It was obvious this place was a tourists-only restaurant the minute we walked in. Not only did it have linen tablecloths, but everyone eating there was either American or Canadian. I didn’t hear one word of Spanish or Belizean Creole the entire meal.
“What’s good here?” I asked as I perused the menu.
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Then why’d you pick it?”
“Because I thought you might like it.”
He slid his hand across the table but I managed to grab my water glass before it reached me. “Michael, we need to talk.”
“At least let me order the wine first.”
I waited until after the waiter had poured us both a glass of pinot noir before I said, “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“Why not? We’ve already gotten past the hard part. It’s all downhill from here.”
“I’m just not comfortable with all this lying to everyone.” I thought t
hat was nicer than ‘I’m just not that into you’ and more original than ‘I’m not ready for a relationship right now.’
“You mean John and Cheryl?”
“I mean everyone.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his chair and swallowed half his glass in one gulp. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
“Don’t be silly.” I took a long sip of my wine so I didn’t have to meet his stare.
“It must be someone from the hotel since the only times you’ve left the resort are with me.”
“Michael, stop.”
“Since the rest of the guests are probably spoken for, it has to be someone who works there.”
Michael refilled his wine glass and topped mine off too. “I can’t really see you with a maintenance man,” he continued. “A chef maybe. Or a bartender. Or maybe the hotel manager.”
“This is exactly why this was all a bad idea. You’re jealous and we’re not even dating.”
“It’s that scuba guy, isn’t it?”
I looked out the window, which was really just an opening in the wall, and admired the sunset. The sky was pink, the palms were swaying in the evening breeze, and the waves were lapping at the shore. Perfect. Then I looked back at Michael’s angry face. This was ridiculous. I barely knew the guy. I didn’t owe him anything.
“Isn’t it?” he said again, his voice rising.
“Michael, enough!”
Was it my imagination or did the restaurant din just drop a few octaves? I looked around and the couple at the next table were definitely staring at us, but when they caught my eye, they looked away.
I turned back to Michael and lowered my voice. “This was supposed to be harmless platonic fun.”
“And it has been,” he said, “so why can’t we continue?”
“Because I don’t think that’s what you really want.”
When he started to protest I cut him off. “And you’re right. There’s someone else, potentially.”
“The scuba guy?”
I nodded.
“I knew it.”
Michael finished the rest of the wine and ordered a second bottle. I would’ve been concerned except instead of making him angrier, it seemed to soften him up.
“So how are you going to explain my sudden absence?” Michael asked at the end of our mostly silent meal.
“I don’t know. I guess you could leave on a business trip?”
“Leave my honeymoon for a business trip?”
“You got a better idea?”
He swished the last of his wine around in his glass, then gulped it down. “We could have a fight.”
“And you get mad and walk out on me?” This was starting to become a theme.
He smiled wide. “I’ll leave you in a jealous rage.”
I considered it. “But how would people know? Or were you thinking of making it a public breakup?”
“Sure,” he said. “But you have to promise to do something for me first.”
Always a catch. “What?”
“Pretend to be my girlfriend when we get back to L.A.”
“Michael, I—”
He held up his hands to stop me. “Just until we clear customs. My ex is a baggage screener at LAX and—”
“You’re ex-girlfriend’s a baggage screener?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
I couldn’t help thinking about Jane’s drug dealer theory. I still didn’t believe Michael was a violent criminal, but it was an odd coincidence. “Michael, you’re free to date whoever you want.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I want you to help me make her jealous.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Just act like we’re together and I’ll take care of the rest.”
It wasn't much to ask. Not really. And I did feel like I owed him one. “Okay, Michael. But how do you know we’re even on the same flight?”
“Don’t worry. I already changed my ticket.”
Chapter 14
I ASKED MICHAEL TO drop me off at the lobby to avoid any uncomfortable goodnight scenes at the door. Since we were breaking up the next day anyway, I was no longer concerned with appearances. But it was only nine o’clock and I wasn’t even tired yet. I wandered around the hotel looking for something to do but the gift shop was closed and no one was playing pool. There were a few people at the bar, but I didn’t want any more to drink. Then I remembered that the resort offered free internet service.
I asked at the front desk and the clerk directed me to a room the size of a closet containing a small desk with an old PC on top. I sat down and typed in my server address and in under a minute I was logged onto my e-mail.
I had a few messages from editors, a bill from my wedding florist, and a bunch of junk mail. No messages from Steven begging me to take him back, but I had one from his parents apologizing for how things turned out and wishing me well. I skimmed through the headlines on a few days worth of on-line newspapers, deleted a whole bunch of spam stock tips and offers for cheap Viagra, and then found the message from Jane:
I knew you couldn’t go a week without checking your e-mail! I hope you’re having fun and staying safe. Remember, bottled water only and SPF 30 or higher every day. And only take the group tours offered through the hotel. Don’t be taken in by those local scammers.
See you next week!
Jane
I loved Jane. She was the only person I knew who worried more than my mother. Of course my mother didn’t have Jane’s array of phobias to rely on. Did you know the same person could be afraid of both heights and enclosed spaces? I didn’t until I met Jane. Our friendship worked because Jane could count on me to do things she never would and I could count on her to make me feel adventuress. At least that was her shrink’s theory.
I started typing:
Greetings from Camus Caye. You’ll never guess what I’ve been up to. Remember Michael from the bar? He’s now Mr. Schwartzfarb. Or I’m Mrs. Garcia. Not officially, of course. The explanation’s too long for an e-mail but suffice to say the “ marriage” is over. I met someone else here who’s much more my type, so I’m getting rid of Michael tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll be newly single by Thursday, leaving me 4 full days to pursue Rebound Man. Did I mention he’s HOT! It’s okay to fool around with someone you just met so long as you’re on vacation and you’ll never see him again, right? I’m pretty sure that’s the rule. And DON’T WORRY, I’ll use protection
See you soon,
Lizzie
I hit send before I remembered to tell her about the e-mail from Steven’s parents. Jane always said I loved them more than I loved Steven. Apparently the feeling was mutual.
The next morning I overslept, but I still made it to the dock at precisely ten a.m., where Nick and Janet and Bill and Stacy, the two couples from my Discover Scuba class, were already waiting. Jack, of course, was ten minutes late.
I’d watched the Discovery Channel and seen those Jacques Cousteau specials when I was a kid, but actually breathing under water and swimming with the fish was a whole new experience for me. Jack led us down to a coral reef and then through the remains of an underwater shipwreck. We all scoured it for buried treasure (pillaged long before we arrived), but I did come face to face with a moray eel. I couldn’t believe it when our forty minutes were up and Jack gave us the signal to surface.
When we were all safely aboard the boat, Jack helped us with our equipment while Manuel, our gold-toothed, Belizian boat captain, piloted us back out to sea. Next stop—Shark Ray Alley. At least for those of us who were willing to swim with sharks. Jack told us whoever didn’t want to could stay on the boat and watch the action from above.
“You’re gonna go, right?” Jack said, sitting down next to me.
It seemed like fun when I was reading about it on dry land. Now I wasn’t so sure.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he added.
“How can swimming with sharks be perfectly safe? They do eat people, don’
t they?”
Jack shook his head. “Shark attacks are incredibly rare. Jaws is the worst thing that ever happened to the sharks.”
“What about Shark Week on TV?” Steven and I used to watch it every sumer.
“They’re at least more even-handed.”
“What are you, some kind of shark activist?” I’d never heard anyone defend sharks before.
“Marine biologist, although my specialty is sea turtles.”
Wow, didn’t see that one coming. I’d assumed he was a diving instructor/beach bum. I didn’t even know they had a university in Belize. I wanted to find out more, but Manuel cut the engine and Jack jumped up to anchor the boat.
Chapter 15
MANUEL SLIPPED THE BOAT in between six others, but ours was definitely the smallest group. The water was filled with over a hundred snorkelers. I decided if a six year old boy was brave enough to swim with the sharks, then I should be too.
Jack jumped in the water first, followed by me, Stacy and Bill. Nick and Janet opted to remain on the boat with Manuel, who had pulled out a deck of cards and was setting up a poker game. I suppose when you see sharks every day, they’re no longer such a thrill.
We swam out to the deeper water and watched as another tour operator fed the sharks bits of chum. He didn’t actually stick his hands inside their mouths, but even throwing food to them while they circled and chomped down on floating bits of raw meat with their rows of tiny razor sharp teeth was more than I’d have been willing to do.
After a few minutes with the sharks, Jack led us back to the shallow water where the stingrays congregated. Jack called out to Manuel, who set down his cards long enough to throw him a plastic bag filled with tiny pieces of fish.
Jack grabbed a handful and held it just below the surface. Instantly he was swarmed by what looked like three foot wide gray sand dollars stuck on the ends of sharp sticks.
“You can pet them,” Jack said. “Just stay away from the tail.”
