Tropical Storm

by Stefanie Graham

  Sharlene, his recently hired employee, pounced on him. “Thank God you’re finally here.”

  “What’s wrong now?” He asked, trying not to sigh.

  “Mrs. Tanebrae went to sleep on the beach and now claims to be suffering from heat stroke. She says we should have sent someone down to wake her. Mr. Fisher called down complaining of faulty plumbing. And, a new guest arrived at the crack of dawn without a reservation. We’re all booked up but she demands that we find her a room. I sent her to the solarium with a cold drink.” She finished in her lilting Jamaican accent.

  Sharlene stood before him wringing her hands and chewing off what was left of a bright purple lipstick. Eventually she would understand that these were simply problems to solve. A real crisis was when twenty Texas oil tycoons and their wives arrived an hour after the air conditioning system went out.

  “First of all, take a deep breath and relax.” Cairo demonstrated by taking a deep breath of his own. A patient smile on his face, he watched as Sharlene pressed her hand to her chest, took a deep breath and released it along with the look of panic in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I know you’ve said I should be calmer.” She explained. “I’ve already dealt with Mr. Fisher by moving him to another room, but the lady in the solarium really rattled me. She was very insistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer. When I told her we may not have a room available anytime soon, she said she would wait forever if necessary.”

  “Couldn’t you find Tyrone?”

  “You rang?” Asked an amused voice from behind.

  Grinning, Cairo turned to his cousin. At six-two, he and Tyrone were the same height; however, their similarities began and ended there. In temperament and appearance they were complete opposites. Tyrone looked like a young Muhammad Ali with all the devastating charm and charisma to go with it. Cairo, on the other hand, resembled a young version of Grey’s Anatomy actor Eric Dane, but with chocolate brown eyes. He knew he was too serious to be considered charming. They called themselves cousins but Tyrone was actually Papa Joseph’s other godson whom Cairo had met for the first time the summer his parents died. He had spent the school term in New York and summer breaks in the parish of St. Thomas in the Jamaican countryside where he had built The Victory. He had missed his parents desperately, and at first, Jamaica had been hard on a white boy from the Bronx, but his adopted grandfather and his newfound Caribbean cousin Tyrone had made life bearable. An athletic, engaging man of a scant twenty-five, Tyrone resembled more a man of leisure than a man of business. Despite his laid back demeanor, he was vastly intelligent and extremely loyal. Papa Joseph’s death last year meant that Tyrone was all the family he had left. There wasn’t a man on earth that Cairo trusted more.

  “What can I do for you Mista boss man?” Although educated at the University of the West Indies with a degree in International Relations, for effect, Tyrone often spoke in a deeply accented patois.

  “Be available to solve problems when they come up.” Cairo answered curtly.

  Tyrone’s grin was saccharine. “Ah yes, Sharlene’s end-of-the-world-as we-know-it catastrophes.”

  Sharlene squirmed under Tyrone’s gaze. “You didn’t tell me you were going to handle it.” She said nervously.

  Cairo was beginning to get the picture. Sharlene was jumpy and new, she hadn’t learned to trust that although Tyrone seemed laid back and carefree, he always got things done.

  Cairo turned his attention back to his cousin. “Well?” he prompted.

  “Well, what?” Tyrone grinned.

  Cairo sighed. “Ty, I like to be kept abreast of what’s going on in my hotel. You’re the manager so give me an update.”

  “I’m the manager?” Tyrone widened his golden-brown eyes in amazement.

  “Tyrone.” Cairo warned, his patience wearing thin.

  “Okay, okay.” Tyrone chuckled with his trademark smile. “When will you ever be able to take a joke? Relax, mon. The crisis is all taken care of.”

  “How?” Cairo asked.

  Tyrone sighed and held up three fingers. “First: I turned over Mrs. Tanebrae and applied a light coat of barbecue sauce to her for perfect browning.” He joked. “Second: I told Mr. Fisher to lay off the Jerk seasoning sauce therefore sparing his bathroom. Third: The early bird guest, I’ve asked her to marry me.”

  Cairo snorted. “Marriage, huh? Please spare me, Ty. I’ve known you almost all my life and not once in that time have you met a girl you wanted to marry.”

  “Can things not change?” Tyrone placed his hand over his heart. “I’m a virtuous man, Cairo. I’m good to the ladies because they are oh-so-good to me. But believe me; I’ll willingly give them all up for this woman. Quick, feel my forehead.” He grabbed Cairo’s hand. “All jokes aside, I think I’m in love.”

  “Maybe lust but not love,” Cairo said snatching his hand back. “There is a difference you know.”

  “There is?” Tyrone crinkled his brow. “Not that it matters. This is the real thing. Wait until you see her cuz, she’s a stunner.”

  “Beauty is not always a good thing.” Cairo said wryly. Storm had been beautiful. She’d also been weak and deceitful. Cairo was immediately angry with himself. He barely thought of her but sometimes he surprised himself.

  “How long has it been since Storm . . . six years, almost seven?” Tyrone read the direction of his thoughts and gave his shoulder a hard squeeze. “Forget it. It’s over.”

  Tyrone was right. Cairo shook himself out of the black mood that threatened to settle over him and smiled. “Back to the soon-to-be Mrs. Tyrone Ebanks. Tell me all about her.”

  “Ah yes, my wife. I went to visit her in the solarium and explained to her that I would get her a room. I have Inez making up 506 as we speak.”

  “The painting’s done?”

  “Barely. Exhaust fans are running at top speed. It should be fine in about another hour.”

  “I’ll let her know that she can have breakfast in the dining room while she’s waiting. Our treat.” Cairo said on his way out of the room. “Who knows,” he added. “I might just want her for myself.”

  Tyrone snorted. “Please! That’ll be the day. If my homegirl Ambrosia couldn’t turn your head then no one can. No woman—white, black or in between has been able to hold your attention for more than five minutes.”

  “That’s not true!” Cairo protested. “I talk to the ladies.”

  “Talk!” Tyrone snickered. “You’re in the prime of your life, rich and successful beyond your wildest dreams, why in God’s name would you only want to talk?”

  “Women are for savoring not for sampling.” Cairo said with a good-natured grin. “You’re incorrigible. If the female guests didn’t think you were so pretty, I would fire your philandering butt.”

  “Fire me?” His cousin burst out. “You cyant fire me. I’m family.”

  “Watch me.” Cairo replied, but there was little strength to his words. Despite his posturing, Tyrone was a gentleman. “Just to teach you a lesson, if I like her, she’ll be mine to keep.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Tyrone said.

  Cairo entered the solarium only to find it empty. He then headed to the beach. If a guest had to wait more than two minutes for anything he always found them on the beach. He looked up and down the shoreline but didn’t see anyone. He wasn’t surprised. In Jamaica, tourists rarely woke before noon. The beach was deserted and for the moment he was alone. Cairo sat down on the warm silky sand enjoying a rare solitary moment.

  Unbuttoning his lightweight Calvin Klein shirt and rolling up his sleeves, he looked at the sea wishing, like it, he could do as he pleased. He longed for comfortable jeans and the softness of well-worn sneakers. After all these years expensive clothes still felt foreign on him. He was a project kid. His adopted grandfather and his parents had slaved together in the same
factory for twenty years. It was all they knew. It was all he knew before a summer job as a bellboy in an exclusive Manhattan hotel changed the direction of his life. He’d met Jessica Storm there and things had never been the same. He’d changed the way he spoke, the way he dressed and his entire life for her. The designer duds he wore now suited the man he’d become.

  Flicking off the costly Berluti shoes, Cairo forgot what he’d initially come for. Whistling a reggae tune, he happily reveled in the opportunity to be by himself. He didn’t expect to have the beach occupied for a while so the burst of laughter startled him.

  He spotted the young boy running wildly down the beach. His high pitch squeals sent the birds flying off in protest. Cairo, who thought harmony had an intimate relationship with nature, saw what chaos could do. To someone else the image of a young boy laughing and running across the sand might not have been significant, but to Cairo it encompassed his whole history. How long had it been since he’d been that happy? When was the last time he’d felt so exuberant and free? He couldn’t remember. That fact depressed him. The boy’s colorful vibrancy mocked his own drab black and white existence. There in front of him was all that his life had been missing, happiness, laughter, and spontaneity. Cairo couldn’t look away.

  “It’s great here, isn’t it?” The child said running up to him. “I think I’ll stay here forever and ever, how about you?” He finished breathlessly.

  For a second Cairo couldn’t speak, he was bombarded with too many impressions. The child was like the sun; he was mesmerizing. Everything about him glowed, his sun-kissed golden skin, his bright tawny hair combined with the brightest green eyes Cairo had ever seen.

  “What’s the matter, mister? Are you all right?” The boy asked unaware of his own magnificence.

  Cairo forced himself to speak. “I’m fine.”

  The boy looked skeptical. “Are you sure? You don’t look so good. You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

  Cairo shook himself. “I might just have.” He murmured as a feeling as distinct as a memory shivered down his skin.

  “Where!” The child exclaimed whipping around expectantly.

  Cairo smiled in spite of himself. “No, no, there are no ghosts here.”

  “Really . . . ?” It was said with a bit too much innocence to be genuine.

  Cairo’s grin widened. Leaning forward he stared into curiously familiar emerald eyes. “Tell me little man, what did you say your name was again?”

  The child didn’t get to answer because a flash of radiance in the distance distracted them both.

  She was a study in fire. Like a fast moving blaze, her hair streamed behind her like a burst of bright yellow flames. She ran toward them, her chest rising and falling with exertion. She could have been mistaken for a teenager, but the shapely curves of her well-tanned body belied her age. She was extraordinary; her equivalent Cairo had encountered only once before.

  Time sped by or maybe stopped, Cairo wasn’t sure. In that moment all that was important to him was that she was coming closer. The ivory caress of her skirt brushed his thigh before his senses identified her for who she was. Even then he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  She fell to her knees in front of the child and hugged him. She barely even noticed Cairo watching them his heart clenched in an almost forgotten pain. He thought he would never have to see her again, but there she was—Jessica . . . Storm.

  “Shane! Don’t you ever wander away from me again! I was so worried.”

  At her words, Cairo stood up abruptly drawing her gaze to him.

  “Thank you, sir, for taking care of my s—” She stopped abruptly as their eyes met.

  “Son? That was what you were going to say wasn’t it, Jessica?” The child looked about six years old. She’d wasted no time. The knowledge burned.

  She froze for a second before a smile spread across her face.

  It felt like she’d stabbed him; blood-red bitterness poured forth. He’d learned to control his emotions since his youth; however, so he didn’t let his expression betray his feelings.

  “Life’s funny, isn’t it, Jessica?” His tongue fumbled over the unfamiliar use of her first name. “The last time I saw you I was certain that I never wanted to see you again.” He turned to leave. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Cairo?” She reached for his hand, held on and wouldn’t let go.

  Cairo felt the touch everywhere, starting at his toes, sending shock waves of sensation through his body and alarms going off in his brain. None of this inner turbulence showed on his face. He cocked a brow, an affectation he’d learned from her butler Salvador on that fateful night. It worked; she released him.

  She looked down at her son. “Shane sweetie, will you wait over there for me?” The child skipped away and she turned back to him. “Cairo, it’s been a long time. I’m glad to see you.”

  “I wish I could say the same.” He said his mind already hard at work. How had she found him? If she’d come to Jamaica deliberately to see him then she was truly industrious. When he’d left New York City six years ago he’d covered his tracks well, leaving all connection to the city and its painful memories behind.

  “I have to go.” He couldn’t wait to get away.

  “Wait, can’t you stay and talk for a while?” she asked her gaze roaming over him, lingering on the changes that six years had made.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” He said trying to be nonchalant.

  “Maybe not, but I would like to talk to you—catch up if we can.”

  “Catch up? Is that why you came here, to catch up?” The words came out harsher than intended.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Jessica,” Cairo said, struggling not to shout. It was getting easier to call her that now. “I have nothing to say to you. So if the purpose of your trip was for us to “catch up” then you’ve wasted your time.”

  “You’re not the reason I came.” She responded flippantly. “Jamaica is the perfect place for a holiday.” The words came out smoothly but when his gaze pinned her, her lashes swooped down to hide her eyes.

  “Lying still comes easily I see. Some things never change.” Cairo turned to leave.

  “One question before you go.”

  Cairo stopped but didn’t bother to turn around.

  “Since when do you call me, Jessica? You never used to call me by my first name.”

  He considered not answering. After all, what difference did it make now? Still, his own bitterness surprised him along with his sudden and immediate need to hurt her. He felt transported to the time six years ago and all he could remember was the damage she’d inflicted; it was his turn to inflict some damage of his own.

  “Storm was an illusion, a figment of my imagination. In my heart she died six years ago in a motel room. She was the woman I loved and you killed her. Don’t ask me about her again. As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead and buried.”

  Chapter Two

  Tyrone stepped into the hotel’s managerial office and froze. He was in the Twilight Zone. How else could he explain the sight of Cairo sweeping the contents of his desk to the floor? His cousin was in a rage. Any other man witnessing the scene would have been alarmed, not Tyrone, he grinned. He’d missed this Cairo. That’s how long it’d been since he’d last seen his cousin lose his temper. In the six years since he’d settled in Jamaica, Cairo had tamed the boy who had come to the island enveloped by a black cloud and a “mess with me and I’ll kick your ass” New York attitude. Back then he’d been broken-hearted and bitter. For the first six months, he’d been so sarcastic and nasty that most people stayed out of his way. Since then, Cairo had changed—drastically. He was emotionless, always calm and in control. Nothing in his life penetrated the hard protective shell he’d placed around himself—until now.

  “Who are you?” T
yrone asked in a breathy stage whisper. Cairo whipped around finally noticing that he wasn’t alone. “What?”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Cairo?” He repeated in mock terror making the sign of the cross with his fingers.

  The expression on Cairo’s face clearly showed that he wasn’t amused. Tyrone watched as he quickly closed the distance between them and they were face-to-face and toe-to-toe.

  “Ty, the early bird guest—” He began.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Tyrone cut him off.

  Cairo grimaced at his words. “She’s off limits.”

  “What?” Tyrone doubted his ears.

  Cairo said it slowly. “She . . . is . . . off . . . limits.”

  Tyrone stared back at Cairo. “Wait a minute cuz, since when do you tell me what to do?”

  “Since now,” Cairo said his voice edged in steel. “Stay away from her, Ty. That’s final.”

  The raw look Cairo gave him froze the protest in Tyrone’s throat.

  “What’s wrong, Cairo, what’s happened?” He asked his voice rising in alarm.

  “It’s her.”

  Tyrone didn’t ask whom. He didn’t have to. Cairo’s face told the tale.

  Cairo felt like a pack of ravenous wolves were pursuing him. He was shaking with the effort to quell the emotions he’d thought were long dead. He’d focused his mind on work and with determination he got a few things done. Yet the minute he relaxed the memory of his meeting with Storm sent his temper skyrocketing. He needed to calm down; his mind was racing with so many thoughts and schemes to get her off his island that he couldn’t think clearly. He needed to relax and there was only one place on earth where he could do that. Putting aside his work for another day, he grabbed a change of clothes, his backpack and his sleeping bag and headed for the summit, not caring about the elements or threats of possible rain.