Miracle Man

by William R. Leibowitz

  “That’s an odd place to leave from,” said Bobby. “What time’s our flight?”

  “Whenever we get there,” responded Susan.

  Bobby looked at her. “What’s the airline?”

  Susan raised her eyebrows as she glared at him. “Bobby, please just sit back and relax and stop with the questions. Leave it to me. Take a nap or something.”

  When the taxi pulled into the small airport, Susan called the cell phone number she had been given by Perrone and got further instructions. She told the taxi driver that he could drive on to the tarmac directly in front of runway seven. The taxi pulled up to the side of a gleaming white Learjet 45XR. It had no airline name or any other markings on it, other than a registration number. Two tall well-built men in dark blue suits and sunglasses were standing outside the plane, together with a uniformed crew member.

  “Now that’s what I call traveling in style,” the taxi driver said.

  Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “Susan, what’s going on? The Foundation can’t afford private planes, and those two guys standing there don’t look like flight attendants.”

  “Bobby, please. For once, just relax. I’ve made these arrangements and I’ve covered all the bases, and it’s fine. Don’t micromanage. You’re not in the lab. Your vacation starts now.”

  The plane landed on a military airstrip in St. Thomas. It taxied right up to a black SUV that was waiting. After a thirty minute bumpy ride that seemed to traverse the entire island, the SUV approached the gatehouse of what was obviously a large estate. Credentials cleared, the vehicle drove along a winding drive majestically lined with Royal Palms on both sides that led to a circular driveway fronting a palatial coral stone mansion in the Mediterranean style. As they disembarked, they were cheerily greeted by a staff member of the property who was casually dressed in white slacks and a red and white flower print shirt.

  “Welcome to Villa Azur Reve. I’m George Harkens and I’m in charge of this wonderful home. I hope your journey was pleasant. Don’t worry about your bags, they will be attended to. Please come with me.”

  It was only when they walked up the carved coral staircase and entered the columned open-air reception atrium, that they realized the house was beachfront. The only thing standing between their weary Boston bones and the sun baked sands, was a series of beautiful terraced gardens which led passed the mosaic tiled swimming pool to the healing waters of the aqua blue Caribbean Sea.

  “This is drop dead gorgeous,” Susan said.

  “I’m never going home,” proclaimed Anna.

  “I’ll show you around Azur Reve later. You’ll see that we have every amenity you could desire including a chef, of course. But first, you must be thirsty.”

  Seemingly out of nowhere, a very attractive young lady appeared holding a tray with three festive looking cocktails.

  Smiling broadly, Bobby said, “I’m beginning to feel relaxed already.”

  Azur Reve proved to be exactly what Bobby needed. He spent hours a day on the beach, staring out at the ocean and walking for miles. When he got hot, he plunged in to the purifying froth and body surfed. Susan and Anna were great companions, but he enjoyed just zoning out and falling asleep on a bed sheet he’d place on the hot sand, his head hard pressed against it, hearing the surf as he drifted off while his body replenished its supply of vitamin D. In the late afternoon, he went to the pool and did scores of laps. Throughout the day, he ate well and refreshed himself with a steady stream of island cocktails. In the evening, he enjoyed walking in the illuminated gardens of the estate, listening to the sounds, and breathing deeply of the scents, gifted by the Caribbean night. His nightmares ceased and he didn’t think about work. He began to grow stronger physically and restore himself mentally. His appearance improved markedly as his rejuvenation proceeded. “You’re beginning to look like some kind of tanned Greek god,” said Susan.

  “I have to admit that you’re looking pretty good,” Anna said.

  “I feel so free here. I haven’t felt this way in so many years. I wish I could always feel like this,” he said.

  “You can. You’ve earned it. You owe nothing to anyone. You’ve made a contribution worthy of twenty lifetimes. Let it go, Bobby. Live. You’ve done enough,” said Susan.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can go on with what I’ve been doing. But I can’t give up yet. It’s not right.”

  “It is right. Let it go. It’s time for you to live a normal life. The world owes you, you owe nothing.”

  “Not yet, Susan. There’ll be a time.”

  46

  A young woman, probably not more than 27, stood perusing beach bags in the store aisle of “Traders Paradise,” one of the numerous tourist shops in Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas’ capital city.

  For one so slender and athletic looking, she was remarkably shapely. Standing five feet nine, she had the legs of a Broadway dancer —technically too long relative to her torso, but no man would ever complain. Her silky dark hair hung mid-way down her back and was held in place by a light green paisley headband that accentuated emerald eyes. A transparent orange print sarong was wrapped around her hips, low-slung and extending down to leather sandals, whose straps were decorated with beadwork. Underneath the sarong, one could discern a pale yellow bikini bottom. There were so many bangle bracelets on her tanned arms that it looked like she was selling them, and sets of simple silver rings adorned five of her graceful fingers. On her, the entire bohemian outfit was beguiling and natural.

  On a mission to supplement his island attire, Bobby entered the store and began making his way past the souvenirs to the clothing. He turned into her aisle and noticed her immediately, as she stood on her toes stretching to pull down some beach bags from a high shelf. When she reached upward, her back arced gracefully and her toned thighs flexed. She grabbed the edge of one of the bags, and a huge pile of them came tumbling down on her head.

  “Let me help you with that,” Bobby said as he hurried over to her.

  Blushing as she bent down to pick up the bags, she said, “I’m such a klutz sometimes.”

  Bobby crouched down to help, his mind registering the heady scent of her perfume combined with the remnants of coconut oil from her sun-tan lotion.

  As she continued to examine the beach bags which they had stacked on a more accessible shelf, Bobby began sorting through the men’s clothing, quickly picking out items. “Could I impose on you for just a moment?” he asked.

  She turned her head and looked directly at him for the first time. He felt a jolt of energy, almost like an electric current. He had never felt anything like that before. “This store was recommended to me for shirts and shorts, but I don’t have a clue what will look good on me. Can you give me a hand so I don’t embarrass myself?” he asked.

  Her laugh was followed by a smile that allowed her flawless teeth to gleam as her full lips parted playfully. “I’ll give you my opinion, but I warn you – my taste can be quirky.”

  “Well— here are the ones I picked. What do you think?” Bobby asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Bobby feigned a hurt expression.

  “Unless you want to be refused a table in any good restaurant, put those down and step back from the shelves immediately.”

  She pressed past him in the narrow aisle as she focused her attention on the clothing displays and began to pull items off the shelf.

  Bobby said, “I didn’t mean to put you to so much trouble.”

  She turned to face him. Those emeralds, perfectly framed by elegantly determined eyebrows and long heavy lashes, looked right through him. “This will be my good deed for the day. The entire St. Thomas community will be spared the debilitating effects of severe color clash. And besides, you were very kind to help me with those bags.”

  A few minutes later, she said, “Now l
et’s see how these look.” She began to hold up each garment against him while she evaluated. “Very good— if I say so myself. You’re all set. You won’t scare small children.”

  “You’ve been so incredibly nice— let me buy you a cold drink. I just passed this big open-air bar in Hibiscus Alley right around the corner.” Bobby was jabbering like an excited school boy. “It’s just this huge crazy free-standing bar in between all these stores.” He extended his hand. “I’m Bobby.”

  Smiling as she touched his hand lightly, she replied, “Christina Moore.”

  Bobby paused and mumbled quickly, “Bobby Nitsua.”

  “I’d love to—but I really need to finish my shopping and get back to my hotel,” she said.

  Bobby was crestfallen. What would Joe do now? He was the king of smooth. “Please, I insist. You’ve done a service for all of St. Thomas—even the wildlife—by keeping me from making a sartorial fool of myself. Just one quick drink.”

  Christina looked at Bobby. She was wondering if this whole clothing selection process had just been a pick-up scheme. But she had to admit— he was very good looking—and his eyes were mesmerizing. She had never seen clarity and depth like that before.

  “Sartorial. Now there’s a word you don’t hear too often. You must play a lot of scrabble,” she said.

  Bobby laughed. “I guess I do have to get out more.”

  “OK, one quick drink,” she said.

  One of the things Bobby loved about St. Thomas is that unlike most mainland U.S. cities, in St. Thomas alcohol is permitted everywhere. People walk up and down Main Street at all hours sucking on twenty-four ounce drinks which are 4 parts local rum and 1 part fruit juice. Bobby and Christina sat down on the chrome stools of the Hibiscus Alley bar, a thirty foot long mirrored wonder that looked like it had been swept in by the sea from a distressed cruise ship.

  “And what can I get you folks to drink?” asked the bartender, who seemed like he already had sampled a few.

  “Any special drink you’re famous for?” Bobby asked.

  “Well, my favorite is my own recipe developed over years of experimentation. I call it ‘The Billy Punch.’ If you’re not satisfied, the drink’s on me.”

  “Can’t refuse that deal,” replied Bobby.

  “Make it two,” Christina said.

  Bobby watched the bartender prepare the concoction with one hand, as he sipped from his own tall glass which he held in the other. ‘Billy Punch’ featured five different flavored rums, topped off by a 151 proof variety. Composed entirely of alcohol, the drink tasted like harmless fruit juice.

  “How long are you here for?” Bobby asked Christina.

  “I only arrived a few days ago. I’m here for another week or so. What about you?”

  “I’ve been here for a week, but I’m staying for another two. I haven’t had a vacation in ages and I got pretty burned out. But I’m on the mend now.”

  They clinked glasses. “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “Over at Bolongo Beach Resort. It’s nice and I got a great deal. What about you?”

  “I’m staying at a friend’s. He has a fantastic beach house on the other side of the Island.”

  “Sounds swanky,” she said.

  “It is actually. In my next life, I’m going to be a drug lord so I can buy one just like it.”

  “Is that what your friend does?” she asked.

  “No, he’s in the government. An even more lucrative racket,” replied Bobby smiling.

  “What do you do back in the real world, Bobby?”

  “I’m a research scientist. Sounds pretty dull, huh?”

  Christina laughed. “It’s refreshing. Every guy I meet says he’s in banking.”

  “Right. That’s just one move on the monopoly board before you get to drug lord.”

  Christina laughed again. Her eyes sparkled and her face radiated a warmth that Bobby could feel. “Now don’t be bitter about career choices. Where do you live?” she asked.

  “Boston. You?”

  “I grew up in New York City, but I moved to California for grad school. I just moved to Rhode Island for a post-grad fellowhip at Brown.”

  “What did you study?” Bobby asked.

  “In college—Sarah Lawrence—I was kind of a hippie. Dual major—performance arts and math. At Stanford, I was in a math and chem grad program, but my doctorate is in math.”

  Bobby whistled silently. This goddess has a Ph.D in math. Yikes! “That’s amazing. I never heard of a dual major like that.” Bobby was half through his drink and feeling it.

  “My mom was a dance teacher at the Music and Art High School in New York, which I attended. She’s incredibly artistic. My dad was a mathematician. A real prodigy, but he died when I was very young. So I guess I got a little bit of each of them in me. Anyway—that’s enough about me.” Christina stared at her drink.

  Bobby took a long swig of the mind numbing potion in his glass and then got up the courage to say, “I hope you won’t be offended, but I have to tell you that you are without doubt the most beautiful mathematician I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen quite a few, trust me.”

  Christina blushed. “That’s sweet of you. But in academic circles, a nice appearance isn’t always an asset for a female.” She sipped at her drink looking pensive. She then glanced at her wristwatch and said, “Oh my God. Look at what time it is. I’m sorry, but I really have to run. Thank you for the drink.” She dismounted the barstool.

  Bobby scrambled to do damage control. “Perhaps we can hang out on the beach or have lunch one of these days? Could I have your number?”

  “My cell’s gone bust. Just call the hotel. Nice to meet you, Bobby.”

  As she left, he caught a last whiff of her perfume as it wafted toward him in the gentle breeze.

  47

  When Bobby got back to the mansion, he was excited but also disappointed. He sought Susan’s counsel. “I met an incredible girl in town.”

  “I can just imagine,” replied Susan.

  “Artistic, brilliant, gorgeous and a heart of gold.”

  “And you determined all that out in how long?”

  “We helped each other in the store and had a drink. Even you would be impressed. She has a Ph.D in math from Stanford.”

  Susan looked shocked. “Where’s George? I have to ask him for some gasoline so I can set you on fire. You are not Bobby Austin. Bobby Austin never went out with a girl who even had a college degree.”

  Bobby smiled. “Susan, I’m telling you. When she looked at me I felt something I never felt before. It freaked me out. She’s incredible.”

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  “That’s the problem. She blew me off after our drink. Gave me the brush.”

  “You’re telling me that the greatest scientist in the history of the planet, who just happens to be a really good looking guy—got kissed off without getting a first date?”

  “She didn’t know who I am. I told her my name was Bobby Nitsua. I never tell girls who I am.”

  “Nitsua? You pulled that one out of the air?”

  Bobby waved away the question.

  “Bobby—that’s fine when you’re hanging out with strippers, hookers and club kids and you need to be anonymous—but if it’s a woman you think might be right for a relationship—what are you—crazy?” Bobby looked forlorn. “Oh that’s right,” she continued. “All the intelligence in the world, but no common sense. I forgot.”

  “I’m going to call her in the morning,” he said.

  “Fine, or you can even text her later today.”

  “I don’t have her phone number. She said her cell was broken. I can try to reach her at the hotel.”

  “Terrific, Romeo. Just terrific.”

 
Next morning at nine sharp, Bobby called the Bolongo Beach Resort and asked for Christina Moore. He held his breath, hoping that they didn’t say they had no guest by that name. The receptionist put him through. After six unanswered rings, the voice-mail came on and Bobby left a message with his number. Bobby was on edge the entire day and didn’t go swimming to be sure he didn’t miss her call. There was no call. He called again at 5 pm and it was the same situation. At dinner that night, Bobby was quiet. Disappointment was written all over his face. Finally, he said to Susan and Anna, “I guess she has no interest. I wish she had given me a chance.”

  Anna put down her fork and said, “Bobby, I know a thing or two about chasing women. When you want a woman, you don’t hold back. You can’t be afraid to go out and pursue her—show her you’re really interested. You have nothing to lose.”

  Bobby nodded and slapped the table. “You’re right, Anna. Sometimes it takes a lesbian to set a guy straight,” he said chuckling.

  At eight in the morning the next day, Bobby called George. “Can someone drive me to the Bolongo Beach Resort now? I have some business over there.”

  “No problem. I’ll have Steven do it.”

  At 8:40, Bobby walked into the Bolongo Beach Resort’s lobby. He asked where the breakfast room was. He got a table and figured he’d wait for Christina to show up. He waited until 10:30. He then called her room—no answer. He walked down to the beach and began to cruise among the lounge chairs and sun umbrellas, trying to look casual. Finally, at the far end of the crescent shaped beach, he spotted her lying on a lounge in a pale pink bikini, eating a banana and sipping water from a large bottle. He felt his heartbeat immediately accelerate and the pulse in his head began to pound. He was happy and excited, but also nervous. I’ve got to get a grip. I’m like a high school kid. What’s wrong with me? Summoning his gumption and steeling himself for rejection, he walked toward her, trying to look as confident and matter of fact as possible.