Honeymoon Hazards

by Ben Boswell

  She was acting so normal that it brought me out of my funk.

  “I’m sorry. I just missed you.”

  “Awww, that’s so sweet.”

  “Go ahead and shower. I’ll check out the room service options.”

  We had dinner out on the balcony. I was starving. I hadn’t had any real food in over a day. But I decided to take it easy and ordered a simple piece of steamed Mahi Mahi for myself. Claire had the same thing, except seared with a sesame-soy-lime sauce. The smell of her food made my mouth water. My fish seemed bland and tasteless by comparison.

  We’d gotten a bottle of white wine. We probably shouldn’t have. She’d had plenty to drink already, and my stomach was far from a hundred percent. But it was our honeymoon, damn it!

  Claire had changed into a cute little, flowered sundress, blue to match her eyes. She’d gotten a little sun on her cheeks and was looking, frankly, radiant.

  She told me all about her day. She’d roamed across the resort, checking out the pools, the beach, and even the golf course. She described the salt water pool and the sunset cruise that left from the beach. She told me about everything, everything except for the man she’d talked to and flirted with on two separate occasions during the day.

  I sipped my wine as I listened to her. The alcohol hit me and my empty stomach hard. I was buzzed by the time I finished my glass. The more she told me about the resort and touristy options for the week, the more the lacuna in her narrative gnawed at me. She could at least mention the mystery man. Her failure to do so seemed increasingly significant and suspicious.

  She took a bite of her fish and turned to look at the sky, the bright red-orange of the sunset transitioning into the violet of twilight. A breeze kicked up, washing the balcony with the sweet, salty smell of the sea. The palms rustled. A bird cried out as it dipped into the canopy of trees. It was a slice of paradise. And I couldn’t stand it.

  “So, tell me about your boyfriend.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “Huh?”

  I gestured vaguely in the direction of the pool.

  She followed my gaze and then turned back toward me. “Were you spying on me?”

  Even in my buzzed and jealous state, I sensed the danger in her question. Her eyes were locked in on mine. I tried to read her emotions, but it was hard. Was she angry? Amused? Defensive? Guilty? All of the above?

  “No, not spying on you, per se. I was just looking around and happened to notice you… with a man.”

  She said nothing. She just continued to frown at me, almost inviting me to hang myself with my own words.

  “You… um… seemed to be having fun,” I continued lamely. “I don’t know… do you know him from somewhere?”

  She hesitated, as if considering her options. Her continued silence tempting me to continue rambling.

  “I –“

  She cut me off. “We were just chatting. His name is Trent. He’s here for the week.”

  “So, is he married?”

  She laughed at how transparent I was being.

  “No, not quite. He was actually supposed to be on his honeymoon, but he got left at the altar, poor guy. The plane tickets were non-refundable, so he decided to come out anyway.”

  I snorted.

  “What?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “You don’t really believe that?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh please,” I chuckled, self-satisfied with my powers of deduction. “That’s just a line. Poor guy. Some woman just broke his heart. Won’t someone please help him learn again to trust? Restore his belief in love?”

  Claire regarded me open-mouthed. A look of understanding crossed her face. I smirked smugly thinking I’d convinced her.

  She grinned and shook her head.

  “You’re really invested in this.”

  “What?”

  “In this whole… what… fantasy? My boyfriend. Your poor, dumb, naïve wife getting hit on by the pool.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered.

  She gave me a piercing gaze. “Oh God, John, more? Is that why you accused me of being away too long? Did you think I’d gone off with him?”

  It did sound crazy when she said it out loud.

  “It’s not like that.”

  She eyed me skeptically. “Oh? Then how is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You see me sitting by the pool talking to a man, and your mind immediately jumps to me cheating on you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t need to. So, it’s okay. Come clean, is that one of your things?”

  “What things?”

  “The cuckold thing. Do you think of me with other men?”

  “I am not a cuckold,” I denied hotly.

  She laughed.

  “You can thank me for that!”

  “So he was hitting on you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He was nice. He never propositioned me.”

  Would she admit it even if he had? I didn’t know. I wondered how he’d describe it.

  “So what put this in your head then if it’s not a thing,” she persisted.

  “Never mind.”

  “Oh come on, John. I’m not angry. It’s just a little funny, you know. Here we are on our honeymoon, and you’re thinking of me with other men.”

  Her tone struck me as patronizing. I dug in.

  “You are being naïve, babe. He was definitely hitting on you. The sun, the ocean air, the booze, this place oozes sex. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oooh, tell me.”

  “No, I…”

  “You might not be a cuckold, but you’re definitely a voyeur. You just admitted it. Anyway, you’ve always gotten a kick out of playing Sherlock Holmes with people. You used that routine on me when we first met.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too!”

  She paused, then continued, “Come on. Tell me what you saw. What put the idea of me cheating on you into your head?”

  She peered over the railing of the balcony. “We do have a great view up here.”

  She looked over at the other wing of the hotel. “I bet we can even see into some of those rooms over there.”

  It was like she could read my mind. With each statement, I felt myself blushing a little more deeply, until my guilt was written all over my face. There was no point in denying it.

  “I was bored,” I offered by way of excuse.

  “You’re a pervert,” she accused, but with an amused glimmer in her eyes.

  “You knew that already,” I replied.

  “Yes, but I didn’t know what flavor of pervert. So I married a voyeur.”

  “Maybe… a little.”

  “Okay, so tell me. What did my voyeur husband spy from his perch?

  I was uneasy, but she was encouraging. I felt like I was traipsing through a minefield. No matter how tolerant and even interested she seemed to be, I couldn’t help but feel that I was courting disaster in talking about what I’d seen.

  I began with the Lesbians.

  “How do you know they’re lesbians?”

  “I don’t. They just had that look about them.”

  “The lesbian look?”

  “No, I mean, they had that newly married look about them. They just happened to be both women.”

  “They could just be friends.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll point them out tomorrow. We’ll see what you think.”

  I mentioned the Millionaire’s clan.

  “Ohh, I saw them too,” Claire gasped excitedly. “The wife is quite the number, isn’t she? Sofia Vergara, only bustier.”

  I told her about what I had seen with the daughter.

  Claire gasped, hand to mouth. “No! You did not really see that!”

  I nodded.

  “Oh my God, all over her face? That is so rude.”

  I shrugged. “Back alley quickies have t
heir own rules I guess.”

  She laughed. “I can’t say I’m that surprised. That girlie had slut written all over her.”

  “Slut shaming, are we?”

  “Not shaming. Just sayin’ I’m not surprised.”

  I kept the Newlyweds to myself. I didn’t trust myself to speak about them, about her, without betraying myself. But that was okay. I’d given Claire enough.

  She giggled as she finished her wine. “Okay, okay, I see where your mind was. I forgive you for thinking the unthinkable about me.”

  “Unthinkable?” I said.

  “I would never cheat on you.” She paused. “Unless you wanted me too.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Claire!” I sputtered.

  She laughed -- maybe just a little too hard -- throwing her head back in mirth as I’d seen her do with Trent. “I’m just kidding. Seriously, John, you need to get out of this room.”

  I nodded. Then grunted. A piece of the fish had made its way down to my intestines. It was like a volcano.

  “Excuse me,” I groaned, racing to the bathroom.

  “So, I guess you’re not quite well yet?” she called through the closed door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Claire began to stir the following morning at what seemed to be shortly after sunrise, I begged her to let me sleep in. I’d spent much of the previous evening in the toilet, and sleep-deprivation aside, it is amazing how exhausting dry heaves are. At around 3:00am I actually began fantasizing a new weight-loss and exercise routine based on inducing dry heaves. A moment of gallows humor as I tried to distract myself from my misery.

  “Come on, the fresh air will do you good.”

  “Kill me,” I groaned.

  “I’m going to the pool.”

  “Go.”

  “You never know who I might run into.”

  That gave me pause, but I felt like death.

  “I think I’m dying.”

  She leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Okay. Rest up. But. You. Will. Get. Better.”

  “Yes. But just let me sleep for now.”

  She was right. When I woke again at the civilized hour of 10:12am, I felt better. Not one hundred percent, but even more than the day before, I felt I was on the road to recovery.

  Claire had left the curtains closed, but the balcony door open. I wondered if she was out there waiting for me, but when I peeked outside, she wasn’t there. I stepped out onto the terrace. Immediately, my phone rang. I ducked back into the room and answered it.

  “Morning sleepyhead,” Claire sing-songed into the phone. I stepped back out onto the balcony and saw her waving at me from the poolside.

  She’d positioned herself almost directly in front of our window. I picked up the binoculars and zoomed in on her. She was wearing her white bikini, the one that became a little see-through when it got wet. She was clutching at a fruity drink.

  I waved at her. “Hey babe. You’re starting early.”

  She gave me a puzzled look and glanced down at her drink. “It’s just a smoothie. So, you feeling better?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  “Going to join me?

  “I think I should take it easy just a little longer.”

  She sighed. “Sitting by the pool is not exactly competing in a triathlon.”

  “I know,” I replied. I wondered if Trent was a triathlete. He certainly had the physique. “Maybe I’ll just stay here through lunch, then if that goes well…”

  “Now, I know you’re just trying to avoid me. Or maybe you do just like the idea of me out here fending off advances from other men…”

  I knew she was kidding, but I still felt the need to reply.

  “No, of course not. You know, I –“

  “Oops, gotta go,” she said suddenly, cutting me off.

  She fumbled with her phone and dropped it into her beach bag.

  “Well, good morning, Claire, my darling,” came a muffled, but unmistakably debonair British voice.

  I zoomed out to see Trent approach and sit on the lounger beside her.

  “And a good morning to you, Trent,” she answered.

  I laughed to myself and spoke into the phone, “Um honey, you forgot to hang up.”

  “A little morning pick-me-up?” he said, gesturing to her drink.

  She giggled. “I’m still on Seattle time. Afternoon there.”

  Why had she let him believe she was drinking a cocktail?

  “Claire? Honey,” I said more loudly into the phone, though neither one seemed to notice my disembodied voice coming from her bag.

  “Oh, well, I’ve never believed that the whole no drinking before noon thing applied on holiday.” He paused. “Or any day really.”

  She giggled again. She didn’t usually giggle. She lowered her chin and looked at him over her sunglasses. “I do need to take it easy. Last time I started drinking before noon… well, let’s just say it wasn’t the kind of story you want your parents to hear about.”

  “Claire? Can you hear me?” I was about shouting into the phone. But still no reaction from either of them. Yet I could hear them clearly. The only way this could be happening is if she’d put me on speaker and then turned down the volume. But she would have had to do that on purpose…

  Trent gave an amused chuckle. “Surely it wasn’t as bad as all that.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Spring break brings out the worst in people.”

  “Well, surely you can’t leave it at that. That’s quite a tease.”

  “I dunno,” she replied. “I barely know you.”

  “That’s the beauty of it. Who else could you tell this story to but a virtual stranger?”

  She nodded and gave him a mock toast with her smoothie. “It was years ago, you understand.”

  “Uh oh. How long ago? Do I need to consult with my solicitor before hearing it?”

  She laughed. “No, I was nineteen, but you may need to confess to your priest afterwards.”

  “No, no. Good old Henry had no more respect for the confession than he did the sanctity of marriage. So you may proceed in good conscience.”

  “This is silly, you don’t want to hear the silly drunken adventures of a nineteen-year-old girl.”

  “Au contraire. There is nothing I would rather hear.”

  She laughed. “If you didn’t have that accent, that would have come of wildly creepy.”

  “Yes, but it is a double-edged sword. For every dicey utterance I get away with, I have an encounter with one of your compatriots who finds my voice so supercilious as to justify threats of violence.”

  “I don’t believe it. Everyone loves James Bond.”

  “They love the Scottish one,” he replied in a Sean Connery burr. “Americans think anyone with a posh accent is a pansy. But I can tell you about my adventures in American pubs later. You were telling a story.”

  “Well, I was actually skinny back then --”

  “You’re delightfully proportioned even now,” he offered.

  “Thanks. But back then I had abs. I was a yoga fanatic.”

  “Stretchy,” he commented.

  “Yes. That’s part of the story.”

  “I await with bated breath.”

  “So we’re out, on the beach, it is like 10:00am, and these guys drive up with a pickup hauling two dozen cases of beer. And they’ve got funnels and they’re teaching us how to shotgun the cans, and we’re all getting plastered. Then one of them says he has passes for a noon time booze cruise. So we stagger over there.

  And we’re on this converted ferry, and there are kegs and jello shots. There’s a DJ and the music is loud and it’s crowded. We’re all dancing, or actually just drunkenly bumping into each other. I start dancing with this one guy from the beach. He’s totally hot, and I don’t even know his name, and before I know it he’s ramming his tongue down my throat, and I’m sucking his nipple. Even though we’re in the middle of a dance floor, he puts his hand down the front of my bikini bottoms, and, wel
l, I groped at his package.”

  Trent laughed. “Is there anything so lovely as young love? I take it you consummated your attraction right there in public.”

  Claire nodded. “He backed me up against one of the bulkheads, lifted up one of my knees and, well, let nature take its course. He was so excited that he lifted my leg higher and higher, until I was doing a standing split, ankle perched over his shoulder, which sort of gave away the show, though we didn’t realize it until we noticed that the music had stopped and that we had two hundred sets of eyes watching us.”

  “So what did you do?”

  She laughed. “We, um, finished. I mean, we were already so far along.”

  He laughed long and hard. “Good show! That sort of commitment is rare in today’s young people.”

  “We were just too drunk to care. And well, it was still early. When nighttime came, things got really crazy.”

  “And this whole time you never learned his name?”

  “Well, no. I, um, didn’t see him after the cruise. The evening craziness was with a whole other crew. Which is why I don’t usually drink in the morning.”

  Trent laughed. “Well, nothing like that can happen here.”

  “Because I’m married?”

  “No, because you already know my name.”

  I cleared my throat. They both looked up at me. Claire with a wicked grin, Trent with a neutral smile.

  “Hey honey, it’s great that you are feeling better!”

  “Yeah. I guess I just needed the right motivation.”

  I turned to Trent. “Hi, I’m John, Claire’s husband.”

  He suppressed a chuckle. “Indeed. And here I was beginning to think you were just a fiction she’d invented to get rid of me.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever quite hated anyone as much as I hated him at that moment.

  “You have good teeth for an Englishman,” I snarked.

  “Ah yes, that delightfully understated American wit.”

  Claire was looking at him apologetically.

  He stood and flashed her a bright smile. “Well, I need to run along.”

  “Well, you don’t need to leave on my account,” I said, hoping he’d realize I meant precisely the opposite.

  He was gracious. The bastard. “I am meeting some friends at the lagoon. But it was pleasure to meet you John, and Claire, always a pleasure to see you.”