by Gage Grayson
Damn, she looks good. It’s the only thing my brain seems capable of processing. I should be flabbergasted, annoyed, unsure.
The words coming out of her gorgeous mouth should have me feeling a million things besides what I’m feeling right now.
Because all I’m feeling is excitement.
Anticipation.
Lust.
It’s the same mix of emotions Madeline’s always evoked.
I shouldn’t be surprised, not really. Five years may have passed since I last saw her, but I’ve relived those days in my head every fucking day since.
And now here we are.
Ethan
Five years earlier…
For most of this week, waking up has meant facing a fresh hangover, a new pocket of sleep deprivation. That probably doesn’t sound great, but it was all tempered with an exhilaration and happiness that grew with each new morning―or in some cases, afternoon.
As the wedding drew closer, my friends tried to make those dumb, typical “bachelor party” sort of plans.
I have a longstanding reputation in my larger social circle as a true player, never even coming close to a long-term, or even a medium-term, relationship. Hell, no relationships whatsoever. I’m the last motherfucker anybody expected to settle down.
I took control of the plans as usual, spending the last couple days hitting clubs, everyone astounded at my disinterest in finding the hottest women wherever I was. I mean, of course I’m fucking disinterested. I’m not getting married for the hell of it; when I say it’s the biggest fucking day of my life, it almost seems like an understatement.
I’ve gotten the equivalent of maybe one good night’s sleep over the past week, and everything is like a beautiful haze in the hallway outside the hotel ballroom. The whole day has been bathed in the most magnificent, exhausting, surreally amazing mist of a life-transforming ceremony.
The faces swiveling in and out of view all day, extended groups of friends in the same room, all my family members who came out in what was the biggest gathering my family’s had in years...all of these were overshadowed by that first moment I caught a glimpse of my wife.
Fuck. Audra’s my wife now. My life is beginning. Fucking finally.
Today’s not the first time I ever saw her, but seeing her in that traditional wedding dress she insisted on, peering into the ballroom to ask her bridesmaids about something or other a couple hours before the official start of the ceremony...
I don’t know whether she noticed me or not, and I’m sure she wouldn’t give much of a damn either way, but that was my favorite moment of the wedding―of the biggest fucking day of my life―by a long shot.
Audra has the kind of beauty that’s kind of alarming, almost a little uncomfortable, like hearing some random piece of classical music on the radio that makes you start crying out of fucking nowhere. It’s not sad, it’s just arresting.
Seeing that metal door across the ballroom open just a little, her face peeking through, made me feel like I was about to pass out onto the fucking tablecloth. That’s my wife, I thought. That beautiful woman is my wife.
The ceremony seemed like a blur, but looking back now, it replays in my head like a series of French impressionist paintings: shifting colors and transient forms, Audra’s face occasionally coming into vibrant focus.
By now, the haze is lifting. The guests are all well on their way home, fueled by espresso and red-velvet wedding cake, and the staff is cleaning and repacking the ballroom―where the ceremony, cocktail hour and reception all took place―like the pros that they are, thrilled at the prospect of finally going home soon.
As for me, I’m feeling anything but tired or cloudy. I’m about to spend a night with my wife.
With all the hookups I’ve had in my life, all the meaningless fucking, what I have with Audra continues to transcend into that territory of “making love.” I open the door to a small corridor with the fob attached to my room key, on my way to the private elevator up to our suite, the approaching night of making love leaving me in a state best described as ‘horny as shit.’
All those hacky old jokes about sexless marriages, it’s all a bunch of bullshit hype. As the elevator lifts me slowly to my heavenly fate, I’m looking forward to a marriage that’s fulfilling in every fucking way.
The door is opening, and I see hints of the soft lighting and cream-colored walls of the suite’s living room. Things are starting to become hazy again.
The doors open more to reveal Audra’s hard-shell suitcase open on the couch, and Audra, still in her wedding dress.
I don’t understand what’s going on at first. It looks like she’s repacking for some reason I can’t understand, throwing piles of garments into her luggage.
“What’s wrong?” I greet my wife for the first time. “Is the suite too amazing for you? I hope that’s not gonna be a problem, because Hawaii’s way better.”
I seriously have no idea what’s wrong with the suite, but I’ll take Audra to a shitty motel if that’s what she fucking wants. I’m already planning to call the desk and ask what else is available.
“Nah, nah,” Audra responds.
What? I’m officially fucking bewildered.
“Nah, Hawaii won’t be amazing? Au contraire. You’re in for quite a surprise if you think that.”
“What, you mean on our honeymoon?” Audra angrily swings the suitcase shut with that word. There must be something really fucking wrong if she’s worried about the entire honeymoon being ruined.
“Whatever it is, Audra, it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it doesn’t?” Audra asks with caustic sarcasm while sliding the suitcase off the couch with both hands.
Whatever’s happening, the chances of it fading quickly are shrinking rapidly.
“I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all. We can start from there.”
Audra drops the suitcase, and it feels like the whole room shakes.
“We’re not starting shit! Like, ever!”
All I can think about is how out of character this is for Audra to just throw her clothes into a suitcase like that.
“Okay. Can we just back up a bit? What’s got you so upset?”
“The thought of being fucking married to you.” She doesn’t miss a beat before hissing that out.
Maybe I did pass out at the table after all, and I’m dreaming this shit. It sure feels like a nightmare.
“Whoa, Audra, what happened?”
“You happened, somehow.” Again, not missing a beat. “In what fucking world do you think you’re good enough for me? How do you think my family feels coming to this scuzzy fucking shithole?”
“It looked like they were all having a good time.” It’s literally all I can think to say.
“Like you would know. My family has real wealth, a prestigious history going back generations. You...you’re just rat shit. You’re not fucking fit to look at me. It’s sickening.”
This could be a prank, there could be hidden cameras and some washed-up comedian waiting to jump out of the bathroom to announce how badly I just got punked.
But it’s not. Even through this haze, it’s real fucking clear how serious Audra is. I feel her anger—and something else I’ve never felt before: her disdain.
“Hmm.” I place two fingers on my lips, very professorial, very contemplative. “So, why now?” I inquire calmly. But inside I’m raging. Why the fuck now?
“These are the last words I ever want to say to you.” Audra’s snarling every syllable at this point. It’s fucking intense. “Get the fuck out of my way and out of my life.”
I get the fuck out of her way.
And then she’s gone.
I don’t know how much time passes before I move from where I’ve stood stock-still and drop onto the bed I blew a fat stack of cash for. It could be minutes. It could be fucking days. I don’t sleep. And for none of the reasons one would anticipate on their fucking wedding night.
When the sun starts to peek throu
gh the window, I get back up, still in my tux.
I check out and drive home.
I’m completely fucking numb the entire time.
But one thing is clear. However painful this ends up being, now is the time for action. If Audra wants to be out of my life, I need to do my part. I’m on the phone with my friend’s moving company before I’m even in my front door.
I wander around the kitchen for a while, ostensibly to eat something, but I’m not even sure what I’m doing on any level.
I’m staring vacantly into my freezer for some reason when Jeff rings the doorbell. He weirdly gives me a knowing nod when I answer, and he somehow has a truck and crew ready.
Jeff, wearing the silly baseball cap he only wears at work, instructs his crew that this is a “full job” as they walk in. They’re responsible for everything, including packing. I point vaguely to a few items of furniture in the living room in an attempt at instructions.
“I’ll take care of it,” Jeff reassures me, looking at me with a concern that I’m sure is necessary. I don’t feel much of anything right now, but when the feelings do come, it’s likely going to get real fucking bad.
“We’ll hopefully figure out where everything’s going, exactly, by the time you’re done.”
“Don’t worry about it. My girlfriend’s in touch with Audra.”
It’s like the whole world’s undergoing some crazy fucking shift that I’m not in on. I don’t know what Audra’s talking about with my friends, and I don’t really want to know, either.
When I hear the front door peel open, I somehow know it’s not one of the movers.
I guess if I’m going to see Audra these days, she’ll be moving swiftly and angrily, giving off the vibe of some new person, someone I don’t know―certainly not my wife.
“You motherfucker.” She actually says this on her way to the stairway. It’s ridiculous, but I’m seriously concerned about what she’s going to do in her state.
Andrew, also known as Amazing Andrew, the short, awkwardly friendly guy who was the first in my group of friends to get married, comes half-running in after Audra.
“I came to help,” Andrew broadcasts as he walks to the stairs. “She came peeling in ahead of me at like a hundred miles an hour. Parked half on the curb.”
Jeff, Andrew and I follow Audra up the stairs to the bedroom.
Audra makes it into the room well before us and slams the door. I pick up the pace when I hear the sliding glass door to the balcony open, Jeff and Andrew following closely behind.
I nearly leap into door to open it, but it’s fucking locked.
“Come on,” I grouse to myself as I fumble for a credit card to pick the lock.
After fumbling, feeling Jeff and Andrew breathing nervously behind me, I find a card and pop open the door.
My nightstand is gone, and Audra’s in midst of spiking the glass desk lamp, which used to be on top of it, down to the street below.
“Audra.” I just say her name, calmly. I doubt she hears me. There’s no stopping her, anyway. She’s on some kind of fucking rampage.
The lamp shatters surprisingly loudly, which seems to satisfy Audra since she turns around.
“So much time you took from me!” Audra points at me furiously. It feels like I’m back in that fucking nightmare again.
“Audra,” I just say. Whatever this is, I know I need to let it play out.
“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me! How dare you! How dare you ruin my life!”
I almost roll my eyes before letting out another “Audra.” It’s becoming almost comical.
Audra stomps towards me. I think my friends behind me are backing away. As they fucking should because this woman looks unhinged.
“Fuck you,” Audra says, quiet, but full of penetrating rage.
There’s tangible relief in the room as we listen to her stomping down the stairs and out the front door.
“I don’t fucking know,” I lament to the open balcony door before turning around.
“This is...crazy, right?” I plead to Jeff and Andrew. “I mean, do you guys know what’s going on?”
“No fucking clue,” Andrew answers while Jeff shakes his head.
Jeff is looking down, troubled by this insanity.
“I’ll throw in extra for the moving being last-minute,” I assure Jeff, “but what the fuck do I now?”
“Go to Hawaii.”
Jeff and Andrew say this in unison, then look at each other with minor surprise.
“If you can’t get a refund…” Jeff lets his sentence fragment speak for itself.
“No, the trip is fucking paid for. But still...”
“Still what?” Andrew is getting annoyed, which I appreciate right now. We’re on the same fucking wavelength, that much is certain. “It’s still Hawaii, is what it is. Why wouldn’t you go?”
I can’t argue with that.
Ethan
There’s a small wooden sign hanging on a post leading to the fenced-off area. The white hand-painted letters read Sunset Beach Spot.
Holy shit, I couldn’t think of a lamer fucking name if I tried. This is supposed to be part of a luxury resort.
There’s a small bar on the sand with tiki décor, a couple uncomfortable-looking, retro space-age stools.
The only person here right now is the bartender, wearing a suit vest and pants on the beach, checking his inventory of plastic cups.
I walk to the bar, looking to see if there are any out-of-focus figures in the distance making their way towards this part of the beach.
Closer to the bar I see there’s a hot buffet set up under a canopy. It looks like expensive catering, like at a wedding or something. It looks awful.
“What can I do you for?” the bartender offers as soon as I’m close enough.
“What’s with that buffet?”
“It’s twenty-five dollars a plate.”
This place isn’t exactly all-inclusive. I tell the barkeep to charge it to my room number, and I pack a full plate from the fancy buffet. The china, the silverware, the food is all top notch. I’m pigging out on my plate at the bar when I see a figure approaching Sunset Beach.
A really fucking alluring figure.
I make out more details as she gets nearer: a toned physique with extra oomph distributed in all the right places, a wonderfully exotic look all-around, and a cerise-colored bikini leaving just enough to the imagination.
I feel a twinge of excitement when I notice she’s walking directly to the bar. Fortunately, I don’t give a shit about the half-eaten plate of ahi poke and chicken long rice in front of me.
The woman looks at me and my plate with cool, passing interest when she gets close enough. Her face is youthful, but she exudes confidence beyond her years.
I think about the perfect interplay between her skin tone and her slightly darker freckles as I finally put down my fork.
The woman sits at the other end of the bar, which means there’s one empty stool between us.
“Captain’s Demise,” she demands to the bartender. Probably a drink, but I’m not going to fucking open by asking her about that.
“You try the buffet?”
I point to the table with my fork, owning my gluttony.
“Many times,” she softly fires back, barely looking in my direction. But there’s still a friendly smile in her voice.
“What accent is that, may I ask?”
“I’m from Barbados, originally.” The smile in her voice is slowly making its way to her lips.
“You’ve come a long way.”
“Not really. I live in Portland. Pretty much everyone I know comes here for vacation.”
“You mean Portland, Oregon, I hope?”
She laughs. I think she’s getting me, whatever I am right now.
“Yes, of course. It’s a short flight, which is good since I have a five-year-old.”
I nod simply. “So, it’s just you and your kid?”
The bartender sets dow
n a hurricane glass, filled with a crimson cocktail, garnished with lemon zest.
“Yeah, she’s with a resort babysitter. Just for an hour. That’s all I need.”
“I’m Ethan, by the way. Mind if I join you for one of those drinks?”
The woman in the cerise bikini shrugs while sipping through her straw.
“Dominique. Take a seat.”
I have a cocktail with Dominique, then let her get back to her kid.
I was supposed to come here to make sweet love in a hot tub, on the beach, in a luxury resort suite, and anywhere else I could find with Audra.
I walk back to my room, shower, make a couple vodka tonics from the minibar. Might as well max out at least one credit card while I’m here.
I change from my bathing suit to a casual tweed blazer and a light blue oxford shirt with formal chinos and brown derby shoes. It’s not the best-constructed outfit, and after another drink, I’m getting too sozzled for solid fashion choices, but I still look overdressed for the bizarre little resort nightclub where I’m headed so I lose the blazer and roll my sleeves up.
The club is spacious, but there’s little going on there from what I’ve seen.
It’s still damn early in the evening when I walk through the club’s double steel door entrance.
The place is deserted at this hour, as I expected. This is what I do now, I guess, haunting random spots at weird hours. Just a sad fucking ghost in Hawaii.
While checking out the haphazard collection of vending machines and arcade games along the wall, I spot one person climbing the concrete stairs to the second story at the edge of my vision. Probably someone who works here.
Bored out of my fucking mind, I follow whoever it is, although they’re long gone from the stairs by now. I power up to the well-lit second story, sort of a chill-out area, with massage chairs, a snack bar and fucking pool tables for some fucking reason.
The last few hours of booze are catching up, but I feel loose enough to shoot a pretty good game of eight-ball if I wanted. And hey, it looks like somebody’s playing already.
