Sunscreen & Coconuts Page 3

  “Welcome to the Thirsty Coconut, ladies,” he greeted as we stepped out of the sun and under the oversized thatch roof. “What can I get you to drink?”

  Racy dramatically flopped down on one of the empty bar stools. “Everything.”

  I slid onto the stool next to Racy and inspected the three long rows of liquor bottles that created a wall behind the bartop. A sign that read No shoes, no shirt, no problem! hung in the center of the bar.

  “What’s the story behind the bar’s name?” I wondered aloud. “How can a coconut be thirsty? Isn’t it basically all liquid inside?”

  “Ignore my friend,” Racy interjected with a wave of her hand. “She needs a rumrunner and a shot of tequila to shut her brain off.”

  The bartender looked in my direction to confirm the drink order. I nodded my approval and soon enough four drinks—two drinks each—were set in front of us.

  Racy held up her exceptionally large tequila shot. “I’d like to propose a toast. To me,” she said. “For convincing you to come on this vacation.”

  I lifted my equally, nearly comically, large shot glass. “To you,” I agreed.

  “This vacation is going to be nothing less than legendary,” Racy proclaimed.

  We clinked our glasses together and Racy downed her entire shot in a single go. I, however, settled for several smaller sips to finish the drink.

  Racy slapped the bartop. “Another one!”

  The bartender looked in our direction, but I waved him off. “It’s only Day One,” I reminded my friend. “Let’s pace ourselves so we’re not puking in the bushes so soon.”

  “Fine, fine,” she relented.

  She turned her attention to her rumrunner, which she hastily downed in three long gulps.

  I cleared my throat. “Worried they’re going to run out of alcohol on the island?”

  “It’s a small glass!” she defended herself. “It was mostly ice!”

  I hummed, but didn’t make additional comment. Racy was right about me needing to turn my brain off so I could actually enjoy our vacation, but it was hard to switch off my teacher-mode. I’d need a few more drinks before making that transition.

  “So besides getting sick in the local flora,” Racy posed, “what else do you want to do while we’re here?”

  I reflexively wrinkled my nose.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look, “ she chastised.

  “I didn’t give you a look,” I protested. “This is just my face.”

  I didn’t have another opportunity to defend my face before our conversation was interrupted.

  “Did you two just get to the island?” One of the men who’d been at the bar when we’d arrived raised his voice to be heard over the music. “Cause I’m sure I would have noticed pretty faces like yours before.”

  I felt Racy’s hand squeeze the top of my knee, reigning me in. Nothing aggravated me more than having a conversation interrupted as if we were only passing the time until a man showed up to entertain us. We couldn’t even go to a foreign country without the unsolicited and definitely unwanted attention of self-important men. But I hadn’t had enough to drink to make me forget my manners; I was only halfway through my rumrunner.

  “We just got in this morning,” she confirmed.

  The man who’d spoken pointed his thumb to his chest. “I’m Tom. And this ugly mug,” he said, gesturing to the equally lumpy man beside him, “is my good buddy, John. We got in a few days ago.”

  “I’m Racy,” my friend continued the conversation. “Rhymes with lacy—like the underwear.”

  Both men chuckled while I rolled my eyes. The line had gotten some mileage over the years, but as long as it was coupled with my friend, it continued to age well. In addition to being smart, ambitious, and aggressive, Racy was also a knockout. Long black hair, olive complexion, full pouty mouth, and unexpectedly sapphire blue eyes. Her gregarious, outgoing personality and full-volume voice assured she was the center of attention.

  I hadn’t offered up my identification, but that didn’t save me from being noticed. The second man—John—stared at me across the u-shaped bar. “Does your friend have a name?”

  I hopped up from my stool and grabbed onto Racy’s elbow. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I announced.

  I didn’t actually have to go, but I hoped she’d take my cue and leave with me.

  Racy only blinked. “Why are you telling me?”

  I grabbed my beach bag and pushed my stool back into its original place. The wooden legs shrieked against the tile flooring.

  I found the nearest bathroom—not much more than an upgraded outhouse—and lingered long enough so my abrupt departure wouldn’t be totally obvious. When I returned, Racy waved me down from a four-top table she’d relocated to in my absence. I looked around for signs of the two men, worried they might be taking the table’s other two chairs, but they no longer appeared to be in the bar.

  “What happened to your new boyfriends?” I asked, taking the chair across from Racy.

  She waved me off. “They were harmless.”

  “Am I going to have to endure small talk with middle-aged men all week?” I tried to keep my annoyance to a minimum.

  “I didn’t want to tell you, because I know you worry.” She placed her hands on top of mine on the table. “But I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell.”

  I smirked at her dramatics. “How long?”

  “A month at least. I’m afraid to cross my legs in public for fear of being turned on.”

  “A month?” I snorted. “Try almost a year.”

  “No!” Racy exclaimed. “That’s not possible. You and Bethany only broke up over the summer.”

  “Because we weren’t having sex,” I drolly noted.

  Racy gasped even louder as though she’d been scandalized.

  Bethany—my most recent girlfriend—and I had dated for little over a year. We had had an amicable breakup and still hung out as friends. She was even house-sitting for me while I was on vacation, making sure my plants were watered and my goldfish got fed.

  I poked at the melting ice cubes in my rumrunner. “It’s been so long I’ve probably forgotten how to have sex.”

  “I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike,” Racy tried to assure me. “In fact,” she continued, “I think we should make it our mission this trip to get you on that lesbian bike again.”

  “You make it sound like I wasn’t trying before,” I complained.

  “But you didn’t have me,” she noted, picking up her tropical drink. “And that’s as good as a guarantee; we’re gonna get you laid.”

  My lip curled at her crudity. “Let’s just have a good time this week, okay?” I pled. “We don’t need to have a mission beyond that.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun,” Racy pouted.

  “I know,” I concurred. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies. Bon bini.”

  Racy and I both snapped to attention at the sound of the new voice. I couldn’t help but gape at the woman who stood before us. Bronzed skin, dark long hair, pert breasts, and a long and lean torso exposed between the bottom of her bikini top and the top of her flowered sarong. Unlike the other resort employees that I’d encountered, there was no real place for her nametag to attach on her top, so she’d fastened the name badge near her hip. It necessitated drawing one’s eyes down the length of her smooth stomach to discover that her name was Tory.

  “Hi, Tory,” Racy chirped before I could get my brain to work. “How are you today?”

  “I’m good, thank you. Can I get you ladies a refill or something to eat?” Her accent was light, giving her diction an almost melodic sound.

  “How about two more rumrunners and an order of plantains?” Racy requested.

  Tory smiled, showing off white, even teeth. She showed no sign that she’d overheard the content of our conversation. “I’ll get those right in.”

  “Damn,” Racy exclaimed before our waitress had barely turned her back. �
�I’d go gay for that.”

  I nudged my friend beneath the cover of the tabletop, the front of my flip-flop striking her mid-shin.

  Racy moved as if to stand up. “Do you want me to see if she’s single?”

  I grabbed her arm and tugged her back to earth. “She’s not gay,” I hissed.

  “How do you know?” Racy challenged. “Was it printed somewhere on her barely-there outfit?”

  “I just know.”

  “It’s unfair,” Racy complained. She waved her hand in the direction of where our waitress had gone. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

  “I don’t think you’re meant to.” I tipped back my glass and drained the remainder of my rumrunner.

  “You should probably take it easy on that drink; we should probably have an early night,” Racy noted, looping back to an earlier conversation. “The van for tomorrow’s snorkeling excursion leaves from the hotel lobby around 6:30 a.m.”

  “I was kind of looking forward to reading my book by the pool.”

  “Don’t you want to do something you can’t do back in Boston?”

  “I don’t have a pool in Boston,” I pointed out.

  “We’ll have plenty of time for that. Snorkel with me for a few hours, and then you can be boring the rest of the day.”

  I stiffened at Racy’s word choice. She knew she only had to invoke words like ‘boring’ or ‘grandma’ to push my buttons. I had to bite back my caustic reply when our waitress—Tory—returned with our drinks.

  The waitress carefully set down our beverages in front of us. “Those plantains will be right up.”

  I kept a smile frozen on my lips until it was only Racy and myself again.

  “Mercy, you know I love you …” Racy trailed off.

  “But?” I guessed.

  “But when you unbutton your shirt, there’s only another button.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I get it. You’re a teacher. You’ve got to be responsible. You’ve got to keep it tight …”

  “But …” I practically stomped my foot waiting for Racy to get to her point.

  “But … we’re on vacation. You’ve got to let loose.”

  “We’re single women, traveling in a foreign country.”

  “We’re staying at a gated, all-inclusive resort,” she returned. “It’s probably more dangerous for us in Boston.”

  “It won’t take up the entire day?” I asked for clarification.

  “We’ll be back to the resort by noon,” she assured me.

  I exhaled. “Okay, fine.”

  Racy let out a loud whoop, drawing a few curious eyes in our direction.

  “Let’s not be the obnoxious Americans, okay?” I winced.

  “Honey, that’s like asking the sky not to be blue; I’m always an obnoxious American.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  As much as I would have enjoyed sleeping in on my first full day of vacation, Racy’s determination to squeeze every ounce of fun out of our time in Curaçao had us up with the sun the next morning. We met with our guided tour in the lobby of our resort along with half a dozen similarly sleepy-eyed vacationers. A short van ride brought us beyond the resort’s gated grounds and back to the central city of Willemstad.

  City-sized cruise ships dominated the landscape, casting their shadow on the brightly painted buildings of the Dutch-inspired capital. With their vibrant and varied colors, the multi-storied buildings reminded me of Easter eggs. On the narrow strip of land between the storefronts and the ocean, local vendors had set up camp under white canopied tents to protect themselves and their wares from the early morning sun. A slightly chilly breeze wafted from the ocean, but the day promised to get much warmer the longer the sun resided in the cloudless, blue sky.

  I would have been satisfied to remain ashore and enjoy the sights and sounds of the bustling seaport, but Racy continued to tug at my arm in hopes of keeping up with our pre-paid tour. Like sheep to the slaughter, we dutifully followed our tour guide onto a sleek-looking catamaran. Orange life preservers were passed around the boat before we set sail. Most of the other passengers interpreted the action as a suggestion, not a requirement, and used the flotation device as a seat cushion, but I made sure to fasten myself in, ignoring the expected eye roll from Racy.

  Our boat captain steered us away from the small island nation towards more open water that alleged some of the best diving and snorkeling in the region.

  Racy was all smiles even for not having had her coffee yet. I had a hunch that her grin might have been the result of the free alcohol on the boat; regardless of the early hour, the onboard bar served up bottles of beer. I was in the minority of those not already partaking in the all-inclusive perk.

  I watched out over the smooth ocean water from my seat near the front of the boat. Racy sat beside me, with her life jacket as a seat cushion. The scent of the salty air and the white noise of the boat slicing through the water were almost enough to allow my thoughts to go blank. Almost.

  I slapped an open palm against the top of my thigh when I realized that in my haste to get ready I’d overlooked an important detail that morning.

  “Dang it,” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Racy asked.

  “I forgot to put on sunscreen this morning,” I lamented with a sigh.

  “You’ll be fine,” Racy assured me. “It’s early enough that the sun won’t be too bad. Plus, you probably still have residual sunscreen from yesterday.”

  I curled my lip. “I do not.”

  “You put on so much by the pool yesterday it was like an extra layer of skin,” she chuckled. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll need to put on any more sunscreen the rest of this trip.”

  “I don’t want to burn,” I defended myself. “Especially not on our first part of the trip. I’ll be a peeling, painful mess the rest of vacation.”

  “I need a refill,” Racy announced. “Want something?”

  I shook my head. “Not until we’re done with the snorkeling part.”

  Racy wiggled her empty beer bottle close to my face. “It’s practically water,” she coaxed. “Don’t you want to stay hydrated?”

  My lips pressed together and I continued to gaze out over the water. “I want to stay focused.”

  Racy tilted her head. “Why so serious? I thought we got that out of your system yesterday?”

  “I’m not a strong swimmer.”

  “That’s what the life vests are for.”

  “It’s not the water that makes me nervous; it’s the things living in the water.”

  “They wouldn’t let tourists do this if it was dangerous.”

  I grunted. “Tell that to the fish.”

  Racy placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m getting another drink.”

  The boat engine cut out and one of the men working the catamaran tossed an anchor overboard. The other passengers shuffled towards the back of the boat, and I took that as my cue to do so as well.

  One of the boat employees passed out snorkeling masks while someone else fitted the passengers with flippers. I couldn’t help noticing that I was still one of the only people wearing a life jacket, but I wasn’t going to let peer pressure be the reason why I drowned.

  Racy reappeared with a second beer in hand while the boat workers gave us instructions. She already had flippers and her snorkel. I listened intently to their advice; I’d been snorkeling before, but only in freshwater lakes where my feet could always touch.

  “Where’s your life preserver?” I whispered to my friend.

  She waved me off while she downed her second drink. “Are you gonna make me wait two hours before going into the water?” she teased me between long gulps.

  “It’s only an hour,” I said sourly. “And everybody knows that’s a myth.”

  I peered over the side of the boat into what I thought looked like dark, foreboding waters. Unlike the more familiar Great Lakes, I could only see a few feet into the water. Who knew wh
at might be lurking, waiting, just beneath the visible portion? The water that was visible wasn’t entirely clear. I thought the things floating on the water’s surface might be pieces of thin plastic, like a bag from a convenience store, but the longer I stared brought a new revelation to mind.

  “Are those jellyfish?” I worried.

  Racy leaned over the edge of the boat to get a better view. “Aww! They’re so little!” she cooed.

  I watched with trepidation as others on my snorkeling excursion were fitted with flippers and masks. No one appeared concerned about the jellyfish that we could all see.

  “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t get in the water with them,” I opined. “They might be little, but they can still sting. I read in a book once—.”

  “Let me stop you right there,” Racy interrupted. “Wouldn’t you much rather experience something for yourself than read about it in a book?”

  “I’d rather read about a shark attack than experiencing it first-hand.”

  Racy spit into her snorkel mask. “You’re too cautious, Mercy.”

  I didn’t have time to fashion a rebuttal before Racy was jumping into the ocean. I flinched as the impact of her body against the water splashed back at me.

  Racy waved at me from the water. She bobbed up and down with the gently rolling waves. “Take the training wheels off!” she coerced me.

  I looked around and realized nearly everyone else was already in the water, along with most of the boat staff. I shuffled toward the back of the boat where a smiling young man held out flippers and a mask for me.

  “Those are jellyfish, right?” I asked him.

  “Yes, but they’re not dangerous,” he told me. “Unless the current shifts, they’ll stay away from where you’ll be swimming.” He bent down to help me with my flippers.

  I accepted his assistance, but his words had done nothing to ease my worries. Despite my better judgment, I slipped my snorkel mask on and began to descend the ladder at the back of the boat. Racy had leapt into the ocean, but I made use of the extra help.