* * *
Despite our differences, Agwe was one mean cook. The tuna was grilled to perfection, so sweet and tender that it practically melted in the mouth. The tropical rice with pineapples and coconut was the perfect side dish. When seconds were offered, I handed Brando my plate to accept more. We ate chilled fresh fruit for dessert, and after I had my fill, I couldn’t remember the last meal that I had eaten that tasted so good—the lobster and the yam at the underwater resort.
Filled to my own gills with divine sustenance, the vitality of the sun, the softness of the breeze, and the loosening humidity, my body yearned for a siesta on the rocking water.
I removed my top and shorts, kicking off my flip-flops, enjoying the feel of the heat on my bare skin. I only hoped that I didn’t blind any oncoming boats or any of the people around me with my shockingly white skin.
I took a lounger next to Aunt Lola, the smell of coconut suntan lotion strong in my nose. Tanning like Brando was out of the question, but I could get some glow, or at the least, a dusting of gold color. I borrowed some of her cream to spread on my arms and legs.
“Join us for a siesta, nephew,” Uncle Tito said, hat over his eyes. He was half asleep. “Oggi è stato il giorno perfetto.”Today has been the perfect day.
Aunt Lola reached out and grabbed her husband’s hand. A smile came to my face, unbidden, at the sight of them.
Brando sat next to me, pushing me over to the side. He blocked some of the sun from my face, and I was thankful for it.
I leaned over, taking the sunscreen lotion from my bag. I squeezed a dollop in my palm and rubbed it into his back. He made a noise at my touch that made my loins catch fire. His back was heated from the sun, and it seemed to grow even hotter, almost to the point that I imagined I’d pull back hands with third degree burns.
“I’d tell you not to waste your stuff on me because I don’t burn, but hell if I’d ever tell you to stop touching me.”
“It doesn’t—” I stopped and cleared my throat. “It doesn’t matter. The rays of the sun can still cause damage.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, his head hanging, enjoying the massage.
“There,” I said, pleased. Even though he only got darker, I prevented sun damage. Although I didn’t feel so sure that I went unharmed. I burned for him, and there was no lotion that could prevent the sequela.
As though he could hear this internal dialogue, he turned, gazing at me for so long that I thought I’d combust or have to squirm away from him. Then he bent down and kissed me, the taste of some exotic beer still lingering on his tongue, mixed with the sweetness of mango. The kiss started out innocent enough but was interrupted by a throat clearing from Aunt Lola. Someone had started making noises.Me.
Brando’s eyes smoldered, and even when he pulled away, he didn’t look away.
“Grazie,mio angelo,” I said, equal parts drunk off the sun and him, “for catching our lunch.”
Captain O’Malley took his guitar out. He strummed it over his legs, his voice not particularly beautiful, but raw, and not inhibited in the slightest by his limits. He sang a slow song, something soothing and almost meandering, and I drifted to the sound of it. But I wasn’t fully asleep. I found myself in limbo between realms.
“My rings,” I muttered.
I went under then, just to pop back up and say something else, while running my hand along Brando’s side. Beneath my fingertips, his skin was smooth and taut over the solid arch of his ribs.
“Not here,” he whispered in my ear.
I wasn’t sure what he referred to—my rings or wanting him. Both, I assumed, because my rings were still off and his shorts still on. In that case, I fell fully asleep, hoping by the time I woke up, my skin wouldn’t cause legal blindness.
The emptiness I felt when Brando left my side woke me. I opened my eyes in time to see him dive into the water, almost soundless. Knowing that he probably left his hat on the seat—it was a hat given to him by the first college that scouted him for baseball—I looked for it to put in my bag. It was gone.
For some odd reason, one of Maggie Beautiful’s superstitions came to me then. She had once told me that if I were to break a mirror, I was to take the pieces of glass and throw them in dark water. She said it drowned the bad luck. I wasn’t sure what he did with the hat, but I knew he had to take it. And it wasn’t on his head anymore. I got the feeling he wanted to drown it.Why?I shrugged off the thought a minute later. I was being ridiculous, probably thinking too much about something that was actually nothing.
Not wanting to miss him in the water, I grabbed my camera and then went to the railing, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. He hadn’t. He was submersed in his world, truly enchanted by it, and I was able to get a few pictures before Agwe walked by muttering,“your lair be calling to him.”
I sidestepped him this time, afraid that he might throw me over to see if I’d sink. As beautiful as the water was, it was boundless and dark. I wasn’t the adventurous type, especially when my pale limbs lurked with things unknown.
Ha! Some nymph I am, afraid of my own people and home.
“Ah, there she is.” Captain O’Malley came to stand next to me, his cigar bobbing with the movement of his lips. He removed it, tapping the ashes into the water. “Don’t pay Agwe any mind. He has romantic notions about certain things. A true sailor, Agwe is, aye?”
I noticed that once in a while, the captain developed an Irish lilt. It sounded as though his mother or father, or perhaps someone close to him, had an accent, and over the years he lost it but picked it up every so often.
“I’m really not,” I said a bit defensively. “What he claims I am.”
“No,” he agreed, but then smiled, devilishly. “But you are someting.” He copied Agwe’s accent.
