“Of course it is. It’s a destination wedding. They’ve got everyone trapped for the entire week anyway,” he says. “Gotta go. Be waiting for my call.”
I hang up and take a deep breath in lieu of throwing my phone across the office. It’ll be fine. It’s a problem, sure, but every problem has a solution. I’ve been in much worse situations and there’s always a way out.
Lyle gives me a nasty grin. “How cute. Are you giving yourself a little mental pep talk?”
“No. Just doing some … mental calculations.”
“Like weighing out how screwed you’ll be career-wise if you leave versus how screwed you’ll be with your family?”
“Something like that,” I say, feeling suddenly very hot and queasy.
“So, what are you going to do?”
I don’t have the first fucking clue…
2
Why Wait When You Can Be a Boomer Now?
Mac Gamble
Contrary to theThree Dog Night song, one is not the loneliest number. It’s the strongest. The easiest. And the best. It’s by far my favorite number. I tried two once, for almost four years. Total disaster. Complicated, irritating, and expensive as all hell. So I went back to one and I’ve never looked back. One is the number of pure bliss.
I have a one-bedroom shack on the beach where I spend my nights sipping cold beers and watching the sunset. I’ve got one motorcycle with exactly one helmet. One seaplane I use to ferry tourists around the Benavente Islands. Not two planes or a fleet with a bunch of employees I have to worry about. One. Would I make more money with a fleet? Yes. But what do I need with more money? I’m already living the good life in the best place on the planet. Money won’t improve my life in a significant way. Well, maybe it would a little. I do have a situation brewing and if I had a few extra thousand in mybank account, it wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing. But I’ll figure it out. I always do.
And no, I’m not lonely. I’ve got plenty of friends and women when I want them. I’m happy. Truly happy, even though none of my married friends can understand it. But the truth is—and I’d never tell them this because it’s too late for them to change their minds—they’ve got it all wrong. They’re busting their asses at jobs they don’t like to pay for ballet lessons and baseball uniforms for children who don’t appreciate it anyway. They’re spending Saturdays at Home Depot waiting for their wives to choose between brushed chrome and bronzed chrome cabinet pulls while I’m out on my boat fishing in the sea. Besides, I’m not really alone. There’s a gecko named Steve who lives on my porch. He’s always there, clinging to the wall when I get home, and he’s the perfect roommate because he never leaves a mess, doesn’t ask me for anything, and is a pretty decent listener if I have something to say.
I may be only thirty-four, but I’ve got it all figured out. I’m skipping the grind, the mess, and the complications that most people tangle themselves up in, and moving straight to living the dream here in paradise. It’s not hard to do. You just have to forgo wasting all your money on having a family that’ll end up hating you, and give up the idea that you need the finer things in life in order to prove to the other idiots that ‘you’ve made it.’ Unlike the hamsters on the wheels of the world, I couldn’t give two shits what other people think. I’m living the good life now, while I’m young enough to enjoy it. And I’ve got my grandpa Jack to thank for it. He raised me from the time I was six on, and taught me to keep it simple. There was a time when I thought he was an old fool, but after my brief and disastrous marriage, I realized he had it right all along.
I glance out to the turquoise Caribbean water as the sun starts to drop in the sky. The warm wind flows through the cotton of my T-shirt while I ride from the pier where I dock my plane to Whispering Palms Retirement Village to visit Jack. It’s Thursday night, which is poker night with his buddies. Jack and I will have a bite of supper first, including two lobsters I pulled out of the ocean this afternoon that are currently hitching a ride in the small cooler strapped to the back of my Harley. Jack is probably already getting the garlic bread prepped and ready to go in the toaster oven. I’ll whip up a salad to go with it so we can get our greens, and then we’ll settle ourselves in front of his giant 1990s widescreen TV that he found at a thrift store to watch sports highlights while we eat. Around seven o’clock, the rest of the guys will show up and we’ll play poker until around ten. Low stakes. None of the guys at the table have unlimited cash to burn, including me. But you don’t need to spend a lot of money to have a lot of fun.
Yes, it’ll be the perfect way to end a Thursday, so long as Violet isn’t there when I pull up.
Violet is the manager of Whispering Palms, an independent living seniors’ village, and she and I have a secret arrangement that has become increasingly uncomfortable for me. (Not likethat, if your mind went there.) At the start of last year, the fees at the retirement village went up by four hundred dollars a month. I caught wind of it before Grandpa Jack, and since he doesn’t have the money, I’ve been paying it without him knowing. With the start of another new year, there’s another rate hike coming, and I’ve been avoiding Violet on the hopes that it’ll buy me some time to scrape together the difference. What would normally be easy for me to cover became a problem when the fuel pump on my plane cracked last month. Instead offlying tourists around over Christmas (and raking in the big holiday tips), I was sweating my junk off to replace the pump, which was not only expensive, but it caused me to lose a lot of clients in the process. But I’m back in business, so with a little time, I’ll be able to pay her off and Jack can continue living the good life with his buddies, none-the-wiser.
I take a left off the freeway into the Whispering Palms complex, and slow to nearly a stop as I go over the bright yellow speed bump. Glancing at the management office building, I see the light is still on inside. Dammit. She’s probably been waiting for me. The door swings open and she hurries out, waving her arms in the air to get my attention.
Stupid loud Harley. I should’ve swapped it for an electric smart car. I stop, cut the engine, and pull off my helmet while she rushes over. “Hey Violet, you’re looking especially lovely today. Are you and Rosy heading out for a night on the town?”
Rosy is Violet’s younger sister. She’s the manager at the Paradise Bay Resort, and is constantly ogling younger men, even though she’s happily married. Violet’s single and, as she put it to me a while back, ‘ready to mingle’ since divorcing her husband of thirty-nine years. Violet gives me a hard look. “Don’t try flattering me. You know what I want.”
Giving her my most winning smile, I say, “A free lift to the big island for some shopping?”
Her glare fades, but just the slightest. “That actually sounds nice, but it won’t get you out of paying your bill. You owe me seven hundred dollars a month from now on.”
I give a low whistle. “Seven hundred? That’s quite the jump from four.”
She shrugs. “I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.”
My stomach clenches a little. “I know. I’ll get the money to you. I’m having a little cash flow problem but, fear not, because I’m unclogging the line. I’ll have it to you by the end of next week.”
She purses her lips, then says, “It might be time to talk to Jack. He’s a big boy. He can handle a dose of reality.”
I shake my head. “He’s also proud. If he finds out I’ve been covering him, it’ll kill him.”
“It won’t kill him. It’ll piss him off,” she answers.
“Yeah, and who wants to see a pissed-off Jack? Not this guy,” I say with a little grin. “Listen, I promised I’d get you the money. Every month. And I have. Until last month, I made every payment on time so there’s no need for him to find out. Just give me one more week, Violet. One more. Come on, you can’t make Jack leave Whispering Palms. It’s his home. He loves it here.”
