I sit here, I feel so alive, in this shapely body of now-bronze freckles and light hair. The sun, so more than warm upon me, all of me. When I wear so little of it, means nothing on this island. Yes, I’m so enjoying the sun on my bare breast as I slowly turn, turn the spoon in my coffee cup. In fact, most of the day I prance around only in my bathing suit bottom. He loves me that way, he makes love to me that way, over and over.
So I’m sitting here, alone, and I think. And my green eyes feast on the blue, blue sea beyond.
The house here lies on a small cove, nothing and no one around, ‘kept us two. We been here for some time. He thinks he knows me….. he doesn’t. Oh, I know him though. He’s a criminal, a super one from Chicago; older than I, what they say is a mobster. Yet, he knows how to please me, in all ways. Gifts, money, sex, also, he lies so divinely. Saying he loves me so, saying he can’t live without me…..and I know he’s going to kill me.
We left Chicago right after the murders, three of them. Kass, the girl I shared the working apartment with, knew them better than I, the mob I mean. She said, watch that one, Blaze I mean, the man who took me here. The one swimming out and away from where I sit. Not once has he spoken about going home, the States, and I haven’t said a word about me leaving either. There’s a town some miles from here, a small one. He has taken me there, to dine, dance. We are treated like royalty.
The first time at that small club, he left me alone at a table. He was at the bar with two huge, very black islanders. When he spoke to them, their two sets of male eyes found me. They stared, burned into me and I knew I could never get off the island without the mobster. No, not alone, not without him.
Blaze does all the shopping. Very early in the morning, a woman servant comes to the house. She cleans, washes, but never prepares food. Blaze loves to cook.
So I sit here, waiting, waiting on him to make love to me, his early one of the day. Yes, he loves me a lot and plans. He goes off alone in the one car and he’s planning something. I believe he’s going further south, Brazil maybe. There’s a briefcase he carries at times. A good one, I tried to open it, it’s always locked. I believe the answers on in there….. when he’s on top of me, kissing me, driving into me, his eyes are warm, yet, cold at the same time. He has strong hands, a powerful body. With him, in bed, it is sweet and sour, of fear and lust you could say. I cried once or twice these past weeks but what the hell, I was a hooker, a high-priced one, but just a broad all the same.
There’s music playing, coming so pleasantly from this beautiful house. The gentle waves are not far from where I sit. They roll, they softly slap against the pink sand, time and time again. I feel dreamy-like and I wonder, shall I die today.
Now he’s coming, swimming straight for me. I think of the car, the keys I never see. He can see it in my eyes, the questions, the fear. If I open my mouth, he’ll do it all the faster. You see, Blaze Conriggi took the right woman, a disposable one.
He’s waving now. He swam where he can stand…..he’s smiling.
“…..hey, baby, hey, baby,” he speaks. Always welcomes me with “hey, baby” twice.
“Hi. Want some coffee?”
“Oh, yeah…..!” and he’s near, very near, wiping off with a rich, thick towel.
Yet, he does not sit, he drinks some coffee, grins and pulls me into his arms…..he’s a good kisser.
“…..over here,” and he walks me to the edge of the water, we lie down across pink sand. His mouth is on my breasts, his hands are gently teasing…..In time he pulls on the string, the bow across my hip. He slides out of his swim trunks and is loving me. Loving me as those gentle waves roll over us. The depth of the water is just right, the degree of the water is perfect and we love. As he drives, the waves slap…..God help me if I’m wrong, but for now, at least, the fear is gone.
It is the same day. He napped and dozed off as I lie in bed next to him, eyes closed but awake.
Now, I’m sitting on the floor in the bedroom, the ceiling fan hums round and round. With my legs crossed, naked, I’m trying to open the briefcase. An hour ago he left and I’m still trying different combinations. Numbers making me crazy. I’ve made sure the music is off so I’ll hear the car. Yes, the case will have the answers, the case will save my life. I’ve tried to walk out of here. It was no use. This is the only house there is, and the one small town which he controls. I’ve searched for other homes, people, there are none. Only the name of the small airport and town I know, Blessingsville. And the sea, yes, the vast blue sea of the Caribbean.
“I’ve got! Got it!” The bastard’s combination is three sixes, the sign of the devil. For fuckin’ weeks I’ve been trying. With his oh-so-dark brown evil eyes, I should have known.
“…..now what’s this?” There’s a gun, of course. No bullets, fuck. Cash, several passports, all with his picture and different names. Nothing. Wait! A map, yes, a map of the Caribbean. There’s somewhere marked, an island off Colombia, San, San Andez. Yes, he’ll fly there with his plane. Fuck, there’s nothing here! Wait, wait. Christ. The print is small, it’s, it’s Blessingsville. Christ! It’s a dot, a fuckin’ dot compared to other islands. We’re here and yes! Yes! St. Bart is there. Now how far is that? Wait, there’s a distance measurement. An inch is sixty miles if I move my finger-nail like this…..St. Bart’s should be seven, eight miles. St. Bart’s is a major island if I can get there…..a boat, I’ll need a boat…..There are none, I haven’t seen any. I’ve walked the beaches from this house in both directions. I’ve never even seen any fisherman. What kind of damn island is this place, anyway? What!
“Wait a minute, what direction is it? Damn, I’m not good with maps. Let me stand. Where’s the sun, over there. It’s going to set soon, that’s west, so I’ll have to go south, southwest just a little though. Oh, Christ, Lois, how did you get yourself into this, how?”
[To be continued]
By: George Martorano