While a long line formed behind them, I reviewed the tours at length, and the couple listened attentively. Eventually, they paid cash for the crocodile excursion, and I forgot to tell them about insect repellant. As they walked away, I exhaled, realizing the satisfaction I felt was not from exerting my sales muscle, but from the heat of their flirtation. I silently repeated their names three times before turning to the next person in line. Serena Sebastiano Serena Sebastiano Serena Sebastiano.
Azeez
∞
My goodbye-cum-congratulations drinks with my roommates left me with a sore head. I had sweat profusely during the night and awoke to damp sheets.
I never was terribly skilled at drinking, not having had much practice before Canada. At the end of my second year, I joined my students’ celebrations and they taught me about rum, tequila, and vodka. I learned to choose bar rail drinks because they were usually on special before ten p.m. and my budget was tight and my bedtime early. My favourite drink was rum and coke; the cola’s caffeine and sweetness perfectly counteracted the bitter alcohol’s depressant effects.
I would be fine if I restricted myself to one or two, accompanied by peanuts or pretzels. Too few snacks or an extra drink would push me over the edge into nausea, headaches, and regrets. The previous night on the porch, I’d consumed four Budweisers and skipped my supper.
I covered my eyes with a pillow and sank in and out of a hungover sleep filled with thoughts of Nora. Over and over again, I dreamt that I was dialling her phone number and inviting her to lunch. Perhaps my unconscious mind was pushing me to make contact. When I awoke I told myself I’d wash up first, dress, and then speak with her.
I feared that not phoning would be unmannerly. What do you say to a woman with whom you’ve just had relations but will never see again? But I was waffling on that last point. I couldn’t stop thinking about her russet curls. I’d never before run my fingers through such soft hair. And those pillowy breasts and bottom! Her silky white skin.
I was a scientist and didn’t really believe in kismet or fate or karma, but that morning, in my hungover state, I engaged in the whimsy of maybe we are meant to be! I was entertaining delusional thoughts: I’d return for a visit or she could come see me in Bombay. She’ d planned to study Eastern Religions and what better way for her to learn than to go to the source?
Perhaps it was because she was my first? Of course I didn’t tell her that — I’d be mortified if she knew. Could she tell? I’d tried to be suave. I kissed her and moved my hands the way they did in the few pornographic movies I’d seen.
I’d never even crossed the threshold of a girl’s bedroom before, let alone made love. I’d dated a couple of girls in Bombay and fooled around a little. Those experiences were memorable, but not even close to what I’d experienced with Nora. No, Nora was different.
Obviously she wasn’t a virgin. I couldn’t tell exactly how experienced she was, but besides a little nervous giggling, she appeared to know how to handle herself. Oh how warm and inviting she was! I’ll never forget the sensation of losing myself inside her for those precious few minutes.
At midday, I dragged my luggage down the staircase. I dialled her number from the foyer phone. It rang and rang and my heart beat so quickly and my stomach churned so violently that I thought I might vomit. When she picked up, I shoved the receiver into its cradle.
Ameera
∆
I caught Enrique’s eye. His leer sent a wave of heat down my chest, past my stomach, and into my groin.
“How are you, beautiful?”
“Good. Tired. Always working.”
“I know what you mean. We should go dancing again.”
“Sure, let’s do that.” But I knew we wouldn’t. I’d asked him out soon after arriving in Huatulco. A first date, I’d gushed to Manuela, who’d been skeptical but didn’t say why. We drove to a club about forty minutes away, a hole in the wall in Santa Maria de Huatulco that boasted a Reggaeton DJ from Mexico City. I wasn’t keen on the music, but I was thrilled to be with Enrique. We joined a small group of his friends, a mix of men and women, most in their early thirties, all stylishly dressed. On the dance floor, Enrique maintained a platonic distance, his body like a frowning chaperone.
Halfway into the evening, he swivelled me around and nudged me into the arms of his friend Antonio, who pulled me close for a sweaty slow dance. By the end of the song, I could feel Antonio’s erection pressed against my stomach. When I realized that Enrique was at the bar, chatting with friends and oblivious to me, I pulled Antonio closer.
Enrique and I went clubbing a few times after that, but it was always the same. I’d long given up the idea of dating him, but I knew I still dressed for him. I told myself that unrequited crushes could be fun.
He returned to his bartending duties and I scanned the crowded lounge. As I’d expected, Serena and Sebastiano were perched near the front. I had a hunch they were waiting for me that evening.
For a moment, I wondered if they’d lied about their names; this was how some swinging couples played, seeking anonymity or trying on new personas. A few stumbled over their pseudonyms, letting their real names slip during moments of disinhibition and pleasure. Some chose alliterative fake monikers like June and Jeremy, Will and Winsome. The women often favoured aliases more exotic-sounding than their own names: Sophia, Andrina, Monique, Imani, Marina. When I’d later look them up in the Oceana database, I’d learn that they were really Susan, Tammy, Dianne, Joanne, or Jen. Serena and Sebastiano were not travelling with my company, so I had no way of double-checking.
“Ameera, buona sera!” Sebastiano held out a piña colada. I briefly hesitated in my reach for the glass, remembering Anita’s letter. But Sebastiano’s green eyes drew me in. I accepted the drink and Serena’s smile widened.
We made polite small talk and I took care to maintain a professional posture. I was vigilant to onlookers and acknowledged other vacationers who passed by, because, even out of uniform, most viewed me as perpetually on duty. In fact, one lady interrupted our conversation to ask about her malfunctioning in-room safe.
I suggested that we move to a less busy part of the bar, a section with leather couches and dim lighting. Serena grabbed my wrist and playfully pulled me down next to her while Sebastiano settled onto an ottoman across from us, his knees brushing mine. The hair on his calves was thick and downy, and I stretched my legs to make full contact. I glanced Serena’s way to see if she minded and she nudged closer, pushing her heavy breasts against my bare shoulder.
Our conversation remained polite during our second drink, even while our bodies spoke a language more intimate. They asked about my job: did I like being so far from home? Where did I live and eat? I’d grown accustomed to curiosity from tourists. Most worked nine-to-five jobs, had children and pets, and suffered long winters. They pictured my life as a year-round holiday. And perhaps I’d once imagined it would be that way, too.
∆
Leave winter behind! Take on new challenges! Competitive salary!
The Oceana employment posting crossed my inbox in early May, a week after the incident with Gavin. I was about to delete it when my mother phoned.
“How’s work?”
“Quiet. Dull. I think I need a change. Listen to this.” I read the Oceana advertisement to her.
“Well, it would be a lateral move, but if they are a large company, there might be more opportunities. There’s no room for movement where you are now.” Her tone was neutral, which I appreciated.
“Yeah, I think I’ll apply.”
“It might not be a bad idea for you to get away, have some new experiences. It would give you a bit of space from Gavin, too.”
“Well,