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The agent checked Sandy’s boarding pass, followed by mine, and we walked outside toward the stairs rolled up next to the plane.
Rain had been threatening for the past hour or so, and we got up the stairs and into the plane’s cabin just as large drops began to fall. Once settled into my aisle seat, I closed my eyes and blotted out the sounds of the other passengers. Last night’s scene played itself back on my eyelids. The falling-in-the-pool part hadn’t been great, but what had led up to it had been, and Mr. Studious’ lesson to the dad had etched itself into my permanent highlight reel.
“Says me,” he’d growled as he forced the guy to pay for my phone.
* * *
Josh
In the bathroomthe next morning, I ignored the room phone when it rang.
After having run three fast laps to the end of the boardwalk and back, I relished my shower. It was an indulgence I wasn’t willing to cut short.
Whatever the desk clerk wanted could wait.
Between the temperature and the humidity, even amorningrun in the tropics produced a gallon of sweat to rinse off. Then there was the matter of releasing my frustration so I could concentrate today. Jerking off to the vision of soaking-wet Nicole last night with her bra showing through that shirt did the trick. With some luck, I might get to sample the real thing tonight.
After toweling dry, the blinking red light on the phone begged for my attention. I pulled on cargo shorts and a shirt before I gave in. After punching in the numbers to retrieve my message, Dad’s voice boomed in my ear: “Change of plans, Josh. Need you back here pronto. You’re coming home today. Hope you had a relaxing week.”Click.
Short and to the point, even if not accurate. Leaving today meant I didn’t get the whole two weeks I’d planned. And, as usual, my dad hadtoldme the way things would be instead of asking.
I’d turned off my phone when I arrived, as I’d planned this to be unplugged time. The phone took a minute to power up, and when it did, it showed the success of my strategy. Being powered off had prevented it from delivering eighty-two voicemail messages to interrupt my downtime.
I punched up Dad’s contact.
“What’s the emergency?” I asked when he answered.
“We just closed a deal. I need you to go over and get involved right away.”
I sighed as quietly as I could manage. “Why not have Tony and Harold handle it?”
“This one needs your talents.”
It was more of a compliment than I usually got, and welcome, but it still meant cutting my vacation short.
I took a breath. “When’s the plane arrive?”
“Our plane is in the shop, so Libby booked you commercial. See you first thing tomorrow. Gotta go. Hold on the line and Libby will give you the details.” Then silence.
Love you too, Dad.
“Sorry about this, Josh,” Libby said after a moment. “But he said to get you back as soon as possible.”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
She read the details of my flight, leaving this afternoon with a connection through JFK. I started to gather my things. Nine days here was better than nothing, but not the two weeks I’d planned on.
Since I was the only remaining Benson son in the company, I’d expected to catch a break at some point, but I’d been wrong so far. Maybe my oldest brother Dennis’s idea of splitting off a piece of the company and leaving everybody else to deal with Dad had been the right one. Vincent and Zack seemed to think so, as they had left after him, and now I didn’t have the option.
I spent the morning reading in my room, away from the distraction of bikinis on the beach, and I skipped lunch at the restaurant as well. So much for the enticing Nicole…
On the way to the airport that afternoon, I looked out the window of the taxi, and the dichotomy between the housing in the countryside and the resort I’d been staying at struck me. The houses weren’t mud huts or anything, but lots of them weren’t complete, with rebar sticking up out of the roofs as if they hadn’t been able to afford to finish the upper floor. The bright colors they chose for paint would be an embarrassment back home, but seemed a source of pride here.
My head pivoted as we passed the third coconut stand on the side of the road. “What’s the deal with the coconut vendors?”
“Selling fresh coconut water. Good for the health,” my driver responded. “You want me to stop at the next one?”
Calling it healthy was another bullshit marketing ploy, as far as I was concerned. “No, thanks.”
