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Studied abroad in France. Wow.
And not Paris, like everyone else. She went to Marseilles.
She’s well rounded.
And just like that, I realize how shallow of a fuck I was for being exclusively turned on by her curvy body in that blue bikini. And I’m wanting to have a more in depth conversation with her about life.
I put my phone away and take one more look at the picture of Fay and I, drunk on life.
“I need to do better, Fay. Sorry,” I whisper, then put the photo back in my wallet.
I take the last swig of my beer. I need to do better not for her, but for me.
After that, I head down to the floor to survey the scene.
“Anything out of the ordinary, tonight?” I ask Antolin, the floor manager.
Antolin and I usually meet up after my surfing session, before dinner, where he gives me a breakdown of how everything is going at The Big Iguana, my hotel.
Antolin is my confidant at this location.
We stand next to each other on the second story balcony that overlooks the restaurant.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” he says. “We do have a few rowdy tourists who are getting a bit drunk at table eight.”
“Excellent.” Drunk tourists spend lots of money, as long as they don’t get out of hand.
Antolin and I walk slowly downstairs.
The first thing I see, behind reception, is an eye sore. A board behind the desk.
“Why is that surfboard just sitting there at reception?” I ask Antonlin. “I know we’re a surfing resort, but we’re high class. We’re not a hostel.”
“We had a special delivery come in,” he says, “Ronaldo picked it up on his second ride this afternoon. I think the bellhop called in sick today, so no one has taken it up yet. Sorry about that.”
Maybe some bosses would let little details like that go. But I’m a man of detail.
“Who’s it belong to?”
“Room 234. A Miss Amelia Hansen. I’ll find someone to bring it up.”
“I’ll bring it up,” I say before Antolin has a chance to radio to the bellhop. “I’m heading upstairs anyway.”
Antolin gives me a funny look. He’s not used to me doing the low level tasks.
“If you insist, Sir,” he says.
I pick up the surfboard.
“I’ll head up now with this surfboard to 234. Always good to add that personal touch of customer service here, you know?”
“Claro, Jefe.”
I head upstairs to 234 with the board.
Standing a few feet from the door, I take a deep breath.
I dial Yoshimi.
