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thirty-two f

Bahamas

T he heat’s on,” Mike said a week later. “Looks like we won’t be doin’ any more boat trips for a while.”

“Fine by me.” I was in no hurry to return to the high seas.

Mike kept busy with The Crew’s boats, which were now all in port. He also spent time working on the engine of a Beechcraft turbo prop plane used to move money to the Bahamas and Cayman Islands. Each day he came home with a pocket full of cash, much of which went to support his lavish lifestyle.

I continued to spend most of my time at our apartment. I thought about finding work, but Mike encouraged me to stay home.

“No girlfriend of mine is gonna dance,” Mike said. “People’ll think I don’t make enough to support us.”

“I’m not talking about dancing,” I said. “I thought I’d look for something in a doctor’s office.”

“Ava, you’re high from morning to night. Any doctor’s gonna spot that. Why not wait till The Crew’s back in business? From what Ben says, it shouldn’t be more ’n a coupla weeks.”

Mike had a point. I needed coke or speed to get going in the morning. Pot in the afternoon softened the edges. Alcohol in the evening helped me sleep.

w

“I’m goin’ to the Bahamas,” Mike announced a few days later.

“Me too?” I asked.

“Sorry, doll. Me ’n Maurice are flyin’. It’s a two-seater.”

Maurice was Mike’s new best buddy. Like most of The Crew I’d met, he was fun-loving and easygoing. I hoped Maurice would be a positive influence on Mike, but something told me Mike would be the one to influence Maurice.

“Be careful, Mike.”

“Don’t worry. I’m no fool.”

The shrill ring of our phone woke me out of a sound sleep at four in the morning.

“Ava, it’s Ben.”

This couldn’t be good.

“Mike called. He’s in jail.”

“ What? ” Suddenly, I was wide awake.

“Booked him for drunk and disorderly. My lawyer’s flying down to the Bahamas to bail him out. We’ll probably just have to pay a fine,” Ben said.

“What happened?”

“Mike’s first mistake was reserving a room at the Graycliff Hotel,” Ben said.

Mike had shown me Graycliff’s brochure—an eighteenth-century mansion turned into a luxury hotel. I told him he belonged in a large, corporate hotel where he could party unnoticed. As usual, he ignored my advice.

“His second mistake was turning into a loud, sloppy drunk after too many Pusser’s Rum Painkillers,” Ben continued.

Probably a buffet of drugs, too.

“We need to talk when he gets home,” Ben said.

I imagined a drunken Mike curled into a ball in the corner of a Bahamian jail cell. More and more I saw him for what he was: a wise guy who thought only of himself.

One thing I knew for certain: If it had been up to me, I would have left him in jail until he learned his lesson.

Sleep was a memory. I got out of bed, made coffee, sat on the balcony, and watched the sunrise. I’d come so close to having a fairytale life in Florida with Mike. I saw no happy ending in our future.

That afternoon, I went to the library and checked out a copy of The Power of Positive Thinking by Norman Vincent Peale. I needed something besides cocaine to lift my spirits. I flipped through the anecdotal stories, which were supposed to teach me how to banish negativity and live an optimistic life. It didn’t work.

When will I realize a book isn’t going to change my life?

Obviously, today wasn’t the day. I stayed on the balcony and read until the light faded.

Back inside, I made myself a vodka and grapefruit juice and opened a can of tomato soup. As I sat down to eat, I heard Mike’s key in the door.

“Well, that sucked,” he said, throwing his suitcase halfway across the room. “Goddamn Maurice. It’s his fault we ended up in jail.”

An “I told you so” would do no good. I took Mike’s hand, led him to the sofa, and brought out a pipe and a block of hashish.

“You always know what I need,” Mike said.

“You’re safe now. Tell me all about it.”

“After we checked in at the Graycliff, me ’n Maurice took care of business for The Crew. Met our contact at some dive bar in downtown Nassau. Had a few Painkillers—”

“Drinks or drugs?” I knew but wanted to hear it from Mike.

“Drinks. You gotta try ’em. Rum, coconut milk, juice.”

“Too much rum gives me a headache,” I said.

“Me too. But I didn’t know that till later. Anyway, seemed like we were only there for an hour or so before they flagged us. Maurice got pissed, leaned over the bar, and took a swing at the bartender. That’s when the bouncer threw us onto the street.”

Maurice was an upbeat, happy guy who became more upbeat and happy when he was drunk. Mike on the other hand—

I knew better than to dispute Mike’s story. Instead, I passed the pipe to him. He inhaled deeply and held his breath, as though he didn’t want to continue.

“We went back to the hotel, had a couple more Painkillers by the pool, then went in for dinner. Maurice said they had the best steaks in town. Y’know how much I love my steaks.”

Mike could eat steak morning, noon, and night.

“Anyway, they wouldn’t serve us. Said we weren’t dressed properly.”

“Didn’t you bring a jacket and tie?” I asked.

“Hell, no. It’s the Caribbean. Nobody dresses up.”

I wanted to shove the hotel brochure in his face. The dress code was right there in black and white.

“Maurice started in, sayin’ we had every right to be there. I kept quiet at first, but Maurice kept at it. He said we’re guests at the hotel and can dress any way we like.”

“Why didn’t you just leave?” I asked.

“I wanted to, but Maurice stood his ground. The ma?tre d’ yelled to somebody to call the cops. ‘C’mon, Maurice, let’s split,’ I said, but they wouldn’t let us leave. The cops hauled us into the station and stuck us in a cell.”

“If you didn’t cause any trouble, why did they arrest you and not just Maurice?”

“Well, maybe I got into it, too.”

Mike’s whole story was a fabrication.

“They allow you one local phone call. Maurice called one of his pals on the island who called Ben.”

“You’re lucky Ben bailed you out. Is he pissed?”

“Nah, cost of doin’ business.”

Even a night in a Bahamian jail did nothing to tame Mike.

“Gotta call Ben and let him know I’m back.”

Mike was no longer my white or my black knight, but I was still in love and lust with him. Without him, I’d have to go back to New Jersey, back to dancing and a life of cheap drugs and booze.

Mike joined me back in the living room.

“Ben wants to meet with us,” he said.

“Is he firing you?”

“Hell, no. I’m too valuable. He invited us to his mansion for dinner tomorrow night to discuss business.”

I’d heard stories about Ben’s palatial home, his cars, and lavish lifestyle. Much as I was nervous about Mike’s fate—and in turn, mine—I was flattered to be invited, and curious to see how his boss lived.