Memories of Paradise

MEMORIES OF PARADISE

         I retrieved my luggage from the airport carousel, amazed at the oppressive humidity. The entire back of my dress clung to me like a damp skin. So this is Nassau, I thought, as I lugged my suitcases out to the taxi area. Already I was miserable; ready to turn around and climb aboard the next flight back to Dallas.

         Death can really mess things up. Plans can evaporate and dreams can become nightmares in a few terrible moments of tearing metal and a gasoline-fueled fireball. My fiancé, Gerald, and I had planned a vacation in the Bahamas someday. Those plans had perished, along with Gerald, in a fiery head-on collision six months earlier. My grief was as strong today as when I'd received the call from the police.

         It was at the urging of my friends that I found myself here on this sweltering island. Go alone, they had said --perhaps to find a catharsis for my grief -- to heal. So, here I was, on New Providence Island, home of Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas, determined to have a good time.

         It was seven in the evening, and the cab I flagged whisked me away from Nassau International Airport to the Sand Dune Hotel. I checked in and went to my spacious room where I unpacked and told myself I would freshen up and go downstairs for a drink -- and mix a little.

         The lounge was a loud and lively place, decorated with a tourist's idea of the island. Thick ropes, stuffed marlin and giant sea shells adorned the walls; fishing nets hung from the ceiling.

         I took a seat and ordered a screwdriver from the young man behind the bar. He grinned infectiously and raised an eyebrow. "You come all de way to de Bahamas for a screwdriver, pretty lady? Let me make you a banana daiquiri dat will have you dancin' in the street."

         Despite my somber feelings I returned his smile. He was cute as could be. "Okay," I said, watching as he danced away to mix the drink and return it to me. He set the tall, frosty glass on the bar in front of me. "One delicious drink for one delicious lady."

         I shook my head self-depreciatingly, and chuckled to myself. The drink was potent, and I could tell there was enough alcohol in it to make an elephant dance in the streets. The boy didn't walk away. Instead, he put his elbows on the bar and cupped his face in his hands, staring at me, still grinning. "Good," I acknowledged, taking another sip.

         "Not good . . . wonderful," he said with a wink, his eyes seeming to read my face.

         What a flirt! He was just a kid though, and the effect of my flight mixed with the strong drink had tired me suddenly. I took a ten from my purse and set it on the bar. "Got to go, now," I said. "Keep the change."

         "Hey, mon . . . t'ank you!" he said, his appreciation genuine.

         I walked, a bit unsteadily, toward the exit. Then, on impulse, I looked back over my shoulder. Just as I suspected. The boy was watching me. Again, his appreciation seemed genuine.

         Back in my room I examined myself in the mirror. Did I look like a school teacher? My figure was still lean and firm, my breasts high. Gerald had never seemed disappointed with my physical attributes, but he'd been ten years older than me. I wondered how much older I was than the kid tending bar. "Silly girl," I said aloud as I undressed and slipped between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed. I hugged the spare pillow and fell into a fitful sleep, missing Gerald's warmth beside me -- wishing he could be here in the place we had dreamed of so often.

***************

         Blinding sunshine washed through my window and woke me from my troubled slumber. It was only seven A.M. but it was as bright as noon back home. I opened the French door leading out to my rail-surrounded balcony and lifted my face to the sun. I guessed it must be in the mid-eighties and the humidity was so high the air was heavy, making breathing a challenge. Not more than a hundred yards away the splendidly clear, turquoise water of the Caribbean shimmered.

         My balcony overlooked a lovely garden filled with tropical flowers and unidentifiable shrubs, overhung by the fronds of banana and palm trees. Green fruit actually grew from the trees, within my reach, reminding me I hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon. Hunger gnawed at my insides. Time to go exploring.

         I showered, then pulled on white shorts, a pale pink short-sleeved blouse and sandals. I took the elevator to the lobby, which was teeming with tourists checking in and others checking out. Large signs pointed the way to the bar, the gym, the restaurant and the beach. I followed the arrow toward the restaurant and discovered it was outside the hotel, down on the pristine white sand beach.

         The restaurant was a circular building with floor to ceiling windows all around. Ceiling fans whirred above and open doors stood at intervals of ten feet. A breakfast buffet was in progress and, as far as I could see, offered anything a person might want for their morning meal.

         The ocean breeze wafting through the restaurant ignited my appetite. I gorged on thick Belgian waffles, smothered with fresh strawberries and whipping cream and eggs scrambled and sautéed with diced onions, bell peppers and tomatoes, crisp bacon, strong, black coffee and two bananas! For a girl standing five-foot two, weighing around one-twenty, I can eat enough for two when I'm hungry.

         Damn.

         The thought of eating enough for two dampened my spirits. Gerald could be here eating with me, joking as he always did, if only . . .

         Stop it, I told myself. The past can't be changed. I had to look toward the future. I paid for the meal that was now sitting lead-like in my stomach, crossed the narrow strip of fine sand and walked between scores of chaise lounges occupied by tourists basking in the strong sunlight.

         Black men walked along the beach hawking jet-ski rentals, water-skiing, para-sailing and glass-bottom boat tours of the fish- filled reefs. The natives were black and most of the tourists were white, though of many nationalities I knew, having overheard snatches of conversations in German, French and some Scandinavian dialect, while at breakfast.

         I reached the water's edge and slipped out of my sandals. The water was as warm as blood as I stepped in and stood there looking out to sea. I recalled from the brochures Gerald and I used to pour over that of the seven hundred islands making up the Bahamas, only about forty-five are inhabited. If all seven hundred were magically drawn together they would be about the size of Connecticut!

         The population of around half a million had a per capita income of only around ten thousand dollars annually.

         I came out of my reverie just as an ominously black cloud appeared from a previously cloudless, unbelievably blue sky. As if God suddenly decided to toss a bucket of water on me, to snap me out of my depression, the cloud split and it rained. No. It poured. Torrential, blinding sheets of water soaked me to the skin in seconds.

         I ran to the nearest shelter beneath a group of palm trees. The sunbathers were nowhere in sight. They must have seen the storm coming and run for cover while I was still daydreaming.

         I leaned back against the rough trunk of a palm tree and listened to the rain striking the covering fronds above me. A peaceful sound.

         "Coconut, lady?" a voice asked from beside me, making me jump with surprise. I turned toward the oddly familiar voice.

         He was wearing a big, white- toothed smile and little else. The ivory-colored pair of Speedo trunks he wore barely covered his narrow hips, and left little to the imagination. I couldn't help but stare. His legs and arms were well-muscled and his stomach was flat except for ripples of muscle. Now that I saw him in daylight instead of the darkened lounge, I noticed his hair was a brownish-red and hung long, in a pony-tail, halfway down his back. His skin was coffee-with-extra-cream in color.

         He was beautiful -- with dark, expressive eyes, delicate nose and lips, and high, prominent cheekbones. And he was so young. I guessed him to be at least five years younger than my own twenty-seven years.

         I was appalled at what I was feeling. For the first time since Gerald's death I felt the stirrings of attraction for a man boiling inside me. In answer to his question, I stammered intelligently, "Huh?"

         "Wan' a coconut? De milk is sweet and cool. Only six dollahs," he said in his lilting Caribbean accent.

         "Uh, sure, I'll take one," I responded, digging in my pocket for my billfold, aware of his eyes roving over the contours of my body beneath my wet, clinging clothes.

         In a flash, he was half-running, then climbing up the slanted trunk of the palm tree nearest him. His arms and legs encircled the trunk as he got higher, and he rapidly inched himself upward. I felt myself blush at the view he presented as I watched him climb and discovered I was holding my breath.

         A moment later a large, green, football-shaped coconut fell at my feet and he shinnied down to earth. Picking up the fruit, he pulled a machete knife from a leather sheath on the sand and, holding the coconut in the palm of one hand, deftly swung the dangerous-looking blade, taking the top two inches off the coconut. He handed it to me. "Drink, pretty lady. I'll have you dancin' in de street wit'out any alcohol."

         So, he did remember me from the bar!

         I tipped the coconut up and drank deeply. Delicious!

         "Good for de depression," he said, taking my money.

         "Excuse me? Who says I'm depressed," I demanded.

         He rolled his eyes heavenward. "You eyes, you face, de way you walk all mopey 'long de beach. 'Dis be a happy place, girl . . . but you don' see it."

         Six months of repressed anger, loss, hurt and self-pity rose up inside me and slapped me like a physical blow. I fell to my knees in the sand. Tears poured from my eyes as hard and as unexpectedly as the rain had poured from the sky moments before.

         The stranger squatted beside me. "Wan' to talk 'bout it, mon?"

         And, even though he was a stranger, I did talk, and cry, and unleash everything I had been holding inside. As I purged myself of the poison of grief, finishing with low sobs, the rain subsided. The sky was again clear and blue. As the dark cloud had passed, so had my depression. The weight of mourning was lifted slightly.

         The man helped me to my feet. "You a good-lookin' woman, sister," he said, squinting at me. "Know who you be lookin' like? Dat actress, Alyssa Milano, for sure. You be havin' no troubles findin' a new friend. Fact be, I'd like to show you de island -- if you wan'."

         I blushed, then made eye contact with him. "Thank you, uh, I don't know your name," I faltered.

         He held out a strong, but infinitely gentle, hand. "I be Tiki. Tiki O'Brian.

         I shook the proffered hand. "I'm Sarah James. You want to show me the island, huh?" I said, skeptically.

         "Sure, girl. I show . . . you pay. I be a poor boy. Evah'body has to hustle in de Bahamas."

         Gigolo, I thought to myself. A young, beautifully put together gigolo, out for an older woman's money. But I liked his company, and I would feel better with an escort. What would it hurt? "Okay, Tiki. Are you free tonight?"

         He nodded, touching my cheek. An electric shock raced through me. "I be free tonight. I come pick you up at seven, okay?"

         Already utterly shocked at my behavior, I gave him my room number and told him seven was fine. He tossed me a salute and went off to try to sell a coconut to a white-haired grandmother wearing a muumuu.

         Since it was barely noon, I took my coconut back to my room and stored it in the small refrigerator. Then I slipped into my swimsuit and headed back to the beach, nearly skipping along the path.

         I found an empty beach chair and let myself bake in the sun. Before long a girl came up to me offering to braid my hair for twenty dollars. I agreed and sat still while she worked, interspersing brightly-colored beads and bits of feathers into the braids. When she finished she held a mirror up so I could inspect her work. Even I had to admit it made me prettier. I gave her a ten dollar tip and thanked her. Like Tiki said, everybody hustles in the Bahamas for the money they earn.

         Later, back in my room, I took a long shower and a short nap, then dressed in white cotton slacks, a dark blue tube-top, blue sandals and golfball-sized gold hoop earrings I saw at the hotel gift shop and couldn't resist.

         Tiki arrived promptly at seven, kissed me quickly on the lips when I opened the door, and whistled at my hair and attire. He wore navy blue short-shorts, a white T-shirt bearing the likeness of a parrot in blazing colors, and well-worn sneakers.

         "Well, am I over-dressed, or what?" I asked, feeling foolish.

         "Or what, girl. 'Dis be de Bahamas! Wear an evenin' dress or wear nuttin' at all . . . don' matter to no body!" He said, performing a few dance steps, ending with a 360 degree spin and a bump of his hip against mine. "You ready to do de town?"

         Was I? I didn't even know this young man, and here I was, putting myself in his hands. I almost chickened out. "We could just stay here," I suggested. "Have dinner and a drink . . ."

         "Not tonight, sister. First we eat, 'den we parrrty!"

         He led me to the elevator, snapping his fingers and gyrating to some inner reggae beat. He made me feel old.

         In front of the hotel we caught a taxi. "Downtown, mon," Tiki instructed the driver and off we went toward the west, down a narrow boulevard lined with forty-foot high Royal palms and colorful shrubs and flowers of all descriptions. The nickname of "The Island of Perpetual June" seemed to fit.

         We ate melt-in-your-mouth steaks and finished a bottle of red wine at a small restaurant that looked as if it were due for demolition. When I paid, I received the island currency in change. The bills were different colors, depending on the denomination. They reminded me of Monopoly money.

         Tiki led the way and we walked from the restaurant to the Straw Market. Here you could buy liquor and perfume at a fraction of the U.S. cost, or inexpensive T-shirts to take home to pesky relatives. Tiki found a straw hat with a parrot feather he just had to own. I bought it for him. He looked ridiculous. And beautiful. And young. He thought he looked great and to heck with anyone who didn't agree with him. Ah, youth.

         Still on foot, Tiki took me across a high bridge that connects Nassau Island and Paradise Island. We went to the Golden Paradise Hotel and Casino where I provided the funds and Tiki provided the enthusiasm. We wasted money in the dollar slot machines for a while until a spot opened up at a nearby roulette table. I stood at Tiki's shoulder as he played. Played? Hah! The boy was dead serious. He hit a streak and left the table with seven hundred dollars. And, though I didn't expect it, my sweet gigolo shared his winnings equally with me. He was a pleasure to be around. Youthful exuberance radiated from him, making everything fun.

         A preposterously large, full moon hung in the coal black sky as we walked back across the bridge to Nassau. Our hands touched lightly as we walked and before long it just seemed as natural as "naked" on a baby for us to hold hands.

         Tiki talked animatedly about what he was going to do with his winnings. "You're a pretty lucky guy, Tiki," I observed.

         "Yeah. From my Daddy's side. He was Irish. My Mama be half Bahamian and half Polynesian . . . beautiful woman."

         "It's obvious some great genes got together to produce a man as attractive as you," I said, wondering at my new boldness. Our eyes locked in one of those too infrequent moments we experience in a lifetime -- those moments when a couple knows the time for a kiss is then and there.

         Tiki didn't miss the opportunity. He leaned to kiss me. "T'ank you. You not be hard to look at either," he breathed in my ear, then kissed me firmly on the mouth. I reached for him; pulled him closer, making the kiss last. His hand touched my breast.

         I moved away, breathing hard, mixed emotions coursing through me. "No. Please," I said, turning my back to him.

         He laid his hand on my bare shoulder. I cringed with yearning. "What be the matter, Sarah?" he asked softly.

         "I-I don't even know you. And you're so . . ."

         "So what?"

         "God! You're so young! I don't know what I was thinking about going out with you this way . . ."

         Tiki's voice held a note of curious disbelief. "Din't you tell me you fiancé was ten years older 'den you?"

         I exhaled loudly. "That's different."

         "Why 'dat be dif'rent? Man older . . . woman older . . . what does it matter?"

         "It just does," I argued stupidly. "How old are you, anyhow?" I asked, turning to face him.

         "Twen'y-one last March."

         "I'm almost seven years older. This just isn't right. And it's too soon," I sighed.

         Timidity wasn't one of Tiki's traits. "Okay, old woman . . . let's just walk some more."

         And we did, down a street lit with what appeared to be rows of Christmas tree lights. Music floated through the night air. I liked the beat and started dancing along the sidewalk.

         "Hey, 'dis old woman gettin' down now!" Tiki laughed, dancing beside me. "You like to dance, Sarah?"

         "It's been so long . . ."

         "Fix 'dat right 'dis minute," Tiki said, leading me to the open door of a bar from which the odd music blared.

         Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see that the couples dancing were boy-girl, boy-boy, and girl-girl -- and of every color combination possible. We were ushered to a table for two by a young black girl. Tiki ordered for us and the girl brought the drinks quickly. I moved the tacky umbrella out of the way and sipped at my straw. Coconut milk and some alcoholic beverage only slightly weaker than diesel fuel. After two of the drinks I was ready to dance -- naked if asked!

         We danced to a couple of songs played by an antique Wurlitzer jukebox which seemed to have nothing newer than "Sweet Little Sixteen" by Chuck Berry. Then the lights came on over in the corner of the bar and a man stood there behind some barrels. He began to strike them with cloth tipped sticks. The music that came out was amazing. "Steel drums," Tiki explained. "He cut steel oil drums to dif'rent heights and tuned 'em to certain pitches."

         The Caribbean rhythms had everyone in the bar clapping and dancing in front of the small stage. When the musician stopped, he passed around a coffee can for donations.

         Everybody hustles in the Bahamas.

         After two slow, swaying dances, Tiki and I looked across the table into each other's eyes and I knew it was time to leave. I also knew that his age didn't matter. He was genuine, real, without a deceitful bone in his hard young body. I couldn't believe the way I felt about him.

         We cabbed back to the hotel, kissing tentatively in the darkness of the rear seat. Upon arriving at the hotel Tiki led me along a path that circled around the building, through the gardens and out onto the deserted beach. We walked at the water's edge, carrying our shoes and letting the small waves lap at our ankles. That impossible moon provided the only light.

         I leaned my head against Tiki's chest and he put his arm around my shoulders. "I'm glad I met you, Tiki. Today has been the best day of my life," I said honestly.

         His teeth flashed white in the darkness. "Some o' 'dat my fault. Some be de islands, girl," Tiki said, his voice taking on a serious tone I hadn't heard before. "You be like our stonefish when you get here. He stay real still down under de water, lookin' like a rock, so big fish 'dey don' eat him. You know . . . camouflage. He able to hide in a crowd . . . disappear to de world. 'Dats how you were.

"But, before you leave, you gonna' be like our Bird o' Paradise Flower. It got big purple leaves below large, bright orange flowers wit' blue tongues stickin' up from de middle. Like it be sayin', 'Here I am . . . look at me! I be beautiful and full o' life!' You not hide from anyt'ing 'den."

         "You could be a poet," I said earnestly, surprised at the young man's depth; his perception of the world around him.

         "Naw. Jus' a poor island boy. Hustle to make a livin', party as much as I can, live some years and die of old age wit' a fat wife and ten kids," Tiki said, kicking at the water.

         "You could be so much more . . ."

         He shrugged.

         We walked in silence for several minutes. Then, as if reading the other's thoughts, we turned, embraced and kissed, our bodies pressed tightly together. We dropped together to the soft sand. I undressed him, pulling his T-shirt over his head and kissing his sandy-haired chest, his dark nipples, and his flat stomach.

         The sand was still warm from the day, waves gurgled and gushed, and the call of an island bird filled the night. I savored the taste of Tiki's flesh; the heady scent of him.

         His hand caressed the nape of my neck, urging me on. He thrust his hips when I darted my tongue into his naval. "Sarah," he breathed, pulling me up to face him.

         I sat up, put my fingers under the hem of my tube top and removed it, tossing it onto the beach. The beads in my hair clinked melodiously. "You be too lovely," Tiki sighed. "I will remember you like 'dis . . . silhouetted by de moon . . . for as long as I live."

         I moved into his sinewy arms and we collapsed to the beach, our hands and lips exploring. This time, when his hand cupped my swollen breast, I made no move to stop him. His soft lips suckled my nipples until they stood as hard and tight as marbles. His hands awoke the sensitive nerve-endings in my inner thighs and I squirmed like a worm on a fishhook when his tongue traced the divide between my thigh and my heaving pubis. My heart beat so rapidly I could hardly breath. "Now, Tiki . . . I want you now . . . please."

         He took me with a maturity far beyond his years. Not the frantic seeking for release common to many men much older than he, but with a slow, deliberate tenderness, as if he were memorizing every moment. He ebbed and flowed within me like the tide ebbed and flowed nearby, until, with a sharp moan, I told him I was there - - at that height of passion from which there is no turning back.

         I clutched him closer, lost in a paradise of sensations. Heartbeats later, Tiki found his own paradise. We fell asleep to the whisper of the surf and the rustle of palm fronds above our heads, our bodies entangled.

         Heaven.

         We awoke at daybreak. I stood and stretched, unashamed of my nakedness, and ran into the salty, aquamarine water that was so clear I could see the conch shells on the bottom. Further out, the water was a breathtaking indigo blue. We dressed, not the least bit self-consciously, and headed back up the beach to my room.

         We spent the next two days and nights together. Tiki generously shared his island with me, taking me to see all the points of interest. And he introduced me to his mother -- a gracious, dignified woman whose love for her son shown through her dark eyes. If she thought anything at all about the age difference between Tiki and me she didn't show it.

         My last night arrived much too quickly. I treated Tiki to a nice dinner from room service, not wanting to share him with anyone else. After dinner, Tiki switched off the air-conditioning and opened wide my balcony doors. A mellow breeze carried with it the smells of the island.

         He brought us both a chilled bottle of beer from the refrigerator and we sipped them while looking out at the garden. I felt a tear flow from my eye and run in a narrow river down my cheek. Tiki saw this tiny drop of liquid. He came close and took my tear on his tongue. I threw my arms around him, holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go.

         "Don' be sad, Sarah. 'Dis be your last night . . . let me make you happy."

He took my hand and led me to the bed. He kissed me teasingly, my forehead, my eyes, the corners of my lips, then, finally with a mutual hunger our lips met and molded together in a gentle duel of tongues. His lips moved to my neck; lingered there as he unbuttoned my blouse and let it drop from my arms. I wore no bra. My breasts stood firm against his hard-muscled chest. He bent his knees and kissed my breasts, running the tip of his tongue in a circle around my nipples. He unsnapped my shorts and they fell around my ankles. Then he lowered me to the bed and with whispery fingers removed my thigh-cut panties.

         I reached up for him, but he gave me a smile filled with masculine allure and backed away. He did a slow striptease for me and I felt more wanton than ever before in my life. He crossed the room and I heard the small refrigerator open, then close again.

         Tiki spread himself beside me on the bed. I took his pony-tail in my hand and pulled him closer. Then I saw the coconut which he had given me my first day on the island, and which I had put in the refrigerator and forgotten. "What?" I asked.

         "Shhhh . . . just enjoy," he said throatily. I shivered when he dribbled the cold coconut milk over my breasts. The white liquid flowed over my tanned skin and ran in rivulets between my breasts. Tiki licked and drank every drop from my quivering chest. Next, he splashed the milk over my belly. It collected in my navel and pooled and eddied in the clefts and valleys of my torso. With nerve-wracking slowness, Tiki tongue-bathed me until I squirmed and wriggled beneath his efforts.

         A lava-like heat built in the pit of my stomach. But still he explored me with his lips and tongue until the intensity of his foreplay had me ready to explode with passion, like some Caribbean volcano erupting, releasing pent-up pressures. Was I the same, sometimes narrow- minded school teacher who had come to Nassau only three days ago, I wondered? Impossible.

         I caught Tiki's pony-tail again and pulled him up to face me. We kissed, and my fire got hotter. He rolled atop me and I opened my thighs to him. My hands cupped and kneaded his youthful buttocks, drawing him into me. We swayed and rocked in a slow, hungry dance until the volcano within me erupted and the island god, Tiki, smiled in delight.

         Tiki and I talked of many things as we lay in the afterglow of our lovemaking. "Why don't you come back to the States with me . . . go to college. I'll take care of you," I promised.

         "No, lady. Here I have my fam'ly, my friends . . . my life. In your world I would be just another black man," he said, a touch of sadness evident in his sweet voice.

         "Then I'll come here, dammit! I'm a teacher. Surely I can find a job. You could go to college here. We . . ."

         He touched his finger to my lips. "Hush, Sarah. 'Dis be my world. The States be yours. We wouldn't be happy for long . . . too many dif'rences, my love."

         I argued, not wanting him to be right. When he saw me away at the airport the next morning I'm certain he thought we would never meet again. This young man who had taught me how to love anew, and how to truly live, kissed me good-bye with tears on his smooth cheeks.

         And, though he said there was no room for me in his paradise, I had every intention of returning as soon as I could. For I had learned something else from Tiki -- in 'de Bahamas, evah'body hustles for what 'dey want. And I wanted him.

The End