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I scoot off my barstool and make for the door and it only takes me a few steps to remember that I forgot the thing that goes on the top of every packing list. Underwear. I’ve got my bathing bottoms on today, but I figure I should pick up a few pairs as I stroll by a lingerie store.
“Good afternoon!” the sales lady calls out in a sing-songy voice from across the shop. “Can I help you find anything?”
“I’m good!” I call back. That’s something I would never get used to if I was rich. I’m not rich and since my job as an event planner doesn’t pay much before I got my new promotion, and pays only two grand more a year with that, I’m not even close to worrying about this. But having people bend over because you’re about to spend money makes me uncomfortable.
I peruse the rack of fancy underwear, check the price tag, and then promptly move over to another rack that says sale. I don’t know who spends hundreds of dollars on underwear, but it’s not me. I flip through everything, getting more and more desperate as the garments fly by. Nothing under fifty dollars? They call that a sale?
And then I spy some men’s tighty-whities in a basket on a shelf. I grab a pair and check the price. Fifteen dollars.
OK. Still ridiculous, but they are a size small, so they will have to do. I take them to the register and sign my name and room number on the charge slip as the sales lady folds my single pair of cheap men’s underwear and places them in a bag with real satin ribbon for handles.
I make a quick escape and head across the breezeway that leads to the private bungalows and I’m just looking up to see why it’s so quiet when I see key lime shorts talking to a security person. The security guy looks over lime shorts’ shoulder at me and I stop walking for a second.
Did I do something wrong? I’m staring at them when Mr. Buttinski walks off again.
Whatever. I have no idea what they are talking about, but I’m gonna go drop my stuff off and hit the beach so I can get back to work on my tweets. My flipflops smack my heels loudly in the stillness as I walk past the security guy, and I’m half expecting him to say something to me, but he just turns away and walks off.
Our bungalow is deep in the bungalow village as I like to call it. There are about twenty of them in a common area on this part of the resort and they have cute little winding paths surrounded by the most fragrant flowers and wispy palm trees. It almost takes my breath away. And the birds. Don’t even get me started on the birds.
When I get to our room I drop my stuff off and shimmy out of my shorts so I can exchange them for a gauzy white wrap. I study myself in the mirror. This is my favorite bathing suit. It’s peach so it makes my skin look a little more golden than it really is. I tie my hair up in a ponytail, grab my beach bag and stuff my tablet in there along with my phone, and then pull my shades down over my eyes and head out.
Just as I’m twisting the door handle I look down at my feet and stop in my tracks. An envelope has been slipped under the door.
Was that there when I came in?
I bend down and pick it up. The thick pink paper is clearly of the handmade variety and the fancy script writing on the front leaves no mystery as to what it is.
An invitation.
Chapter Five
TheInvisibleGod
I STARE at the envelope and read.
Apologies, is what the actual word on the front is. Not You’re invited. But it’s written in a You’re invited script, so it’s easy to assume.
I take the card out and read the same fancy lettering:
All facility pools and beaches are closed for a private function. Sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept a full-access pass to the lazy river for the day.
Hmmm. The lazy river is not something that came in our package. Our free trip included the Spa Experience, so we have access to the Wellness Center and that’s about it.
Which is bullshit. If you’re on a honeymoon then you want to do the fun stuff before you f**k each other’s brains out. Not let other people pound on you and stick you in a steam room.
I stuff the invitation in my bag and leave the bungalow. The lazy river is all the way on the other side of the village, so I take every winding path imaginable and by the time I finally make it over there I’m ready for another martini.
There is no one at the entrance except some kid with a resort polo shirt on. “We’re closed,” he says in his friendly f**k-you voice.
“I have a full-access pass for the day,” I say as I hand him my invitation. “Someone just slipped it under my door a few minutes ago, so—”
His eyes get big as he stares at the paper in my hand.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” he says as he swings the entrance gate open for me. “Yes, you are an invited guest. Please, come this way.”
The place is empty. Like not a single other person here. Just me and the lazy river. How weird is it to have an entire river to yourself on an island that should be bustling with people but is somehow strangely vacant?
Weird.
The lazy river guy sets me up with a floating cabana. I’m not kidding. It comes with a cooler and a boarding platform. All inflatable. “Is this really necessary?” I ask him as he fills the cooler with ice and a variety of drinks. “I only need one for a single person. This… thing looks like it’s built for a party.”
He points to the invitation I’m still clutching in my hand. “The cabana raft comes with that invitation. VIP.” He winks at me the same way that Dewain did back at the bar.
Hmmm. “Who’s rented the resort anyway? Where did this invitation come from?”
He smiles at me and waves me towards the cabana. “You get in and I’ll give you a push out into the current. Holler if you need anything.”
Obviously they have been told not to talk about the event, whatever it may be. Hint taken. I throw my bag into the floating house and crawl in after it. There’s a mesh sunshade that stretches out over my head and a peek hole that lets you see the water underneath.
Lazy river guy pushes me out of the loading pool and the current floats me along at a nice relaxing clip.
My eyes close automatically and my whole body relaxes back into the inflatable cushions. I relish the hot sun beating down on my body and take off my wrap so I’m just in my bikini and before I know, I’m drifting off…
“You’re gonna burn,” a familiar husky voice whispers into my ear as the raft rocks to the side.
“Good afternoon!” the sales lady calls out in a sing-songy voice from across the shop. “Can I help you find anything?”
“I’m good!” I call back. That’s something I would never get used to if I was rich. I’m not rich and since my job as an event planner doesn’t pay much before I got my new promotion, and pays only two grand more a year with that, I’m not even close to worrying about this. But having people bend over because you’re about to spend money makes me uncomfortable.
I peruse the rack of fancy underwear, check the price tag, and then promptly move over to another rack that says sale. I don’t know who spends hundreds of dollars on underwear, but it’s not me. I flip through everything, getting more and more desperate as the garments fly by. Nothing under fifty dollars? They call that a sale?
And then I spy some men’s tighty-whities in a basket on a shelf. I grab a pair and check the price. Fifteen dollars.
OK. Still ridiculous, but they are a size small, so they will have to do. I take them to the register and sign my name and room number on the charge slip as the sales lady folds my single pair of cheap men’s underwear and places them in a bag with real satin ribbon for handles.
I make a quick escape and head across the breezeway that leads to the private bungalows and I’m just looking up to see why it’s so quiet when I see key lime shorts talking to a security person. The security guy looks over lime shorts’ shoulder at me and I stop walking for a second.
Did I do something wrong? I’m staring at them when Mr. Buttinski walks off again.
Whatever. I have no idea what they are talking about, but I’m gonna go drop my stuff off and hit the beach so I can get back to work on my tweets. My flipflops smack my heels loudly in the stillness as I walk past the security guy, and I’m half expecting him to say something to me, but he just turns away and walks off.
Our bungalow is deep in the bungalow village as I like to call it. There are about twenty of them in a common area on this part of the resort and they have cute little winding paths surrounded by the most fragrant flowers and wispy palm trees. It almost takes my breath away. And the birds. Don’t even get me started on the birds.
When I get to our room I drop my stuff off and shimmy out of my shorts so I can exchange them for a gauzy white wrap. I study myself in the mirror. This is my favorite bathing suit. It’s peach so it makes my skin look a little more golden than it really is. I tie my hair up in a ponytail, grab my beach bag and stuff my tablet in there along with my phone, and then pull my shades down over my eyes and head out.
Just as I’m twisting the door handle I look down at my feet and stop in my tracks. An envelope has been slipped under the door.
Was that there when I came in?
I bend down and pick it up. The thick pink paper is clearly of the handmade variety and the fancy script writing on the front leaves no mystery as to what it is.
An invitation.
Chapter Five
TheInvisibleGod
I STARE at the envelope and read.
Apologies, is what the actual word on the front is. Not You’re invited. But it’s written in a You’re invited script, so it’s easy to assume.
I take the card out and read the same fancy lettering:
All facility pools and beaches are closed for a private function. Sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept a full-access pass to the lazy river for the day.
Hmmm. The lazy river is not something that came in our package. Our free trip included the Spa Experience, so we have access to the Wellness Center and that’s about it.
Which is bullshit. If you’re on a honeymoon then you want to do the fun stuff before you f**k each other’s brains out. Not let other people pound on you and stick you in a steam room.
I stuff the invitation in my bag and leave the bungalow. The lazy river is all the way on the other side of the village, so I take every winding path imaginable and by the time I finally make it over there I’m ready for another martini.
There is no one at the entrance except some kid with a resort polo shirt on. “We’re closed,” he says in his friendly f**k-you voice.
“I have a full-access pass for the day,” I say as I hand him my invitation. “Someone just slipped it under my door a few minutes ago, so—”
His eyes get big as he stares at the paper in my hand.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” he says as he swings the entrance gate open for me. “Yes, you are an invited guest. Please, come this way.”
The place is empty. Like not a single other person here. Just me and the lazy river. How weird is it to have an entire river to yourself on an island that should be bustling with people but is somehow strangely vacant?
Weird.
The lazy river guy sets me up with a floating cabana. I’m not kidding. It comes with a cooler and a boarding platform. All inflatable. “Is this really necessary?” I ask him as he fills the cooler with ice and a variety of drinks. “I only need one for a single person. This… thing looks like it’s built for a party.”
He points to the invitation I’m still clutching in my hand. “The cabana raft comes with that invitation. VIP.” He winks at me the same way that Dewain did back at the bar.
Hmmm. “Who’s rented the resort anyway? Where did this invitation come from?”
He smiles at me and waves me towards the cabana. “You get in and I’ll give you a push out into the current. Holler if you need anything.”
Obviously they have been told not to talk about the event, whatever it may be. Hint taken. I throw my bag into the floating house and crawl in after it. There’s a mesh sunshade that stretches out over my head and a peek hole that lets you see the water underneath.
Lazy river guy pushes me out of the loading pool and the current floats me along at a nice relaxing clip.
My eyes close automatically and my whole body relaxes back into the inflatable cushions. I relish the hot sun beating down on my body and take off my wrap so I’m just in my bikini and before I know, I’m drifting off…
“You’re gonna burn,” a familiar husky voice whispers into my ear as the raft rocks to the side.
