Here Today, Gone to Maui (13 page)

She squinted. “Huh.”

“Don’t you have a planner?” I asked. “A calendar? Something?”

Her eyes widened. “Kind of. It’s in my room.”

 

 

Tiara’s room (
my
room) was in the main tower, high above the atrium. Once off the elevator, I peered down to the stone floors far below. A person could fall from here, but what a way to go. Besides, if a person splattered in the Hyatt lobby, at least there would be no missing-body issues.

The room had a kick-ass water view, a lanai, and pretty, Asian-inspired furniture that didn’t smell. There was a comfy-looking sofa covered with soft green velour and a dark wood coffee table that, I was pleased to see, was a bit worn around the edges. The walls were covered in a paper that looked like ivory linen. A Hawaiian quilt decorated the wall behind the bed, which had a white coverlet and enough pillows for three people.

Ew.

I don’t know what pissed me off more: Jimmy’s infidelity or this room. In a flash of self-protective and entirely deluded thinking, I considered for a moment that he’d put me in the condo because it had a kitchenette and he really liked my cooking.

And then Tiara peeled off her top and every device of psychological self-defense failed. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” she said, like a coy character from an old sitcom. “This shirt is so tight it’s, like, cutting off my circulation.”

Tiara got the nicer hotel because Tiara had bigger boobs than I did. Actually, Tiara had bigger boobs than pretty much anyone I’d ever seen—and I belong to an Orange County health club. It was unclear whether she was just uninhibited or whether she was showing off.

I could see her full tattoo now, a five-point star on her left breast that said TIARA. Was that to make sure that no man, on the morning after, ever asked, “What was your name, again?” She could have been more straightforward and tattooed “Hello, my name is:” above it.

Tiara kicked off her white heels. One of them almost hit me in the shin. When she started unbuttoning her shorts, I headed for the lanai, but she stopped me. “So you and Jimmy had been going out for a while?” she asked, sounding like a sad little girl.

“Yes.” I looked at her out of reflexive politeness and then looked away because—you know. When she didn’t react, I peeked over again.

She dropped her shorts on the floor. I looked away, but only after I’d seen that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“I haven’t known him long,” she said. “But right away I was certain—I just
knew
he was the one. He was my Prince Charming, the man I’ve been dreaming about since I was a little girl.”

“But your prince already had a queen,” I said, feeling like the witch who gave Snow White the poisoned apple.

“I didn’t know about you, I swear,” she whimpered. After a pause, she said, in a tiny voice, “When did he ask you to marry him?”

I looked at her in surprise, training my eyes on her face—though some dark recess of my brain registered
Brazilian bikini wax,
to which another, more primitive, recess responded,
Ouch!

“It was . . . a while ago.” As I said it, the realization hit me—rather late, I’ll admit, but remember, I’d been under a lot of stress:
Jimmy might have bought the ring for Tiara
. In fact, Jimmy probably bought the ring for Tiara. Then again, if Tiara got a room at the Hyatt, it only seemed fair that I got a diamond.

I scurried toward the sliding-glass door, suddenly desperate for fresh air. There was a big mirror over the dresser; passing it, I shuddered. My hair looked even flatter and greasier than it had this morning, and dark circles had formed under my eyes. I looked like I had been through hell. But then, I had.

Beyond the sliding door, the lanai had a triangular glass table and two chairs. The view was spectacular, of course. The resort had winding stone paths, a rope bridge, and a humongous pool—a
Flintstones
-meets-
Fantasy Island
creation of caves and boulders surrounded by lounge chairs and lush landscaping: bougainvillea, magnolia trees, palm trees, all kinds of pink and purple flowers. It was like a rain forest, only without the poisonous snakes and exotic parasites. Hammocks and cabanas overlooked the beach, which wasn’t nearly as wide as I expected but that, all things considered, didn’t suck.

Beyond the beach lay the Pacific, the island of Lanai rising in the distance. The blue water was gentle today, the waves not crashing so much as stroking the shore, as if they were too polite to make a lot of noise. A powerboat buzzed by pulling a parasailer, the giant parachute a lemon-yellow decorated with two eyes and a smile. Have a nice day, my ass.

“Which do you think?” Tiara asked from behind me. I turned. She stood in the doorway to the lanai, stark naked, holding a teeny bikini top, one white, one pink, in each hand.

“Ahh!” I yelped.

“What?” She looked genuinely hurt.

“People can
see
you.”

She shrugged. Perhaps that was the point. She turned and strolled back into the bedroom. Her ass, I noticed uncharitably, was puckered with cellulite.

“I think I’ll wear the white one,” she said, slipping it on. I didn’t bother to tell her that her nipples were slightly visible behind the light fabric. That would make her happy. I didn’t tell her that her butt looked cottage cheesy in the back. That made me happy—and happiness was in short supply right now.

“You’re going
swimming
?” I asked. “I thought we came up here so you could check your calendar.”

“Oh—that. It’s not a calendar, exactly.” She shrugged. “I’ll get it in a minute. But anyway, I’m not going in the water. I’m not in the mood with all that’s happened, plus it took me like an hour to do my hair this morning. I’m just really
hot,
and I can’t bear to wear clothes right now. You want to borrow a suit?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think your bathing suits would fit me.” I crossed my arms over my A-cup breasts.

“Oh, no—here’s the thing.” She crossed to the dresser, yanked open a drawer, and rummaged around until she pulled out another white bikini, identical to the one she was wearing. She brought it out to the lanai. “When I buy bikinis? I have to buy two sets because my top and bottom are such totally different sizes. What I’m wearing is a sixteen on top and a six on the bottom. So—you could just wear the pieces that I’m not using.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

She bit her cushiony lip. “Was that rude? I didn’t mean to say—what I mean is, there’s nothing wrong with being more, um, natural.” She made fluttering gestures around her chest. “Actually, you’re lucky—I mean, you’re starting from scratch, so if you ever do decide to get some enhancements, you can get some that are more proportionate. Makes it easier to buy dresses. Anyway, I bet this would fit you.”

She held up the size-six bikini top. I have coasters that are bigger.

I shook my head. “I think the bottom would be too loose.” I waited for her to agree. She didn’t.

“Besides,” I continued. “It seems wrong—to act like we’re still on vacation, while Jimmy . . .” My voice trailed off as my gaze fell on the big, comfortable bed. I thought of Tiara and Jimmy on the bed. I thought of their pictures. “Do you want to get a drink?”

“There’s all kinds of stuff in the minibar,” she said. “Beer and wine and those cute little bottles. Jimmy said to take whatever I wanted. Help yourself.” She sat down at the triangular table.

I stayed standing. “Thanks, but I’d rather go somewhere else.” A few days ago I couldn’t wait to get into this room; now I couldn’t wait to get out of it. “After you’ve checked your calendar, I mean.”

“Oh—that.” She popped up from her chair. I followed her into the room but waited while she went into the bathroom, returning with a round plastic case.

“Birth-control pills?”
That
was her calendar?

“Mm.” She squinted and then looked up for a moment, calculating. “We met twenty-four days ago,” she finally announced.

Three and a half weeks. That would have been days after Jimmy had booked the Maui tickets. So, he hadn’t planned to bring both of us over; he made the decision after meeting Tiara. Did that make things better or worse? Did it matter?

 

 

Downstairs, next to the penguin enclosure, there was an open-air lounge—the Weeping Banyan, it was called, after a giant, twisting tree that grew in the middle, providing shade for fashionable guests and a perch for birds looking to poop on them. Unfortunately, the Weeping Banyan served as an espresso bar until five o’clock (when it turned into a bar-bar) and it was just shy of four. I definitely needed something stronger than an espresso.

“Guess we’ll have to hit the pool bar,” Tiara said with fake disappointment, tossing her dark hair off her face. She was dressed for the pool area, of course. She’d topped off her white bikini with a cover-up—one of those fishnet things that doesn’t actually cover anything, just softens the edges. As for footwear, she’d gone with bright pink high-heeled flip-flops.

“Maybe I should just leave,” I said, suddenly craving darkness and solitude.

“Oh, no!” She turned on her rubber heels and grabbed me by the wrist. “We still have so much more to talk about!”

It was true: we did. I’m not one to leave questions unanswered, so it was best just to get it over with. Perhaps we could find a quiet seat at the pool bar—under an umbrella, maybe, away from the crowds.

Or—not.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THE BAR WAS IN A CAVE.” I had to shout to be heard over a waterfall. There was another one at the end of the man-made cavern, where swimmers could splash through to the biggest section of the pool. In the shadowy water next to the bar, a pale, hefty couple snuggled on a ledge, sipping frothy drinks from plastic cups.

“I KNOW—ISN’T IT COOL?” Tiara said. “IT’S CALLED THE GROTTO BAR.”

When Tiara sat down, the men a few chairs down swung their heads to look at her, even though her tummy got all poochy when she sat.

The bartender gave her a big, friendly smile. He gave me a big, friendly smile, too, which just demonstrates the Power of the Tip.

When two women joined the men at the end of the bar, the men wisely turned their attention away from Tiara. I had to admit: she wasn’t merely beautiful, she was interesting-looking. Her mouth was full and wide, her nose child-small. Her light brown eyes, almost gold and flecked with green, were practically iridescent against her naturally tan skin.

Tiara ordered a banana daiquiri. A daiquiri seemed too festive under the circumstances, so I ordered a mai tai instead.

“Jimmy and I came here on our first morning,” Tiara said wistfully (and right into my ear so I could hear her over the waterfall). “After we made love. I had a piña colada, but he had a Coke because he didn’t want to get too sleepy.”

That would be the morning when I went to the convenience store. I remembered Jimmy coming back to the room with damp hair. He said he’d been calling customers from the beach. He said he’d jumped in the ocean.

“Did Jimmy swim in the pool that morning?” I said into her ear. Weirdly, it would feel like less of a betrayal if he’d told the truth about an ocean swim.

She looked up, considering. “Nope. He went in the ocean instead, which I thought was kind of weird.”

A family—mother, father, two squealing boys—came from under the waterfall and walked through the pool next to the bar. “Cool!” one of the little boys yelled. “There’s a TV in here!” It flickered on the wall behind the bartender, captions running along the bottom. There was an aquarium, too, filled with tropical fish. It seemed sad, somehow, for the fish to be cooped up here, so close to the ocean.

“How did you meet Jimmy?” Tiara asked me.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“Do you need a few days?”

“No, I need a few mai tais.”

She laughed. It was the first time I had heard her laugh. Actually, it was the first time I had seen her smile. She had a beautiful smile: bright white, with teeth just imperfect enough to give her some character, and a little dimple on her left cheek.

Bitch.

“I met him at the restaurant,” I said. “He was my waiter.” What had once sounded free-spirited, fated, and funny now seemed cheap.

“Me, too,” she said, sounding wounded.

We didn’t say anything for a moment. It was too painful. Plus, there were several blenders going at once, and it sounded like we were in a subterranean machine shop.

Tiara signed the drinks to the room. “Jimmy said I could sign anything to the room from anywhere in the hotel, even the shops. You like my shoes?” She stuck out a leg to show off a pink high-heeled flip-flop.

“Mm,” I said.

“Sixty dollars. But he said I was worth it.”

Did she not remember who I was and why we were here?

The bartender turned on another blender.

“Do you want to take the drinks outside?” I asked.

“What?”

“LET’S GO OUTSIDE.”

“What?”

The bartender turned off the blender. “OUTSIDE!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls of the grotto.

“Sure,” Tiara said. “You just had to say so.”

The pool lounges had cushy green pads and white frames. We claimed two under a thatched tiki umbrella and put our drinks on a white plastic table. From there, we could see the children’s pool (complete with gravel beach and pop-up fountains) and the outside of the waterfall, bougainvillea spilling around the edges. Beyond a suspended rope bridge, a waterslide expelled shrieking riders. Around us, half-naked, dangerously pale adults glistened with suntan oil while their children scurried around, damp and squealing.

Day one of my itinerary: hang around the Hyatt pool. So the vacation wasn’t a dead loss, I thought grimly.

At her request, I gave Tiara a brief synopsis of Jimmy’s and my relationship, and then I asked, “How did you and Jimmy get together?” I didn’t really want to know, but it would have been rude not to ask.