Never Too Late (12 page)

"I don't
even know that Alessandro wears a thong," Andrea clipped. "That's
what Val told me. She's very open about discussing the physical attributes of
her toy boys."

Jerry looked at
her with awareness, then studied her for a few moments before saying, "I
suppose she likes to talk about their failures too."

"She
doesn't have a problem with that," Andrea said. "Size seems to be
important though. She was impressed with what Alessandro had to offer and
assumed I'd be interested in knowing, since he and I had cocktails a couple of
times."

"I get the
picture now," Jerry said, his face hard. "Since your husband's having
trouble getting it up you figured Cavallaro could give you what you want. Well,
baby, your stud took off about the time you got sick so I guess you'll have to
find another one."

Andrea looked
at Jerry, so proud, so humiliated because he thought he was less of a man after
one failure. "I'm not interested in finding a stud, Jerry. The problem
with our marriage has nothing to do with whether or not you can perform in bed.
It has to do with the fact that we can't seem to be in the same room more than
five minutes before wanting to kill each other. And right now we're stuck on
this island, we have no place to stay, and I have nothing to wear but an Armani
outfit that makes me look like I want to get screwed, like you so tactfully
pointed out."

Jerry looked at
her steadily, seeming to be digesting that, then said in a more conciliatory
tone, "I'll see what I can find. There are a few resorts up and down the
beach near where the ship docked. One of them is bound to sell clothes. I'll
also find a place to stay for a couple days and see about hiring a boat to
intercept the ship later. But as far as I'm concerned, the less time aboard the
ship, the better."

"Funny. I
thought you wanted to get back to your sugar baby."

"Look, I'm
not interested in a woman half my age, or any other woman aboard the damn boat.
Like I said, this cruise has been hell." He walked out, sending the
curtains swishing and swaying as he left.

Andrea stared
at the Armani outfit, all sleek and glittery, like the wares of a streetwalker.
Jerry was right. When she'd put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, with
its skin-tight leggings, and tall crystal-encrusted boots, she did look like a
woman who wanted to get screwed. But not by Alessandro. She just didn't want
Jerry to know he was the only man who made her feel that way. Now, all she
wanted was for Alessandro to be the man she
thought
him to be, smooth, charming, entranced with her, so she could explain to him
that she enjoyed his company, and respected him as a man, but was not
interested in him as a lover... And prove to Jerry she was not the naïve fool
he'd pegged her to be. Jerry had been so smug about it, so sure she could not
possibly attract a young good-looking man like Alessandro.

But where was Alessandro
last night when she needed him? He'd excused himself to make a phone call,
assuring her he'd be right back. She remembered feeling apprehensive about him
leaving her again,
then
the room started spinning...

But she
remembered other things about the evening, things that troubled her now...

...a place for lovers is wherever two lovers
can be together...

The Pirate's
Cove had not been that place. Noisy. Smoky. A place packed with hard-faced men
and loose-looking women who stared at her in her Armani outfit, with curiosity
and awareness—the woman Alessandro Cavallaro was screwing, was what their faces
told her. Not his lover. Lovers didn't stare across the table at each other at
the Pirate's Cove. Lovers didn't even go to the Pirate's Cove. Only a woman who
wanted to get it on with a man who appeared to be known there, as his own words
confirmed...

...you are with me, Alessandro Cavallaro. No
one will disturb you...

Why? Because he
was known there. And feared? But she didn't fear Alessandro. Not once. Whenever
she'd felt apprehensive, he smiled in a way that told her he was there to
protect her, and pinned her with eyes that said she was special, and spoke to
her in his soft Italian, assuring her things were fine...

...the place might look like a pirate's den,
but the food is incomparable...

Another
inconsistency. The conch fritters were good, but nothing special.

Alessandro also
said he planned to meet someone, yet he didn't mention it until they got there.
But where was Alessandro now? Back on the ship? Finding another woman?

...I assure you, querida, what I have in
mind for us after we return from the Pirate's Cove tonight will be anything but
verbal sparring...

And she'd stood
there, listening to Alessandro practically proposition her in front of Jerry,
and said nothing. Said nothing because she wanted Jerry to think she wanted to
do the things with Alessandro she'd once done with him. And everything about
her dress, and her demeanor, screamed that she was already Alessandro's woman,
and they were the lovers Alessandro presented to Jerry they were. But now she
had no interest in Alessandro Cavallaro. All she wanted was to prove Jerry
wrong about the man, if only to save face.

Her gaze
returned to the Armani outfit and the scanty black lingerie and she had to
suppress the almost uncontrollable urge to rip everything hanging there into
shreds and leave the clinic in a hospital gown.

***

Two hours later
Jerry shrugged his way between the
curtains,
arms
filled with bags and packages, and said, "I picked these up at a batik
outlet in one of the resorts. It's all they had."

For a few
moments Andrea said nothing, the sight of Jerry in a batik shirt that hugged a
pair of broad shoulders and a muscular chest, and batik pants in a contrasting
shade of tropical prints, about took her breath away. This was Jerry, the man
who'd fathered her children, and who, until moments before, she'd thought she
hated with as much passion as she'd once loved him. For a man in his forties he
was kind of a hunk. Funny, she hadn't noticed that in years. Yet, nothing had
changed, not really...

"Like I
said, batik’s all they had," Jerry grumbled, presuming she was displeased
when he found her staring at him.

"That's
fine," Andrea replied, "Whatever you bought will be better than
that
." She felt her nostrils flare
and her jaws tighten as she pointed to the clothes hanging on the hooks.

"You've
got that right," Jerry said.

Andrea felt
miffed again, her appreciation of Jerry's middle-aged good looks of moments
before an anomaly. She took the first bag and dug through the tissue paper,
pulling out a pair of batik slacks in shades of yellows and browns, and a
matching batik shirt. Searching further she pulled out a batik sundress in a
tropical print in shades of greens and blues, with touches of browns. The dress
was striking in its simplicity, its patterns and colors reminding her of the
coolness of a tropical forest. It was also modest in style—front cut high, cap
sleeves—and she wondered if Jerry selected it to make a statement. She could still
hear the caustic edge to his voice when she'd worn the green and tan sundress
that once drove him to distraction.

...now it makes you look like a middle-aged
hooker...

Maybe he was
right. Maybe a woman in her forties should dress conservatively. And the batik
sundress was truly beautiful. "I love it," she said, and smiled at
Jerry.

A little glint
of pleasure came into his eyes. Then he shrugged, and said, "There wasn't
much to choose from. Go ahead, look through the other bags."

Andrea reached
for another bag and pulled out a pair of tan flip-flops and a swim suit, also
batik, also modest. She looked up and waited for an explanation. Although she
swam in her parents pool when she stayed there, the last time she'd gone
swimming with Jerry had been years ago at the lake house, after the kids had
gone to bed. Skinny dipping to be exact, although it hadn't started that way.
But the buoyancy the water provided, and the shallow sandy lake bottom near the
boat house, and the moonlit night with the sound of crickets and tree frogs to
accompany their underwater dance of love had been close to being in paradise.
She could sense Jerry remembering that night, and wondered...

"I thought
we might as well go snorkeling since we're stuck here," Jerry said in a
sober tone. "We can rent equipment at the resort."

"I
suppose," Andrea agreed, and stuffed the suit back into the bag. Tucked
inside another bag were sets of ladies underwear—soft, cotton, some in hot
fiery colors, others in shades of blues, each set as brief as underwear could
be, short of being half bras and thongs. Unspoken words and distant memories
hovered between them like ghosts from the past, of times when Jerry surprised
her with something sexy, something she'd model for him in a way that said to
him...
You're my man, and I'm your woman,
and let's do what God designed us to do
... Or she'd be feeling playful and
say something like... "
I love it,
baby, but it covers the places that need attention right now...
" Or
she'd just put it on and give him a come-hither smile, and he'd chase her
around if the kids were gone, and take it off in a great display of laughing
and kicking and rolling around like two playful pups before settling into the
seriousness of the making love...

"Like I
said, there wasn't much to choose from," Jerry grumbled, and turned to
look at her medical chart beside the bed.

"It's all
fine," Andrea replied, tucking the underwear back inside the bag.

"I booked
us at Finnigan's Hideaway," Jerry mused, while scanning the doctor's
notes. "It has bungalows on the beach and a lodge with bedroom suites
overlooking the water. I reserved two bungalows." His statement
underscored the fact that the divorce was still on, and she wasn't to make
anything of the fact that he'd bought her several sets of very scanty underwear.

She felt an odd
sense of disappointment that things could not be as they'd once been. Here they
were, alone in a tropical paradise, with miles of pristine beaches, almost
uninhabited from what she'd seen as the ship cruised along Andros Island before
docking in Andros Town... and warm, crystal-clear waters with hundreds of miles
of coral reefs for snorkeling and exploring, and little private coves with pink
sandy beaches where a couple would be free to make love undisturbed, beneath a
warm, Bahamian sun...

"The
bungalows are on the beach," Jerry said. "I figured we might as well
stay near the water while we're here."

"What are
they like?" Andrea asked, not really caring. It would only be for a couple
of days, so it didn't matter.

"Adequate,"
Jerry said, dispassionately. "I rented a car. I'll be in the waiting room
while you dress," he added, then left.

In the past
Jerry would have helped her off with the hospital gown, or nuzzled her neck
when he draped her batik shirt around her shoulders. And she would have laughed
and slipped her arms around his neck and said she loved him and couldn't wait
to go somewhere private so he could love her back the way she wanted...

The doctor came
in shortly after Jerry left, told Andrea she was free to do whatever she felt
like doing, and warned her to drink only bottled water and make sure the food
she ate was well-cooked. He discharged her with his assurance that the results
of the blood test would be forwarded to her primary care physician in
Charleston.

Andrea dressed
in the batik sundress and flip-flops and found Jerry standing in the waiting
room. The drive to Finnigan's Hideaway was in dead silence, and as Andrea
stared out of the window of the rental car, she wondered again how they'd break
the news of the divorce to the girls. Nothing worked out the way she wanted.
Not even having a little shipboard romance. It was hell being middle-aged, on
the verge of a divorce, and exactly what Jerry pointed out...

...while you're living in La
La
Land you might ask yourself if Alessandro Cavallaro
would have given you a second glance if he'd passed you in a grocery aisle...

That pretty
much summed it up. Even Jerry didn't want to see her in a bikini or low-cut
sundress any more...

"How do
you feel?" he asked, breaking the silence.

It was the
first time he'd inquired about her directly since she'd been brought to the
medical facility, and Andrea wasn't sure whether he was talking to cut the
awkward silence, or because he was genuinely concerned. "Actually, I feel
like going snorkeling," she said, although she hadn't considered it until
that moment. But the idea of a warm tropical sea caressing her body was
appealing. The idea of anything caressing her body was appealing, she realized,
and wondered when it started to matter. Not having sex. Middle-aged women
weren't so hung up on that as younger women were. Just something stroking her
skin. A soft breeze as she lay on the beach in her swim suit, the warm waters
of the Straits of Florida washing over her, Jerry's hands massaging her sore
muscles the way he used to, his fingers straying off to tease and stroke
private places that were once again beginning to tingle for his touch...

"I'll drop
you off at your bungalow and see about renting the equipment," Jerry said.

The bungalow was
a lovely little building with a tropical motif throughout that included
locally-made furniture covered in batik, curtains and bedspread in tropical
print patterns, red tile floors with a soft sheen, and an efficiency kitchen
with tile countertops. Across the front, a deck looked out onto a panorama of
tiny bays and rocky inlets and sand dunes with sea grass, spider lilies and
seagrape. And beyond the pink-sand beach stretched an endless turquoise sea.
There were other bungalows on the beach, but each was separated by clumps of
palm and pine trees laced with mangrove, offering almost complete privacy for
those wanting to lay in the sun, away from unwelcome eyes. She had no idea
where Jerry's bungalow was. He'd dropped her off at the trail leading to her place
and gone on to the lodge to rent the snorkeling equipment. But it made no
difference because after they'd return from snorkeling, they'd go their
separate ways.