Risky Business

Some people are graceful in life. They glide through their days, a picture of perfection and decorum, much to the annoyance of the rest of us. I am not one of those people. I wouldn’t know grace if she stood up and flashed me her perfectly pert tits. I am clumsy and imperfect and stubborn and totally pissed off.

I stumbled through the arrivals gate at Honolulu, tugging my insubordinate suitcase along behind me. Admittedly, the case was old. It had seen better days and with over a hundred and sixty flight hours behind me, I shouldn’t have expected much from the poor old bag but, despite the wheels being fine just this morning, it struggled to roll which meant I struggled to walk.

If I had to guess, I would say it had given up.

Just as the thought sprung to mind, it stopped rolling altogether, gripped the polished floor and held on for all it was worth. I gave it a subtle tug, hoping no one noticed me violently coercing my baggage into submission. It still didn’t budge.

I stilled, circled the bag and lifted it quickly. It came away from the floor with ease but the ugly blue case was far too heavy for me to carry out of the airport so I was forced to put it back down and try to pull it again.

I yanked.

It didn’t shift an inch.

I tried walking and tugging at the same time, only to end up looking like a badly rehearsed street mime. With my temper building and a circle of other travelers now beginning to steer their trolleys away from me, I grabbed the stupid thing with both hands and put my back into it. With one almighty tug the suitcase became unstuck.

So did the zipper.

The damned case vomited my clothing through a gaping-toothed hole, spraying blouses, dresses, shoes, and panties indiscriminately across the glossy, lemon-scented floor.

I wanted to hide from the shame but there was nowhere to vanish amidst the bustle of tourists, all of whom moved away from me like ripples on a lake. They moved around me as though my strewn clothing had erected some kind of invisible barrier, one that made me all the more noticeable to the sniggering and eye-rolling onlookers.

No one stopped to help.

When I finally succeeded in shoving everything back into the case—minus a pair of black panties that managed to hook themselves onto the wheels of another person’s baggage trolley. They whipped around in concentric circles until they resembled a twisted rag and disappeared across the concourse and out of my life forever—I found myself face to face with airport security who deduced that my exploding bag and I were some kind of threat. After much discussion, at decibel levels I never before knew I could reach, they escorted me from the building and out into flaring sunlight and wicked heat.

There had been no placard bearing my name, no chauffer waiting with champagne or a fancy car. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

And to think I worked late for three whole weeks to hook this job.

Luxurious, high class resort my ass. If the Tienimi resort was supposed to be so goddamned great, why, in the name of the little hairy coconuts, was I now heaving my overstuffed and broken suitcase up a steep hill in the middle of nowhere? Where were the elite black town cars and the exemplary service I’d read about in the glossy brochure?

Where the hell was my liaison?

Two taxis, a ferry and a steep uphill hike, took their toll on me, my bag and my favorite shoes. My birthday-gifted, Timmy Woo’s lost a heel at the three-mile marker, which is exactly where I threw them into the thick, green underbrush lining the dirty, gravel road. Sticking my hand into the hole in my case, I extracted my flip flops and continued my solo journey. The rhythmic slapping of the soles bore into my brain. Each thwack was accompanied by an under-my-breath curse. I had almost run out of cuss words when I fell out of the things for the last time.

They went the way of the Woo’s.

I catapulted those suckers in separate directions and heard them crash through the dark canopy of leaves, never to be paired again.

Unwilling to risk losing another pair, I continued my hike barefoot, trudging in the long grass to avoid embedding the little golden stones within my aching feet. My case still had a gaping hole but I'd managed to wrap an elasticated belt around the outside which seemed to do the trick. As long as it held together until I threw it on my bed for the week, I would be happy.

So far Hawaii sucked. As for Tienimi, expensive resort or not, it could kiss my fat ass.

My chest heaved by the time the hill plateaued to a wide semicircular opening in the trees. Out of the dense thickets either side, an eight-foot wall emerged and was met in the middle by a barrier of thick black iron. In the dead center of this wall, which turned out to be a gate with no discernable opening, was a cut out of the Tienimi symbol.

I was sure that whoever designed the place thought this would be a welcoming emblem, but for me it was far more poignant. It was a keep-out sign; a sick tease of the resort beyond the wall.

This wasn't my kind of place. I wish it were, but Tienimi had a reputation among those who knew about it for being elite, expensive and impenetrable for people in the wrong social circles. You needed an offshore account full of cash and a pocket full of gold to get in.

I had neither, but I was a woman on a mission. They might have closed the doors on my face, they might have refused to pick me up at the airport as arranged, but they couldn't keep me out forever, after all, they hired my company to do a job and I was here as a result of that. If Tienimi wanted to remain insured with Gleeshal and Eversteen then they damn-well needed to let me in.

I scanned the gate for an intercom or camera but found neither. It was highly possible that they kept the cameras on the inside but I made a mental note of their absence and put it on my problems list. With nothing else to do, I turned my case up to a standing position and took a seat.

The bag bulged like a distended gut but managed to hold together.

Pulling my loyal silver flip phone from my purse, I searched my contacts for the resort number. The file full of paperwork was tucked into the inner pocket of the case that I now sat on and I really didn’t want to open it after struggling for fifteen minutes in the taxi to tug the elastic around it.

I should have programmed the phone number in. I swear I meant to, but in all the excitement I must have forgotten. Instead, I was forced to dial my personal extension at the office and knew exactly who I would find at the other end.

“Gleeshal and Eversteen. Dominic speaking.” Dom’s deep juddering tones filled my ears. I loved listening to the man speak, if only to feel his words rumble through me. Too bad he mostly talked shit.

“Dom? What are you doing at my desk?” I asked him. I feigned surprise but I knew the second I was awarded the coveted file for Tienimi that Dom was planning on pilfering my desk.

“What do you think I am doing? Your desk has a view of the bridge and mine has a view of Mandy Turner’s butt crack. Anyway, what are you doing calling your own phone?”

“I need a favor. I knew you would steal my seat the second I turned my back. Could you open the top right drawer and pull out my appointments diary?”

The familiar squeak of my desk drawer echoed down the line, there was a pause and a heavy slam before Dom responded. “Okay. Hang on…right…got it.”

“Open it up to this week’s schedule and find the entry for Tienimi.”

The thick leather cover slammed upon the desk again and the flutter of pages allowed me to see what he was doing in my mind’s eye. It was familiar to me as breathing. It was sadly ironic that half the office hated me for landing the Tienimi account when all I wanted was to be sitting at my crappy old desk and thumbing through my diary.

“Yeah…jeez your handwriting sucks. You know people have electronic diaries now, right? You seriously need to upgrade.” I could almost picture Dom’s thick-lipped pout as he grumbled at me down the line.

“I like writing by hand, it helps me remember things.”

“Okay sure,” he didn’t sound convinced, “What do you need?”

“I’ve forgotten the phone number for the resort.” I heard him chuckle humorlessly as he continued to rifle through the pages of my diary.

“Helps you remember huh? Okay, I have it. So you want me to read it to you or text it?”

“Text it, please.”

“No problem. Why do you need it? Surely you can just call reception from your room?”

“Yeah, well I would if I could get to my room. Look, it is a long story and I am not much in the mood to tell you about it right now. Maybe I will call you back after a bath and a cold beer.”

Clearly I wore my exhaustion in my voice as well as my slumped body and slack expression because Dom’s reply summed it up. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” I admitted but couldn’t bring myself to say much more. Talking about the ordeal would only make me angry or make me cry. That was how bad I felt—where I only had two emotions remaining and they were totally polarized. Letting go was not an option, not when I needed to keep a handle on myself until I was in a safe position and this whole day was put far behind me.

“Okay, baby, just call me if you need me. I will be right here eating your secret stash of gummies.” As if to prove his point, the loud shuffle of Dom’s hand in my gummy bag assaulted my ears and was quickly followed by a chuckle around a thick mouthful of my sugary goodness.

“You better not be….”

“Bye, babe.” The line disconnected leaving me alone once again.

“Motherfucker.”

Within seconds, my phone buzzed in my hands as the text came through. I rang the number immediately and fought to keep my tone light and even. It rang three times before a clicking sound told me the call had connected.

“Good afternoon. Tienimi front desk. Sandra speaking. May I have your membership number please?” The woman’s voice was sunshine and rainbow and unicorns frolicking in fields. Sure, she’d asked a question I didn’t have an answer for, but that didn’t cloud the relief I felt at just getting through.

“I’m not a member,” I responded sweetly but before I could continue Sandra-Sunshine spoke again.

“May I ask, what is the nature of your call?” Suddenly she was less sunshine and more automated recording. She was clearly calling on her training because the question sounded disingenuous.

“I need to find out about a missing pick up—” I started to explain but, again, she cut me off.

“Pick up? I am sorry I think you have the wrong number. Good day.” The line disconnected abruptly, leaving me staring at my phone slack-jawed. I dialed again.

“Good afternoon. Tienimi fr—” Sandra’s voice filled the receiver but this time I wasn’t giving her the chance to cut me off.

“Okay, listen up. I am calling about a pick up. I was supposed to be picked up at the airport but no-one showed.” I spoke fast if only to avoid her cutting across me with a question. There was a slight pause where the silence fooled me into thinking she had cut me off but, when she spoke, I realized she might as well have done. Sandra-Sunshine had freaked out and reverted to her telephone script.

“Can I have your membership number?”

“I already told you, I don’t have one.” My heavily annunciated consonants revealed my creeping irritation. I bit my lip to stop from snapping at her.

“Then maybe you could give me your name?”

“Daryl Chambers.”

“Ms. Chambers, from Gleeshal and Eversteen?” she asked and I released a huge sigh of relief. They knew who I was which meant it had just been some crazy mistake and everything would be sorted out soon.

“That’s me,” I responded sounding almost as cheerful as her.

“Okay. I have your details right here. A car was sent out for you. We look forward to having you stay with us, Ms. Chambers.” There was a disconcerting click.

“No! Wait!” I yelled but the call had already disconnected. I screamed and, true to habit, I threw the stupid phone at the gate where it smashed upon impact, spewing plastic and innards all over the path.

“Fuck!”