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Island Recess. Chapter 4.
The balcony on the floor above provided skimpy
coverage from the sudden downpour. Helena had pulled the settee as far back as
possible from the railing, and still the slanting droplets flicked at her face
and body, causing her skin to rise in gooseflesh. She had intended a pleasant
pre-dinner drink on the balcony and was reluctant to give up the
much-anticipated treat. Far from the theatres, fine-dining, and night clubs of
her recent experience, Helena was surprised what pleasure could be derived from
a stiff rum and coke now much diluted by melting ice. Still, her sweatshirt was
already damp and the hair around her face was unfurling in a sodden mass. Hardly
a model candidate for a print-ad dedicated to the liquor she was rapidly
consuming. Drink clenched in one hand, she half pushed, half dragged the settee
back inside the apartment, then tilted it away to allow any errant drops of rain
to run off on the linoleum. The smell of baking fish, rubbed with onion and
garlic and a blend of spices, filled the room with its pungent aroma. She turned
the heat off under the rice, and gave a final stir to the mango salsa she had
prepared earlier. Opening the oven door, she was suddenly and poignantly
reminded that once again that she was only cooking and shopping for one. The
baking dish contained enough fish to feed two or three, and with the rice and
salsa, the meal she had prepared could probably stretch to accommodate the
appetites of a large family. Scooping the rice from the cooking pot, Helena
heaped it around the fish, and crowned the dish with a heap of mango salsa.
Then, grasping the steaming baking dish with a pair of pot-holders, she left the
apartment and headed downstairs to her landlord’s unit. She tapped gently at the
door with her foot, and waited for the slow shuffle that would herald Ben’s
arrival. After a short pause, and the sound of shuffling bedroom slippers, the
door swung open and Ben peered out. His eyes seemed enormous, magnified by the
thick glasses, but were hardly a match for the enormous smile expanding beneath
them.
“What a pleasure! Come in, come in!” he gestured, moving back to allow Helena to
enter.
“I’m sorry to call unannounced,” said Helena with an apologetic smile. “I just
wondered if you had eaten yet. I’ve made quite a large meal and I was hoping you
could share it with me. I’d hate for it to go to waste.”
“How delightful! I’ve been at the computer here for most of the afternoon, I
think. I must have lost track of time. Hadn’t thought of starting dinner yet.”
Ben bustled about the small kitchen, finding plates and cutlery and arranging
them on a faded floral tablecloth. The baking dish was uncovered, allowing the
savory aroma to escape. Rooting around in an old-fashioned refrigerator, Ben
located two bottles of the local Caribbean beer and set one down with a clink in
front of each plate. Then he shuffled back into the kitchen and sliced one of
the tiny firm-skinned local limes lengthwise into quarters. Returning to the
table, he inserted a slice of lime into the mouth of each bottle, before
lowering himself cautiously into his chair.
“Mexican-style,” he said by way of explanation. Smiling across the table at
Helena, he rubbed his hands together with dramatic relish. “Now, let us begin.”
He sighed with pleasure as he picked up a fork and prepared to attack the savory
dish. As the rain continued to dimple the waters of the bay beyond the patio
door, Helena and Ben chatted amicably about her job at the school and about the
building’s new tenants. Although both studiously skirted the topic of her social
life, Helena noted that Ben was more than liberal in sharing gossip about her
neighbors. With an inward cringe, she wondered if the new tenants had been
treated to a similar examination of her personal life. All she needed now was to
have to avoid eye contact with her neighbors while scuttling to and from her
apartment. Life in Seattle had seemed so complicated. Now it seemed that despite
the claims of cruise ships and purveyors of Caribbean rum, life in the Virgin
Islands had its own share of complications. She signed, and Ben looked up at her
with a quizzical glance. Helena shook her head and smiled. “Just thinking of
home,” she said quietly.
“Well, after dinner, you use my computer. Catch up with life on the mainland.
Then I will pay you back for this delicious meal.”
Helena smiled her thanks.
The scrape of forks across almost empty plates filled a momentary silence, which
Ben abruptly broke.
“Maybe, you won’t be needing to go home so soon.”
“Oh, Ben, but I do. My life is in Seattle and before I can get on with it, there
are people to be faced and problems to be solved.” Helena rubbed the bridge of
her nose with her fingers and leaned her chin against her hand. “I just don’t
know,” she concluded meaninglessly.
“Oh all that,” Ben flapped his hands as if brushing away her worries. “I’m
meaning that maybe now there will be more reason for you to stay than to go.” He
smiled enigmatically, his grizzled face broadening in a sea of wrinkles and
ivory teeth. Helena waited, head tilted like a bird’s for the old man to
continue.
“You see, I was talking last night with Susan, you know, the lady who runs the
fruit stand, and she says she been talking with you and our Mr. Streep. So, I
listen all day long, and talk to the man himself, and finally I hear some news
you might be interested in.” Helena felt her gut do a quick flip-flop while Ben
took a minute to make an elaborate show of coughing into a handkerchief that had
definitely seen better days.
“Our Mr. Streep, he is almost finished his job at the school. But he is already
volunteering for another one. He’s gonna be re-doing the old tile floor in the
church up the road from here. You know that man, any kind of building, he can
do. Did you know that back on the mainland he even have a construction company
or some thing? Makin’ barrels of money getting buildings all planned up and put
together.”
Ben paused for a second, gauging Helena’s reaction to the information. She tried
hard to remain impassive as he continued.
“Well, Mr. Streep, he asking about you. He wanting to know what a pretty girl
like you be doing all alone in a place like dis one.”
Through pounding heart and clenched teeth, Helena breathed out, “Oh Ben, what
did you tell him?”
Ben smiled broadly, reaching across the table to pat Helena’s trembling arm.
“Don’t you worry that curly head of yours. All I told him was you was a pretty
girl from the big city, payin’ in cash and askin’ and answerin’ no question. I
did tell him that we needed a crane to get all your fancy leather bags up to
your room.” He chuckled to himself, a soft gurgle against the slack skin of his
protruding Adam’s apple.
“He’ll be here, oh, at least another month, or maybe even two. So maybe you can,
you know, spend some time together. Maybe you be less lonely, less needin’ to
spend time with old men.” Ben smiled beatifically as he concluded his monologue.
Stifling the urge to throttle the absent Mr. Streep, Helena laid a trembling
hand on Ben’s wrinkled one.
“Ben, you know I love spending time with you. And as for Neil, um, Mr. Streep, I
think I should just, I don’t know.” she trailed off lamely.
Ben nodded understandingly. He rubbed his stomach and pushed back his chair.
“Wonderful dinner, wonderful. I must return the favor soon. You will make some
lucky man a very good wife one day.” Ben winked as Helena groaned theatrically.
“And now, for a trip to cyberspace,” said Ben, shuffling slowly across the
linoleum floor to the make-shift computer desk. He switched on the computer and
monitor, the dial-up modem coming to life with a familiar series of clicks and
bongs. Impatient to be on-line, Helena felt a momentary longing for her
high-speed Internet back home, but the delay of a minute now heralded a generous
connection to home and family. She seated herself beside the elderly man, trying
not to betray her eagerness to have a few minutes alone with the machine. Having
booted up the computer, Ben, perhaps sensing her impatience, excused himself,
saying that he was going to take an early evening stroll ‘to work off the
delicious meal.’ The rain had stopped during their dinner, leaving in its
passage a heavy humidity which seemed to trap and absorb the late-day rays of
sun in a yellow haze of light. Alone in the apartment, Helena found her mind
racing. So now Mr. Streep thought she was a girl from the big city flashing cash
and keeping secrets. What if he believed she was on the run from some kind of
trouble? Did he think she had money? What if he saw her as some kind of wealthy
damsel-in-distress and easy prey for the gigolo services of a temporarily
unemployed carpenter? She flushed with shame as she considered the possibility
that Neil’s intentions could be purely financial.
Helena typed in the address of her free e-mail provider, and after entering her
password, was able to access her personal account. Until now, she had kept in
touch with family and friends with brief letters and briefer cards.
Long-distance phone calls were an expensive draw on her tiny income and rapidly
depleting savings, and so were kept to an absolute minimum. It was time to
instigate more lengthy correspondence. Quickly she scanned the contents of her
electronic mailbox. The majority of messages were from her mother and Julie, and
the more recent titles betrayed a growing concern on the part of both. “Where
are you?” “Have U forgotten me?” “U never call anymore!” and “CALL WHEN U CAN!”
messages all bore today’s date. Looking down the list of addresses, she groaned
as she read the familiar “Karl1960@yahoo.com.” Without reading the messages from
her fiancé (ex-fiancé, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time,) she clicked
in the box beside each title to delete them from her inbox. Rapidly skimming the
remaining titles, she grinned wryly as she noted that junk and bulk-mail were
becoming as prevalent and irritating in e-mail form as the envelopes marked,
“You Could Already Be A Millionaire” she regularly weeded out of her letter box
at home. She read her mother’s messages first, and mentally summarized them into
common themes as she progressed through the lengthy prose. Are you eating well?
Are you getting lots of rest? Don’t forget the sunscreen! Scrolling up to the
final message, she paused mid-sentence, leaning forward in disbelief.
“…Helena, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you should be very careful for
the next few weeks. Karl has been phoning me almost daily, pestering me for
information as to your whereabouts. All I’ve told him is that you needed some
time alone and slipped away for a short holiday. I keep telling him that you
chose to keep your destination a secret, but I know he doesn’t believe me.
Anyway, to make a long story short, he called me this evening and told me that
he had discovered where you are. Apparently, he’s been calling his friends and
hit upon one who works for the airline you flew from Seattle. This man was able
to track your flight to St. Thomas. For now, don’t you worry. I’ll be sure to
keep you informed. Just remember to check your e-mail! Or call. You know you can
call me collect any time you want. I’m sure if Karl decides to go to the Virgin
Islands that he won’t be able to resist telling Julie or me, and we’ll let you
know as soon as we do. Love you. Oh, and Happy Almost Birthday Sweetheart! Only
a few days to go! P.S. Don’t forget the sunscreen!
Helena was still shaking as she composed her response. She was careful to avoid
betraying her alarm to her somewhat overly-protective mother. Instead, she
talked about the weather, the upcoming Carnival celebration, and her work at the
school. In closing, she inquired after the health of their mutual relatives and
the progress of her mother’s latest gardening ventures. Continuing through her
mail, she began reading Julie’s messages. Momentarily distracted by her friend’s
humorous prose, she became lost in the latest of Julie’s romantic escapades.
Common to both of their experience were men who disappeared without explanation,
men who developed quasi-stalker behavior, and those with whom a second date was
something to be dodged by caller-ID and voicemail. Julie had refined a somewhat
alarming series of strategies for dealing with cheaters and deadbeats. Hearing
second-hand tales of Julie’s exploits, Helena was always secretly relieved that
she wasn’t on the receiving end of Julie’s self-styled justice. Like her
mother’s, Julie’s most recent e-mail detailed Karl’s discovery and the
possibility of a pending visit from her ex-fiancé. Her friend closed by
inquiring about the availability of attractive men on the island and penning a
brief description of a fantasy in which a mysterious Island Lothario challenged
Karl to a bout of hand-to-hand combat from which the unfortunate Karl barely
escaped alive. Helena grinned as she mentally composed a response. Then, she
hesitated. Glancing at her watch, she noted that close to half an hour had
elapsed since Ben’s departure. Before replying to Julie’s e-mail, she would do a
quick search on the Internet, and then be able to share her findings with her
best friend. Just like the old days, except there were no cappuccinos, no warm
hugs, and no comfortable silences in which spoken words became redundant.
Locating a popular search engine, Helena typed “Neil Streep + Construction”
beside the “Search” button. She hoped to locate as many references to the
elusive Mr. Streep as possible. If the rumored construction company were of any
size, there might even be a web-page devoted to its business. She hit “Search”
and waited for the search engine to locate articles containing her chosen key
words. Scrolling down through references to articles with the names “Streep” and
“Neil” and the word “construction” proved to be a tedious and fruitless venture.
Finding no specific references to Neil Streep’s construction business, Helena
idly attempted various combinations, first typing in his name and then adding
different labels in an attempt to refine her search. Unsure of Ben’s accuracy in
describing Mr. Streep’s business, she tried looking under drafting, design, and
architecture. Nothing. Perhaps Neil’s “construction company” was merely a rumor
designed to conceal the true nature of his activities on the island. Exiting
from her search, Helena typed a quick response to Julie’s e-mail.
Thanks for the mail, and the warning. Can you please call Mom and reassure her
that I am in my right mind, will be fine, etc. etc.? Bless you. I promise to do
better as a pen, oop, cyber pal and will phone you tomorrow. Hope the new man in
your life is worthy enough to avoid the tuna-in-the-glove box fate of his
predecessor. RE: your query, have met a man on whose stomach I could grate
cheese. He has already seen me naked. I have not been so lucky. Will explain
this tomorrow. Love you as the gossip of all time and follower of trendy people
and places. Wonder if you have heard of my mystery man? His name is Neil Streep.
According to the local grapevine, he owns a construction company back on the
mainland. With my luck, he is most likely a drug dealer and/or robber of elderly
ladies. Must know before proceed further, i.e. see him naked. Till tomorrow.
Love, Helena.
Hearing the familiar shuffle of footsteps at the door, and Ben’s cheery, “Helloo?”
Helena exited the program and turned off the monitor. Entering the room, he
inquired with a smile, “Feelin’ better now my girl?” Despite the pursuit of one
and possibly two unsavory suitors, and her return to Seattle looming large on
the horizon, Helena smiled. Electronically, she had been home. Or at least her
cyber-self had been in the company of friends. And curiously enough, she was
feeling better.
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