Hurricanes in Paradise by Denise Hildreth (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📗

“Not quite. More like a gentle puffing.”

Winnie sat up on her chair. “I puffed?”

“Kind of puffed. Sputtered. Something like that.”

“Huh? That sounds a lot more feminine than what I imagined I did.”

“Well, I’m glad I could bring you some peace regarding your snoring habits,” Tamyra laughed. “How long have you been here?”

“A while. I wanted to make sure I could get here without Albert seeing me.”

“He seemed harmless.”

Winnie squinted at her. “He’s a man. Have you ever met a harmless man?”

Tamyra’s skin bristled but she was rescued.

“Ladies, we have your room ready,” a petite Bahamian said as she entered the lounge. “Follow me this way. You can get a robe in there if you’d like.” She pointed to the women’s locker room.

“Sure. I’ll be right behind y’all.” Tamyra slipped out of her clothes and into a robe, then moved down the hall to the door where Winnie had disappeared. Winnie was already laid out on her table, face looking down at the floor through the hole that held her head.

“We’re about to be pummeled.” Her words came out slightly muffled.

“I thought massages were supposed to be relaxing,” Tamyra said as she laid her robe on the chair beside her table and climbed underneath the sheet.

“I asked for the Swedish massage. And from what I hear, those Swedes can kill you.”

The door opened, hopefully bringing in their masseuses. “You ladies ask for Swedish massage?” Their Asian accents were evident.

“How do Asian women know how to do Swedish massages?” Winnie asked.

Tamyra laughed.

“We’ll show you.”

And show them they did. For sixty straight minutes they kneaded and rubbed, and at moments Tamyra was certain her masseuse had rearranged her muscle tissue. Winnie groaned on more than one occasion and not from pleasure. It was clear she was getting what she asked for. Tamyra couldn’t help but grimace a time or two, but by the way the lady stayed at her shoulders, it was evident that the stress of the last two months had taken up permanent residence there.

An hour and a half later both of them were slathered head to toe with mud. Tamyra turned her head to look at Winnie. Winnie must have sensed it because she turned at the same time. Tamyra burst out laughing, the mud on her face cracking all over. “You look like a raccoon.”

“I don’t know why you think I look so funny. You look the exact same way.”

“What would your kids say if they could see you now?”

“I can’t say it.” She started giggling.

That made it even funnier. “Come on, why can’t you say it?”

“Because I’ve never said a cussword in my life. I’m Baptist, remember?” she spat out through her laughter.

Tamyra was trying to hold her face still. “You’ve got to tell me.”

“I can’t. It’s horrible. Sam would die.”

That cracked Tamyra up uncontrollably. Winnie couldn’t contain herself either. “Sam’s already dead,” Tamyra announced. Laughter spewed from her gut.

Winnie let out a whoop as her hands flew up in the air, the laughter preventing her from breaking her seventy-two-year no-cussing streak. And with that, the mud that was all over each of them cracked like a seismic plate shift in the earth, making the one hundred and fifty dollars of mud they had slathered over their bodies worth every penny. Whether it had done anything for their complexions or not, it had already done wonders for their souls.

9

Monday afternoon . . .

Laine’s body was sprawled across a large, sand-colored sectional. Her head was propped up by vibrant orange and yellow pillows, giving her an unobstructed view of the pool. She was tempted to sleep out here. One of twenty cabanas that ran along the perimeter of the pool, it had everything she could need. There was an entertainment center behind her with a flat-screen television fully equipped with a DVD and CD player. There was a daybed, a beautiful bathroom, a patio dining table, and a magnificent view of the Atlantic Ocean. With the teakwood louvered doors open, she could see all the way to the end of the world.

The cabana butler had already brought a tray of fruit, a sandwich, and a glass of wine and placed them on the sea grass–woven ottoman that sat in front of her. And from her throne she was able to watch the rich try to get richer, the tan try to get more tan, and the lovers try to fall more in love. Had she only had to endure the first two, she would have enjoyed herself a little more. Her iPhone sat at her side; her assistant had already called four times this morning, and she had sent her to voice mail. Laine was surprised her assistant kept trying to call her after being ignored for two straight days.

She had avoided Riley too. After last night it was easier for her to gain back her control by being the diva she could tell Riley already assumed that she was. Laine had no intention of having lunch with her and knew it when she said she would meet her. Ate a hole in her gut too. Despite what Riley thought about her. But she couldn’t help it. The last thing she wanted was just the two of them at a lunch where she would be reminded of how completely inadequate she really was. She already knew that. She pulled one of the pillows from behind her head and threw it over her face. If she could smother herself without having to suffocate, she’d press it in and not let go.

Unfortunately that pillow over her face caused her to miss Riley heading her way. She heard Riley clear her throat.

“Yes,” she said from behind the pillow.

“I see you’ve been taken care of for lunch.”

Laine tried not to squirm beneath the pillow. But she knew if she kept her head under it, she’d look like a two-year-old trying to hide from her mother instead of like the prolific author that Riley was responsible for catering to.