Island Promises (14 page)

Millie’s slight nod was all the encouragement Riley needed. She took a surprised Emil by the arm, led him to the other end of the bar, even pulled out the stool for him.

“So what is up with all this niceness?” Emil asked, clearly suspicious.

Millie put a nonalcoholic drink in front of him and poured some nuts and dried fruit into a bowl.

Riley slapped a menu before him.

“You are making my nerves hop,” he said.

She flashed her widest smile. “We have a proposition for you.”

Emil turned out to be a much better videographer than they could have hoped. He had a mechanical bent, which made him curious about all the buttons on the camera, how the tripod went together and what made the editing equipment work. The cab driver also had an artistic flair that was finally being given an outlet.

In the beginning, he drove Riley crazy spending an hour framing a certain shot while she tapped her foot and murmured under her breath. She was used to the fast-paced world of Chicago reporting where you set it up, and unless there were planes flying overhead, bystanders performing lewd acts in the background, or the reporter swore, you went with the first take.

They tried to shoot their background video on the warm, lazy afternoons when Joe had gone to work with the island National Guard, the tourists from the big cruise ships were already where they wanted to be, either sunning themselves on the decks of the ships or browsing the small shops on the other side of the island where the ships docked. Rosalee’s was over the lunch rush and not yet ready for the dinner onslaught.

That left both Emil and Millie free. Both would return to their regular jobs in the late afternoon when Emil would catch the fares for the tourists ready to return to their ships and Millie would be helping set up the dining room at Rosalee’s for dinner. Riley would return to
Reprieve
and wait for Joe. Some days he didn’t arrive at the boat until after sunset. Those days, he would sit down heavily in the cockpit, stretch out his legs, eat whatever dinner she had burned or bought, drink whatever alcoholic beverage she supplied, and then fall into the bunk, snoring within a few minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

“What did you do when I wasn’t here?” Riley asked one night as Joe mechanically shoveled some canned soup and toasted cheese into his mouth. “How did you eat when you were out all day?”

“I didn’t come home,” Joe had said. His shoulders sagged with weariness. His face, tanned as it was, had bright spots on his cheeks from the sun. His eyes were heavy and tired.

“Stayed in the barracks with the guys.”

Riley mulled that over for a few moments.
Reprieve
rocked gently at her anchor. In the dark, the other boats in the marina were more easily heard than seen. Lines dinged against the masts and quiet talk drifted over the docks and the water. She herself was keyed up. Today had been a frustrating day of shooting with Emil wanting to do close-ups of flowers to demonstrate the different foliage on the island and Millie wanting to leave early to meet Henri for an afternoon swim. Riley finally decided she couldn’t throw a temper tantrum and berate her two-person staff. Millie was doing this as a favor, a last hurrah with an old friend she’d worked with for longer than either one of them cared to remember. For his part, Emil was being paid what would amount to laughable wages at the station back in Chicago and for the pittance she gave him, she couldn’t be too demanding. So she’d called it a day. Coming back to
Reprieve
she’d spent the rest of the afternoon researching on the computer.

Restless, bored, she’d wanted somewhere to go and she’d hit Rosalee’s for her own dinner. The staff was overwhelmed with tourists and Riley had been left in a corner to fend for herself.

“Darling girl, you know where everything is, you see how busy we are, help yourself,” Rosa had said, pecking her on the cheek, her enormous flowered dress sweeping against Riley’s arms, the citrusy, breezy scent that always came from Rosa filling Riley’s senses and calming her down long enough to stay still and eat. She had come back to
Reprieve
, her mind spinning with ideas for the story they were working on, anxious to share them, discuss them, put them into action. But there was nothing she could do but wait until her staff, as it were, were ready to work.

Sitting next to Joe in what had become her pajama uniform, an oversized T-shirt and a pair of baggy cotton shorts she’d come across in the lost and found, Riley relished the warm night air on her skin, smelled the flowers carried on the breeze, and felt the heaviness of her hair, which seemed to expand more each day with the humidity. She’d stopped trying to fix it, just let it go. It became lighter and lighter, nearly white, since she’d gotten Mitchell to cut off the dark ends before he left to heal the sick at the hospital. Tonight it felt sticky from the hairspray she’d used, thinking she would be on-camera today relating the story she’d written and researched.

“Look,” Riley said to Joe. “You don’t have to come back here just for me. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I can stay on
Reprieve
alone.”

Carefully, Joe set down the soup bowl and the half-eaten cheese sandwich. He had eaten the raw part and left the burnt part. He turned toward her, the lantern below in the saloon of
Reprieve
outlining his figure against the dark night, his muscled upper arms, his sandy hair, which had gotten long and a little bushy since he’d been so preoccupied with the Coast Guard project. His lean, powerful legs were splayed out in front of him.

Joe grabbed her hard and pulled her into him, cradling her as though she were a baby. He smelled of strong soap, the kind they use in army showers but it couldn’t block out the lingering smells of the sea, where he had spent a good deal of his day and his own strong, masculine scent. The arms that held her were warm where the sun had burned into his flesh. His heart beat slowly and steadily in her ears.

“OK. Let me see if I’ve got this right. I can have my choice of sleeping in a barracks with about a hundred other smelly big guys who snore, make other rude noises, and scratch in places they shouldn’t.” He kissed the top of her head where the stiff hair spray still held an artificial smoothness. “Or, I can come back to my own boat with a soft, beautiful woman who sometimes snores.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, baby, sometimes you sound like you’re calling in the whales from their migratory spawning patterns.” She scrunched up her face and he hastened to add, “But it’s a cute, sexy sort of snore.”

“You’re in so deep now, don’t even try getting out of it.” Riley felt lighthearted. She had meant what she said. She didn’t want to tie him down, make him think he had to be here with her. But the last thing she wanted was to be alone on
Reprieve
in the deep darkness of the island, listening to the sounds of nature, which still made her jumpy. The one light, tacked up on a rickety telephone pole by the showers, faded in and out. The bulb was probably going but it didn’t seem to be on anyone’s priority list to replace it.

“I want to be in even deeper.” Joe covered her face with small, wispy kisses that made her moan and shiver. “I want in as deep as I can get.”

She kneaded his neck, working her fingers against the knots of tension. Slowly, she let her hands drift down to his shoulder blades and then to the small of his back. When she worked at the place where his spine melted into his beautifully shaped rear end, he leaned back his head, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh.

She found herself doing something she hadn’t in a long time, if ever. She was taking charge, being the aggressor, making the moves. With RK she had always been on the defensive, trying to please him and never seeming to be able to achieve it fully. There had always been something strained there. Although she enjoyed being with RK, she never felt she had his full attention, never felt safe enough with him to expose her needs and her wants the way she did with Joe.

Taking his hand, she helped him up out of the settee and, walking backward, led him down the companionway into the cabin they shared. The darkness held her like a mother holding a child, secured her in the strong, warm arms that rocked with her as passion built and shook them both physically and emotionally until they were exhausted and fell into sleep with the sounds of the water lapping against
Reprieve
’s hull.

“There’s something on me, something black and hairy,” Millie hissed. “Get it off, get it off, now, or I’ll scream. I swear, I’ll scream.”

Riley leaned over and ran her hands over her friend’s bare legs. She came up against something that was hairy, gooey, and made her cringe. Even though it nearly gagged her, she brushed at the beastly thing until it hopped or slithered or whatever method it used to propel itself back into the vegetation.

She swallowed her nausea. Anything for the story. Including crawling through the jungle on their bellies, one of the most terrifying and disgusting things they had ever done. The yuckiest piece they had done back in Chicago, on trash being dumped into Lake Michigan, wasn’t this bad. The trash story had been shot from a cliff overlooking the lake with a telephoto lens zooming in and out between her, perched on the cliff, and the trucks on the deserted beach below which were dumping construction debris into the water.

“What was it? Was it a spider?” Millie, the cool, confident,
take ‘em down Millie
, was near panic and hysteria.

“No, just a leaf,” Riley lied and looked away. This underbrush never seemed to end. What appeared to be giant plants with leaves pumped up by steroids grew all around them. They’d been fortunate to have stumbled onto a clearing of some sort about 10 feet back. When they heard the voices, Emil had signaled for them to get low and then he’d taken off in a crouch through the jungle.

They’d arrived at the entrance to this overgrowth about an hour ago after a kidney-dislocating ride in Emil’s Jeep/taxi/limousine. The sheer terror elicited by his driving on nearly two wheels around turns and waiting until he was within inches of the car ahead to brake, was broken by his swearing and gesturing at anyone or anything that got in his way, and his continual smoking. Millie had always been a stickler for not smoking in tight, enclosed places such as cars, even though she lit up back in Chicago with a drink on a Friday night. Back home, Millie was very vocal about her dislike for taxi drivers who smoked but here she kept her opinions to herself, too busy hanging on for dear life as Emil took yet another sharp left at an amazing rate of speed and had to swerve hard to avoid an oncoming truck loaded with orchids destined for the cargo hold of some ship in the harbor. Besides, with no air-conditioning, all the windows in the cab were open allowing for a tremendous flow of air, especially considering the speed at which Emil liked to drive.

Without warning, Emil braked hard in the middle of a single-lane road that wound into the heart of the island, leaving far behind the harbor and the areas built-up with the trappings of civilization. Like bobble dolls, Millie and Riley’s heads both went forward and then snapped back as the old vehicle screeched to a halt. On either side of the road, lush jungle grew so tall that the tropical sun was filtered and distant. The only sounds came from the birds calling to each other and the other animals rustling through the vegetation, once in a while making deep guttural noises that seemed handed down from the beginning of time.

“Creepy.” Millie was rubbing her neck as she exited the cab to stand beside Riley.

“‘Ees as close as we dare to go to them.” Emil was opening what passed for the trunk, a rusted metal enclosure painted brown while the rest of the car was red. There were gaps where the metal had rusted completely. Not quite big enough to steal anything but big enough to let in rain or wind. They were lucky that the weather had been warm and clear.

It was at this point that Riley felt she had lost control of the operation and the Three Stooges Report a Television News Story had started. Dropping ashes from his ever-present cigarette into the trunk, Emil began moving camera equipment.

“So, where are we?” Riley was rubbing her upper arm, which would probably sport a nasty bruise from bumping repeatedly into the door of the old car.

Emil stopped and looked around. “The jungle.” He puffed hard on his cigarette and went back to putting the equipment together inside the trunk, the only relatively clean place to set it down.

“Well, there you go, Riley. Information right from the source. We are officially in ‘The Jungle.’ Can we quote you on that, Emil?” Millie’s sarcastic tone, which could cut a cub reporter to the quick back in the world of Chicago news, didn’t even faze Emil. He was too busy setting equipment against a tree that had a quirky, mottled trunk.

Emil put the tripod back into the trunk, slammed the lid shut, and hoisted the camera onto his shoulder. “From now on, ees important to be quiet,” he said. Then he disappeared into what seemed a solid wall of green jungle.

“We’re close to where they are?” Riley felt a wave of excitement. If they could get this footage today, they’d be in good shape. A few days of editing and the piece would be ready to send on. Her first piece on her own without the station backing her up or RK nitpicking every item. Technically, she still worked for the station but in her mind, in her spirit, she was independent, a freelancer, able to make her own way.

So far, freelancing sucked. It had consisted almost entirely of fighting with her two-person staff, each of whom had their own schedules they didn’t want interrupted. More than that they each had strong visions of what they wanted this story to be. More than once Riley had had to put her fingers in her mouth and whistle for them to stop sparring and listen to her. After all, it was her idea. She was the one who got the equipment, did the research, and put up with their constant need to work only a few hours at a time, if that, around their other lives. Freelancing also entailed filming in this god-awful jungle where Riley hated to think what types of diseases and parasites and wiggly things might be waiting for a white girl from the city who didn’t know how to protect herself outside the projects.

“Riley, I think we’re lost. And I’m about to freak. Who knows if Emil knows where he’s going? He can get lost driving from the tour ships to Rosalee’s for God’s sake.” Millie’s face was streaked with dirt. Leaves clung to her capris and her tank top. A tiny cut on her upper arm made Riley wince in fear of what might crawl in there before they could drown it in antiseptic.

“Emil knows what he’s doing. He gets lost from the ship to Rosalee’s on purpose. It runs up the meter. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.” Riley’s knee itched and she swatted something off. She was proud of herself that she kept with the policy she’d developed of not looking at whatever landed on or slithered over her.