Vacation Therapy (3 page)

"What's this?” Sergio pulled something from the side pocket of my carry-on. “Some kinky sex toy?"

"That's just my folding reacher.” I continued putting my clothes into the dresser. The dresser was over eight feet long and dominated the whole wall. “Could they have found a bigger dresser?"

"What's it doing in your suitcase? I thought you were off duty. Vacation, remember?"

"I must've forgotten to take it out of my bag. The last workshop I went to, the Smith and Nephew rep gave everyone a new reacher. She wanted us to try them out and order a bunch to sell to our patients."

"So what did they think about them?” Sergio unfolded the reacher and flipped it open. He held it like a gun and pulled the trigger. The grabber end opened and closed like a lobster's claw with each pull.

"I forgot to take it out of my bag, so no one has tried it yet.” I walked between the double beds and put the last of my underwear away. In the mirror above the dresser, I watched Sergio. He extended his arm and twisted his wrist in an attempt to make a grab for my backside with the reacher. “It's supposed to help you get dressed, but you're twisting your wrist too much,” I warned. “You'll get carpal tunnel."

"I have weak wrists.” Sergio pantomimed a classic limp wrist. “Remember?"

"How can I forget? You keep reminding me. Are you questioning my memory?"

"No, just your judgment.” Sergio tossed the reacher on top of the dresser and flopped down on his bed.

"And what do you mean by that?"

Sergio opened his mouth and then closed it.

"Well?” I waited.

"I can't believe that you trusted Molly, of all people, to plan your vacation."

"I've been so busy at work, I didn't even have a chance to pack."

Sergio pushed himself up from his bed, headed over to my drawer and pulled it open. “You let Molly pack for you, too? I have to see this.” He reached in and started rifling through my clothes.

"Hey! Get out of my stuff.” I sidestepped in front of the drawer, trying to block his access. Too late. “Molly packed as I washed clothes and..."

"Wha-hoo!” Sergio pulled out a bright blue Speedo and held it up. “What's this? Is this yours?"

I felt my face flush and I grabbed for the suit. “I had to buy that for PE class in college."

Sergio raised the Speedo over my head and dangled it out of my reach. “Are you going to wear it?” His face lit up with excitement. “Here?"

"No!” I jumped and ripped it out of his hands. “I can't believe she packed that thing."

"Oh, I think it's cute."

"You would. Knock it off.” I tossed the Speedo back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Sitting down quickly on top of the dresser, I glared at him, daring him to try again.

"Testy,” Sergio said.

"Please stay out of my drawers."

Sergio smiled.

Not seeing any reaction from me, he continued. “Oh, come on, Taylor. I've always wanted a brother so I could share his clothes. Alas, I had three sisters, and you can see how I turned out. I raided the wrong closet.” He flopped down on his bed.

"Don't put yourself down like that,” I said.

Avoiding his gaze, I walked to the bathroom and unpacked my toiletries.

As I put my bag into the closet, Sergio laughed. “I was wondering something."

"What?” I asked, warily.

"Did that guy's mother mate with a gorilla, or was he a genetic experiment gone way wrong?"

The image of the Bigfoot who had tried to pick us up in the lobby lumbered back into my mind. Innocently, I said, “I thought you liked big, hairy guys."

"Not
that
big, and definitely not
that
hairy.” Sergio scrunched up his face. “Didn't you just want to...shave him?"

"No.” I smiled. “I thought he needed a flea dip."

"Good one. You're learning. You'll fit in just fine around here."

My smile died. “And what did you mean by that?"

"Whoa!” Sergio held up his hands in surrender. “You don't have to get so defensive. I didn't mean anything by it. I wasn't insulting your manhood or anything."

"I think you were. I think you think that I'm gay, and this is a way you came up with to spend some time with me."

"What? Now wait a minute. I never—” he began.

"You didn't have to,” I shot back. My blood pressure was rising.

"Fine.” Sergio stood up. “You're going to believe whatever you want to no matter what I say. Maybe I should've left you to fend for yourself in the lobby.” He walked across the room. “And guess what, I'm doing that right now."

"What?"

He walked to the door and turned the doorknob. “I'm letting you have supper all by yourself, and I hope you find a nice date. Maybe Bigfoot will be waiting for you.” With that Sergio slammed the door to punctuate his point.

I looked at the back of the door. What a stupid idiot I was. I was taking my disappointment out on Sergio. I should be mad at Molly. She was the one who got me into this. It wasn't Sergio's fault. Taking a step toward the door, I stopped. No, I should be mad at myself. I'm the one who got myself into this situation in the first place. And yes, some homophobia was rising.

I grabbed my room key from the dresser and headed out the door. I needed to find Sergio and apologize, but more desperately, I needed something to eat.

There weren't any Sergio or Bigfoot sightings at supper. I found a small open table in the corner. Most of the guests milled around in pairs, wearing shorts and bright shirts, which seemed to be the evening's dress code. Everyone spoke with animation and excitement. The noise level rose and echoed in the dining room.

"Did you see the brochure about the wildlife to avoid at this resort?” a blond surfer type asked his dinner companion.

"I haven't seen one yet.” The bald man smiled.

"No, I'm serious. It shows what snakes, spiders..."

"I'm on a manhunt. The animals can fend for themselves."

And the chatter went on and on.

By the time supper was over, my head was pounding from all the noise and excitement of over six hundred men. All I needed was some down time.

So much for my relaxing week in the sun. I was starting to think I wasn't going to find any relaxation. It's only a resort, I told myself.

Yeah, a gay resort.

Stop.

Breathe.

I was the one in control here. I could make or break my vacation. Since this was the only time I'd have off for months, I had better make the most of it.

And the first item on my agenda was to apologize to Sergio.

My footsteps echoed along the dimly lit fourth floor hallway as I neared our room. Hotels always seemed like a maze to me. All the rooms looked alike. When I finally found room 417, I took a deep breath and slipped the key in.

I was wrong, and I wanted Sergio to know it. The lock released, and I pushed the room door open. “Sergio?"

As the door swung wider, the sound of the shower running greeted me.

Darn it. With this headache, I really needed to get into the bathroom and take something. My pocket vial of Excedrin was at home in Sioux Falls. I had been afraid of carrying tablets through customs. I'd heard too many horror stories about drugs and foreign countries.

I knocked on the bathroom door. “Sergio? I need to get some Excedrin."

No answer.

"Sergio? I'm sorry. I was a big fat idiot. I was wrong. Can you forgive me?"

I turned my ear toward the door to hear better. The shower continued, but no response came from Sergio.

Why wasn't he answering me? Was he still mad? I pounded on the door again, louder this time. “Sergio."

I had apologized. What more could I do? I waited for another minute.

My head pounded, and I needed Excedrin. There was a shower curtain, I reasoned. I knocked on the door again. “I'm coming in,” I said, and opened the door. I headed straight to my shaving kit. Quickly, I found the bottle of Excedrin and shook out two caplets. I poured some bottled water into the glass and swallowed.

Darn it. With the water running, now I realized my bladder was full.

"Sergio?"

No reply.

"Are you okay?” There didn't appear to be any movement behind the curtain. I stepped closer, straining to hear better through the plastic. Only the sound of running water. Looking down at the floor, a part of the shower curtain had pulled outside of the tub. A small pool of water had splattered on the tile. On closer inspection, the water looked kind of rusty.

"Is that water even clean?” I asked.

Still no response.

Something was wrong. An image flashed in my mind. Maybe Sergio had slipped and hit his head. I yanked the curtain back.

No one was standing, but Bigfoot lay in a big hairy heap. Our lobby friend, who only hours earlier had wanted to room with us, was slumped in the tub. His chin lay on his chest as the water sprayed over his body. A stream of blood and red water ran down his neck and through the hair on his chest. His exposed skin appeared pale through the opening of his black leather vest.

Bending over, I tried to see if he was still breathing.

"What are you...?” Sergio said, tapping me on the shoulder.

I let out an unmanly shriek and turned, standing bolt upright to face him.

"What's wrong?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. So I moved to the side and pointed.

Sergio peered around me. “Jesus Christ! What did you do?"

"What did I do? I found him that way.” The Excedrin threatened to come back up. “What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything.” He was indignant. “I just got back from supper."

"So did I. I needed something for my headache, and I thought you were in the shower. When you didn't answer...” I pointed to the tub. “We need to find help.” I pushed past Sergio.

"I think he's beyond help. Don't you?” Sergio followed me into the bedroom.

"Fine. You stay here, and I'll go.” I touched the room's doorknob.

"I'm not staying here alone with him.” He glanced into the bathroom. “I'm coming with you."

I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “Who's going to stay with...?"

"I'm sure he'll be just fine all by himself,” Sergio said, and he pushed me out of the room.

The door slammed shut and locked behind us as we ran down the hall.

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It took us twenty minutes to find Geoff the GO (Gentil Organisateur—or, freely translated, Gracious Organizer). He said he worked security at the resort as he unlocked the door to our room with his passkey. His dark Jamaican complexion contrasted greatly with his white shorts and shirt. His six-foot frame loomed ahead of us as he carefully pushed our room door open and motioned for us to follow. He was one of the international employees Club Fred kept.

Sergio and I tentatively stepped across the threshold and peered at the closed bathroom door.

Silence greeted us.

"Did you shut off the water?” I asked, turning to Sergio.

"I didn't close that door.” Sergio's eyebrows shot up, innocently.

"Don't look at me. I didn't do it,” I said.

"But you were behind me."

I knew that the water had been running when we fled the room, and that door had been open. “I didn't touch anything, not even the body.” Despite how much I had wanted to search for a pulse, I hadn't. Something was wrong. I knew Sergio hadn't turned off the water or closed that door.

Geoff pushed the bathroom door open, and we all stared into the empty room. He turned to look at us, “This some kinda joke, mon?” his Jamaican whiskey-soaked voice demanded.

"No. He was right there.” I said, pointing to the clean and empty bathtub. “There's no way that he could've moved. He was dead."

Sergio shook his head and repeated, “Dead."

"I think you boys had too much sun.” Geoff scratched his curly head.

"Why would we lie about...?” I stopped. There was no way he was going to believe us without a body.

My eyes scanned the bathroom. “Wait a minute,” I said, and grabbed a white hand towel from the counter to wipe the damp floor. Sand and grit clung to the nap, but nothing stained the white cloth. I reached into the tub and wiped around the drain. It was wet, but no discoloration appeared on the towel.

Geoff looked at the cloth, doubt plainly written across his face.

"He was right there, with blood running down his chest.” I shook the towel. “The floor and the tub are still wet. That should prove something. Right?” The conviction was quickly draining from my voice. “I don't understand how they could've gotten him out of here so fast, and still had a chance to clean up.” My eyes left Geoff and turned to Sergio. “Help me,” I mouthed.

"He was there. I saw him too. Honest.” Sergio said.

"Ya, you two had your laugh, now leave me be.” Geoff shook his head and stormed out of the room.

"So much for being a gracious organizer,” I said to the place where Geoff had stood, then turned to Sergio. “Where do you think he went?” I walked over between the beds and searched underneath. Nothing.

Sergio opened the closet door and looked in. “Maybe whoever killed him came back and took the body."

"You think so?” I snapped.

Sergio's face fell.

Oops. “Sorry, Sergio. I didn't mean to snap at you. This just can't be happening. I'm on vacation."

"That's okay, I understand,” Sergio said, rolling his eyes. “I just meant that they didn't have very much time to move the body."

"That's right,” I said, and jumped to my feet. “So, it can't be too far away from our room.” As I passed Sergio, I motioned for him to follow.

"No way. I'm not going hunting for a dead body. I want a nice warm one..."

"Fine. Then stay here. I'll go look for it by myself.” I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Looking right and left, there were no telltale wet drag marks across the tiled floor. Whoever cleaned up did a great job. Yellow lights illuminated the pink stucco walls, but barely cast enough light to see much of anything. As I continued down the hall, I read 418, Laundry, 419, 420. “Aha!"

"Aha, what?” Sergio said, from behind me.

"Yikes.” I spun around, arms ready to fight. “What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that? I could've killed you,” I said, unclenching my fists.