His Paradise

“No.”

I wait for a moment, but he doesn’t offer up anything else. Just gives me the one-word answer. Kathy says I’m an asshole to everyone who meets me for the first time, and most people never change their mind. I try again.

“Can you tell me who is?” I look around the room, waiting for a grownup to walk in. Who is this kid and why is he left manning the front desk?

“They’re not here,” is all he says as he turns around to walk away.

“Hey,” I say, stopping him. I let out a breath and try to soften my words. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot going on today and I think I’m stranded here tonight.”

The kid looks out at the ocean and then back to me, nodding. “Yep. The ferry called about ten minutes ago and said they aren’t coming back out until dawn.” He walks back to the desk and his face softens a little. “You need a room?”

I open my mouth to tell him I’ve already got one, but then an idea sparks. Maybe if I stay here I can get to the owner either tonight or first thing in the morning. Or at least staying here might give me a bit of ammunition to use when it’s time to make a new offer and get a hold of this land.

“Yeah, I do,” I say and pull out my wallet. “Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” he says and clicks some keys on the computer. He tells me how much it is for a night and I almost fall over on the floor. It’s nearly a third of what I charge for my cheapest room. No wonder this place is going under. There’s no one here, and they’re hardly charging enough to keep the lights on, let alone cover the sizeable taxes and insurance. I’ll be doing these people a favor when I write them a check.

The kid, who tells me his name is Peter, gives me my key and points me in the direction of my room. I don’t ask him any more about the owner, because any reference to that seems to piss him off.

Once I have my key Peter goes around and locks up the shutters. He tells me it’s just a precaution and the storm rolling through won’t be too bad. I nod to him, then I walk down the small hallway to the room at the end. They give out old-fashioned keys at this place. Not key cards like at most hotels. I grumble at not being able to get in my room faster as I turn the key and open the door.

When I walk inside I look around and see that the room is clean. He’s given me a large room with a king-size bed and an attached bath with a claw-foot tub. French doors open out onto a small private patio, and a small path leads to the beach. I look around for something cheap or dirty but find the room in perfect order.

“The walls are probably paper thin,” I say to myself, eyeing the dark clouds above the water.

It’s too early to go to bed, and I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. I spent far too long trying to find the place that I’m almost hesitant to leave. Peter mentioned that there’s a bar within walking distance, and I expected him to mention the one in my hotel. But he pointed in the opposite direction and said it was called the Red Din.

I went out to my car and got my bag before I came to my room, so I go over to the bed now and open it up. It would be better for me to go to a place where the staff doesn’t know me, so I decide to change out of my suit and into something more local-friendly. I pull on a pair of khaki shorts and a white polo then slip on some flip-flops. My blond hair is starting to become wavy in the humidity, so I have to keep pushing it out of my face. Apparently, the gel I normally use doesn’t stand up to the heat of the island. Another reason to get out of here as soon as possible.

I grab some cash and tuck it in my back pocket and see there’s no safe in the room. I guess it isn’t so perfect after all.

After I lock my door and walk to the front of the hotel I see it’s already pouring rain. By the entrance there’s a basket full of umbrellas, with a note to take one. I grumble again as I pull the collar on my shirt up around my neck and blow by them. Why are all the little touches so annoying? Can’t they just operate like a normal hotel?