Authors: Lance Zarimba
Did everyone know that I had found a dead body on the beach?
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, smiled, and turned back to my food. “I seem to be the center of attention again. I just don't understand it.” I felt my face burn.
Tom smirked, took a piece of pineapple and popped it into his mouth, but didn't say anything.
"So where are you from?” I asked.
"LA."
Not a big conversationalist. I looked around the room. The majority of the diners had slowly returned to eating and talking, but a few continued staring at me. Some had pinched expressions on their faces. One even stuck his pierced tongue out at me.
"Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.
"No,” I said, quickly.
"Are you sure? I'm almost done and...” Tom pushed his chair back slightly from the table.
"Don't go.” I fought the urge to look around again. “I think I've made a big mistake coming here."
"To this table?"
"No, to this resort."
"Why do you think that?"
"Don't ask."
"Okay,” he said slowly. “What do you do in South Dakota?"
"I'm an occupational therapist. I work with people after a stroke, head injury, and spinal cord injury. What about yourself?"
"I do some modeling and a little bit of acting,” he said smugly.
"Sorry, I don't recognize you. I usually wear Levis and T-shirts. I don't get any men's fashion magazines, and I don't think I've seen you in any movies."
Tom smiled at me. “I don't think my movies have made their way to South Dakota, at least not yet."
"Independent films?"
"You could say that."
"Don't feel bad. Not many get there. We have an alternative film series that plays some art and foreign movies, but that's only twice a year."
Tom just nodded his head and smiled.
I obviously wasn't getting the joke.
"Ah hum,” sounded from behind Tom's back.
I looked up into Sergio's eyes. They gleamed like I had never seen before, glowing from deep within.
"Pull up a chair,” I said, motioning to the one sitting next to the wall. I turned back to Tom. “You don't mind, do you?"
Tom smiled and shook his head. “Sure. Join us,” he said simply, extending his hand in greeting.
Sergio didn't move. He just stood there, frozen, with a stupid expression on his face.
I stood up, walked over, and pulled the chair over for Sergio. I patted it. “Sit,” I said, just as I did for my terrier, Regan.
Sergio sat blindly, almost missing his seat, but he kept staring at Tom with his mouth gaping open.
Tom smiled at him and then turned back to me. “I'm done with breakfast,” he said and pushed his plate away. “I'll let you two be alone."
"You don't have to go. He's usually more talkative than I am.” I nudged Sergio with my elbow. “Once he's had a cup of coffee in him."
Tom motioned to stand up. “I need to stake out a spot to work on my tan. Where were you planning on laying out today?"
"Well, I came to Mexico. I'm hitting the beach. I can always lie around a pool at home."
"That's how I feel. Well, if you're looking for a place to set up on the beach, come find me. I'll save you a spot."
"Cool. I'd like that. I'll finish here, and get my stuff. I'd like to hear more about LA and your movies, okay?"
"That'd be great. If you haven't noticed, not too many people have talked to me, until you.” Tom pushed his chair back and stood up.
I rose with him. “I'll catch you later.” I extended my hand again. “It was nice meeting you, Tom."
He looked at my hand for a few seconds and then took it and shook it firmly. “It was really nice meeting you, Taylor. I'll save you a place.” He let go and waved a two-fingered salute to Sergio.
Sergio waved a floppy hand back at him.
Tom grabbed his towel and beach bag. Slowly, he strolled through the maze of tables and headed for the beach, his sandals flip-flopping as he went.
Sergio grabbed my arm. His fingers dug into my flesh, hard.
"Ouch. You're hurting me."
"Do...do...do...” he started.
I pulled his fingers from my arm. Red marks rose up on my pale skin. I rubbed them away. “What is your problem?” I sat back down and picked up a cold piece of bacon.
"Do...do you know who that was?” Sergio finally got out of his mouth.
"Yes,” I smiled and said, “Tom.” Then I realized that was all I knew.
Sergio smiled smugly. “Well,
Tom
, as you put it, is only the hottest male actor around. And you talked to him. You of all people talked to him and you even touched him, and he touched you.” Sergio looked at my hand, grabbed it, and rubbed it all over his.
I yanked my hand back.
"He even asked you to sit with him on the beach.” He burst out into a gale of laughter, which made everyone in the dining area stare at us, again. “Taylor's got a boyfriend."
"He seems like a nice guy, kind of a loner, but nice. I'm sure he's just looking for a friend."
"He could have anyone here,” Sergio waved his arm around to the crowd, “to be his friend, and he picks you. You of all people."
"What? Am I such an awful person, that he wouldn't want to get to know me?” Anger rose in my voice. “Or do you think I'm the harbinger of death here?"
Sergio looked at me.
"Let me rephrase that."
"Taylor. You still don't get it, do you? Think of where you are.” He paused for a moment. “Tom is the sexiest male actor in movies.
Gay
movies. He's
the
biggest, and I mean the biggest, porn star in the business today, and you have a date with him.” Sergio grabbed at his chest and pounded down hard on it. “I can't breathe, I can't breathe,” he gasped.
"Well, stop hitting yourself on the chest and maybe you could.” I ate the last bite of scrambled eggs on my plate. They were cold and congealed at this point. I stood. “You can join us if you want. I'm sure Tom won't mind."
"You're such an idiot,” Sergio shook his head.
I startled at his anger. “What did I do?"
"What did I do? What did I do?” Sergio said, mockingly in my voice. “You only scored with the hottest guy at the resort and you ask, ‘What did I do?’ Look out Club Fred, Taylor's on a roll. Wait until Molly hears this one."
"Stop it,” I said and started to leave. “I'll let you calm down, and if you want, you can join us on the beach. That is if
you
want. It's up to you.” I left Sergio sitting at the table, alone.
As I worked my way across the dining room, I saw several guys point at me and whisper something behind their hands. I tried not to let them rattle me. Sergio was exaggerating, as he always did. I avoided all eye contact and headed to pick up a piece of fruit. As I reached for a banana on the buffet, I heard the person standing next to me say, “Bitch."
Looking over, I saw a guy in a black Speedo. He glared at me, daring me to say something. He knew I had heard his comment.
I reached over, picked up two apples and two extra oranges. “One's for Tom.” I waved them in his face, and raced out of the dining room for my life.
As I headed back to my room, my mind was spinning. This couldn't be happening to me. A date with a gay porn star? I had to get out of there. I was in way over my head, out of my league. Who was I trying to kid? I wasn't going to make it another...
Bang. I slammed into a guest. Head on. We both stumbled backward, trying to regain our balance. The apples and oranges I carried dropped out of my hands and rolled down the hallway. “Excuse me.” I began rubbing my forehead and looked up. This time it was my mouth that fell open, and my eyes that bulged out of their sockets. I recognized this guy. “Aren't you...?"
"Shhh,” he looked around the hallway. Not seeing anyone within earshot, he continued. “Yeah, I'm Logan Zachary, in the flesh."
Logan's picture had graced the back covers of all his books. His full black beard was peppered with gray. His five foot eight stature surprised me. He looked a lot taller in print than he did in person. “I know, sorry I ran into you. Literally,” I smiled at my bad joke. I bent down and retrieved my fallen fruit.
Logan picked up the apple at his feet and handed it to me.
I stepped forward and accepted it. “I love your books. I've read them all, but I think
Knowing Me, Killing You
is your best. Not to say that the award-winning
Wring Wring
wasn't bordering on genius.” I stopped gushing. “What are you doing here?” I paused. “Oh, I'm sorry. You must be on vacation, too."
"Shh, well, yes and no. I've always wanted to go to Mexico, but I've never had the chance. Well, here's my chance.” Logan smiled.
My eyebrows shot up.
"Oh, I'm not gay, if that's what you're thinking.” His gaze darted around looking to see who could hear us. “Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just that I... I mean my... my agent wanted me to set my next mystery at a gay resort, so here I am. Researching."
I nodded, but wasn't able to figure out how his characters Axel Bolton and Bruce Abel would fit into a gay resort.
"What do you do for a living...?” Logan asked, quickly before I could ask him anything else.
"Oh, sorry, I'm Taylor,” I said, extending my hand. “I'm an occupational therapist."
"Like physical therapy?” Logan asked.
"In a way. PT's work on the legs and mobility, while OT's work on self care and hand function. We teach everything from dressing to bathing, from brushing your teeth to combing your hair. We assess arm strength, coordination, vision, memory, and problem solving, and we make sure the patients are safe in the kitchen and the bathroom.” What the heck was I babbling about? I sounded like a college catalogue.
"It must be an interesting job. Working with people, making life and death decisions every day.” He paused, pondering something for a moment. He lowered his voice. “Have you come across any dead people?"
Shock must have registered on my face.
He quickly continued. “I mean in the hospital? You know, one that passed away mysteriously or had been murdered?"
I swallowed hard. How was I going to explain that one? I had a few stories to tell, but I didn't want to bring up those memories right now, at least not after last night. Then I thought, maybe, it would take my mind off everything that had happened so far.
My mother's voice came to mind. She always said it was easier to tell the truth than to lie. That way you didn't have to remember all the lies you had told. So I answered him, truthfully. “No."
"Too bad,” he scratched his head. “Maybe we could talk later on. I have a few medical questions that you might be able to help me with. I have an idea for another book..."
"Sure, that would be great. Just let me know what works for you, and I'll try to answer any questions you may have. At least, I can tell you what I know."
"Great, I'd really appreciate that."
"Is your new book going to be part of the regular series, or are you starting a new one? I can't see Axel Bolton ending up here.” I looked around.
"That's exactly what I told my agent, but he suggested sending Bruce Abel, Axel's sidekick, to the gay resort, by accident, of course.” He smiled. “I'm calling it
Kill Me! Kill Me! Kill Me! (A Man After Midnight)
."
"What a great idea.” I leaned closer. “Is there anything else you can tell me about it?"
"I really don't like talking about my books while I'm plotting them, but I can tell you this. Bruce comes back from a late supper at the resort and finds a dead body in his bed. While he goes for help, the body disappears."
Goosebumps rose across my body.
But Logan continued. “Later on, he falls into the pool and the body is floating, and you can guess the rest. There'll be a few attempts on his life, and all the people he meets at the resort will make him pretty paranoid. They're all suspects. Are they trying to kiss him or kill him? Needless to say, this one should be great fun. Poor Bruce, he'll really have to confront his homophobic feelings in a big way."
My face must have revealed my thoughts.
"What's wrong?” A look of concern came across Logan's face. “Don't you like the premise?"
"Oh no. It's a great premise,” I said.
That is, if you're not living it.
After making me promise to get in touch with him later in the day and help him to come up with a few ideas for murders that could take place in a hospital, Logan went off in search of breakfast. I wished him better luck than I had had.
I ran up to our room and found my beach towel and bag. A pile of books sat on top of the dresser. I grabbed one, took a few steps, went back, grabbed an extra book, just in case, and threw everything into my tote bag.
I picked up my camera lying on the dresser, and looked at myself in the mirror. Should I or shouldn't I? I'm sure Molly expected me to record all the things that happened at the resort this week. Well, almost everything. I ignored the bathroom.
I put the camera in my underwear drawer. I didn't want to make Tom feel uncomfortable. After all, he was on vacation too, just like me, and he'd probably want to stay away from cameras.
I opened the drawer. But Molly would like a picture of the hottest porn star in the business. I closed the drawer. Maybe later. I'd get to know him better before I started acting like a tourist. Or like Sergio.
I shook my head. Sergio. Where did he come up with these stories?
The sunscreen was in the bathroom. I glanced at the open door. A chill ran down my spine. When Sergio had been in the room, I was able to take a shower, but now... I entered it quickly and avoided looking in the shower. I grabbed the bottle of sunscreen and hurried out of the room.
The beach was alive with color and early morning excitement. Red, yellow, and blue towels littered the beach, while tan-skinned bathers lounged around in skimpy swimwear. I felt overdressed in my boxer short swim trunks.
Nervously, I pulled up my waistband, wishing they were a little longer. When I saw more of my thigh, I pulled them lower, wishing they covered more of my white legs. I closed my eyes and prayed. “Let me blend in, just a little."