Carol Clark - Burned

“No.” Jazzy laughed. “We certainly don’t.”

R egan and Kit hoisted themselves onto two of the stools at the hotel’s outdoor bar and ordered lemonade. Fliers for the hotel’s hula classes were piled on the bar. Kit had her wet hair pulled back and smelled of suntan lotion.

“It was fun out there, Regan. I wish you had been with me.”

“It sounds like fun. I’ll go for a swim later in the afternoon. Who were you with?”

“I went for a walk on the beach and ended up talking to some people who were going out for a quick sail on the hotel catamaran. They invited me, and I thought why not? Everyone is so friendly around here.”

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers?” Regan said with a laugh.

“If I didn’t talk to strangers, my social life would be the pits.” Kit looked around, then lowered her voice. “But there are two strangers over there whom I’d be wary of talking to. That couple is staring at us.”

Regan glanced over at the middle-aged man and woman a few seats down from them. He was graying and thin. She was, too. In an odd way they looked alike-like couples who had been together for years. It also helped that they both had on black oversized sunglasses and matching hats in a jungle camouflage print. Where in the world did they get those? Regan wondered. The woman caught Regan’s eye and raised her glass.

“Cheers,” she toasted.

“Cheers,” Regan responded in kind.

“Where are you gals from?” the man asked.

“Los Angeles and Connecticut,” Regan answered. “And you?”

“A place where it rains a lot.” The man laughed.

That might explain the hats, Regan mused.

“Are you gals having fun?” the man continued.

I hate being called a “gal,” Regan thought. But she smiled gamely and said, “How can you not have a good time here? What’s not to like?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “We’re with a tour group. Sometimes the others get on my nerves. We’re spending a lot of time alone.” She took a gulp from the martini glass in front of her.

That’s strong stuff for this time of day, Regan thought. And under this hot sun.

The woman put down her martini glass. “I’m Betsy, and this is my husband, Bob.”

Regan noticed that ever so briefly Bob looked at Betsy with an annoyed expression. What’s that about? she wondered. “I’m Regan, and this is my friend Kit.”

Regan could tell that Kit had no interest in talking to these people. Her mind was on Steve. She couldn’t blame her. And these two looked as if they wanted to chat.

“What do you do for a living?” Bob asked Regan.

Here we go, Regan thought. The question she didn’t always feel comfortable answering. And now that she was on the job, she definitely didn’t want to tell the truth. “Consulting,” she answered. It sounded vague, and people usually didn’t pry. It was often a term used by someone who was out of a job. “And you?”

“We’re writing about how to keep the excitement in your relationship,” Bob boasted.

I guess it’s by wearing matching hats, Regan decided. “Oh,” she answered. “How interesting.”

“You must be in a relationship,” Betsy said. “I can see you’re wearing a beautiful engagement ring. Where is your fiancé?”

They’re jewel thieves, Regan thought wryly. She knew the game plan of couples who cozy up to people at bars, ply them with liquor, and then rip them off. “My fiancé is in New York,” Regan answered then changed the subject: “Are you going to the Princess Ball?”

“Those tickets are expensive,” Bob noted. “I kind of doubt it. The leaders of our tour group are cheapskates. We’re on an all-expenses-paid vacation, and the ball isn’t part of the package.”

“Now they’re sold out,” Regan informed them.

“I guess we have no choice then,” Bob said with a laugh.

“They’re accepting names for a waiting list,” Regan offered.

Kit poked Regan in the ribs. “Regan,” Kit whispered. “Steve is coming. Look who’s with him. I don’t believe it.”

Regan turned and spotted Steve and Jazzy walking around the pool and heading toward them. Jazzy started to wave.

“How does she do it?” Regan asked.

“I wish I knew,” Kit answered.

“Remember,” Regan cautioned Kit, “not a word about my checking things out for Will.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kit promised.

Regan turned to Betsy and Bob as she and Kit got up from the bar. “Nice talking to you.”

“Hope to see you gals again,” Bob said with a wave of his martini glass.

“Hi, girls,” Jazzy cooed as she and Steve approached. “I have so much to do today with packing the gift bags for the ball, talking to the manager of the hotel’s secretary to make sure everything is in place, and who knows what else. But Steve invited me to join you for lunch. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Kit answered without much conviction.

They secured an outside table for four that had a large umbrella and was also shaded by a large banyan tree. Kids were splashing in the pool, and the smell of suntan lotion was in the air. The beach spread out endlessly in front of them, and the sun was directly overhead. It was high noon in Hawaii, and people were relaxed and enjoying themselves.

It was hard for Regan to believe that the East Coast was still caught in the grip of a blizzard. People there are hunkering down in their long underwear while we’re sitting here in bathing suits and summer clothes. Jazzy had on a sundress that would work at a cocktail party, and it looked a lot like the dress she was wearing last night. Regan had the feeling that short low-cut flower print dresses were her uniform of choice.

Regan glanced at Steve’s handsome profile. I hope he turns out to be a nice guy, she thought. Though it’s a little suspect that he thinks Jazzy is good company. And he did seem terribly impatient with that girl at the bar last night.

They ordered drinks and sandwiches from a waitress wearing white shorts, a pink top, and a lei made from pink carnations and white plumeria.

“It feels good to sit,” Jazzy announced. “This is going to be a busy day!”

“How did you get involved with the ball?” Regan asked.

“My boss is very charitable. He’s helping to underwrite the ball.”

“How generous of him.”

“And he’s donating Hawaiian shirts and muumuus that he designed for the gift bags.”

“He’s a designer?” Kit asked.

“He’s just getting started with his line of Hawaiian wear.”

“Is he coming to the ball?” Regan asked.

“Of course. I’ve organized a couple of tables for him.”

“Where does he sell his clothes?” Regan asked.

“Well, as I said, he’s just getting started,” Jazzy replied in a tone one might use correcting a child. “He hopes the ball will attract publicity for his line, Claude’s Clothes.” She shrugged. “We’ll see. He’s a very successful man, so if it doesn’t work out, I’m sure he’ll be on to the next venture.”

“Of course he will,” Regan answered, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

Over lunch the conversation was light. Steve admitted he didn’t want to be completely retired and that he was looking for new investments. How about Claude’s Clothes? Regan wanted to ask but refrained. Steve intended to spend half the year in Hawaii and then have a second home somewhere else. He just wasn’t sure where yet.

A nice way to live, Regan thought. But what about Jazzy? Surely she wouldn’t be happy to house-sit forever-not after she had been a lawyer in New York.

When the check came, Regan was relieved. She was eager to get up to the room and make a few phone calls but told the group she was heading to the spa. Steve insisted on paying for lunch, which Jazzy seemed to expect. The group disbanded with Kit and Steve heading down to the beach alone. Jazzy made a beeline for Will’s office. I’ll stay away from there for now, Regan decided. She walked back to the room and spotted Betsy and Bob down the hall. They had just emerged from the employee supply room.