Tatjana Soli - The Last Good Paradise

When Dex wrote the last words, he felt like he’d stripped himself as naked as he could without a guitar in his hands. He looked over the pages and thought they described someone else’s life, not his, although he had certainly lived through all these indignities. Could this jumble be the sum of his life? It seemed to describe some asshole’s life. Before he chickened out, he gathered up the sheets of paper, staggered out of the bungalow, and made his way to the sixth Mrs. Dex-Cooper-to-be.

Wende was still sleeping, so he put the sheath of papers next to her to be read on waking. He looked down at that angelic face — did he truly love her? He was wild about her, but looking over those pages — was he the best man to judge? Was his love fickle? Was his love a kind of reverse Midas touch that turned gold into shit? Whatever he felt for this sweet girl, who was most certainly way smarter than himself, was enough to last his lifetime. He would dedicate himself to faithfulness if she decided to have him. But first she had to know the truth of his unlucky amorous history. At least the married part.

The affairs and casual couplings were beyond naming, counting, or at that point recalling. In public places, he broke out in a cold sweat when an unfamiliar woman greeted him, feeling that he probably had slept with her at some point in the past and at least should recognize her, but it was hard to remember, especially if she was wearing clothes.

He went back outside, ready to work on the song, but when he reached the room again, something felt wrong. He went looking for his new muse, Richard.

* * *

Richard had found nirvana in the kitchen, and he felt such bliss in cooking that he didn’t care if he never saw another snorkel mask, scuba tank, or clown fish again for the rest of the trip. How had he banished himself from this joy? He had burned his wax wings against the sun — being a chef, even head chef of a star restaurant, was hard, but not nearly as hard as owning one’s own place. That involved a confidence and risk-taking that wasn’t in him. He should have stayed where he was, content. By pretending, he had gotten Ann’s hopes up and then not been able to deliver. Dex had showed him a book of mythology from the library because it had hot pictures of naked nymphs surrounding the drowned Icarus, but the father’s words to his son haunted Richard: Do not set your own course. No one ever told you that in the “Going for It” ehandbook of life.

He was whisking up a light béarnaise for that night’s fish when Dex came in.

“Where’ve you been? Loren’s going crazy with all the views on the cam. Half a million today. Your fans recognized you. Newspapers and TV coverage back home.”

Dex felt shamed by the fact that viewers pleased him. Fame whore. He even had the very un-Buddhist thought that you can’t buy that kind of publicity. He wanted to jab himself with a fork as he wondered how to find out if sales were up. “I burned another song this morning. It felt righteous. It was like a public renunciation.”

“Good, I guess.” Richard didn’t want to be disloyal, but the drama of Dex’s creative life was getting less and less enthralling.

“Wende’s pissed.”

“Women get like that.”

“Thing is, maybe it was a mistake. I want it back. Will you hang with me?”

Richard sighed. As much as he’d enjoyed playing buddy last time, he wasn’t Dex’s girlfriend. He really didn’t want to sit around midwifing through another long night. He had his own stuff to do.

“I’ll make you a deal. Sous chef for me, then I’ll come. Otherwise we’re not eating tonight.”

“Why can’t Titi do it?”

“She says she can’t spend all day cooking. Probably a blessing.”

Dex weighed the idea of returning to the fare and working alone. “What do I do?”

The two men shared another bottle of rum as they did mise en place , prepped vegetables, and started the base for an angel food cake. This was Richard’s favorite part of cooking, the calm before the storm, and he was glad to give Dex a feel for it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s it like up there onstage? Singing? All those fans.”

Dex took another long swig. “You know when you have a favorite song, and you can’t get enough of it? You play it over and over? And then, even after a long time has passed, you hear a couple of bars, and it’s like seeing an old friend? You’re right back there, stronger than ever. Well, it’s like that times a thousand. I want to live in that song — not because I wrote it. I wrote it because it was something I loved. It’s like addiction, but not illegal.”

Richard stopped chopping. “Lucky bastard.”

Dex wouldn’t explain how it had changed for him. He wanted to keep the legend alive. “It’s like loving the right woman. I know you understand that.”

* * *

Wende woke and cat-stretched out on the bed, watching the sunlight move across the wall. Everything seemed right with the world, whereas only a day ago everything was on the verge of going terribly wrong. She felt chastised and grateful for her narrow escape from being a terrorist. But in her heart of hearts, it wasn’t entirely clear whether she jumped to not blow up a building or to not get married. Luckily it turned out a win-win situation. As she rolled over for her water bottle, she heard paper crunching beneath her.

“What—?” She started to read the catalog of her predecessors, and the landmine-littered yellow brick road of her probable future.

* * *

When Ann returned, jittery after her encounter with Dex, Titi had taken her aside and begged her to go see Loren.

“He only talks to you. He’s mad at Cooked.”

Ann was the only one brave enough to intervene. Against Loren’s wishes if need be. This was exactly what she was trained to do, interfere where she wasn’t wanted but was needed. First she needed to find something out.

She knocked on Wende’s door.

“Go away.”

What was it about the place that made them all by turns either too sociable or too solitary? That made them too easily break rules?

“I’m coming in.”

Wende was stranded in her bed, blotchy-faced and sweaty.

“What’s wrong?”

Wende nodded, emotions backed up so she could only gurgle and hand over crumpled, smeary pages.

“Another song?”

Wende shook her head vigorously as if she were trying to dislodge something. “Read it.”

Ann wasn’t surprised by what she found. A side effect of being around Wende was remembering the roller-coaster emotions, everything of life-or-death importance, that went with being in your twenties. “You knew he’d been married before.”

“That’s not it.”

“About the hotel—”

Wende sighed and wiped her face, sat up and put her hair into a businesslike ponytail. “Don’t you see? It’s clear … he’s settling for me. I thought I was settling for him, not the other way around.”

“You’re upset.”

“I’m a muse. I’m supposed to be the one who is loved more.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to end up like you all in twenty years. You’ve made compromises.”

Ann could have sworn she was going to say, “Grow up.” Instead she said, “We didn’t intend to end up like this. By the way, I’m only thirteen years older.” Pathetic that she had done the math. “What about wanting a marriage like ours?”

“I’ve matured. I see what I see.”

“That was a few weeks ago!”

“Richard’s not at fault. It’s you. The way you flirt with Loren.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It would be impossible to live a normal life with Dex. He doesn’t know what normal is.”

“ You jumped out of a boat.”