Fly Me to the Moon (28 page)

By ten o’clock all of the guests had arrived, so we headed inside for dinner. And as I followed behind a group of people I’d just met, I realized I’d already forgotten their names.

“Hailey, why don’t you sit between Adonis and Eleni,” Kat suggested as she headed for the kitchen.

I gazed at the supersized dining room table, knowing I was handicapped by more than just jet lag, ouzo, and an empty stomach. I’d always been bad with names.
Which one’s Adonis and who the heck is Eleni?
I wondered.
Did I even meet an Eleni?

“Pssst! She means me. I’m Adonis.”

I looked up to see this gorgeous guy waving at me from one of the middle seats. “Then where’s Eleni?” I whispered, taking the seat next to his.

“Which one? There are three.”

“Oh. Well, I’m Hailey,” I said, smiling nervously, wondering if we’d already met between ouzos.

“I know. You’re the reason I’m here.”

“What?” I just stared at him. Had I really traveled all this way so Kat could set me up on a date?

“Relax.” He laughed, taking a sip of his wine. “You’re the reason all of us are here.”

I just nodded, feeling even more awkward and stupid.

“So what do you think of our island?”

“Well, from what I’ve seen it’s beautiful,” I said, noticing a plump redhead—
Athena? Anastasia? Aphrodite?
—take the seat next to mine.

“Have you been to town yet?” Adonis asked.

“No, but I definitely plan to check it out tomorrow,” I told him, noticing how his English was kind of formal, with just the
slightest trace of a British accent. “How did you learn such good English?”

“CNN, MTV,
Desperate Housewives.”
He shrugged. “That’s how most of us learn it. Your culture is exported to us, and we can’t get enough of it.”

“You’re joking,” I said, observing how his green eyes contrasted so nicely with his thick long lashes and smooth dark skin.

“And I also studied in London.” He smiled, displaying straight white teeth and nice full lips with dimples on either side.

And the view was so overwhelmingly good that I lifted my glass and finished my drink in one nervous gulp. Wishing immediately afterward that I hadn’t just done that.

“Man that’s strong,” I said, cringing as the ouzo scorched its way down my throat.

But Adonis just smiled. “It’s an acquired taste. But if you stay here long enough, you’ll learn to love it.”

And just as I was wondering how to respond, Yanni and Kat carried in countless dishes of food, and everybody clapped and yelled
“Kali oreksi!”
Which I assumed was Greek for “bon appetit.”

I was peering at all of the heaping platters filled with things so foreign, I couldn’t identify them if I had to when Adonis asked, “Need a translator?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said, gazing at a pile of purple tentacles that could only be the freshly caught octopus from Yanni’s earlier diving expedition.

“What you’re staring at is
ktapodi salata,
or octopus salad as you might call it; and don’t turn your nose up like that, because they’re very difficult to catch, but somehow Yanni always manages to bring home the very best ones. And trust me, it’s delicious.”

I just looked at him and nodded.

“Okay, and this is pasticcio, which is basically a meat-and-macaroni
pie,” he said, already scooping some onto my plate. “And this is
kalasouna,
a cheese-and-onion pie.” He held the platter in offering, and
\
watched as he served me a generous portion.

“Maybe you should slow down. You know, leave some for the others,” I suggested.

“Don’t worry; we’ll never run out of food.” He smiled, reaching for another platter.

He wasn’t kidding. By the time he was finished, my plate was piled high with such delicacies as
psari psito,
which translated to grilled whole fish with lemon, olive oil, and oregano;
ami riganato,
which were braised lamb chops in olive oil, garlic, and lemon sauce;
tzatziki
and dolmades, which I actually recognized from my previous forays to Athens tavernas; and some local cheeses that looked a lot like feta but tasted entirely different. And it seemed every time a platter was empty, a new one quickly replaced it.

And even though everything was delicious, my favorite, oddly enough, was the octopus salad. “This is wonderful,” I told Yanni, filling my plate with a second helping. “It’s so tender. I’ve only had octopus once before, and it tasted like a Michelin tire.”

“Yanni employs a top-secret technique,” Kat told me.

“Any chance of getting you to divulge it?” I asked, fork poised in midair.

“Never!” he said, smiling as he opened another bottle of wine. “Though it does not involve hanging it on a line in the hot noonday sun. Whenever you see someone using that dreadful method, you must leave immediately. Run the other way!”

“Sounds like you take your octopus pretty serious,” I said, taking a bite of mine.

“Ktapodi
is a very serious business.” He winked.

Food in general seemed to be a serious business, because no sooner had we finished dinner when we were ushered back to the
patio for baklava,
melomakarona
(walnut-stuffed honey cookies), and the best fresh watermelon I’d ever tasted. I looked over at Kat and smiled. Man, she was living the good life.

“So what are your plans?”

I looked up to see a tiny woman with long dark hair, heavily made-up eyes, thin red lips, and a classic Greek nose wearing a high-necked dress that seemed better suited to a board meeting than a dinner party. And since I’d grown more familiar with the names, I knew there was a pretty good chance that hers was Stavroula.

“I don’t really have any,” I said, wiping watermelon juice from my chin. “I just want to relax, hang with Kat and Yanni, go to the beach, see the windmills, explore the town.” I shrugged.

“Sounds good,” Adonis said, smiling as he approached, and sliding so close I could actually feel the warmth of his body crowd the small space between us. “Let me know if you need a tour guide.” He smiled, gazing at me with those gorgeous green eyes.

“Adonis, I’m sure she has Kat and Yanni for that,” Stavroula said, her dark eyes darting between us as she laughed in a way that wasn’t at all genuine.

But Adonis shrugged. “Just keep it in mind. If they’re not up for the job, I’m available,” he said, still smiling at me while completely ignoring her.

I glanced at Stavroula sitting before me; her face remained placid while her eyes traveled over me, investigating every square inch. “How long are you staying?” she asked, her voice sounding harsh and pinched, though her English was perfect.

“Just a few days,” I said, squirming under her relentless gaze, feeling like a suspicious bag trying to sneak past security.

“Are you visiting any other islands?”

Jeez, she’s still staring, and I have yet to see her blink.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Adonis said, shaking his head and laughing. “There are no other islands.”

I glanced nervously at Stavroula, wondering if she’d lighten up
enough to get the joke, but she just sat there, lips pressed tight, eyes darting between us. Then suddenly, without another word, she got up and left.

What was that about?
I wondered, watching as she joined one of the Elenis at the far side of the terrace, where they both turned to glare at me while whispering to each other, reminding me of the time in eighth grade when I inadvertently couple-skated with the crush of the most popular girl in school. I’d paid dearly for that little indiscretion in the form of name-calling, dirty looks, nasty notes and prank calls, and was even challenged to a bathroom brawl where hair pulling was permitted but scratching was strictly forbidden.

And to this day I couldn’t listen to “Wicked Game” without an overwhelming feeling of dread.

But when I looked at Adonis, he just smiled as though everything was fine. And even though he seemed really nice, and was indisputably cute, my shin-kicking days were over.

“I’m gonna go inside and help Kat,” I said, rising from the bench and moving away from him as quickly as possible.

The next day, after enjoying a breakfast of crusty bread slathered in homemade butter and honey, along with two and a half cups of thick, sludgy Greek coffee to wash it all down, Kat, Yanni, and I climbed into the Jeep and headed out to Agios Sostis.

‘This is one of the most remote, most quiet beaches on the island, as it can only be reached by boat or car. No busloads of tourists here,” Yanni said, smiling as he adjusted his diving mask and gathered his gear while Kat and I spread our towels onto the clean, beige sand.

“Do you ever go with him?” I asked, watching as he headed out for his daily octopus hunt, retrieving a wide-brimmed hat from my bag.

“Are you kidding?” Kat laughed. “No, that’s definitely his thing. Fie finds it relaxing to hunt for dinner; I find it relaxing to lie on my towel.”

I looked at her and smiled. “I gotta tell ya, Kat, I’m pretty impressed. I mean, Yanni is wonderful, Mykonos is beautiful, the
villa belongs in
Architectural Digest,
the food is abundant—is there a downside?”

“Well,” she said, making sure Yanni was out of earshot, even though he was long gone. “His children aren’t exactly crazy about me. But they have families of their own now, so it’s not like we see them all that often. And sometimes the cultural differences can be . . . a bit of a challenge. But you know, it’s always going to be something, Hailey. The trick is deciding if the return is greater than the investment, if all those little annoyances are worth the trouble. And in this case, it definitely is.” She smiled.

“Do you think you’ll get married?” I asked, remembering how much I hated it when people used to ask me that about Michael.

But Kat just laughed. “I’ve been married. Three times!” she said, shaking her head and looking at me. “And I’m just not sure I see the point anymore. Besides, I’m perfectly happy with the way things are, so why change it?”

I had nothing to say to that. I mean, not only was she right, but at this point in my life, I had no business doling out advice. So I just looked at her and smiled. Then I lay back on my towel, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the sun.

After a long afternoon at the beach, Kat and Yanni were looking forward to a siesta. But with only a few days left to explore the island, I couldn’t afford the nap.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to show you around?” Kat asked as they dropped me off in town. “The streets are built like a maze and can be very confusing. It took me weeks to learn my way around.” She gave me a worried look.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, climbing out of the back. “And when I’m ready to head back, I’ll just grab a taxi.”

“But you have our number in case you get lost, right?” she asked while Yanni smiled and shook his head behind her.

“Yes,
Mom.
Now go get some rest,” I said, waving good-bye and heading toward the waterfront cafes, where I grabbed a front-row seat, ordered a frappc, and indulged in a little people watching.

It didn’t take long to figure out that Mykonos was an island of contrasts. A place where old-timers on donkeys posed for pictures with jet-setters, where men in thongs rubbed shoulders with the “sixty-five and over” cruise-boat crowd. I watched as two tourists in bikini lops and shorts bought fruit from an old Greek woman clad in head-to-toe black; then, finishing my coffee, I left some euros on the table and headed straight for Matoyianni Street, which according to my map was the main drag in the maze of streets that made up the town.

I was walking along the charming, narrow, whitewashed path when I noticed a sign for a trendy boutique on a little side street. And never one to resist an interesting display and an open door, I stepped inside. And when I was finished in there, I wandered into the one across from it. And then there were two more just a little farther down and to the left. And by the fifth one I found myself so completely lost and turned around, I had no idea how to get back.

Oh well. Eventually I’ll jnid my way out of this maze,
I thought as I meandered through the tiny pedestrians-only streets, flanked on either side by smooth white walls housing small apartments, trendy bars, hip boutiques, and a profusion of little jewelry shops displaying gold copies of ancient Creek and Byzantine designs.

Noticing a particularly beautiful pair of hoop earrings, I stopped and gazed into the window, thinking they were so yellow in color they had to be at least twenty-two karats.

“Come inside. You must to try them,’ said an older dark-haired man leaning in the doorway and smiling at me.

“Oh, no. I’m just looking,” I said, eyes still glued on the earrings.

“So you look from inside. Please. Come,” he said, waving me in.

And before I knew it I was gazing into a small handheld mirror, with a beautiful pair of intricate gold earrings dangling from my
lobes. But when I finally found the nerve to ask the price, I knew they were never gonna happen for me.