Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." (27 page)

“Brad…what’s going on?” she giggles.

“Chelsea Simmons?”

“Yes,” she replies, losing her breath, imagining him proposing to her.

“Chelsea, I love you…and I need you to go away with me.” He then reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out two plane tickets, destination—Aruba. As she peeks at them, he remembers her longing to vacation there. A few months back, on a lazy day, she’d thoroughly explored the island Eden on the Internet, sharing all of its secrets as they lay in bed pillow-talking, daydreaming of its glistening, sun-drenched beaches.

“Aruba! You got tickets to Aruba?” she yells ecstatically. Subsequently she snatches them from his hand, inspecting them carefully. “When are they for?” she asks as she finds the date. “Today! Today…and four hours from now…Are you serious? How can…I can’t…What were you thinking, Bradley?”

“Hold on now; just listen to me; we can do this.” He then begins selling his plan with palms held out. “You can tell your boss something, anything…I don’t care; we can leave now, pack our suitcases, and escape for a week. You deserve it;
we
deserve it!”

She leaps from her seat, begins pacing around aimlessly. “I can’t just tell my boss something…tell him what exactly?” Cools steps back, saying nothing, allowing her the time to work it out. He knows she won’t be able to decline his invitation. “How could I…how could we pull this off? Maybe I can tell him I have an emergency…a family emergency…No, no, I don’t have to lie…I can…I do deserve some time off…Things are running very smoothly here—did I tell you about our numbers?”

“No, you haven’t mentioned them,” he replies with a grin.

“Well, they’re good—great actually.” She begins to squirm within the room, roaming faster. “I did just buy that new summer dress; I was going to show it off to you this weekend. Oh Brad…” She bounces over and climbs into his lap. “You’re going to take me away…and make love to me on white sandy beaches in Aruba? You really, really love me, don’t you?”

Cools laughs to himself, enjoying her inner little girl. He kisses her fervently, grabbing a handful of her. She scoots more into him, opening her mouth wider. I want to fuck you right here in your office—a thought he quickly abandons as he looks to his watch. He fights his mouth away from hers, explaining, “Baby, we have to go. If we don’t get this party started, we’re going to miss our flight.”

Shortly thereafter she explained to her boss that “her man,” maybe soon to be fiancé, had forced this upon her at the last moment, and to refuse the offer would foster regret. The enthusiasm and passion she possessed—how could he have told her no? As a result they worked out the details, and it isn’t long before their plane has taxied down the runway and is flying high above the earth’s surface.

Onboard they snuggle close, intertwining each other’s hands, as they talk for hours regarding their future; Chelsea, advocating a cute little home with children, and Cools, envisioning a summer party boat where they can entertain friends on searing swim-suited days. Then, in a loving compromise, both dreams are intermingled into a fantasy of them on a pleasure boat, one little boy and one baby girl dressed in lifejackets with Cools at the helm forging through crisp blue waters while Chelsea applies sunscreen and hands out picnic sandwiches. And although it’s never mentioned, the proposition of marriage rests on their horizon. Soon Chelsea falls fast asleep to finish out the twelve-hour flight to an equatorial paradise, where tomorrow’s endless beginnings will be waiting for them when they land.

Cools stays awake, thinking all the right decisions have been made. The second and easiest of which was to fly far away with his love. And the first, the one he’d made earlier, was to forget. It was an easy decision for him actually when he’d found the bouquet of black and white roses resting on his doorstep and the card reading, “Plata O Plomo—You should go far away and forget what was behind you!”

Then he detected a brown-wrapped package underneath the flowers containing fifty thousand dollars. He understood the message well:
Plata O Plomo
, a Spanish term meaning “silver or lead.” The message couldn’t be clearer—take the money and look the other way, or end up with holes made by metal.

In the early morning hours, he wakes up in the midst of sleeping passengers. It takes a second to remember where he is. Chelsea is sound asleep, so he tucks a blanket around her and checks his watch, 4:35 a.m.—four more hours before landing. I sure could use a cigarette…Maybe I can read myself back to sleep? He spies a couple of pamphlets. Inside the first one, he finds a printed sheet of paper; he sets it aside and begins thumbing through the scenic pictures and tourism information. He reads through every brochure, and he still can’t sleep. Then, becoming annoyed with insomnia, he picks up the printed sheet of paper found in the first leaflet. He holds it in his lap and slips a pillow under Chelsea. Even as she sleeps, she is such a treat to his eyes. He opens the paper.

“Joran Van Der Sloot is the Aruban national who is thought to be in direct connection with the disappearance of Natalee Holloway.” Oh yeah, I remember this story; he killed her, but they could never find her body. How odd of a coincidence… Wasn’t she also thought to have been buried her at sea? “Van Der Sloot is currently serving a twenty-eight-year sentence in the famed Peruvian Castro-Castro maximum security prison, for the first degree murder of Stephany Tatiana Flores Ramírez. Exactly five years, to the day, after Natalee Holloway went missing, Van Der Sloot was apprehended in Chile and then deported to Peru, where he allegedly confessed. It was a confession he later challenged— faulting the torturous interrogation tactics of the national police of Peru for his forced admission. But a Peruvian judge ruled his confession was valid.” Just like Joshua’s statement will also prove to be valid. Just like he will be convicted…I wonder what sort of interrogation rooms they have?

He folds the paper and sticks it in his pocket. Usually reading helps him doze off, but now he’s even more cognizant than before. He stares at Chelsea, watching her sleep, admiring her exquisiteness, and envisioning growing old with her, maybe even giving her the children she longs for. After a time he nestles closer, shutting his eyes. Her warmth comforts and organizes his ill-at-ease mind as her beautiful image transfers with him into unconsciousness; he drifts away, playing, flirting, embracing atop ocean sands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking; we are preparing to make our final approach into Queen Beatrix International Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare yourselves for the glistening pearl beaches of Aruba.”

Cools and Chelsea awake into the blinding sunlight that shines through the windows. They smile to each other through squinting eyes.

“Good morning, baby,” he says, flashing a sly grin. The reason for his wily expression is that his first waking thoughts of her were erotic in nature.

“And good morning to you,” she replies, returning a smile. They kiss. Then she pulls in a steady breath of fresh air and comes alive. “Oh, where’s my bag? I must look a mess.” He helps dig through the blankets for her purse and, as she is freshening up, diverts his attention out the window, monitoring their descent. The plane touches down, and soon they are wide awake, bursting with life, and geared up for an invigorating day of ocean breezes and chance adventures. They exit the plane and stroll, arm in arm, through the terminal so as even a blind man can see they are in love.

Koenraad Ludger, an Aruban native, stands in the airport with a sign in his hand when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of a striking woman: a tall auburn-brunette with a shape that saunters gracefully. Koenraad receives much pleasure from seeing the many attractive women who visit his island. But this woman in particular is extraordinary. Then, for no apparent reason, she begins laughing and wistfully twirls to the man beside her, giving generous hugs and kisses. Then, the man accompanying her looks directly at him and flashes him a thumbs-up. Not knowing all that is happening, Koenraad decides that they must be Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Cools, as the marker he is holding displays.

Chelsea introduces herself as Mrs. Cools to Koenraad, who escorts them out into bright skies to their pending cab. It’s an open-top Suzuki Samurai, white, equipped with roll bars, readied for fun. Cools climbs into the back, granting the front seat to Chelsea. She gleams a loving smile at the gesture, and they all jump in. Koenraad hands them a cache of sunglasses to choose from. “Compliments of the hotel,” he says, then pulls out into traffic, driving excitedly past the famed white sands of Paardenbaai Bay. Cools and Chelsea ride in awed silence, filling their eyes with the turquoise oceans and windy palms, as Koenraad, in broken English, points out places of significance, all the while explaining why he is the best guide they could have ever wished for. Chelsea instantly adores him and finds his accent refreshingly spirited. “This is our capital city, Oranjestad. There is much for you to be doing here. And this is our Manchebo Beach—lots of lovely ladies to see.” He presents each destination with an extended arm. “Also you can always find yourself a good times here at the Aruban Resort Casino. And to the left, our very own Bubali bird sanctuary.” Koenraad shakes his head. “Although not so much to do there.” Cools smiles at Chelsea; they’re both enjoying his charming energy. “And now we are arrived here at the Occidental Grand Aruba; your hotel awaits.”

As they step out of their taxi, Cools adds a few known details of the hotel. “Baby, this place has six restaurants and five bars, water sports, and a free-form pool…and I don’t even know what that is.” He laughs. “There are gift shops, a casino, massage parlors…We’re going to have a lot of fun here—a lot of fun!”

“Oh, it is so gorgeous,” is all she can say, still unbelieving of where she is. They enter the magnificent vestibule decorated in potted palms, where an enormous, blue-lit marquee built of polished marble displays the hotel name. Instantly the sounds of the large indoor water fountain are heard, bringing a bit of tranquility to their excitement. They follow Koenraad through the lobby, exploring the grandeur of the many open bars, lounging areas, and high vaulted ceilings which adorn countless skylights, beaming in the island sun. Chelsea is speechless. She firmly clutches Cools’s hand as Koenraad ushers the contented twosome to the elevators, presses the eleventh floor, then delivers them to their suite. “Oh, this is absolutely amazing,” she cries out. “I love it!”

“Yeah, this is nice,” Cools agrees, studying her. He’s gratified to see his girl smile, and at this very moment, she is beaming. He then gives Koenraad forty dollars, American, and says “Thank you,” nodding him toward the door.

“If you need anything, I’m your—”

Again Cools gestures him to the door. He courteously submits and exits the room, leaving them alone for the first time in several hours.

Chelsea grabs his hand. Then pulling him along throughout the room, she excitedly praises every piece of modish furniture, the wide-open view of Palm Beach, and the ocean that unlocks the brilliance of the deep. She loves it all so much she tosses away any concern of how he’s paying for everything. Right now she simply doesn’t care. The only thing she is mindful of is leading him out onto the balcony, far above the sands, and showing her appreciation. There they embrace. And softly she whispers, “This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It’s elegant and peaceful; it is so much more than I deserve. Kiss me.”

They kiss long, building heat until she is steaming. Then he pulls away, teasing, “What would you like to do first on this island, baby-girl?”

“Oh, you know what I want to do. I want to fuck you like you’ve never had it before, then eat a gigantic plate of food, then go play on the beach!” Cools beams his approval, but she has more. “After that we will take a short restorative nap, then you will make love to me till you hate me so much…till you beg for me to stop!”

“Is that all?” he replies playfully.

She fires back by pulling her dress up over her hips and attacking him, pushing him until they fall backward and land onto the colossal-sized bed. There she descends upon him with her burning tongue in his mouth, moaning her hot breath, taking control, and stripping him until he’s inside her. She pushes down. “I want you to watch me come,” she moans. He poises himself, attending to this ravenous woman working herself into a frenzy, quenching her fire, panting, grinding, pinching her nipples. She licks her lips as she begins her rising cry. Then lastly they release together. It’s takes a minute or so before she catches her normal rhythm and says, “I love you, Bradley. Tell me you love me.”

“Completely! And at this very moment, more than you could ever imagine.” She buries herself into him. And there they recoup for a time.

Then suddenly she jumps up and out of bed. “Get up! Come on, get up, and let’s get going; we have so much to do, and I am starving. I wasn’t kidding you about the gigantic plate of food!”

Cools puts up no resistance to her demands. They venture to one of the hotel’s eateries, where she herself eats three plates of Caribbean seafood, foreign cheeses, and island fruit. Her energies are revived, and by midday they’re exploring the many beaches in a rented Jeep. They laugh and play, fully adoring one another until evening, when it’s decided to catch a two-hour nap before drinks in the sunset. Two hours turns into four as they barely make the outdoor lounge prior to the sun surrendering its heat over the distant waters. There he tells her of his immediate agenda. “I want to take you by the hand, lead you to the ocean waves, and kiss you under the stars.”

“Who are you lately?” she asks. But he can’t answer; he’s not sure himself. “Oh, I don’t even care; you can take wherever you please, Bradley Cools.”

They buy a bottle of Vermeer Dutch Chocolate Liqueur and ascend onto the beach, where, under the moonlit heavens, they build a small fire and soak their feet in the warm sands.

The morning after, back in the hotel, a sound invades the room:
tchew-wew, tchew-wew
. Cools wakes suddenly. At first he hopes he was hearing things, but it comes again:
tchew-wew, tchew-wew.
He envisions a gun with a long, black silencer.