AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okay.” No idea where this is going.
“Long story short, it worked. The Brando on Tetiaroa is now one of those places movie stars fly into from all over the world to enjoy remote sandy beaches while experiencing deep seawater air-conditioning, solar-powered lighting, and buildings created entirely from locally sourced materials. And that is what Sanders MacManus now wants to do on his own personal atoll, Pomaikai.”
“This is the place one hour outside of Hawaii?”
“You will fly into Honolulu. Then catch one of the MacManus Group charter flights to Pomaikai.”
“Just like that?”
“The charter flights depart once a week to bring supplies, including food and staff. Guess which one you are?”
“I’m already hired as staff? Again, just like that?”
“There’s been a lot of turnover lately. Apparently, while everyone thinks they want to work in paradise, few have what it takes to survive such a remote paradise.”
“How remote?”
“You won’t be watching TV, checking emails, or phoning home anytime soon. For that matter, best not to spike a fever, develop an infection, or sprain an ankle. Are you allergic to bee stings? Because if so, I’m going to need you to lie about that.”
“What?”
Twanow is already moving right along. “We just need to get you to Hawaii in the next thirty-six hours to catch the private charter.”
I’m so flummoxed I don’t know where to begin. “You planned all this before even meeting with me.” I can’t decide if I’m outraged or impressed.
“You agreed to take a bus all the way to Gatesville to see Keahi. That was good enough for me.”
I grimace, irritated on principle. Apparently, having a curious mind and self-destructive personality is predictable after all.
“You’re an alcoholic,” Twanow states, as if reading my mind. Her tone is curious, feeling me out.
“Yes. Born and raised by generations of alcoholics. Got any booze on you, I can prove it.”
She ignores my sarcasm. “But you work as a bartender.”
“Being around booze isn’t a trigger for me.” I shrug. “Breathing is.”
Twanow studies me for a long moment. “There’s alcohol on the island. Wine, beer, hard liquor. There are rules about drinking, given that everyone must be able to muster on a moment’s notice. In other words, all alcohol in the camp is controlled and monitored. Which will be one of your jobs.”
I’m running out of shocked whats, so I go with startled blinking instead.
“MacManus is still in the early stages of development—there’s no luxury hotel, just a collection of rustic cabins and a couple of larger common buildings to shelter the forward crew. The staffing includes engineers, naturalists, an archaeologist, the architect, the project manager, two cooks, and now you—dishwasher, laundress, and supply tech. You’re in charge of overseeing provisions, including alcohol.”
“If that’s not irony…” I roll my eyes, then force myself to focus on the relevant matters at hand. “Do I have a long and sordid relationship with alcohol? Sure. Do thoughts of drinking and the siren song of cheap booze still haunt my dreams? Absolutely. But that’s the life of a recovering alcoholic. There’s temptation wherever I go.” I shrug for a second time, as eloquent as I get on this subject. “I’ve continued to work as a bartender as it’s my only employable skill, and a girl’s gotta eat. As part of that job, I inventory, order, and pour endless amounts of booze on any given night. Sounds to me like this gig isn’t that different.”
“You can handle it?”
“Some of my fellow friends of Bill would tell you no way. But being around other people drinking doesn’t get to me. I have my own set of issues.” Remembering my first real love, Paul, dying in my arms; pouring myself into a case to save someone who can no longer be saved; watching other people, total strangers, going about the business of life while I remain on the outside, looking in.
At this stage of my life, I’ve chosen to lean into my fatalism. As long as I belong to no one and nowhere, use it. Commit myself to others and their problems. Which has the added benefit of allowing me to avoid my own.
Paul: “Why are you doing this? Why can’t I be enough for you?”
Me, standing there, unable to answer.
“You’re an addict.” He answered his own question bitterly. “That’s why. There will always be something you need more, some high you have to chase. Jesus, Frankie. I love you.”
Me, still standing there, unable to answer.
