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LIESEL: That’s not something I ever thought you’d ask for but do you NEED them or want them?

ZANE: Both. It can be both. Use my personal card. And a whole bunch of sports drinks if they have them. Cold if you can but I don’t think it matters. I’m down on the beach around the bluff from the bar. Both. Get all the soccer balls.

LIESEL: Give me ten minutes.

ZANE: There’s nothing you can’t do

LIESEL: Fuck you.

I clink the bottle to the man to my right and attempt to speak in the Creole French they’ve been teaching me. Kids are screeching as the sun sets but the new balls still gleam white in the gloaming. The men chatter on and I pick up a word here or there. At one point, another man appears with a big tray of what looks like fish cut thin surrounded by raw red onion and some fruit. Another pulls out giant loaves of crusty bread and everyone grabs it. I make myself a crostini of sorts and they show me how to soak my bread in what’s basically a salad dressing. It’s bright, the fish is firm and briney with a smoke and salt rounding out the sweet and savory of this fantastic meal.

LIESEL: {Photo of me laughing and toasting with these men.}

LIESEL: We’re losing the light. Do the wrap up.

I look around for them and Bill is filming all of this. I wave him over.

“What am I eating?” I ask in my broken French and they reply in their broken English with one of them making a horn on their head.

“Marlin? I’m eating marlin, that’s a new one. It’s fucking delicious,” I say to the camera and a man slaps me on the back.

Liesel signals me.

I raise a beer to the camera and say, “More is more isn’t always better. Sometimes you don’t need the perfect beach bar, just a beach, welcoming strangers, a new soccer ball and a local dish to have the best vacation ever. I’ll get back to doing keg stands everyone, don’t worry about that. And it really is the perfect beach bar. But tonight I’m guided by the people who know this island best. I’ll watch this sunset and tuck away this moment as a core memory. Don’t forget to say yes and unleash.”

Liesel says, “Cut.”

Bill hands her the camera and takes a beer out of the cooler. He squeezes my shoulder and says, “Good.”

The kids occasionally wander up and grab a snack or some of the fish, checking in with their dads and brothers. It’s the women’s night off. My phone vibrates in my pocket as Liesel sucks back a giant piece of mango and sits down next to where they’re building a bonfire.

Hi.

The notification previews that the Harpy finally posted. Best day ever.

Chapter 37

Allusions and Realities

ZANE

Seychelles/Prague

I’ve read it seven times before I finally fell asleep. We’re up and out of this island way too early. I hide behind my sunglasses as we make our way to a ferry to an airport and I read her newest missive.

Dear Z-

Sorry - This is freaky and I didn’t know how much I really needed to hear from you, which is totally fucked up. Sorry, I did get judgy for a moment then I turned that shit on myself. Super fun time lately.

How the fuck do you know me so well? Still not sure how to compartmentalize you. You’re not a boyfriend, and you’re not a stranger. I’ll try to rein in my neurosis. The blog is genius by the way, don’t let it go to your head. Whoops, too late - you’re already more of an inflated asshole.

I’ve been photographing a ton. It’s raining here. I took a bunch today of wet streets then began to feel sick. A runny nose, scratchy throat, lots of sneezing. Decided to head to the pool house instead of staying in Skipper to be sick. I ordered soup, the parents are out of town. Not sure. Seychelles seem surreal to me — it’s hard to process.

Headed to bed. Have a good morning. I promise I’ll get better about writing. Thinking about you too much. Naked near a beach sounds better than rain, chicken soup from Matchbox cafe. Although it’s the best soup. And you know my thoughts on soup.

- Kat

Good morning Kat.