Happy Bay

By T. Stelma

Delightful characters, an exotic location, and more than few surprises await
you in Happy Bay the novel (second edition).

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781626754683

Book preview

side.

PROLOGUE

What do a rock singer, a washed-up college football star, a free-spirited socialite, a drug-addled career woman, a feisty bartendress, and a clothing-optional beach security guard all have in common?

The answer is Sandy Bennett: a lonely young woman from a small town who holds a distinct unawareness of her devastating beauty and creative potential.

Her ordinary existence changes dramatically when she is transplanted to a place like no other in her experience. Sandy will come away from this foray into another culture with much more than an all-over tan.

Will she find love—or only lust—in this tropical paradise? Does she really know who means well and who means her harm?

Follow Sandy's romantic and inspiring journey as she finds herself on Happy Bay.

CHAPTER ONE

Sandy looked up at the ceiling and listened to the uneven spattering of water bouncing off the tile floor of the shower. She had been dreaming of rain furiously pounding the roof and windows, relentless and terrifying in its intensity. In her dream, the downpour had found its way into the house, flowing down from all four walls and filling up the ceiling light fixtures while she stood by helplessly and watched. But the entire scene had morphed into the plaster ceiling of their bedroom and the familiar sound of her husband’s morning shower as she drifted back into a waking state.

She sat up in bed and gathered the comforter up to her neck as she pulled her knees close to her chest. It was that in-between time of year when she would wake up chilly but end up sweating by two o’clock. It wasn’t worth the trouble to use the furnace or air conditioner. If she did, she would wind up using both. Anyway, the chill felt good to her.

She briefly considered lying back down, hoping the thought would turn into a more pleasant dream than the last. But the squeak of the shower faucet being shut off changed her mind. She wanted to spend a little time with Don before he left for work today.

Don let out a groaning sigh as he exited the shower from behind the closed door of the bathroom. These utterings were part of a ritual associated with too little sleep or too many drinks. Sandy suspected both; the smell of booze still hung in the room and on the sheets where she lay. She had tried to wait up for him, propped up on the pillows with her book in hand and her robe on the floor. She’d hoped that if she did doze off, he would see the robe when he came to bed and realize there was a bounty of supple skin waiting for him under the covers and a willing partner hoping to be awakened. But if Don had noticed, he did not take advantage of her subtle invite. She wondered just how late he had been, or, more importantly, why he was coming to bed later and later every night now.

As she swung her legs to the floor and picked up the robe, Sandy began to think of different ways to broach this very subject before he left for work. It wasn’t going to be easy. Don didn’t talk much period unless he was in his salesman mode. Conversations in the morning were rare these days. She walked through the kitchen and hit the coffeepot switch without looking as she passed. Someone was knocking softly on the front door, so she cinched up her robe. She knew exactly who it was on the other side.

Morning Miss Sandy, Johnny said as she opened the door. My friend here darn near did my whole route with me today, but I think he’s ready to come in now. Johnny was their paperboy, although boy was perhaps not an appropriate title. Johnny was thirty-two, lived with his parents, and likely always would. Paper delivery was probably going to be his career peak. Johnny was the most unambitious, if not the sweetest, guy she had ever met. He held out the Free Press with one hand and her cat with another, the animal eyeing her with the look of suspicion the species is prone to.

You’ve got to stop giving him your breakfast, Johnny, she joked with him as she accepted both parcels. Johnny turned and gave a backward wave as she closed the front door with her foot, now fumbling with the squirming cat.

The cat did not like her, and the feeling was mutual. Why Don had ever gotten her a cat was a mystery for the ages. She had never shown any interest in these animals at all. The irate tabby worked its way free of her grasp, using her stomach as a springboard to freedom. In the process, it pulled the sash of her robe, and it dropped open as Sandy walked back into the kitchen. It would probably be the last time she saw the cat all day.

Don was at the table by this time, holding a cup of coffee with both hands and looking into it as if it were an object of meditation. She slid the paper gently in front of his elbows without breaking stride and gathered fruit from the fridge to cut up into pieces. The sun was creeping up through the windows and into the room, giving a golden contrast to everything it touched. Don squinted through it and down at the paper, although he didn’t appear to be reading it yet. Lord, he looks tired!

Putting on a show for the neighborhood now? he asked as Sandy began cutting fruit into sections on a plate. He was referring to the robe, which was still open. She didn’t even think he noticed her walk by.

The cat pushed it open. Sandy sighed quietly. Apparently Don wasn’t too tired for a fight. She stopped cutting and re-cinched the robe before placing the plate of fruit in front of Don. Nobody sees all of me but you, honey. Nobody. She sat across from him and looked into his eyes, but he refused to meet her gaze.

Seems more like everybody from where I’m sitting, he muttered, half to himself.

Fifteen minutes of conscious company a day, and this is what I get, she ruminated while struggling to come up with another way to reassure him. Sandy’s stomach began to gnaw, and she felt her eyes begin to tear up. She covered her frustration by munching quietly on the fruit and gazing at Don with a look of nonchalance.

I’m going to finish the dress a little later today. Are you going to be home in time to see it before anyone else does? They were having a party tonight before Don left town to visit his kids for a week. Don felt the need to entertain when he was going to be away for any length of time in order to keep his image fresh during his absence.

I know what it looks like, he muttered as he rose from the chair and located his wallet and keys on the counter.

Are you going to see me out of it? She tried to tease him, but it came out wrong; more like a request for an appointment than a come-hither invitation.

Don’s cell phone rang, and he answered it with an enthusiastic brightness that seemed impossible just moments before. He was in full schmooze mode, talking with a client as if he had been up for hours. Don headed out the door, still talking and laughing as he raised an arm in a Later. gesture for her. Sandy cleaned the plates, listening to Don’s car roar out of the driveway and down the street. As the engine noise faded, she turned her attention towards her day.

Sandy didn’t have a lot left to do in preparation for the party tonight. The food was ready to serve or cook, the bar was likely stocked, and the house was spotless. Of course, the house was always spotless. Cleaning was a way for her to fill the hours alone every day. Oddly enough, she wasn’t looking forward to having company tonight. The phony version of Don she saw whenever he was in business mode was starting to make her sick to her stomach. It was this version of Don she fell in love with and eventually married. But just as if she were another client, Don wooed her out of purpose for something he might gain control of, not out of love. It wasn’t really him.

Sandy stepped into the shower and picked up the wad of wet hair Don had left in the drain, flinging it into the toilet as she did every day. The room filled with steam as she lathered herself up, out of range from the pulsating jets of the showerheads. She liked to think things through during the ritual of bathing, but the problem she could not solve was becoming a ritual of its own. What can I do to make this man happy?

Kids seemed to be the bottom line for Don, and he already had some. They were in California with his first wife, who had won full custody in a long and fierce court battle. Don had done everything humanly possible to create a perfect home for them after the divorce proceedings, even filling it with a brand new wife to care for them. But when the decision came down, he lost because of one critical mistake. He had punched Christina. It only happened once, but it was hard enough to break her nose. The images of the damage had sunk him in court. Christina even got his visitation limited to two weeks a year on her turf. The fight over the kids had lasted nearly two years. When it was over, Don decided to start a new family with Sandy. This wasn’t working out either, and although Sandy tested fertile time and time again, she seemed to be unable to conceive with Don. She suspected the problem was with him, but Don refused to see a doctor to check things out. The two children he had were proof enough to him; therefore, it must be her fault.

Sandy let the shower jets pound the soap off her body as she shook off a wave of nausea. The ensuing spiral of their marriage had left Don angry and absent, and Sandy confused and helpless. She had no idea what to do to fix this. He wouldn’t talk, no counseling, no anything. Just a lot of drinking and late nights without her. He was even starting to talk about going back to court for custody since Christina had found a new man and was now spending most of her time with him. Sandy was supportive. She was willing to try anything to make him happy again. But the likelihood of his winning was pretty small. Still, it gave them something to talk about and brought him temporarily out of his ongoing sulk.

After toweling off, Sandy slathered her body with lotion and straightened up the bedroom. She liked to let the lotion sink in before getting dressed, and the breeze created by moving the bed sheets felt good on her skin. She headed back to the kitchen, where the sun was now streaming in the full-length windows of the dining room. Sandy stood with her back to the kitchen sink and looked across the room. The house always looked so pretty this time of day.

She picked up a remote, and magically the vertical blinds turned individually across the full-length windows and door leading to the patio, plunging the room back into semi-darkness. Although a view into the interior of the house was severely limited by privacy fencing, she didn’t want to inadvertently become a subject of adoration by a passer-by or neighbor in the right place at the right time. If that were to happen, Don would somehow get wind of it, and his admonitions about and suspicions of her being an exhibitionist would suddenly become true. A title she did not truly deserve, but it would be all the justification he needed.

She finished straightening up the kitchen and headed back into the bedroom to dress and stretch. Some exercise might be just the thing to bring me out of this funk, she reasoned. Sandy wanted to be in a good mood for the party. It would be a nice send off for Don if everything went just right. He worries too much about work anyway. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and strapped it onto her bike in the garage. If he wouldn’t try so damn hard to project this perfect guy image, then people might just get to know him. On the rare occasion when he would let his guard down, he could be quite funny and boyishly charming. But he could conversely become sullen and angry for no apparent reason as well.

Sandy closed the garage door behind her and jumped on her bike, which she had already put into motion. It was a beautiful morning for a ride, and her neighbors were already out enjoying the day. She waved at Mr. Adams as he jogged by in the opposite direction. She used to run, but Mr. Adams had decided to join her after seeing her pass by a few times. His recurring complaining about his frigid wife was not only more information than she needed but was undoubtedly the ground work for an affair that was clearly never going to happen. One day, he asked they stop at his house for a moment, but she refused to go in. She could see the beginnings of arousal in his too-tight running shorts as he begged her to come inside. The next day, she purchased the bike and left Mr. Adams to jog around the neighborhood solo in his loneliness. At least he’s exercising. Perhaps someday he would find another running partner more willing than she. The way things have been going lately, if he were thirty instead of sixty-two I may have taken him up on the offer.

Sandy smiled at the thought and pushed the pedals until she felt as if she were flying. She listened to the wind and the whirring of the wheels, stopping only twice on her journey to Maya’s. A car pulled up next to her at one of the lights. She felt a pair of eyes on her from inside the car, but she never took her own eyes off the light. When she heard the window closest to her rolling down, she ignored the light and pedaled through the intersection. I’m not in the mood to give directions, or reveal my sign, or talk about bikes, or whatever other bullshit this guy is going to come up with. Fortunately, the intersection was clear, and her potential stalker got the message. He squealed the tires as he turned and drove off—an indignant kiss-off and a welcome one at that.

She was next to the lake now, getting closer to Maya’s. These houses were considerably larger and older than the ones in Sandy’s neighborhood: sprawling estates with lush lawns and exotic cars in the circular driveways. Some, like Maya’s, had iron gates with a small speaker box to announce your arrival.

Sandy pressed the button and whispered, Guess who? into the box. She was a little out of breath from the last mile of her ride, which was mostly uphill. The gate motor grunted into action, and the gate slowly opened before her. Looking back first as she always did, Sandy pedaled up the brick paver path towards the house, listening to the gate grinding back into place behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

Maya was going at it with her usual verve: ten minutes on the bike, twenty with free weights, and she was in the middle of her floor exercises when she noticed Sandy had been doing nothing but Yoga since they started their workout.

You hurt yourself or something? Maya asked in mid-crunch.

No, the ride over must have taken it all out of me. Sandy didn’t want to tell Maya she felt as if she was hanging on by a thread. The months of growing indifference and the dreary cycle of her existence were starting to take a toll on her. She felt confused, angry, and exhausted and stepping up her exercise regimen was not helping as she had hoped.

Sandy had met Maya when Don was given a one-year membership to an exclusive health club, not long after she moved into her new home with him. Don never used his membership, but Sandy was always looking for something to do, and she liked to stay in shape. She had formed an irreversible bond with Maya when they were both kicked out of a yoga class by an uncharacteristically uptight instructor for laughing too much. By the time her membership expired, they had become the best of friends. Her visits to Maya and Leo’s home had gradually become the highlight of her week. But today’s visit wasn’t lifting her spirits as much as it usually did. Her burden was becoming too great to keep to herself any longer.

Okay, that’s enough for me then, Maya exalted as she leaned back on a large exercise ball and threw her hands above her head for one last long stretch. Why don’t we sit down and talk?

Maya pulled off her sports bra as she headed for the door, exchanging it for a towel that she’d draped around her neck to provide a less confining alternative. Sandy followed her down the stairs into the main part of the house. The workout room was once a recording studio Leo had built to keep his business closer to home. But the parade of rock and rap stars (and their inevitable entourages) brought too many late nights and too many complaints from the neighbors, so the whole studio was eventually moved into an industrial park. Maya seized the opportunity and created her own gym, which was as well-equipped as any medium-sized health club. Even Leo liked to use it sometimes, although his use was typically limited to the steam room and tanning bed.

Maya bounced as she walked down the stairs, testing the effects of her workout on her legs. She was closing in on forty, but she could easily pass for Sandy’s age, having spent most of her life taking extraordinarily good care of herself. She took care of Leo too, but his life left little time for the maintenance and pampering Maya enjoyed.

They settled into chairs and sipped smoothies at the kitchen table. Maya studied Sandy as she listlessly twirled a straw in her drink.

Finally, Maya said, I got all day if you wanna wait to tell me what’s wrong.

Sandy stared down at the table and tears began to fall from her eyes as she tried to find the words to describe what her life with Don had become. She felt as if she had failed him, even though she had done everything he asked and more. Now their home had become a place to stop and sleep, and she was a caretaker for no one. No kids, no plans, and little hope for a bright future together. She wanted to try school, but Don nixed the idea, saying it would take too much time away from him. She had learned to sew, tried watching all the soaps and game shows on TV, written letters and poems, and read books on love and relationships gone south. It didn’t really matter what she did. She was alone, and that was the whole problem.

Sometimes I think I want to get out, but he’s always been good to me, she admitted to Maya.

Honey, how long have you felt this way? Maya asked her, feeling more than a little resentment for Don.

Sandy reached back in her memory. I don’t know, about a year I guess.

A year! Maya kept her surprise to herself. She leaned back and wondered how Sandy had managed to keep this to herself for so long.

Maya got up to answer the gate buzzer and handed Sandy some Kleenex as she pressed the intercom. Sandy wiped her eyes as a garbled male voice said something about a delivery.

Bring it to the front door, please, Maya directed him as she pressed the gate button next to the intercom. She redirected her attention to Sandy. I’m so sorry, honey, I had no idea you felt this alone. We can go out more often if you want to. You can even come with me wherever I go! Leo won’t mind having a beauty on each arm. She was trying to think of something to say that would make Sandy stop crying. It killed her to see her friend so unhappy.

Sandy shook her head, No, I think maybe I should leave him, just go away. It would probably take him a month to even notice. She tugged at the crumpled Kleenex in her hands. But I think he still loves me. I don’t think he’s trying to hurt me.

Maya looked at her thoughtfully. You know, things didn’t work out for Don the way he thought they would, but when that happens, you go to plan B. You make adjustments.

I don’t think he has a plan B, Sandy replied through her sniffles. And if he does, I don’t think I’m a part of it.

Maya started to speak but was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the front door.

Oh damn, I forgot about the delivery guy. It’s open! she bellowed with impatience.

This was not an opportune time for a visitor. A young guy with a mop of hair and an ill-fitting blue uniform cautiously peeked in the door and repeated his mission. Maya waved him in, and he walked all the way to the table, instead of setting the box down at the door as she expected him too. Maya stood up, and he froze in his tracks, seeing the contempt in her eyes.

I need to have approval on the printing before I go. Your husband demanded it, he stammered.

Must be the invitations, Maya said to herself. The last company we used fucked them up pretty good. He hastily set the box down and pulled it open. Maya stood over him, still dressed in nothing but her spandex shorts and draped towel. A little embarrassed, the guy in the hideous uniform handed her an invitation while staring at the table. His eyes worked their way up to Sandy, who absentmindedly continued to twist her Kleenex.

Her watery eyes met his, and she admonished him. Stop looking at me! She didn’t even want her husband to see her this way, much less this Bozo.

Maya looked up from studying the invitation, Hey blue boy, back to work! He turned his attention back to her, and she thrust the invitation at him. The spelling look alright to you? The guy was turning red now; he was probably afraid they had missed something, and he was going to catch hell for it. He read the invitation carefully, looking occasionally at Maya, who was now dabbing imaginary sweat off her face with one end of her towel. As she moved the tip of the towel closer and closer to her forehead, the hanging portion of the towel began to rise as well until her right breast was fully exposed. His face got even redder, and he pored over the paper in his hand again.

Uh, I can’t find any typos, he finally said sheepishly.

Me neither, said Maya. She pulled a pen from the guy’s shirt pocket and scribbled her name on the