PROLOGUE
I shouldered my gym bag and rolled my old beaten suitcase to a bench near the terminal door, slinging the bag and suitcase next to me, as I sat down, placing my head in my palms, and did my very best not to cry. I was in a small state of shock -- my skin starting to sweat, my hands jittery and weak. 8 years of my life pinching pennies and working harder than anyone else at our gym, and for nothing. A storm crashes through the southeast at just the wrong time and poof -- the vacation you planned for years is washed away like sand from a shore, your broken dream barely registering a tremor as waves of indifferent strangers pass by you on every side.I eyed the front desk attendant glancing toward me nervously, and smiled sadly at her. It wasn't her fault -- and I did feel bad for causing a scene (be it a very small one), but she didn't understand. I'm 46 years old. I'm single, with no kids. What savings I had got poured into this trip, and what money I make from here on out is destined to go to my retirement. This was it -- my last chance to enjoy something truly special for myself for the foreseeable future. And now it's getting pounded by a thunderstorm into the dirt.
After a quiet cry, I wiped my face with my tank top, gathered my things, and made my way to one of the airport bars -- the cheapest one I could find. Sifting through the dense crowd, I sank back into a very familiar feeling as head after head turned to the side to take a second glance my way.
Ever since high school, I've had to become comfortable with attention -- be it good or bad. I grew to my current height of 6 feet, 2 inches by the time I was 17. Around then my body fully had filled out as well. My chest exploding over the course of a year to reach a DD bra-size the same time my shoulders and thighs started to finally show the muscle I was trying to put on for basketball. My Greek and Indian bloodline also led me to stick out in my mostly-white town. No one within 100 miles looked like me -- honey-colored skin and thick, dark-brown hair. It's only gotten worse since leaving home too, now that I lift weights and work out basically for a living. Some guys find my muscled arms and strong thighs and shoulders off putting even though I still present very femininely. Which is whatever. But most of the time, to put it plainly -- I attract eyeballs everywhere I go. Which has its advantages. I rarely pay for my own drinks. I pick up clients regularly at the swanky, upscale gym I work at.
But right then, what I wanted most was to have a few fingers of whiskey in a dark corner of a room by myself. I wanted to be sad invisibly, without some horny dude sitting beside me, calling me an "Amazonian beauty," and telling me I was too hot to be sad. Fuck that. And fuck everyone here, while we're at it.
As I neared the entrance of the bar, I saw the predictable ripple of heads turn my way inside. I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw and preparing a slew of curses for the first guy dumb enough to try and pick me up. I felt my face get hot. I put my hand on the glass door and began pulling the heavy thing open.
"Tamara? Is that you dear?" A soft, low voice stumbled out from behind me. Surprised, I let go of the door and turned around.
"It is you! Oh what a great surprise! I'm so happy to see you! It's been so long."
On reading the face of the elderly man in front of me, I felt my face soften and unclench, as my whole body untensed.
"Harlan! How are you babe, I've missed you!" I placed my luggage on the floor out and gave Harlan a hug. Working at the poshest gym in New York, you meet more wealthy scumbags looking to cheat on their wives than any one person should be exposed to in a lifetime. Harlan, wealthier than everyone at that gym combined, was the exception. For two years, I trained he and his wife Faye in joint sessions three times a week. They were not just the sweetest elderly people I had ever met, but the kindest, most thoughtful individuals I had ever met -- period. Working with them had been the highlight of my miserable tenure in that place, and when Faye passed away, I was sure I was never going to see Harlan again. Until now. I grabbed the old man in my arms and squeezed, feeling his tender, wrinkled hands pat me on my cheeks before encircling me in return.
"I've missed you too dear. I'm sorry I never said a proper goodbye." We separated our hug, still holding each others arms as we faced each other. "Tough time, and all."
"Stop. You know I understand. I'm sorry I never called you to give my condolences. I didn't know what to say, just being your trainer."
"I guess we're even then." Harlan smiled warmly before patting me on the cheek once more. "So! Tell me everything. How are you? What brings you here? Doing some much-deserved relaxation finally? Faye always said you needed a vacation."
I smiled sweetly back at him. "I'm great. Actually, tried to finally take her up on her advice, but it looks like the vacation is canceled." I took a deep breath, feeling my chest start to quiver. "I'm okay. Doing just fine." I said, trying to keep my eyes dry.
Harlan looked at me knowingly, seeing right through my false positivity. "Let's go inside," he said with an understanding smile, holding out his arm for me to take as he escorted me into the bar.
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"Damn shame." Harlan ordered another round of bourbons for the two of us. "I'm sorry my dear, that's such terrible luck. You work much too hard to deserve something like that."
"You're sweet. And I know." I downed my third drink in a quick swig before the bartender came to replace my glass with the new round. "But that's life. I'll be fine. It's just a trip. It doesn't matter."
"Nonsense. Traveling is the single best way to heal the soul. Nothing can replace it. It's what kept me and Faye strong for all of those years." He took the glasses from the bartender and placed one in front of me. "Traveling and your workouts, that is." I laughed. "You're going to figure something out. Faye and I always knew you were one tough nut."
"Thanks, love." I said, giggling into my fresh drink. "I'll find a cheap option somewhere nearby instead. Who needs Miami? Maybe I'll just go camping. That can be just as fun." I almost burst a blood vessel forcing myself to sound optimistic.
Harlan went quiet for a moment, eyeing me and, again, seeing straight through me. He swirled the brown liquor in his glass before placing it on the bar and turning to face me entirely. "Don't go camping," he said. "Come with me instead!"
"What?" I replied, confused.
"I'm heading out in a few hours to my home in Fiji. It's big enough for 10 people, let alone just you. I won't bother you while we're there. You come with me on my plane, have a relaxing week, and recharge. You'll be by yourself on a private beach. I'll be in and out so much you won't know I'm there."
"...What?" I replied again, stunned.
"Tamara dear, come have your vacation in Fiji. You'll love it. My treat. Faye would be mortified if she found out I let you go camping upstate for your grand vacation."
"I...Harlan...I don't know what to say to that..."
"You don't have to say anything, love. Just grab your things and follow me to the plane."
I stared into the melting ice in my glass. I felt my chest tighten, my fingers became jittery again. I took a massive swig of bourbon, placed the glass down, and looked at my friend, nodding my head shyly.
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And that's how I ended up here, tanning myself on a pool chair at one of the most luxurious private estates in Fiji. I looked up from my book, taking it all in. In front of me, a pristine, still infinity pool glittered like glass in front of me. The pool was located on an elevated patio in front of a long series of glass, sliding doors that made up the house's exterior wall. Looking out, I could see Harlan's private beach down the hill in front of me, the white sand completely empty of any other person for as far as I could see in any direction. Behind me, I could see the entire bottom wing of the house through the glass doors.
I stood up from my pool chair, placing my book under my arm, and walked around, stretching my legs. I stopped in front of the glass door leading into the kitchen and studied myself in the reflection. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. My hair was done up in a tight ponytail. My chic sunglasses -- a gift from Harlan -- framed my face perfectly. I looked...good. The Fiji sun shimmed on the small droplets of sweat that covered my darker skin. My heavy breasts swayed back and forth over my tight stomach inside my blue bikini top every step I took. My thigh and shoulders and arms were rounded in all the right places, muscled and formidable, but still sleek. It was the first time in months I felt I could just stare at myself for a while, with nowhere to go. I looked happy. A foreign look on my face. I looked happy, and light, and more like myself than I could remember looking.
I began walking back to my chair, when, for the first time today, I saw movement inside one of the rooms in the house. It was Harlan's. He was stood still, peering sadly down into the suitcase on top of his bed. He wiped a tear from his eyes, before closing the bag and walking into the hallway.
Moving quickly, I walked up to the sliding door, pulling it open softly and peering inside. "Harlan, is that you? You okay?"
I closed the door behind me. "Harlan? Just checking on you, love. You alright?" I stood in the middle of his bedroom, surveying the bag he was crying into just a few seconds ago. Not knowing better, I walked over to it, pulling the zipper across, lifting the lid open.
"Oh my God..." I said softly, holding my hand up to my lips. I felt my face flush. In the suitcase was a smaller, black duffel bag. On top of the duffel bag, dozens and dozens of photos. In the photos, a young woman, with light blonde hair, tied tightly into a ponytail. The woman was Faye. I knew it. She couldn't have been more than 25, 30 years old. I wasn't taken aback by the pictures because of Faye's younger, beautiful face. I felt my chest flutter, picking up one of the polaroids and holding them to my face. In this one, Faye was naked. She was on a table, hogtied in burlap rope. She had a ballgag in her mouth, which, though shockingly large, couldn't hide the fact that she was clearly smiling.
"Tamara what are you doing?" I jumped up and yelped at the sound of Harlan's low, embarrassed voice. "Oh no, you weren't supposed to see that..." He rushed forward, hurriedly closing the suitcase and putting it away. "I'm sorry dear -- the things you must be thinking. I'm sorry. I'll call you a car to take you home, I understand."
"Harlan...HARLAN!" I said, holding my hand out, trying to ease his clearly frazzled nerves. "Slow down. It's okay. Just tell me what this is all about? I came in to check on you because you seemed sad and...well then this." I held the polaroid out to him.
Harlan, red in the face and sweating, looked down at the photo in a potent mix of sadness and shame. I had never felt worse for another human. And I blamed myself for it, having snooped around in the room of someone who had been nothing but unreasonably good to me.
"It's...it's Faye," He said weakly.
"I know it's Faye."
"Yes, but it's, it's what we always would do. She loved going on these trips to get away from the city, from our lives. It was her idea to start taking photos of her to remember the trips by. As we kept traveling and getting closer, the photos, well, they got more...risqué. Eventually Faye was insisting on taking trips for the sole of purpose of doing things...like this." He motioned to the photo in my hand. "I won't lie -- I loved every moment of it. But it was her adventurousness that made me feel so alive on these trips. And eventually I began to love tying her up maybe even more than she enjoyed being tied up. I don't know how to explain it..."
Embarrassed at his story, Harlan continued looking down, his eyes glistening. "Anyway, don't you worry. I don't want to burden you with a sad old man's problems." He politely pulled the photo from my hand, glancing briefly at my blank face before placing it in his pocket. "This is my first trip since she passed. I just thought getting out into the world again would make me feel less lonely. I used to see beauty and excitement in every little thing on these trips. But it's just not the same."
My eyes welled briefly, feeling so much pain on behalf of the man in front of me.
"I get it, dear, believe me. More than you know. When you have a version of yourself, of the way you felt in the world, and it fades away, it leaves you so empty." I flashed back to a few moments, standing in front of my reflection. "And the chance to feel it again...who wouldn't try and regain that?"
Harlan laughed shyly, staring at the ground still. "Well thank you for being so kind. I'm glad you understand."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, dear." I bound forward and grabbed him in a massive, strong hug. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No, no, you've done enough. I just want you to go on without me here and keep having a good time. I'll find a way to shake myself out of this."
I squeezed Harlan harder. I could hear the sadness, the shame, and worse -- the loneliness in his voice. Racking my brain for a way to help, my eyes fell on the suitcase.
"Harlan, love. What if I told you I had an idea?"
