“Caribbean Vacation (not starring Chevy Chase).” Part 4

It felt like taking that first cup of water after wandering in Death Valley for a couple of days. Soothing. Life-giving. Refreshing. That’s what I felt when I heard the wellspring of Leslie’s ten words: “Wait a minute. I think I might have another option.”

“Really? (Brian, slow down…you sound too happy. Remember, control. Control.) I mean, great, tell me about it.” Leslie had left the shelving unit with the array of brochures and had moved to her desk. She sat down, opening the lower drawer of her steel grey desk, rummaging through some papers from which she emerged triumphantly with a #10 envelope- sized color brochure. I thought to myself, “Yes, redemption!” Then suddenly she stopped, her gleeful expression shifting to a frowned concern. “Hmmm…no, maybe not.” Her was voice barely discernable. She turned back towards the drawer, evidently having changed her mind. Screw control; I had to do something, fast.

“Wait. What’s the problem?”

“I thought this might work for you, but this is a location I rarely suggest to people. It’s a fairly remote island in the British West Indies (that sounds exotic), they have very limited accommodations (more exotic), there’s really not much to do beyond walking the empty white powdery beaches (even more exotic), white tablecloth gourmet dinners (very exotic) and rooms that open right onto your private beach (yes…romance…and sex!). Long Bay Beach Resort is really not for everybody.”


I felt a ripple in the Force. It beckoned. I leaned into it.

“Leslie, I know it’s obviously NOT the Legacy Voyage, but I must say that the concept of ‘remote, quiet and private’ are vital to my core mantra. Go ahead, tell me more.” I delivered the volley with my smooth, unshaken demeanor. I could feel the early hints of confidence; and even a few dry spots in my shirt.

“Well, Brian, the whole inclusive package, minus air, is $4300.”

Do you believe in divine intervention? That there are cosmic forces working out there that are influencing events? That there is a God of exotic vacations? Well, I do. And I knew that He, It, They must have heard my urgent pleadings for a way out. It also felt as if I could hear the threatening nemesis, Darth Vader, as he spoke about the power emanating from Luke Skywalker: “The force is strong with this one.”

Back on the planet, I was gleefully writing the check for the deposit while Leslie described more attributes of our little slice of Caribbean paradise: on the island of Tortola, British West Indies. As she talked she unfolded the brochure to walk me through the photographs:

• An expansive vista captured of the crescent-shaped beach, bending it’s white-gloved fingers to cup the azure shoreline like the left side of a parenthesis done in calligraphy;

• A black iron-arched gate, lushly ensconced in an explosion of tropical flowers, leading to a sumptuous pool scene with cushioned lounge chairs and perfectly folded cobalt-colored towels;

• A night scene with elegantly arranged and adorned white tablecloth settings, crystal stemware, rattan furniture, tropical print cushions, wicker ceiling fans and outbursts of flowers dotting the tabletops.

What can I say? I held back my tears of joy, knowing that through some quirk of providence I was now able to give the gift of endless adoration to celebrate my island princess, my treasure, my love. I sighed deeply. I smiled deeply.

Somewhere deep in a mental galaxy far, far away there was a slight tremor in the Force. In a difficult to get to place located somewhere in the innermost wastelands of my mind, a slivered thought penetrated the grey matter: “I don’t remember seeing any pictures of the guestrooms… no big deal.”

For emphasis.
(b)