"Caribbean Vacation" (not starring Chevy Chase). Part 5

Like you, I wish I could just go ahead and fast-forward through the story right to that evening scene on the beach; you know, the one you have probably already painted onto the pages:

SCENE:

BRIAN AND VALERIE SITTING ON GOSSAMER WRINKLED BEACH…RECLINED, LEANING AGAINST EACH OTHER…CRYSTAL CHAMPAGNE FLUTES WITH BUBBLES BLINKING AGAINST SUNLIGHT…STEMS OF FRESH STRAWBERRIES SCATTERED AIMLESSLY AROUND THEM.

LATE EVENING… AMBER-RED DISK SUN AN “INCH” ABOVE THE HORIZON… WAVES OF INDIGO FINGERTIPS STRAINING UP TO BRUSH AGAINST THE MOLTEN LIGHT.

WAVES CHATTERING AND STUMBLING BASHFULLY ACROSS THE DRUNKEN SHORELINE.

THEIR EYES MEET, VALERIE’S GOLDEN HAIR SLOWLY WRITHING, THEN LIFTING UNDER THE CARESS OF THE CARIBBEAN BREEZE’S TEPID WHISPER…HER SHEER GOSSAMER COVER-UP TEASING SLIGHTLY OPEN TO REVEAL THE SUPPLE FRUIT OF HER….

But, no, that was not the path we were headed down.

We do, however, skip ahead to the departure day for our exotic birthday getaway. It came one sunny morning in August. I had not revealed the secret destination, and being the quintessential prankster had enjoyed offering a series of disjointed clues when Valerie would ask for at least some hint about the climate; appropriate wardrobe planning and all.

Four weeks out: “Sweetie, when was the last time you wore hiking boots? Did you say you have, or have not walked with crampons?”

Three weeks out: “You know, I was talking to a guy the other day who was telling about a vacation he and his wife took; you know they actually did hang gliding off the cliffs in Kuai!”

Two weeks out: “OK, I need to tell you one part of the trip now, because it involves a bank of immunizations over a four-day period. You’re not highly allergic to any animals or anything else that I might not be aware of aware of, are you?”

One week out: “We are going to a warm, tropical climate. Think light, carefree, alluring, sheer, body contact.”

There is nothing, nothing that is like a San Francisco bay morning in summer. Crisp, azure air. Fog blankets thawing beneath the sun’s gaze. Morning’s gulls dancing atop chilly pirouetting waves. The rumbling, yawning sounds of the foghorn. Everything was arranged and perfectly in its place: light-colored island attire in wispy linens and cottons, two stacks of books for poolside reading in between unplanned naps. The reservations confirmed. The anticipation was over. It was time.

I had redeemed my American Airlines miles for first class tickets…yes, for the entire roundtrip route from San Francisco to Puerto Rico, and from Puerto Rico to the island of Tortola. And on top of that, arrangements were prearranged with Long Bay Beach Resort for us to be met by our courteous personal driver and limo who would then whisk us away to our little slice of rapture (all included in the $4300). And then… it’s luxurious pampering, glamorous landscapes, gastronome delicacies and (oh yes) romance.

We arrived at San Francisco Airport (we got there an extra hour early so we could be the first onboard; full pampering) and boarded, where we were immediately greeted by our team of handsome men and women; our “personal attendants” for the initial leg of the journey. Not more than two minutes after we were seated we were brought two Mimosas (champagne and orange juice); our harmonizing “island” attire of white and off-white outfits undoubtedly conveyed our discerning stylish disposition that warranted immediate “alcohol-ization” (we’d down five glasses each before touching down in Puerto Rico). We took off and floated for the next hours among the cotton candy clouds…heading south…to the islands way of life.

“Honey,” Valerie began at one point about an hour from landing, “so are you going to tell me more about the resort now? I’d love to see the brochure; did you bring it?”

A glowing smile emerged from deep within me as I responded, “The resort is so exclusive that our agent only had one copy. But, let me say that the beach and landscape and flowers are beyond exotic; it’s the definition of enchanting. Just relax, imagine unforgettable moments of luxury and just keep reminding yourself, ‘It’s the island life.’” Her accepting smile illuminated the cabin; the only thing she didn’t come right out and say was, “You’re my knight in shining armor, my sweet prince.”

The rest of the flight was filled with light conversation, various gourmet nibbles and more Mimosas. And then, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. I hope you have enjoyed the flight this morning. If you look out the left window you will see that we have started our decent into Puerto Rico; that’s the aquamarine waters of the Caribbean spreading out in all directions.” The engines began their pronounced drop in tempo. Glancing over to Valerie, her azure eyes looking more lustrous than ever, I could feel loving adoration and appreciation for the luxury about to begin. I grinned warmly, punctuating the captain’s announcement with our new mantra: “It’s the island life.” She was beaming radiantly.

It was the last beam of radiance I would see for the next twelve hours.

For emphasis.

(b)