“Caribbean Vacation” (not starring Chevy Chase). Part 13

The path leading into Long Bay Beach Resort must have been designed by the Angelic Host, as an early glimpse of heaven on earth. A wrought-iron archway spanned the road, woven with thick emerald coiled vines and the dribbled paints of blossoms, greeting and drawing us into another world. The road sauntered gently through a tunnel of overgrown trees that opened to punctuated sparks of beach, handsome landscaping and ocean.

The transformation from where we had come and what we had experienced over the past few hours was like a potent elixir. The tension and anxieties softened and melted like cold butter set out on a sun-drenched countertop. And as if the potion was simultaneously trickling through our bodies, Valerie turned towards me, extending her right hand and laying it tenderly on top of my hand on the seat. I looked up to find her smiling and nodding her approval; we were, in fact, someplace extraordinary. I released a deep sigh and knew that everything was going to be just fine. All the angst, worry and sweat were a small price to pay. And this was just the driveway into the property. We continued for another mile or so, passing a pool area embellished with thick-cushioned lounge chairs, folded towels and potted flowers before turning to our left and stopping in front of a small bamboo building. We got out of the car and, rejuvenated, walked towards the open-air reception area where an exotic-looking woman immediately greeted us. She appeared to be in her twenties with a cappuccino-colored complexion, radiant smile and supple figure wrapped snugly in a floral-printed sarong.

“Welcome to Long Bay Beach Resort. We are so very glad to see you.” Her diction was perfect, with only a hint of Britannic influence. “And who might I address, please,” she offered more as a statement of affirmation than a question.

“I am Mr. Kagan from San Francisco, and this is my wife, Valerie. We are very pleased to be here.”

We proceeded to a desk that was situated in the center of the small hut-like structure where she opened a folder that had a label with our name typed and placed neatly on the tab. It was clear that our arrival was anticipated. We took our seats in two, dark rattan chairs with cushions covered with the identical fabric of her sarong. “Nice touch,” I thought to myself. To our left I looked into a room that I immediately recognized as the restaurant’s dining area, with its pristine white tablecloths and glistening ebony piano. “Just like in the brochure,” I confirmed in my mind.

“Yes, Mr. & Mrs. Kagan, we have everything set for you, with your ocean-side suite and American meal plan featuring our four-star restaurant. You are in Unit #3 which is just out this door and across the path where the signs will direct you to your door.” I nodded, confirming the package and noting mentally, “This is my kind of service.” She stood up, gesturing towards the door with her final comment, “We are here to help make your visit to Tortola a wonderful and romantic memory. Please let us know if there is any way in which we can serve you.” A mental image of Sean Connery began tickling my male ego as I reflected, “Yes, and romance.”

“Thanks so much. Now, if you would just give me the room key we’ll be on our way.”


“Room key? Mr. Kagan, there are no room keys here at Long Bay Beach. Our staff and guests are very exclusive, and trusted.”

“Really? That’s amazing. OK then, thank you.”

We shook hands and headed to the doorway. Valerie leaned over and whispered into my ear, “I am going to go to the bathroom over there. I’ll meet you out front.” I stepped outside and noticed that our car and driver had gone, apparently to deliver our luggage to the room so we would not have the hassle. I enjoyed the surrounding ambiance of the area; rows of palm trees and flowering beds lining a web of pathways to the khaki green guest buildings hidden behind the trees.

The floral and ocean scents were exhilarating. I was ready for us to shed the travel- weary clothing, don bathing suits and imagined the two of us reclining on the private beach in front of our unit, allowing the crystal water to caress us into blissful oblivion. Valerie’s hand touching my arm brought me back into the moment.

“The bathroom was amazing. Very decorative,” as she continued with a rise in her voice, “and I finally had the chance to drink some water.”

“That’s great. So, are you ready to get out of these clothes and really get into the island way?” I asked.

“Baby, I am beyond ready.”

We walked with renewed energy, anticipating our delightfully cool room and ensuing relaxation. The trail led to the right, leaning around a cluster of trees and then bending to the left past a sign printed with, “Units 1-5 Ahead.” The one-story building to our left, which we assumed to be ours, was elevated about ten feet above the sand on thick metal columns. Noting this structural curiosity, we turned the corner and saw a closed wooden gate in front of us that served as the private entrance to a thin sidewalk running along the front of the building. I lifted the rusted metal latch; it emitted a short creaking sound as I opened the gate to allow Valerie passage. After she had passed me, I released the door and moved forward. We kept walking down the sidewalk, noticing that each unit had two steps up to the all-glass fronts with sliding doors and a small black number placed above the entrance to indicate the unit. Unit #1…#2…and there it was, Unit #3. Anticipation running rampant through every niche of our bodies, we took the two steps up and stood in front of our palace entry.

The converging sounds of sand, rust and metal that bled forth from my muscle-searing effort to open the sliding door to our unit was something akin to fingernails across blackboard or the hideous screeching of the Harpies that tortured Ulysses’ men beyond insanity in Homer’s The Iliad. But that was nothing compared to what awaited us inside, the scene of which triggered an immediate thought and horrified realization from another moment…from another place…from another galaxy far, far away.

“Oh…my…God. I never saw a picture of the room.”

For emphasis.
(b)