Bought and Paid For - An Example of My Work
Author note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The photos included in this piece were taken by the author when sailing in the Caribbean.
Bought and Paid For
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The drizzle woke me. It replaced the dried-on sweat covering my arms and tickled my bare toes. Sleeping above the lapping water at Tortola harbour on the safety net of the catamaran was where I always found myself at the end of the day. A concoction of red wine and ebbing sunshine encouraged my jet-lagged mind into its dreamy slumber underneath the Caribbean sky. At least I can tell my friends that despite my reports to the contrary, rain does fall in the Caribbean during December. But only at 5am.
Untangling the blankets around my naked limbs, I pushed them down into the open hatch leading to my single berth in the forward bow. This space was my sanctuary but I preferred the novelty of falling asleep under the stars.
An alien sound stopped my descent into the cubbyhole. Conscious that the rain would soon start to intensify, I picked my way over to the port side and spied the silhouetted shape of a female figure pass by the pontoon lights. Glamorous and no doubt oozing fragrant expense, I saw her leave our boat, confident in her stride. She gathered her pace as the rain started to pelt rivets into her silky straight hair, and she soon disappeared from sight.
Sliding into my berth, I stripped off my wet clothes and secured the hatch above my head. I watched jellyfish-like globules of rain belch out over the window above me as I contemplated Michael’s visitor. She had been the third one this week and it was only Thursday.
As the rain eased and sleep beckoned my return, my eyes blinked away the image of Michael standing on the prow of the catamaran, looking over the Caribbean Sea as he always did at this time in the morning.
*****
‘There’s another party tonight – do you fancy it?’
Sipping Italian coffee, I allowed one eye to saunter from the emails whizzing across the laptop screen. Placing my carefully trained eyes onto Michael’s face, I tried to appear oblivious to the fact that despite my smart linen suit, my boss stood in nothing more than a dressing gown.
‘Of course! I’d love to. Thank you, Michael.’
Clapping his hands, he hopped from one foot to the next downstairs into his cabin, humming a tune. I returned my gaze to the never ending supply of emails and gave a little laugh. Whilst everyone back home was waking up to a drizzly, cold Thursday morning, I could not help but feel a little smug sat underneath the Caribbean sun.
An email headed ‘Donate now: an appeal to help cancer survivors’ appeared in the emails, forcing my happy thoughts to wander. My mother had been young and vibrant, and had often talked about travelling when I grew old enough to look after myself. Well, it never happened. She spent her life waiting for that moment to live to arrive. Which is why whenever opportunity knocked at my door; I always grabbed it.
After dealing with the most urgent queries in the property development world, I threw leftover rice from the night before into the sea. After a few minutes a solitary turtle appeared and nibbled the puffy white dots. I changed into my swimsuit. A morning swim around the catamaran always worked better than coffee.
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*****
‘Which tie?’
‘The blue, Michael.’
He always suited blue.
I flattened down the shimmery cotton of my midnight blue wrap dress and questioned the heels.
‘You look delightful.’
Despite our professional relationship, Michael always sounded such a gentleman with his Standard English accent. He hadn’t always sounded like that. I knew his comment was genuine and well-intentioned, but it caused me to question where the line between boss and personal assistant ended.
‘Come on Michael, let’s go.’
Teetering off the catamaran, I placed one heel onto the pontoon. I always wondered how the women in Michael’s life managed to walk so confidently along the wooden planks.
‘Here, let me help you.’
Taking his offered hand, a look of horror crossed my face as I saw Michael crouch. I had a sudden vision of him doing the same thing for my mother and the hideousness of that thought brought me to an awkward pause. Spotting my stare at his bended knee, he bellowed out a laugh and his shiny straight teeth gleamed against tanned skin.
I tried to remain dignified. Knowing that to make eye contact might entice me to laughter too, I looked away.
‘We’re seeing some of my old friends tonight.’
Forced to meet his eyes, I focused on the sallowness of his skin and how the combination of a work hard play hard lifestyle had taken its toll on his 55 year-old features. I had seen photos from his younger days when he had been slimmer and more attractive. Perhaps he still was - I just never saw him in that way.
Stepping onto the beach of Norman Island, the familiar sound of live reggae music drifted over the waves with the occasional tribute to Michael Jackson making its way through the speakers. The smell of barbecued shellfish wafted into our nostrils, tempting us to hasten our pace toward the colourful deluge of lights decked out over the bar.
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‘David, Alan, Margaret… please meet Victoria, my personal assistant.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
Offering my hand, I gave each of Michael’s friends a firm handshake. Before they had the chance to cast their eyes over my glamorous attire, I made eye contact with the three of them, daring them to question my intentions. As wealthy as Michel was, I did not fall into the category of women who often accompanied him. My Oxford education and several years’ experience made me the best personal assistant to run his property development companies.
‘Drink?’
Nodding, I watched Michael escape to the bar and immediately felt the judging eyes of his friends as I dropped my gaze. Perhaps I was fighting a losing battle, expecting them to see me as anything other than a young, tall, leggy blonde.
Making my excuses, I went to join Michael, but saw he had struck up conversation with a Brazilian looking woman. As she leaned into him suggestively, her expensive looking jewel bracelets tinkered down her brown arms. Knowing not to disturb, I ordered a piña colada and leaned back on the bar, surveying the clientele. Men, clearly not good looking enough to deserve so much female attention based on their looks alone, walked around the beach confidently, with one hand in their pockets and champagne flutes in the other hand. Everyone around them laughed. They exuded wealth; it dripped off their fingers, slithered round gold Rolex watches and paid for veneers.
My idle people watching came to an end when I noticed that Michael had disappeared. Slipping off my uncomfortable heels, I hooked them round my little finger and downed the rest of my drink. Remaining discreet I wandered around the partygoers, scanning for Michael’s face.
Spotting a lone figure further down the beach, I recognised the gait of his walk.
‘Michael?’
He seemed lost somehow, heading in no particular direction. My arrival seemed to jolt him out of his thoughts.
‘Victoria! Great party!’
Holding out a glass of something fizzy, he swayed for a moment. I wondered how long he had been drinking for.
Being careful not to offend, I suggested a return to the catamaran.
‘Come on, let’s swim it!’
Kicking off his shoes, Michael took a step into the sea and ignored the salty water saturating the bottom of his trousers.
‘Not a chance. Do you know how much this dress cost?’
The truth was – swimming in the dark scared me. I had seen plenty of barracuda in the sea and they were ghastly enough in the daytime. The thought of bumping into one of them, or encountering something bigger, a shark perhaps, was not worth thinking about.
I tried hard not to touch his arm. I did not want the other party goers to suspect he had drunk too much.
‘How about a drink back at the boat instead?’
Michael placed my arm around his. Within minutes, I helped him into the main saloon of the catamaran.
‘Wine?’
Before offering a response, Michael passed me a crystal cut glass and proceeded to fill it to the brim with a bottle from the fridge. I hoisted my tanned legs onto the sofa cushions and listened to the pleasing sound of my fingernail tapping the glass. We covered every business related matter I could think of, knowing it was not what Michael wanted to discuss, but preferable to an awkward silence. He wanted ‘company’; and I could not give him that.
He filled my glass again without asking permission and thanking him I took a tiny sip. One advantage of living on a boat is that getting rid of wine surreptitiously is quite easy.
‘So, Michael, tell me, what’s on your mind?’ Perhaps I was letting my guard down a little.
Michael laughed. ‘What makes you say that?’
Removing his dinner jacket, he leaned backwards into the sofa cushions.
‘Well… if you don’t mind me saying, I’ve seen a quieter side to you since we’ve been here.’
With both hands placed around his wine glass, Michael looked down and gave a short inward laugh.
‘I met a girl on these islands once, a long, long time ago.’
I took another sip of wine and nodded to him to continue.
‘I met her on this actual beach, the one where that guy who wrote Treasure Island got his inspiration from.’
‘Robert Louis Stevenson?’
Michael raised his wine glass.
‘Yes, that one… you’re a clever girl.’
I nodded. Doing background research on our location was part of the job.
‘So I met this girl and we had what you could call a holiday romance, except I was working. She was here on a holiday…’
I did my best to play the innocent. The girls who came here on ‘holiday’ usually came for a couple of months during the busy Christmas season. They often made enough money to live a luxurious lifestyle for the rest of the year. They travelled from all over the world, Europe mostly, but there was enough wealth here to cater for them all.
‘And I guess I fell for her. I’ve been back here every year looking for her, but I’ve never found her.’
A stab of sympathy hit me then. Michael had committed his entire life to his work and often sacrificed any chance to have a proper relationship for the sake of his businesses. Of course, he had a girlfriend to take out and wine and dine. Still, she was happy to turn a blind eye to his philandering in return for the lifestyle he gave her. Being reminded of his girlfriend back home brought me back to reality.
‘So when are you going to give up on her?’
I saw his head turn away from me, and he looked across the ocean before responding. His response was almost a whisper, with no trace of the Standard English accent I had come to know.
‘I don’t think I ever will.’
Michael attempted to stand then, and I jumped up to stop him from falling over. Steering his arm, I guided him toward the few stairs into his cabin and stepped back as he held his hand up, waving me away.
Emptying my wine glass over the side of the catamaran, I retrieved my blankets and made my way to the safety net. Lying down, I listened as noisy partygoers returned to their expensive, ‘look at me’ super yachts.
I felt tiredness from the day encroach into my thoughts as I considered how different Michael’s life was from mine. He spent his days thinking of a woman he had bought and paid for. I spent my days thinking of my mother, a woman who came for free and gave me everything.
Sighing, I reached for my blanket and covered my legs. I felt sorry for Michael not knowing what had happened to the women he loved. Yet part of me felt he deserved it. She was not his to keep. And although a small part of me did want to tell him the truth, the sound of his nightly visitor stealthily making her way across our boat reminded me that he had not changed. And for that, as his daughter, I could not forgive him.
Follow me @JWilbyPalmer
Read other stories here:
Quid Pro Quo
Alice In Wonderland (An Icelandic Love Story)
Haunted
Walking Down the Aisle
A Second Chance At Life - A Christmas Story
Author update - you can now purchase my debut novel 'Where Were You When the World Ended?' from the Amazon Kindle store.
The photos included in this piece were taken by the author when sailing in the Caribbean.
Bought and Paid For
The drizzle woke me. It replaced the dried-on sweat covering my arms and tickled my bare toes. Sleeping above the lapping water at Tortola harbour on the safety net of the catamaran was where I always found myself at the end of the day. A concoction of red wine and ebbing sunshine encouraged my jet-lagged mind into its dreamy slumber underneath the Caribbean sky. At least I can tell my friends that despite my reports to the contrary, rain does fall in the Caribbean during December. But only at 5am.
Untangling the blankets around my naked limbs, I pushed them down into the open hatch leading to my single berth in the forward bow. This space was my sanctuary but I preferred the novelty of falling asleep under the stars.
An alien sound stopped my descent into the cubbyhole. Conscious that the rain would soon start to intensify, I picked my way over to the port side and spied the silhouetted shape of a female figure pass by the pontoon lights. Glamorous and no doubt oozing fragrant expense, I saw her leave our boat, confident in her stride. She gathered her pace as the rain started to pelt rivets into her silky straight hair, and she soon disappeared from sight.
Sliding into my berth, I stripped off my wet clothes and secured the hatch above my head. I watched jellyfish-like globules of rain belch out over the window above me as I contemplated Michael’s visitor. She had been the third one this week and it was only Thursday.
As the rain eased and sleep beckoned my return, my eyes blinked away the image of Michael standing on the prow of the catamaran, looking over the Caribbean Sea as he always did at this time in the morning.
*****
‘There’s another party tonight – do you fancy it?’
Sipping Italian coffee, I allowed one eye to saunter from the emails whizzing across the laptop screen. Placing my carefully trained eyes onto Michael’s face, I tried to appear oblivious to the fact that despite my smart linen suit, my boss stood in nothing more than a dressing gown.
‘Of course! I’d love to. Thank you, Michael.’
Clapping his hands, he hopped from one foot to the next downstairs into his cabin, humming a tune. I returned my gaze to the never ending supply of emails and gave a little laugh. Whilst everyone back home was waking up to a drizzly, cold Thursday morning, I could not help but feel a little smug sat underneath the Caribbean sun.
An email headed ‘Donate now: an appeal to help cancer survivors’ appeared in the emails, forcing my happy thoughts to wander. My mother had been young and vibrant, and had often talked about travelling when I grew old enough to look after myself. Well, it never happened. She spent her life waiting for that moment to live to arrive. Which is why whenever opportunity knocked at my door; I always grabbed it.
After dealing with the most urgent queries in the property development world, I threw leftover rice from the night before into the sea. After a few minutes a solitary turtle appeared and nibbled the puffy white dots. I changed into my swimsuit. A morning swim around the catamaran always worked better than coffee.
‘Which tie?’
‘The blue, Michael.’
He always suited blue.
I flattened down the shimmery cotton of my midnight blue wrap dress and questioned the heels.
‘You look delightful.’
Despite our professional relationship, Michael always sounded such a gentleman with his Standard English accent. He hadn’t always sounded like that. I knew his comment was genuine and well-intentioned, but it caused me to question where the line between boss and personal assistant ended.
‘Come on Michael, let’s go.’
Teetering off the catamaran, I placed one heel onto the pontoon. I always wondered how the women in Michael’s life managed to walk so confidently along the wooden planks.
‘Here, let me help you.’
Taking his offered hand, a look of horror crossed my face as I saw Michael crouch. I had a sudden vision of him doing the same thing for my mother and the hideousness of that thought brought me to an awkward pause. Spotting my stare at his bended knee, he bellowed out a laugh and his shiny straight teeth gleamed against tanned skin.
I tried to remain dignified. Knowing that to make eye contact might entice me to laughter too, I looked away.
‘We’re seeing some of my old friends tonight.’
Forced to meet his eyes, I focused on the sallowness of his skin and how the combination of a work hard play hard lifestyle had taken its toll on his 55 year-old features. I had seen photos from his younger days when he had been slimmer and more attractive. Perhaps he still was - I just never saw him in that way.
Stepping onto the beach of Norman Island, the familiar sound of live reggae music drifted over the waves with the occasional tribute to Michael Jackson making its way through the speakers. The smell of barbecued shellfish wafted into our nostrils, tempting us to hasten our pace toward the colourful deluge of lights decked out over the bar.
‘David, Alan, Margaret… please meet Victoria, my personal assistant.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
Offering my hand, I gave each of Michael’s friends a firm handshake. Before they had the chance to cast their eyes over my glamorous attire, I made eye contact with the three of them, daring them to question my intentions. As wealthy as Michel was, I did not fall into the category of women who often accompanied him. My Oxford education and several years’ experience made me the best personal assistant to run his property development companies.
‘Drink?’
Nodding, I watched Michael escape to the bar and immediately felt the judging eyes of his friends as I dropped my gaze. Perhaps I was fighting a losing battle, expecting them to see me as anything other than a young, tall, leggy blonde.
Making my excuses, I went to join Michael, but saw he had struck up conversation with a Brazilian looking woman. As she leaned into him suggestively, her expensive looking jewel bracelets tinkered down her brown arms. Knowing not to disturb, I ordered a piña colada and leaned back on the bar, surveying the clientele. Men, clearly not good looking enough to deserve so much female attention based on their looks alone, walked around the beach confidently, with one hand in their pockets and champagne flutes in the other hand. Everyone around them laughed. They exuded wealth; it dripped off their fingers, slithered round gold Rolex watches and paid for veneers.
My idle people watching came to an end when I noticed that Michael had disappeared. Slipping off my uncomfortable heels, I hooked them round my little finger and downed the rest of my drink. Remaining discreet I wandered around the partygoers, scanning for Michael’s face.
Spotting a lone figure further down the beach, I recognised the gait of his walk.
‘Michael?’
He seemed lost somehow, heading in no particular direction. My arrival seemed to jolt him out of his thoughts.
‘Victoria! Great party!’
Holding out a glass of something fizzy, he swayed for a moment. I wondered how long he had been drinking for.
Being careful not to offend, I suggested a return to the catamaran.
‘Come on, let’s swim it!’
Kicking off his shoes, Michael took a step into the sea and ignored the salty water saturating the bottom of his trousers.
‘Not a chance. Do you know how much this dress cost?’
The truth was – swimming in the dark scared me. I had seen plenty of barracuda in the sea and they were ghastly enough in the daytime. The thought of bumping into one of them, or encountering something bigger, a shark perhaps, was not worth thinking about.
I tried hard not to touch his arm. I did not want the other party goers to suspect he had drunk too much.
‘How about a drink back at the boat instead?’
Michael placed my arm around his. Within minutes, I helped him into the main saloon of the catamaran.
‘Wine?’
Before offering a response, Michael passed me a crystal cut glass and proceeded to fill it to the brim with a bottle from the fridge. I hoisted my tanned legs onto the sofa cushions and listened to the pleasing sound of my fingernail tapping the glass. We covered every business related matter I could think of, knowing it was not what Michael wanted to discuss, but preferable to an awkward silence. He wanted ‘company’; and I could not give him that.
He filled my glass again without asking permission and thanking him I took a tiny sip. One advantage of living on a boat is that getting rid of wine surreptitiously is quite easy.
‘So, Michael, tell me, what’s on your mind?’ Perhaps I was letting my guard down a little.
Michael laughed. ‘What makes you say that?’
Removing his dinner jacket, he leaned backwards into the sofa cushions.
‘Well… if you don’t mind me saying, I’ve seen a quieter side to you since we’ve been here.’
With both hands placed around his wine glass, Michael looked down and gave a short inward laugh.
‘I met a girl on these islands once, a long, long time ago.’
I took another sip of wine and nodded to him to continue.
‘I met her on this actual beach, the one where that guy who wrote Treasure Island got his inspiration from.’
‘Robert Louis Stevenson?’
Michael raised his wine glass.
‘Yes, that one… you’re a clever girl.’
I nodded. Doing background research on our location was part of the job.
‘So I met this girl and we had what you could call a holiday romance, except I was working. She was here on a holiday…’
I did my best to play the innocent. The girls who came here on ‘holiday’ usually came for a couple of months during the busy Christmas season. They often made enough money to live a luxurious lifestyle for the rest of the year. They travelled from all over the world, Europe mostly, but there was enough wealth here to cater for them all.
‘And I guess I fell for her. I’ve been back here every year looking for her, but I’ve never found her.’
A stab of sympathy hit me then. Michael had committed his entire life to his work and often sacrificed any chance to have a proper relationship for the sake of his businesses. Of course, he had a girlfriend to take out and wine and dine. Still, she was happy to turn a blind eye to his philandering in return for the lifestyle he gave her. Being reminded of his girlfriend back home brought me back to reality.
‘So when are you going to give up on her?’
I saw his head turn away from me, and he looked across the ocean before responding. His response was almost a whisper, with no trace of the Standard English accent I had come to know.
‘I don’t think I ever will.’
Michael attempted to stand then, and I jumped up to stop him from falling over. Steering his arm, I guided him toward the few stairs into his cabin and stepped back as he held his hand up, waving me away.
Emptying my wine glass over the side of the catamaran, I retrieved my blankets and made my way to the safety net. Lying down, I listened as noisy partygoers returned to their expensive, ‘look at me’ super yachts.
I felt tiredness from the day encroach into my thoughts as I considered how different Michael’s life was from mine. He spent his days thinking of a woman he had bought and paid for. I spent my days thinking of my mother, a woman who came for free and gave me everything.
Sighing, I reached for my blanket and covered my legs. I felt sorry for Michael not knowing what had happened to the women he loved. Yet part of me felt he deserved it. She was not his to keep. And although a small part of me did want to tell him the truth, the sound of his nightly visitor stealthily making her way across our boat reminded me that he had not changed. And for that, as his daughter, I could not forgive him.
Follow me @JWilbyPalmer
Read other stories here:
Quid Pro Quo
Alice In Wonderland (An Icelandic Love Story)
Haunted
Walking Down the Aisle
A Second Chance At Life - A Christmas Story
Author update - you can now purchase my debut novel 'Where Were You When the World Ended?' from the Amazon Kindle store.
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