ursula vanderleffer and willoughby xenophon-st john met for cocktails at sunset on victor widespan’s private beach.
the sun was going down in a magnificent red and gold chiaroscuric conflagration over the purpling waters.
ursula’s petite raven - haired handmaid was spreading ursula’a fabulously costly hand-woven beach towel over the sparkling sands.
willoughby xenophon-st john waited in the wings, making no attempt to conceal his rapidly growing impatience.
how do you like it so far?
it’s great.
shall i continue?
go for it.
back at the hotel bar, gena harris and koji lightyear were putting their heads together.
are we all set?
yes.
good.
without looking at his watch or phone, koji waited exactly fifteen minutes.
he got up and left without saying another word to gena,
gena took another four minutes and nineteen seconds to finish her margarita.
then she too got up and left.
night had fallen fast, as it did in the tropic.
omar plunkett watched from his dodge el dorado as gena approached her lexus at a leisurely pace.
come on, lady, get a move on.
when gena finally reached the lexus, she dropped her key on the pavement.
the clock was ticking.
omar cursed like a chief financial officer at a board meeting,
which he had been at several of his previous lives.
gena could not find her key!
how are we doing?
keep it rolling.
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