Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 2

Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 2

by

D.A.Cairns

The Fight

‘I don’t know what that was Rhys, but I sure hope you got it all out of your system.’

The line at immigration moved forward. Rhys shuffled: feigned a contrite look and shook his head. ‘Sorry baby.’

‘I hope to God you aren’t planning on ruining our holiday like you just ruined everyone’s flight; especially mine.’

‘It’s not like I planned it.’

Rhonda glared at him until he reluctantly met her gaze. ‘It looked exactly like you planned it. Like it was scripted.’

Rhys laughed. ‘Get serious.’

‘Do I like look I’m joking?’

They inched forward again as another visitor had their passport stamped by a serious looking individual in a khaki uniform. ‘I’ll behave myself. I promise. I won’t put a foot wrong for the rest of the trip, and If I do it will be entirely unintentional.’

‘I’ll give you entirely intentional,’ she said before punching his arm.

Rhys had overdone it on the plane. Rhonda had simply ignored him, as had Deep Voice, even when Rhys had lowered his seat right onto the guys lap. The flight attendants remonstrated with him with every drink they brought him, as did every passenger whom he bumped into in his way to and back from the lavatory. During a quieter moment he had decided to try something else. Even though he had no original thoughts on how to force this break up, he managed to delude himself otherwise. Next was the flirt. He searched the adjacent queues on either side of theirs until he found something pleasing to his eye, then stared. Eventually Rhonda noticed his concerted attention and followed his gaze.

‘Don’t stare Rhys,’ she said. ‘It’s rude.’

‘Do you think her breasts are real?’

‘Do you think that’s any of your business or of any interest to me?’

‘I never asked about yours,’ said Rhys suddenly turning back to Rhonda, to her face first then to her chest and quickly back again.

‘I gave you plenty of chances to find out for yourself, dumbo.’

‘I’m going to go and ask her.’

They shuffled forward. ‘Ask her what?’

Rhys offered no reply, and before Rhonda could protest or grab his arm to hold him back, he was in the next line chatting to the woman who may or may not have had breast implants. He started with a smile and a quip; ‘I want to hedge my bets for the fast lane.’ She rewarded him with a smile which revealed she had spent a small fortune at the dentist.

‘Your teeth are amazing,’ he said. She thanked him. ‘I’ve had so much trouble with my teeth. I was thinking about ditching them all and starting again, but I can’t afford it.’

The woman nodded. The line moved again. Rhys waved at Rhonda who had not moved. ‘Your wife? Girlfriend?’

‘Can you keep a secret?’

She frowned an impossibly cute frown. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s our farewell tour.’

The woman’s frown deepened into something less appealing; something suspiciously like dim wittedness. ‘She brought me on this holiday to dump me.’

‘That’s horrible.’

‘Anyway, we were talking about how much your breasts cost.’

Rhys wasn’t sure what he was looking at now, but he didn’t like it. He liked it even less when it hit him in the face. ‘Arsehole!’

As he walked quickly back to join Rhonda he avoided looking at her and also tried not to laugh. Maybe he was losing his mind. His behaviour was further out to sea than he’d ever travelled, but instead of being concerned, he felt pleased; almost delirious. This was fun. Back in the queue, he received a pinch from Rhonda, then turned to smile at the woman behind him.‘She has trouble controlling me,’ he said.

The woman stared at him just long enough for Rhys to receive a mixed signal. Open to interpretation, he opted for the most self-gratifying explanation. He lowered his voice and leaned towards the woman who took a small step backwards. ‘Maybe you could do a better job.’ He winked and cringed.

‘The line is moving,’ she said.

Rhys turned and followed Rhonda who had moved a few paces forward courtesy of a whole family passing through the checkpoint. There were only two people in front of them now. Rhys had always thought he was charming. Always believed he was cool and impressive in a very masculine way. He’d never really tried out his skill though. Previously successes had been accidental. Even meeting Rhonda had been a case of serendipity. With the fireworks going off all around them, he’d never really had to try to win Rhonda’s heart. It seemed she was a ripe mango swaying on the tree. Open to love with all its mystery and adventure. Rhys was more like an overripe banana. Why was he thinking in fruit metaphors? It sounded ludicrous. It matched his sentiment.

Rhonda was very quiet, no doubt upset by his behaviour. A tiny seed of remorse threatened to bud in his heart. He wasn’t really a mean person. Not intentionally, though he was aware he lacked sensitivity. He was, as he had so amply portrayed on the plane, quite intolerant. He was even intolerant of himself sometimes. This moment felt like one of those times. As people do when they are trying to avoid awkwardness, Rhys brush stroked the silence with inane small talk.

‘That was a relatively quick march.’

‘It didn’t take long at all.’

‘Soon we will be out of the airport and in Bali.’

Rhonda finally turned her head and sighed. ‘Where do you think this airport is?’

A few clever quips sprang to mind, but Rhys held his tongue. His strategy, mixed and haphazard as it was, appeared to be having some impact. The decision now was whether to back off, maintain, or escalate. By following every little impulse, each mischievous prompting, he was not only wearing Rhonda down but also having fun. However, it was important to manage the timing.

They walked from the terminal out on to the concourse and were immediately assailed by a gang of hawkers. Rhonda was ready to talk turkey until Rhys reminded her they had pre booked a shuttle to the hotel. After a brief search they located their driver who was holding a handwritten sign with their names on it. While the driver led them to his vehicle, Rhys looked around, admiring the collection of ladies; both local and foreign. Rhonda ignored him, but he only cared a little bit.

At the Bali Dynasty Resort, Rhonda returned to her bubbly self, gushing about the lavish lobby bursting with greenery as it was, interspersed with gleaming marble and brass. Large wooden blade overhead fans moved the air around just enough to take the edge of the humidity. The peaceful and elegant tropical ambience seeped into Rhys’s bones calming the poltergeist within. He would lay off the bad boyfriend routine for a while, if for no other reason than he didn’t want to blow the holiday to hell too soon.

‘How good is this place!’ he said as they followed the porter to the far end of the foyer and into the elevator. Rhonda rewarded his new found positivity by taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. He kissed her cheek. She grabbed his face and forced her lips onto his. He nearly fainted. The discreet porter stepped from the lift when they door opened and quietly asked them to follow him. Rhys had trouble walking straight. ‘How good is this place!’ he said again.

It was normal for a natural wonder to far exceed the muted beauty displayed in photographs. Hotel rooms were a different story. Rhys braced for the disappointment as the porter opened the door. The first thing which always struck him upon entering a new hotel room was how much smaller they were in reality. The air conditioning had been running for some time; providing a perfectly comfortable interior which was tastefully furnished and not overcrowded. The bed was huge. A king which Rhys knew was two doubles cleverly conjugated. Beyond the bed sat a sofa which housed a pull out bed. Rhys had checked that. In case the bed was too small or if he should decide that he simply would not be able to sleep with Rhonda so close. He gulped, wondering how he was going to avoid nature taking its course. Still recovering from the forceful passion of Rhonda’s elevator kiss, Rhys began to seriously doubt his ability to resist. If he surrendered, all would be lost. He would be stuck.

‘Enjoy your stay,’ said the porter quietly before slipping away to allow the door to close softly on Rhys and Rhonda. The former ambled over to the double-glazed sliding doors which opened on to the balcony exposing a panoramic view of the ocean, the latter flopped on the bed and flipped around like a fish out of water. Rhys tried not to think about tsunamis. This was so stupid. He imagined his mates telling him what a dick he was to be trying to avoid what everyman lived for. They’d crap on about silver platters and looking gift horses in the mouth, and with every attempt to damn him with clichés, he’d find himself weakening. A rushing wall of water was on its way.

‘Let’s go for a swim!’ he said, wanting to get out of the room before wondering how on earth seeing Rhonda in her bikini was going to do anything to cool the fire in his loins. A voice in his head told him to get it over and done with. She wants it. You want it. What are you waiting for? What was he waiting for?

‘Sure’ said Rhonda, springing from the bed to land beside her suitcase which she tipped on its belly and ripped its zipper, opening it. She quickly found her bikini: the royal blue one. Rhys loved that colour on her. Loved it. Before he could say anything, she disappeared into the bathroom mercifully choosing to change out of sight. In his heightened testosterone fueled condition his imagination was more than capable of compensating.

When Rhonda emerged from the bathroom looking like a goddess or a sexy queen or something impossibly tanatalising, Rhys averted his eyes, then turned away.

‘Something wrong baby?’ she said. ‘This is your favourite.’ She was moving closer breathing her words. ‘I could take it off if you don’t like it.’ When her breasts pushed into his back, Rhys felt his knees tremble. He was about to turn and take what she was offering, close to letting her feel how much he wanted her, on the verge of exploding. Her hand slid down from his stomach to hit the target. Rhys leapt out of her embrace.

‘Fuck Rhys!’ she said.

He looked at her face, but did not see what he expected.

‘Why?’ she said, her voice crumbling, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Why?’

Rhys had never felt more guilty or stupid, or whatever the hell crazy mix of foolishness this was. Rhonda’s wounded expression quickly gave way to anger. ‘Fuck you!’ She shoved him in the chest, snatched up her towel and tote bag before storming out of the room. Rhys might have called out to her; to apologize, to beg her to stay, to say anything, but he was too busy collapsing on the floor in exhausted impotence. ‘Fuck Rhys!’