Irene felt a painful squeeze in her chest. Was the humiliation worth it? She glanced around the confined quarters of the flight-deck, hoping for solace. Flying was all she knew; all she had ever wanted. Was it time to give it up? Maybe she shouldn’t sell the Cessna. She could fly it to Honduras.
Irene battled with her emotions a moment longer, then, still looking past Scirocco, she slipped a hand into the opening of her swimsuit. She pulled her right breast free, rolled it out into the arch of his fingers. Reaching across, she slipped her other breast out from beneath the crumpled nylon. “Enjoy,” she sighed, feeling totally defeated under his gaze.
“Dark brown,” he said, lifting her breast and studying the nipple. “You’re Italian?”
“My mother is. Dad’s an American.”
“Then you got your mother’s nipples. How lucky for you. Italian women have large daunting nipples; to keep their babies quiet and their lover’s content.”
“Thanks for the lesson in family dynamics, Scirocco. But autopilot or not, I’m still flying an airplane. If you’re going to help yourself to something, better get on with it.”
He looked up. Her tone was insolent and he didn’t like it. He took her left nipple under his thumbnail and squeezed with a savage twist. Irene buckled from the waist, seething in pain; the tears blurring her vision. “You must learn to be nice, Irene,” he said, now seemingly concerned, soothing the throbbing nipple with his fingertips. “You will learn that obedience will pay large dividends in my organization. Insolence could get you killed.”
There. He had confirmed her fears. He and his organization worked outside of the law. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping a wayward tear. “I’ll try harder. Really.”
“That’s better,” he said and roughly jostled her breasts back into place. “Now I have to get back to my guests. But just so you remember our little conversation…”
He stood and taking Irene by the shoulders, he kneed her in the groin. The burst of pain brought a cry of surprise and anguish from Irene’s throat. She fell forward fighting the rising vomit and steadied herself in his arms.
His lips twisted into a cold smile. “Ah, Irene. So affectionate? Now? Just when I’m leaving?” He rubbed his penis against her thigh. “Not to worry, dear. We’ll continue our little escapade another time. How pull yourself together and get us home.” He took her by the arm and helped her to the left-hand seat. Irene dropped down thankfully and quickly leaned forward, head down to avoid passing out. She was cold and clammy and knew she looked shaken. She heard the cabin door close and alone now, Irene started to cry.
“How was the flight?” Ditz asked, watching Irene hoist her rolling flight-case onto the bed.
“Fuckin’ horrible,” Irene returned and she unlocked the case using a small key.
Ditz slipped onto the edge of the bed and pulled the gauzy beach jacket she was wearing around nude breasts. “You got stuff to be laundered?”
“Launder might be the right word for it.” Irene threw back the lid of the flight-case.
Ditz gasped. “You rob a bank?” The case was full of banded bills.
“I closed out my bank accounts. This is all the liquid cash I have. It doesn’t seem like much.”
“No?”
“I’ve worked all my life, Ditz, and a home mortgage, a car loan, one small plane and a flight-case full of cash is all I have to show for it. With no kids to support, I sometimes wonder where all the money went.”
“Mmm. You want a rum cocktail. Blender’s working.”
“I need a rum cocktail.”
“The flight was that bad, eh?
“Scirocco and a few of his cronies were aboard. Yeah, it was bad.” Irene conceded.
“No need to tell me: Scirocco humiliated you and your crew? He’ll rub your nose in it every chance he gets.”
“He treated my girl’s like dirt and I still don’t have a full-time job.” Irene was not about to tell Ditz how she had opened the front of her bathing suit for Scirocco.
“Try not to think about it.” Ditz ran a hand up along the back of Irene’s arm. “The girls are making big sacrifices in return for more money than they could possibly make anywhere else. When they finally move on, and they will, they will have set themselves up for life. They understand the pros and cons, trust me.” Ditz stood. “I’ll start the blender. Get comfy. We’ll have a drink and after, maybe a dip in the ocean. You’ll feel better, you’ll see.”
“Thanks, Ditz– I’ll change and be right out.”
After Ditz had pulled the door closed Irene struggled out of her skirt and blouse. She untwisted the ties of her swimsuit and stripped it down her legs. In her small closet she pulled out the over-sized man’s shirt she usually slept in and dropped it around her shoulders. She wasn’t completely comfortable strolling around the Hobbit House in the nude, but she was getting better. She did up two of the buttons, the ones low down.
“You sound like you’ve been there,” Irene accepted a rum punch from Ditz and stretched her legs out on the love seat.
“The humiliation trip? Yeah, early on, when I first started working here. I had a room in the main building back then. I know you find me pretty free and easy, but I wasn’t always this way.” Ditz took up her position on the opposite love seat and tested her drink. “When I was lots younger, I blew a pretty mean alto sax; actually sat with the college jazz band. So one day here at the Casino, I took my sax out by the swimming pool, ran through some scales and played a couple of numbers for the guests. Unfortunately word got back to Scirocco.”
“He was upset because you played for the guests?”
“Naw, he was fine with that,” Ditz continued. “What you don’t know is that Charlie Scirocco fancies himself as a hot drummer. He had put together a scratch band: Himself, couple of guitars and a keyboard player, but they didn’t have a lead so when he heard I played sax, he asked me to sit in on a session. Well the boys and I clicked pretty good, with me front and center with sax and vocals.”
“You sing as well?”
“Just passable,” Ditz chuckled deep down. “Anyway after a few sessions, Scirocco was getting excited about the sound. Our signature piece was Somewhere Over The Rainbow. I could really wail on that one. So the next thing I know, Scirocco has booked us into the Caramel Lounge, it’s the supper club on the top floor of the Casino; fifty or sixty tables, a stage, decent lighting and a sound board.”
“So he planned a big opening night.”
“Oh yeah. He even bought us stage costumes. The guys looked smashing in tight flannel trousers and open silk shirts and I was just thinking how great I would look in head to toe sequins when he handed me a shoe-box.”
Irene’s eyes came up. “A shoe-box?”
“Yup. That was my costume: A pair of baby blue, six-inch spikes. I was floored.”
“Are you telling me he expected you to play in the nude?”
“Oh he didn’t expect it.” Ditz nodded. “He demanded it. So the big night arrives and I’m at center stage with two spotlights on me, holding a saxophone and wearing nothing but my new shoes. God, they pinched like hell.”
“Holy crap.”
“And the room was packed.”
“So you performed, naked, in front of all those men?”
“And women,” Ditz added. “That was the most humiliating part: There were wives, mothers, school teachers, librarians, church ladies– all sorts of women in the audience. And I knew exactly what they thought of me. It was a horrible feeling.”
“So what did you do?”
“Not much I could do. I just played the best damned sax of my life, sang with all the heart I could muster, and hoped they would accept me as a musician.”
“And did they?”
“Nope. A lot of the women walked out. But I got a hell of a standing ovation from the men. Of course they weren’t applauding my music. It could have been my first time ever blowing a sax and they would have been on their feet; if just to get a closer look at me. Luckily, Scirocco began to lose interest after about a month and disbanded the group. I tossed my blue shoes into the ocean. You want another drink.”
Irene held an empty glass. “I’m feeling kinda gritty. I think I’ll swim first.”
“Yeah. Scirocco has the same effect on me, too. We’ll probably find your entire flight-crew down at the beach, trying to rid themselves of the stench. We’ll have a party.”
“A party? You know that’s a great idea. I still haven’t spent any time with my crew; social time I mean, where I can have a chance to get to know them. Would it be okay? Have them over for an evening of drinks and snick-snacks?”
“Are you kidding? Sure. I love parties. Gives me a chance to wear clothes. All eight girls?”
“Yup.”
Ditz laughed. “It’ll be chummy; no room for dancing.”
“We can get some throw cushions, sit on the floor, like we did when we were back in school.”
“That’s not all I did on the floor when I was back in school,” Ditz quipped.
Irene gave her a knowing eye. “You’re a sex maniac. How about the day after tomorrow. We’re not flying. I’ll tell the girls about eight o’clock. That good?”
“Perfect. I’ll plan the hors d’oeuvres. I’ll get young Peitro to go down to the mangroves tomorrow and bring us back a bushel of oysters. And a wheelbarrow of ice from the main building. An oyster roast. What could be better than that.”
Irene was just checking the oysters she had stacked on the grill when she heard the racket of laughter in the trees. She straightened as the girls appeared around the curve and waved. With heads bobbing, arms linked and hips swaying atop stilt-like legs, the bunch of them resembled a gaggle of colorful shore-birds. Willowy arms lifted and Irene’s flight-crew shouted out a greeting, memories of the humiliating treatment they had received at the hands of the men, all but forgotten.
Every man’s fantasy, Irene thought as her girls gathered around, a wet-dream come true.
“Oysters,” Irene announced, lifting the lid of the grill, “just opening. There’s beer and white wine inside and I think you’ll find Ditz working up a batch of rum cocktails. Go on in and help yourselves. I’ll bring a tray.”
There was a chorus of approval and the girls moved toward the Hobbit House. It was then that Irene noticed that a girl was missing.
“I’ll stay and help,” Tracy offered.
“Where’s Debbie?” Irene asked.
“Probably holed-up in her room with her old laptop. Debbie never goes out, even in Miami for shopping. Every dime she makes, she sends home.”
“Every dime? C’mon.”
“Just about. Her father is bedridden, legs crushed in an accident. He’s heavily medicated for pain. And with no insurance, the family is pretty much bankrupted. Debbie does her best to support them with her pay and is in constant touch with her mother by email. Here, this is my friend Sissy.”
Irene eyes fell on a pretty heart-shaped face with bright eyes peering from beneath wheat-colored strands. “Sissy?” Irene reached and affectionately squeezed the girl’s arm.
Tracy was reaching for the tongs. “It’s short for Sister. Sissy is our resident Nun, aren’t you sweetie.”