Chapter 11: Dinner and Drinks

Much as Caroline and Maggie suspected, Jason and Malcolm were indeed in the bar watching girls and flirting with the waitresses. In his dark slacks and cream-colored jacket, Malcolm made for a distinguished presence. For his part, Jason no longer looked a young fifteen, but more like a college student on vacation from Harvard or Yale, visiting the Caribbean with his parents before jetting off to see his oh so wealthy girlfriend. They left a wake of wistful lady staffers as they went up to the bar and seated themselves on stools.

“Gentlemen?” asked the bartender.

“Gin and tonic,” ordered Malcolm.

The bartender looked at Jason. In for a penny, in for a pound the boy thought. “The same.”

“Not likely,” laughed Malcolm. “I may run the most decadent ship on the seven seas, but I don’t think so. You like tomato juice?” At Jason’s chagrined nod, Malcolm said, “He’ll have a Virgin Mary. Nice try, though.”

“I figured it was worth a shot. What’s the worst that could happen? I have to drink a Virgin Mary. Just what is a Virgin Mary, anyway?”

“It’s a Bloody Mary without the booze.” The bartender came back with the drinks and set them on napkins. “Go ahead, you’ll like it.”

Jason picked up the thick red drink and took a sip. The glass had a crust of salt around the rim which he licked and liked. A small sip didn’t kill him, so he took a much larger swig. That was when he noticed the Tabasco! Eyes bulging, he put the glass down and looked around for something to put the fire out. Malcolm laughed.

“Don’t worry, they grow on you. Don’t drink so much next time.” He sipped his own drink approvingly until Jason calmed. He held his glass out and said, “A toast!”

It took Jason a moment to realize his role in the small drama. Picking his drink up, he held it towards Malcolm. “What do we toast to?”

Malcolm clinked his glass against his counterpart’s, and then wryly examined his drink. “To malaria. Without it, we wouldn’t have something to mix with our gin.”

They both drank from their glasses, although Jason took only a small sip, wincing against the possibility of further toxic burns. This time the drink was much smoother, and he found himself enjoying the spicy taste. “I don’t get it.”

“Here, sip this.” Malcolm handed his gin and tonic to Jason, who took a small taste. He didn’t much like it and made a face. “Did you taste that bitter taste? That’s the quinine in the tonic water. It cures malaria.”

“It’s awful! Why would anyone drink that?”

“Ah, youth, would that I was so innocent again. It’s a long story, but it goes something like this. A few hundred years ago, when the British ruled the world, they really meant it. They had all these colonies and outposts all over the place, usually in the most terribly dreadful places you can imagine. Aside from being a long way from merry old England, the one thing these places had in common was lots of malaria. People were dropping like flies, and I’m not joking about that. More people died of malaria than almost everything else combined.”

“Well, after a while, somebody, I forget who, learned that the ground-up bark of the cinchona tree had an extract that could prevent and cure malaria. Then somebody else figured out how to make synthetic quinine, the active ingredient. But how do you get people to voluntarily take this really bitter drug? You make it fun. Mix it with some carbonated soda and your gin and drink it down. You’ve cured yourself and gotten drunk at the same time.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” said a skeptical Jason.

“No, he’s not,” stated the bartender polishing the glassware and expecting another order. “That’s the truth.” He pushed a small bottle of tonic water to Jason. It was plainly labeled, ‘With Quinine!’ “I don’t know how well it cures malaria, but that was the idea anyway.”

“I don’t know, either, but I do know it’s a pretty common drink throughout the English-speaking world,” remarked Malcolm. He ordered another round, which was delivered as the pair finished off their first. “Now, it’s your turn. What’s the toast?”

Just then, the entire room’s attention was drawn to and riveted to a blonde who entered the bar. She was tall and seemed taller yet in her five-inch spike heels. Her leather skirt would have made a fine belt for a man, and her massively impressive breasts were forced up and out by the tiny lace bustier which put them on display for the entire bar. She swiveled and swayed across the room to leave through the terrace.

“Holy shit!” breathed Jason, speaking first. He looked over and saw that Malcolm’s head had been turned as well. Picking up his glass, he clinked it against the fresh one in Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm came out of his trance and turned to face him.

“Yeah, wow! So, what’s the toast?”

“To long legs and big tits!”

Malcolm guffawed and took a healthy swallow. “I will drink to that, Jason, I will drink to that!”

The pair spent the rest of their time waiting for the ladies by nursing their drinks and watching pretty young girls come and go. They were on the verge of ordering a third round when they noticed everyone turning towards the door again and spun to face the newcomers.

It was Babs, Maggie, Mary, and Caroline, and they looked like a million dollars, each of them. In their halter tops, heels, and skirts slit to their hips, they looked like sex personified. Even though they all looked alike in their outfits, Malcolm’s discerning eye picked out the differences.

Mary, the youngest, had wrapped her halter the tightest, but this only served to prove that her young breasts needed a bra like a fish needed shoes. Her tiny nipples pushed at the thin fabric like eraser tips. Babs had worn her top the loosest, and her breasts swayed delightfully with every step. As he had hoped when examining them in the store, the sheer but opaque fabric molded itself to their bodies, and their nipples and areolae were outlined for all to see.

The skirts were another matter. Mary and Babs had tied theirs on the right, Caroline and Maggie on the left. Yet Mary and Maggie wore theirs tied at the sides, so the slit went straight down the side. Caroline and Babs wore their skirts slit over the front of the thigh, a decidedly chancier position, considering the way the light gauze swirled around them as they strode forward proudly. Even Mary had a bouncy stride, especially after a very handsome young man had held the door open for them to enter. She turned and gave him a light wave, then turned back and broke his heart by ignoring him.

Maggie stared as she approached them. “Jason, is that you?” She was stunned by the appearance of her son. In his double-breasted jacket, crisp white shirt, perfectly knotted charcoal gray tie, and crisp khakis, he didn’t look at all the gangly boy she thought him.