Chapter 21: Facing the bitch

WHY AM I SO MUCH BETTER at getting myself into trouble than getting out of it? Where did that bug come from? How am I supposed to run in high heels? And what is she doing here?

A matter of opinion

It all started at the Muffin-top’s villa.

Jon picked me up in a six-seater golf cart complete with a driver and two guys who rode on the back with sunglasses and Aloha shirts. They are either his staff or guards. Maybe both. When we got to the villa, we had to pass through security like the one installed at the Condo. Jon had already warned me not to bother bringing my cellphone. All I had with me was my Riley Finn driver’s license and some lipstick madam had given me to freshen my look. They were in a tiny clutch along with the underwear I’d need beneath my dress this evening.

I tell you, this lady’s got balls. Every man who showed up, young or old, had at least one girl in her twenties on his arm. Besides the ‘dates,’ there were a dozen hired eye candy girls by the pool. Young, beautiful, and even more exposed than the dates in our tiny bikinis. Maybe the idea of topless sunbathing was supposed to inspire the rest of us but none of the other dates bit and neither did I. But there, as proud as if she’d just won the Miss America pageant, was Miss Muffin-top in a bikini that was a size and a half too small for her. And the men all drooled over her while a dozen topless hookers sat by the water being neglected.

The villa was island chic with a lot of terracotta and bamboo on the floors. Air-cooling misters sprayed over the rooms and poolside while huge overhead fans moved the air around so we didn’t stifle. One of the topless beauties met us as soon as we entered and offered to show me around. Apparently, she was a hostess. Jon released my arm and said he’d wait at the bar. Savon, the hostess, showed me where the bedrooms were, the restrooms, the dining room, and finally the huge indoor pool. I noted there were a bunch of huge guys who didn’t look the least bit native in their loincloths and big leaf fans. They probably helped cool the air around the beauties they fanned, but from the way their eyes kept shifting around, I could tell they were guards and were probably listening as intently to what was going on around them and the chatterboxes who lounged there.

And that was my first big surprise of the evening. Across the pool was a small group of women I recognized. Delta was there with two others from the Condo whose names I couldn’t remember. But the real shock was seeing my best friend, Teri, chatting with them.

I excused myself from Savon quickly and went into the nearest restroom. I looked at myself in the mirror critically. Teri’s seen me dressed in a lot of different outfits when we go out to play but I didn’t think she’d seen me looking anywhere near the way I did now. I was close to six feet tall in the heels I wore. My bikini top didn’t have a lot to conceal but it didn’t conceal much either. I was thankful it covered the pasties. The bottom was a thong that cut between my ass cheeks in as uncomfortable a position as I could imagine but I had a sarong tied around my waist that just bared my left leg from the sandals to my waist. I’d assumed I’d have to wear a Hijab or even a Niqab to keep her from recognizing me when I tried to collect on my bet. This was about the opposite and showed me in all my glory. I wasn’t sure a red wig and gaudy makeup was going to keep her from just yelling out my name.

“Well, let’s go, girl,” I said to my reflection in my haughtiest Bostonian accent. “Jon’s waiting.” I held my head high and took to heart my own advice on disguise. Rock it like you own it. I did.

I joined my date at the bar where he was chatting with Stan Metzger of the big publishing conglomerate in Seattle. I’d read in Forbes about him being head of eleven newspapers and a magazine publishing company in Des Moines. He hadn’t made the Forbes 100 cutoff but he was well within the top 500 wealthiest men in the world.

“Let’s ask Miss Finn,” Jon said when I stroked his arm in greeting. “Miss Finn, meet Mr. Metz.” Hmm. None of these guys had any imagination when it came to their aliases. I smiled at the man and took his hand. “As far as your generation is concerned, what is the most reliable and opinion-shaping source of news available to you?”

“Oh. Mr. Rentz, Mr. Metz, I don’t think my opinion on that matter is typical of my generation,” I said, trying to collect my thoughts.

“Please tell us and describe the difference,” Metz said.

“Well, we have a reputation of shaping most of our opinions based on Facebook memes and Twitter posts. I’m afraid that is not an entirely unfair characterization,” I said. “I believe, however, it is more a way of solidifying opinion than creating it. People decide what they want to believe and then search out sources, friends, and communities who agree with them. Within that community, memes and posts are passed around that keep building up the voracity of the opinion, regardless of its validity.”

“Well-spoken young woman,” Metz said—not to me but to Jon. “She could go far. May I continue?” Jon nodded to him. “Miss Finn, what is the difference in your opinion from that of your generation.”

“I am not always successful, Mr. Metz, but I try not to have opinions. I have a great many questions but prefer to base my actions on actual research that reveals facts without tainting it with preconceived notions. I’ve seen too often how things become ingrained in a person’s mind to such an extent that they cannot tolerate any fact that disagrees with them. I’m only interested in verifiable data.”

“Perhaps we should talk later about your interest in fact-gathering. As a news organization, my company is always on the lookout for someone who has both the skill and passion to get to the truth,” Metz said.

“That isn’t appropriate for our social gathering,” Jon said. “We should set a time up tomorrow. I just wanted to introduce the two of you. Miss Finn is an extraordinary woman—if you will go so far as to trust my ‘opinion’.” We all had a chuckle and I faded back behind Jon as the men continued to drink and chat. I think I’d just been recruited.

Eavesdropping

Savon collected me at dusk and suggested we join a group for a walk along the shore as the stars came out. Half a dozen of us carried our sandals as we walked to the water’s edge, trying to ignore the three men in loincloths who followed not far behind. They ranged themselves out more to create a barrier between us and anything else. I wondered what the hell they thought we’d do out here or who we’d meet.

In this little group, there seemed to be no differences between the two bare-breasted hostesses and the four dates in our skimpy swimwear. The chatter was easy and I thought how easy it would be to assume these girls were just like me—just trying to do her job and solve some great mystery. For as smart as they seemed, none of them seemed to have the least concept that the men in this meeting had no business meeting together on an isolated island with a woman who ruled it like a queen bee.

We watched the brilliant display of stars light up the eastern sky and then heard a conch being blown by the pool.

“It’s time to get you ladies ready for dinner,” Savon said. We walked back to the villa with our bodyguards keeping watch. At the pool, I excused myself.

“I need the restroom,” I said. “Having all that water lapping around me did something to my bladder.” The girls laughed and Savon told me which bedroom was my changing room. I soon discovered a weakness in island construction. The bathroom was barely proof against being seen on the toilet. Soundproof, it definitely was not. I heard voices outside and realized the back of the bathroom room I’d ducked into masked a private patio where the Muffin-top was holding conversations with three of the men on the Committee.