Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink (31 page)

Just as I start watching a superthin silver fish race through the water, I hear a horrific scream.

I throw down my legs on the sand and turn around toward the sound. Jeff is wading back onto shore quickly, his tube out of his mouth, his mask up.

“What happened?” I yell to him as I race back to land.

“Don’t know! I hurt my foot!’ Jeff yells.

By the time I get back to shore, Jeff is sitting at the water’s edge, holding on to his foot, which is covered in blood.

My eyes go wide. “Jesus.”

The top of Jeff’s foot is split open, and blood pours out everywhere.

“It’s fine,” Jeff insists tensely. “Just hurts like a son of a bitch. But I’m fine.”

“That looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding a lot.”

“I’m not going to ruin a perfectly good day cooped up in an emergency room,” Jeff snaps.

A very handsome dark-haired man in swim trunks rushes up to us. “I’m a paramedic. Can I help?”

“No,” Jeff begins angrily, turning to him. “Everything’s…” Jeff’s gaydar goes off at the sight of this gorgeous guy, and his voice immediately softens. “Fine. Absolutely fine.”

The paramedic looks worried. “You seem to be bleeding rather profusely. Mind if I take a look at it?”

Jeff waves him off. “It’s nothing. Throw a little salt in it, I’ll be good to go.”

The man visibly winces at Jeff’s suggestion. “I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, kneeling on the sand to get a better look at Jeff’s bloody stump. “It looks like the top of your foot scraped against some coral. I can see there’s still a piece lodged in there.”

“Really? Oh. I was looking out over the water and thought I saw a fin. I panicked and tripped over a rock at the reef. Maybe I hit the coral then.”

“That’s probably what happened. I’m going to try and pull the coral out and see if we can’t get you cleaned up.”

“Pull away … um…”

“Brian.”

“Pull away, Brian.”

Brian points to a towel and a beach bag a few feet from us. “I have a clean towel in my bag. Let me go grab it.”

“Okay, Brian,” Jeff says, pleasantly smiling at his new love.

The second Brian is out of hearing range, Jeff’s smile disappears. He takes my hand, looks at me with all kinds of seriousness and urgency, and whispers to me, “Invite him with us to the torch-lighting ceremony.”

“How can you even think about sex at a time like this?” I whisper back.

Jeff shakes his head. “It’s like we’ve never met.”

Brian the paramedic returns, holding a bright white towel that is about to look like a crime scene and a small spray can of what I assume is Neosporin. “All right. Now what’s going to happen is I’m going to pull out the coral, then immediately put pressure on the wound with this towel. Be prepared for a sting.”

Jeff’s smile returns. “No problem. And, Brian, thank you so much for your help. I’m Jeff. This is my friend Mel. She’s visiting from Los Angeles, and I thought it would be fun to take her snorkeling, then to a torch lighting at the—oh, son of a bitch, damn, fuck, motherfucker!”

“Sorry, sir. It’s out now. Let me get you cleaned up.”

Brian the paramedic sprays some disinfectant onto Jeff’s foot, and I swear Jeff’s going to leap off the sand and stay levitated a good five feet.

“Are you all right?” I ask him.

“I’ve had better moments,” Jeff tells me through gritted teeth. Then he asks Brian, “Do you like sushi, because there’s this wonderful place in Kihei”—Jeff continues in a rapid, pained voice—“ow, that hurts! Ow, ow, fuck! Ow! Brian, are you free for dinner?!”

Even in hideous pain, Jeff can still try to make a love connection. You gotta admire that kind of chutzpah.

“I love sushi,” Brian says to Jeff, smiling, then turns to me. “He’s going to need stitches. There’s an urgent care in Lahaina that’s open, if you can drive him. Otherwise I can call an ambulance and have him sent to the emergency room.”

Jeff waves him off. “Oh, I’ll be fine. So are you seeing anyone, Brian?”

I watch a shy smile creep across Brian’s face, “No, Jeff, I’m not. And you’re not going to be fine until after you get some stitches.”

Brian helps Jeff hobble on one foot to Jeff’s car, while I quickly pack up our stuff on the beach. By the time I get to the car, I can hear them making a date for tomorrow night. I shake my head, in awe at Jeff’s uncanny ability to always make lemonade from lemons (or in this case, Bloody Marys from blood).

Soon I am driving Jeff to the urgent care center in Lahaina, which is a large town on the western side of the island between Kihei and Ka’anapali filled with restaurants, shops, and people whose friends have not caused them to need minor surgery.

I park the car and have Jeff lean against me as we hobble into the clinic. Within ten minutes, we are in Patient Room One, waiting for the doctor on call.

As Jeff texts Brian back and forth from his seat in the middle of the room, I examine his bloody foot. “I should have never made you go into the water with me. I am so, so sorry.”

“No one makes me do anything. And I’m fine.” Jeff continues texting madly on his phone. “Besides, for all you know, my misadventure could lead to a marriage.

I shake my head, guilt ridden. “Your foot’s getting worse, and you have so much adrenaline pumping through you right now, you don’t realize how much pain you’re going to be in tonight.”

“I have a man who looks like Clark Kent without the glasses agreeing to have dinner with me. Life really doesn’t get any better than that.”

I blink a few times, deciphering his description. “You do realize you just described Superman, right?”

“Let’s hope so,” Jeff deadpans as he reads a text from his phone. He looks up at me. “Hey, do you think you could make yourself scarce tomorrow night?”

The doctor walks in, wearing a white lab coat, reading from a clipboard. “Good afternoon, Mr. Greco, I’m Dr. Cameron—”

“Airport guy!” I blurt out.

Suddenly, I feel sick. My gut is starting to clench, the way it did when I was fifteen years old, standing next to my high school crush’s locker so we could accidentally on purpose run into each other.

Airport guy looks up from his clipboard. First, he looks surprised, then his face lights up. “Hey—it’s my buddy from the bar. Mel, right?”

He remembered my name! Charming airport guy remembered my name.

Jeff tosses his phone down, much more interested in this new turn of events. He turns to me. “What kind of buddy?” he asks, his voice dripping with innuendo.

“Stop it,” I say quickly under my breath. “Yes,” I answer in a normal voice to airport guy. I’m struggling to remember his name. Damn it! It’s something French. “Um…”

“Ben.”

“Ben! Yes, of course. Benoit.”

“Benoit,” Jeff repeats seductively, eyeing me mischievously.

I bug out my eyes at him, signaling for him to shut up. Fortunately he takes the hint.

“What are you doing in Maui?” Ben and I both ask each other simultaneously.

“I live here./I’m visiting,” we answer together.

“But I thought you lived in New York,” I say.

“No. I have business there. But you live in LA, right?”

“I do.”

“Wow,” Ben says. “And yet, here you are. In my office.”

I nod slowly, still a bit flabbergasted. “Here I am. In your office. That could be our six-word memoir.”

Ben nods. “Huh. Sooo … How did Paris go?”

“Good,” I say, then quickly change my story. “I mean, we broke up. But good.”

“Interesting,” he says, nodding.

I lean in to him, looking for clarification. “Interesting how?”

Before he can answer, Jeff jokes, “Interesting in that he’s so fascinated with you at this moment, he has totally forgotten about the man with the bloody foot.”

Ben turns to Jeff. “Oh. Sorry. Let’s take a look at your foot.”

Ben examines Jeff’s foot, asks a few medical questions, then concludes, “You’re definitely going to need stitches. Let’s also get an X-ray just to be sure your bones are all okay.”

Within a few minutes, the nurse has taken Jeff to X-ray, and Ben and I have a moment alone to talk. “So, how are you liking Maui so far?” he asks.

“Other than being in a doctor’s office on my second day, it’s good.” I shake my head, still stunned. “Man. Had I known you were a doctor who lives in Maui, I’m not sure I would have ever let you leave the bar.”

Ben laughs at my (sort of) joke.

He thinks I’m funny. Good.

Then the laughter fades, and we share an awkward moment.

Ben grasps for some conversation with a doozy. “So … Paris guy is done with.” He nods his head toward X-ray. “Is this Maui guy?”

“What? Him? Noooo … No, Jeff’s a friend. A platonic friend. A gay, platonic friend.”

Ben nods, clearly observing me.

I nod back, trying to think of something clever to say. “So, a good-looking, single doctor. Are
you
gay?” Yeah. That was exactly the type of bon mot I was shooting for.

“Um … no. I’m straight. But I have friends I could introduce him to, if you’re trying to set him up.”

“Oh, no. Unlike me, Jeff has very few problems in that area.”
Unlike me? What are you saying, Mel?
“Actually he’s ditching me for a date tomorrow night, so I have nothing to do. Any recommendations?”

“That depends. Do you want to do something touristy like a luau, or just something laid-back, like checking out a great sunset?”

I want to do something with you!
I am screaming in my head.
I want to do anything with you! I’ll go pick up dry cleaning with you! I will happily wash a cat with you.

“I don’t know,” I say diplomatically, and far more calmly than I feel. “What would you suggest?”

Ben smiles and shrugs. “I’m off at five tomorrow. Are you free for dinner?”

“I would love that,” I say, suppressing the urge to giggle.

I have a date. With a gorgeous, well-traveled doctor who lives in Maui.

Kind of ridiculous. I think Marilyn would be proud.

F
ORTY
-
THREE

Several hours, five stitches, and one smoking-hot doctor’s phone number later, Jeff and I are back at his place. While I make dinner, Jeff lies on his couch, his wrapped foot elevated on a pillow and an iPad in his lap, stalking my new crush for me. “Okay, he’s not on Match.com, howaboutwe.com, or any of the other dating websites that serve the island,” Jeff informs me, sounding as serious as a supporting character talking to Tom Cruise via headset in, well, almost any Tom Cruise movie.

“I don’t want to know,” I tell Jeff firmly as I chop up lettuce in the kitchen. “The last few weeks have been all about doing something different: seeing new places, meeting new people, experiencing new things. And it’s making me really happy. So in light of that, I’m going to try a different way to date: no Internet stalking, no waiting by the phone, no overthinking what he says, where he takes me, or what he does. I will just live in the moment, and the relationship will unfold exactly like it’s meant to.”

“Wait. You mean you plan to actually go on a date to learn about the guy?” Jeff asks in mock horror. “Without any recon? Wouldn’t that involve asking questions and feigning interest?”

“Shut up,” I say, only slightly kidding.

“Seriously, if you want to ask questions and feign interest, become a bartender. It pays better,” Jeff tells me distractedly as he reads. “Man, there are more than twenty Ben Camerons on Facebook, plus a bunch of Benjamins. And don’t even get me started on the other social-media sites out there.” He turns to me and asks accusingly, “Are you putting green peppers in my salad?”

“Yes, because we just met today for the first time,” I answer sarcastically. “Just the yellow ones. I know.”

“And no tomatoes,” Jeff reminds me as he continues to read the screen. “Do you know when you google
Ben Cameron,
you get almost two hundred million results?”

“No, I don’t. Because, once again, I’m not going to google-stalk.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not the famous cricketer,” Jeff says, almost to himself. He looks up from his iPad.
“Famous cricketer.
Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it? Like
lovable cat
or
good first date.”
Jeff continues to read, then sighs. “Seriously, I can’t find him. Do you think he’s Amish?”

“No, I do not think he’s Amish,” I grouse. “Try Dr. Benoit Cameron.” Then I catch myself. “Wait. No. Don’t.”

“Already on it,” Jeff says happily, his fingers blurring over the keys.

“Here we go! Oooohhhh … fancy. Graduated from Stanford undergrad, apparently a swimmer there…” Jeff turns to me, smiling, “You know what they say about swimmers?”

“No, what do they say?”

“More likely to be eaten by sharks.” Jeff turns back to read. “Went to med school at Columbia, followed by an ER residency in Manhattan. Just moved here last year.”

“Fine. Now turn off your computer. Dinner’s almost ready,” I command.

As I open the refrigerator to grab dressing, my mind drifts to thoughts of Ben. I can’t help it. I am actively trying to stop myself, but it’s like trying to stop the ocean waves from crashing or a new
Star Wars
movie from being made. “Do you think he moved here for a girl? Wait! No! Don’t answer that. I’m not doing this to myself. I will find out anything I want to know about him tomorrow. And I will not even think about him until tomorrow. Tonight, I am going to enjoy a huge salad with you, watch a little Bravo—”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

“—watch a little History Channel with you, then go to bed.” I bring large bowls of salad into the living room and hand a bowl to Jeff. He looks confused. “Okay, why are we having salad for dinner?”

“Because I need to lose fifteen pounds by tomorrow. Eat up.”

As Jeff and I dig into our salads, my phone beeps from across the room to alert me that I have a text.

We both freeze. I say nothing and continue to eat my salad.

Yes, obviously, I am wondering if it is Ben, hoping it is Ben.

But I’m not going to look.

Jeff and I eat in silence for a bit. Then he eyes me, amused. “You’re not even curious?”