Previously On The Maya...

George Kirkegaard enjoys a meal at the home of Jim Layton. After dinner, the two men retire to his den where they talk about physical changes in Layton's wife. The conversation obviously gets awkward, at least for Kirkegaard, who is trying to be polite while getting to the point. There is a moment of silence where he thinks Layton might punch him, but then his friend bursts out laughing. Marie Layton has been undergoing changes—she looks younger, her body has changed, and she's more energetic. Layton tells Kirkegaard that when they first arrived, they were told to expect these modifications in physiology.

These physical changes stem from the climate's and the soil's effects on food grown on the island.

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The Maya—a living legend covert operative-for-hire that no one she encounters can remember.

George Kirkegaard—a former newspaper owner forced out of business by state government.

Eugenio Stavros—a shipping magnate on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Use to renegotiate a steel contract.

Amara Barclay—a savvy, independent multi-millionaire entrepreneur and socialite with unparalleled beauty.

Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake—two U.S. government officials running off-the-books dark ops involving The Maya.

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And now...the next installment of The Maya.

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"Okay," Kirkegaard said. He hesitated again, not sure if he should say what he had next. Then, he decided to go ahead. "Are the changes uniform? Do they affect everyone the same?"

"No." Layton shook his head. "There are a lot of factors. Gender is one. Women tend to be more responsive than men. That might be because they typically eat more fruits, nuts and vegetables. Just like everywhere else on this planet, the quality of the food the animal eats isn't transferred one hundred percent to its meat. So, while the meat here is more nutritional and—by the way—less illness-causing, like cancer, cholesterol and high blood pressure, it isn't as nutritional as the grains and vegetables that went to feed the animal."

"Okay, so higher meat intake could blunt the physical changes in males."

Layton nodded.

"What else."

"Age. Those of us who are over thirty-five have less a tendency to change, or change quickly, as those who are under thirty-five."

"You're..."

"Thirty-eight."

"And Marie is..."

"Thirty-three."

"That's right. I couldn't remember if it was a four or five year difference."

"Both. It depends on the time of the year," Layton said. "But, more important than her age now is the fact she was still thirty when we got here. Also, she gave birth a few months before we arrived on the island. Younger pregnant women do even better when they first get here."

"Sounds like fertility is involved."

"It is. The fact is, fertile females are more attractive to males. There are chemical elements to it, like pheromones, but there are also physical, psychological and emotional pieces, too."

"So, you're saying Marie is..."

"Her biological clock is reversing. She's gotten older, but internally, she's back to where she was at twenty-seven, or thereabouts. Her doctor won't say it's a year-for-year reversal, but she thinks it is."

"It's not just internal, though."

"Oh, no. As you were so delicately trying to put it, she's been filling out more in all the right places and shrinking more in all the right places. She's even grown a full inch taller since we've been here."

"Wow." To Kirkegaard, adding to height after a certain age seemed impossible. Yet, he didn't think his friend would be making it up. "What about you, then?"

"Me?"

"Any changes?"

"Not nearly so noticeable," Layton said. He smiled. "Age, gender, a mostly sedentary lifestyle, more meat, etc., has been offsetting any changes I might experience, but I have lost and kept off several pounds, and according to my doctor, I'm at least keeping up with my correct age, instead of exceeding it."

"That's good to know."

"Yeah. Apparently, I already had the heart of a forty-year-old when we got here." The sobering thought made Layton's smile fade.

Kirkegaard shook his head. "Well, at least you know, and aging and disease are being counteracted. That's all good news."

"Listen to you," Layton said, "Cheering me up when it should be the other way around."

"Yeah, your evil plan is working," Kirkegaard said. It was true. Kirkegaard felt better. Were the affects of good food and temperate climate working on him already? Or was it just focusing on someone else instead of oneself? Whatever it was, he didn't feel like butting his head against the wall for once.

"You okay?" Layton said, after they fell into silence.

"Yeah," Kirkegaard said. He rubbed his neck. "Of all the conversations I could have imagined us having, this was not one of them."

"It won't be the last," Layton said.

***

Amara lay in a hammock between palm trees, the tide lapping at the sand less than a hundred feet away, while a light breeze, warm and sensual, caressed her body. It was near ten pm, and she had taken to the hammock shortly before sundown. She lay with her eyes closed, listening to the waves, feeling the air move around her and thought she could stay like this forever. This was indeed paradise. Then, she heard a rustling of nearby bushes and felt a gentle tugging on the hammock.

She opened her eyes to find Stavros standing next to her, wearing a pair of swim trunks. Muscular chest covered with dark tufts, a six pack and golden skin, he smiled down upon her. He really is lovely, she thought. In a different life, under another set of circumstances, Amara could have fallen in love with him. But she had made her choices, and he had made his. Nothing was impossible, but Amara didn't have time for entangled dalliances. She did need companionship from time to time, but that didn't include commitments, rules, or expectations.

Yet, Stavros was always kind to her. He did deserve more than what she was willing to offer. Especially tonight.

Their eyes met for a moment, his lingering. She could see he wanted to reach out, touch her, just like the wind, but he refrained. Ever the gentleman, she thought.

"My meeting is early enough tomorrow, I should probably head off to bed," he said.

"Okay." She held up a hand, which he enfolded in his. She used it to lever herself up far enough to kiss him. "Thanks for renting this house instead," she said, lowering back down.

Stavros nodded. "Goodnight."

"Pleasant dreams."

Amara watched him go. He had the gait of a tortured soul, wishing he could stay with her but needing his rest for the business at hand. She sighed. She never spoke of it—what good did it do to acknowledge it, she couldn't change it—but she knew full well what effect her outward appearance had on others. It was a formidable part of her entire arsenal, especially when dealing with men. Most had a hard time keeping their attention on more than one thing, so she had the advantage anytime there was something else they were supposed to be doing.

It had worked over and over again all across the globe. Her adoptive parents wealth and connections opened doors, but her looks, charms and intellect allowed her to bust through them. If she chose, she could live in the lap of luxury that Barclay money provided, or she could marry a Prince or some other well-to-do dignitary and while away the time doing whatever women like that did.

At twenty-seven, however, Amara still had a lifetime ahead of her. And though the thought of marrying and settling down did cross her mind from time to time, there was still so much more to do in the world. She wasn't foolish enough to believe her body would never succumb to the ravages of age and gravity. Who knew how much longer she could continue to turn heads and inflame desires before she was outdone by a younger version of herself?

She did have an inkling of what that would be like. Not so much to be outdone, but to blend in, something that never happened to her. But, it was happening on the island. The men here did not respond to her the same way as everywhere else. The limousine driver, the hotel's desk clerk, and the male staff of the estate, gave her nary a wayward eye. For that matter, it wasn't only the men, either, as there had not been a look esconce by the women. At the hotel, there had been the men, those who weren't blind drunk, who devoured her with their eyes, but they didn't count. They were from the outside world, not the Isle of Use.

Which meant, she sighed, if she were to get anything accomplished here, she would have to rely on stealth, cunning, and wit.

Speaking of which, she thought. Amara waited until the last light went out in the house, then she slipped out of the hammock and headed for the beach. The house staff had all retired earlier in the evening. Except for some emergency, they were off work after dinner.

No one would notice she was gone.

The moon was high and fat in the sky behind her, casting her shadow across the sand. She skipped down to the water and followed it along to a small dock where water toys, including two jet-skis and a large motorboat were tethered. It was all part of the rental experience. Pushing a button to start the motor, Amara hopped on the boat and headed up the coastline.

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'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

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_{Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.}