The Maya 1.25
Previously On The Maya...
George Kirkegaard is enjoying an early morning swim and relaxation on a deserted beach. Abruptly, Amara Barclay appears, looking seductive as ever. While they talk about the island's unparalleled beauty, she starts caressing and kissing him. Kirkegaard feels that something isn't right, but dismisses it because he is enjoying himself too much.
Then, also of nowhere, Marie Layton shows up in a strange sexy mom outfit and starts sensually feeding him breakfast. The food is good so Kirkegaard overlooks the impossibility and absurdity of that, too.
Kirkegaard sees someone out of his periphery, moving along the beach towards them that he also recognizes, but unlike the first two women, he can't convince himself that nothing is amiss. It's a woman he hasn't seen in three years, but recognizes immediately. He asks:
"Paloma?"
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.
And now...the next installment of The Maya.
"Paloma?"
"Yes," she said. Her smile radiated out. Unlike the others, she was modestly attired in a white dress with a bright floral print that flowed from covered shoulders past her knees. She wore her dark hair straight, hanging to mid-back, and tucked to one side was a vibrant red and orange flower. "It's been a long time."
"It has." Mindful of both Amara and Marie, he slid out from under the tray and up the tree. The first two women tried to continue what they were doing as he took a step toward Paloma. "I didn't know you were here on the island."
Paloma ignored his dig for information. "Isn't it lovely?" She turned to look at the waves.
"It is," he replied.
"I hope you enjoy your stay," Paloma said. She waved and then began walking away, up the beach.
"Don't go!" He tried to move, but Amara had both arms wrapped around one of his lower legs and Marie was stuffing pancakes in his mouth.
Paloma looked over her shoulder and waved again, but did not stop. A few more steps along, she began to fade, until she disappeared completely.
"Paloma!"
George reached out with one hand, but Paloma was gone. In that same moment, Amara, Marie, his breakfast and the beach were all traded for the Layton's guest room, where Kirkegaard had spent the night.
The change of scenery was so abrupt, his heart thumping in his chest, it disoriented him. Then, he heard the soft whimpering of a child to his left and turned to see Winthrop, the Layton's youngest, on the verge of crying. His face, the front of his pajamas, and his fingers were all shiny and sticky with syrup. As Kirkegaard realized where he was and at least part of what was happening, he reached up to the side of his head and found there was some syrup on his ear and cheek.
"Hey," Kirkegaard said quietly, removing the covers. His sudden movement and probable shouting out loud must have frightened Winthrop, and Kirkegaard didn't want to upset him even more. He guessed the boy had been sent by his mother to see if Kirkegaard was ready for breakfast and had done what he could to complete the task.
Despite Kirkegaard's best efforts to assure Winthrop he meant no harm, the child let out a full-throated wail. Tears welled and fell, open mouth exposing gaps between little white teeth, face turning bright red under the shock of tameless platinum hair.
"I'm sorry, buddy," Kirkegaard said. Without regard for the tears, the nose which was now running and the syrup, he picked the boy up and began bouncing him gently. "It's okay. I didn't mean to scare you."
He heard urgent footfalls from the hallway and then Marie appeared, pushing open the door. Her expression was momentarily harried—then she saw Kirkegaard consoling Winthrop, figured out what must have happened, and her entire features relaxed. Kirkegaard was relieved to see her relief, and, given his dream, was also glad she was covered in a robe which she wore over a nightgown.
"You okay?" she asked. Kirkegaard couldn't tell if she was asking her son, or him.
"I'm sorry," Kirkegaard said, "I didn't know he was there."
Upon hearing and then seeing his mother, Winthrop leaned away from Kirkegaard, holding out his hands. He was settling down, but obviously wanted his mother. Marie scooped him up, saw how much of a mess he was and smiled.
"Did he slime you?" There was the hint of mischief in her eyes.
"A little," Kirkegaard said, absently touching his ear.
"There's breakfast, if you're hungry," Marie said. Then she left the room to clean up Winthrop.
"Thank you," Kirkegaard said absently, too late for her to hear. His gaze fell upon the display of the alarm clock. Eight-oh-five am. Layton had left for work a while go, and Kirkegaard was supposed to meet up with him later for a tour of the newspaper facility. Marie would drop him off on her morning run to school and grocery shopping.
In the shower, Kirkegaard reviewed his dream. Undoubtedly, some Freudian psychiatrist would have a field day with it, but for Kirkegaard, the dream came down to two important issues. One, he needed to reel in his thoughts about Amara because they were spilling over to Marie. Two, even though he had not seen Paloma for such a long time, she was still there, somewhere, in the back of his mind. Amara's smile triggered in him a memory of Paloma, and now it was manifesting in a dream.
Kirkegaard then wondered if he didn't have a third problem. Did he still care for Paloma? It had been months since the last time he had thought of her. Why, after so much time, was she battling for a place in his mind? Paloma was as about as possible to have a relationship with as Amara was. Maybe he was more hopeless than he thought?
Mood significantly clouded, he finished up the shower, got dressed, and went to the dining room for breakfast.
It felt like the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he saw the spread. The exact food in his dream was sitting on platters or in bowls before him. Even the bottles of blueberry and maple syrup were the same.
He didn't know how that was possible, since he'd never seen the brands of syrup before, but somehow, it was. Subdued, not at all sure what to think, he didn't eat as much as he normally would. It didn't help when he discovered the bacon and the pork links tasted exactly as he had imagined them in his dream. When he was finished, he took his dishes to the sink, washed them and set them to dry.
As he was finishing, Marie appeared, still in the same robe, but the nightgown was gone and she had a towel wrapped around her head. "Looks like you got something to eat," she said. Kirkegaard nodded. "We'll be leaving as soon as I get dressed." She ducked into the laundry room, where he heard her retrieving something from the drier. When she returned, she was clutching a lacy black bra and matching panties. She gave him a quick nod and headed down the hallway. Kirkegaard, mouth agape, had to force himself to look somewhere else to not watch her go.
Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea, he thought. It riled him, and was immediately contradicted by another. Moping around my apartment like a ghost would be better? No, he decided. He needed this. Getting away from his problems for a while would help with his perspective. The fact he was thinking about anything other than his financial problems was a good sign. He just needed to concentrate more on exploring the island, and less on women. At least women who were unattainable. Until his financial situation straightened out, though, women were a luxury he couldn't afford. So resolved, he went back to his bathroom, brushed his teeth, and waited for Marie to get ready.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.