The Maya 1.26
Previously On The Maya...
George Kirkegaard, while nuzzled by Amara Barclay and fed by Marie Layton sees Paloma, a woman he's known for at least three years. She walks up the beach. They talk, and then despite Kirkegaard's pleading, she leaves, disappearing before his eyes.
It is then that Kirkegaard awakes to find that he has been dreaming. Meanwhile, the youngest Layton child has been trying to wake him up, and is scared by his sudden crying out. Marie shows up, sees what's happening and comforts her son while inviting a disoriented Kirkegaard for breakfast. When he does, he discovers that the breakfast she has prepared, down to the last detail, is exactly the same as what was in his dream. He even sees Marie collecting the exact kind of lingerie she was wearing in his dream (which he has never seen before) from the dryer.
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.
PART III: DEVIATIONS
Amara Barclay sorted through a rack of dresses in one of the island's upscale department stores. She'd spent the last two hours doing similarly elsewhere, in hopes of finding a memento of her vacation she could wear at a later time. In the first three stores, she merely looked, marveled, and went on her way, but in the fourth, a decidedly trendier retailer, she couldn't help it anymore. She had to talk to the store manager about what she was seeing.
So, after asking a clerk to fetch the manager, a buttoned up woman appearing to be late 30s, stood patiently by, smiling and fielding everyone of Amara's questions and statements. If she felt uncomfortable or inconvenienced by the conversation she did not show it. Nor did she seem concerned that, while she was dressed in a professionally tailored dark blouse and skirt, hose, comfortable shoes and a scarf, all of which muted her features, Amara was sporting a bandeau zebra print bikini top with matching bottoms, which only accentuated hers. Amara's Raybans were flipped up on her head and a leather pouch hung on her hips.
"This is unbelievable." Amara had draped over an arm a shimmering sleek yellow dress with short sleeves, long skirt and modest waist and neckline. "This silk is exquisite. The craftsmanship is remarkable. It's very feminine. The only drawback is, it's not very sexy, now is it? But the price! How can you possibly sell this fine a dress for that! That's not on sale, is it?"
She held out the tags, which, aside from the brand, measurements and cleaning instructions, clearly had $15 printed on it.
"That is the regular price," the manager said. "We don't do sales really, because our normal prices are good enough. As for the dress, I suppose it depends on one's definition of sexy. I personally find it very appealing. I own one myself. And your right, the silk is among the best and so is the design and stitching. We can afford to sell it at that price because the silk is produced on the island, the dresses are made here, and it doesn't cost very much to transport them to the shop."
"This is very impressive." Amara continued to look at the dresses. "All natural materials. No polyester, rayon, or mixed."
"No. Most people prefer the feel of the natural blends."
"I can see why!" Amara brushed her face with a flowered cotton dress. "It's very soft."
"We're extremely happy with our merchandise. I'm glad you like it."
"I do, but it's all so... reserved." Amara put back the dress. She turned and walked over to a display of blouses. "So are these. Everything is. Skirts, shoes, pants, shorts, even the underwear." She went over to the lingerie section and retrieved a pink bra and panty set. "Again. Very nicely made. Wonderful fabric. Incredible price," she added, when she saw it was fifty cents. "Nice, girly, feminine, but not overtly sexy. I mean, by itself, it only covers up what it was designed to do, but it's just not very sexy. None of it is."
"Again, I'd say it depends on your definition."
"There's no support, no wire, no pad. No push up. It fulfills a basic function, and that's it! It doesn't entice. It doesn't inflame."
"That is true. What you see is what you get," the manager said. "No illusion."
"Or allure," Amara said. She hung the underwear back where she found it. "I can't believe you make any money."
"We do quite well," the manager said, "In fact, we led quarter sales on the island for the fifth straight time. It's a little early for our clientele, but in the afternoons and evenings, we're swamped with customers. Very few people walk away empty handed."
"That I would like to see."
"You're welcome to come back anytime."
"So, you're honestly telling me sex doesn't sell here."
"Not in the traditional sense, I suppose. People's tastes tend to be more modest, so as you say, the sexier clothes don't really sell. Every now and then a visitor might ask, but most don't make it this far away from the hotels."
"That is a shame," Amara said. "Aside from tastes, there are a lot of high quality, well-styled clothes here."
"Well, I hope you find something to your liking," the manager said. "Let one of our sales assistants know if they can be of any further help."
"Thank you," Amara said, "for indulging my curiosity."
"You're welcome." The manager turned to go, and then remembered something. "Sorry. I need to make sure you know the prices are not in American dollars, but islanders."
"I didn't know that," Amara said. "Is there a big difference?"
"Three and third times, more or less. So the dress you had would cost fifty in American dollars. The bra, a dollar sixty-seven."
"I see. For that quality and design, though, it's still a reasonable price."
"There's more," the manager continued, "You'll need to have islander legal tender, or a local account in order to purchase. We don't take credit cards or accept off island checks or debit cards. That's not just here. That's more or less everywhere, outside of the hotels."
"That explains why you don't get many visitors," Amara said.
"No doubt," the manager said, "There are exchange kiosks throughout downtown, however. Many of them sit right next to ATMs."
"I'll keep that in mind if I do find something. And I appreciate you letting me know."
"My pleasure. Enjoy."
Amara waited until the woman was out of sight, then she sighed and shook her head. When she saw Stavros, she'd have to tell him about her little shopping adventure. And the exchange rate. It was nearly twice the amount of the American dollar to British pound conversion. No wonder things were cheaper here. If you were earning in island currency, of course.
That wasn't about to stop her. Amara had plenty of money at her disposal, even with the exchange rate. If she wanted something, she would do what she always did. She would buy it. Finding clothes to her own personal tastes, however, that would be the hard part.
With her mind cleared from the shock of the quality versus cost of the clothes, Amara wandered into the jewelry section. She doubted there would be anything rivaling what she produced, but even the smaller items would be an indication of what to expect. She found a long multi-tiered display case of earrings, necklaces, rings and jewelry. None of it was behind glass or under lock and key, but all of it infused authentic precious metals with authentic precious gems. She saw more than one eighteen carat gold ring with twenty-four carat diamond. The cost made her double take. Three hundred to five hundred islanders was all that was being asked. That translated to one thousand on the low end and over sixteen hundred on the high end in dollars. Off island, she couldn't see those pieces going, at that high of quality, for less than double the price in dollars.
She was studying a woman's watch encrusted with rubies around the outside face, when she noticed the time. It was nearing one. That reminded her she'd only eaten a small bowl of fruit with a small glass of orange juice. That was over four hours ago. Time to get something a little more substantial, so she could continue wandering around the stores.
Before she'd left, Annalee gave her a list of shops to peruse, along with choices of where to eat. All were within a short walking distance of one another. That way, her chauffeur, the same limo driver from the airport, could take care of other business while he waited for her to finish. She'd planned on spending most of the day, since she didn't know how much time she might have later, when Stavros was free.
She wasn't feeling like a big lunch, so she chose an eatery Annalee suggested called the Outdoor Sandwich Shoppe, and left the department store.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
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