Previously On The Maya...
The Maya uses the ploy of a food allergy reaction to get away from her companion. While he is resting, she goes to the side rail and jumps into the river near the fertilizer plant she checked out a couple days ago. After putting on the acrylic that makes her invisible, she passes workers into an area of the complex where she leaves an undetectable combustible in a beam in the roofing. She hopes it will remain undetected there long enough for the yacht to double back, where she will reboard the ship and blow the explosive.
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.
Paloma Reyes—an intriguing woman Kirkegaard never thought he'd see again.
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.
The Sutton's waltz was divine, and was awarded with thunderous applause. The band then went uptempo with a big band tune Kirkegaard did not recognize. Regardless, he wasn't much of a dancer, so it didn't matter, but there he was, doing his best to keep up with Paloma, who seemed to know quite a bit about dancing.
His objective, of course, was to get them away from Stavros and Amara, who were obviously heading toward some kind of showdown. Unfortunately, Kirkegaard had no answer for his two left feet.
"Sorry," he said, as he nearly stepped on Paloma for the fifth time. "I told you, I'm not any good."
"Relaxing would help," Paloma said, her smile beaming, "but you're not much good at that, either, are you."
"Ha ha," Kirkegaard said, though he really felt like agreeing with her. Around her, he could relax. He could forget his cares, just by being on this island. However, in a crowd of this size, with who knew how many people watching him at any given time, it was too much for even Paloma's and the island's combined magic to overcome.
"I'm having a wonderful time," Paloma said, as Kirkegaard did the best he could not to injure her.
"I'm glad," Kirkegaard said, "given the circumstances."
"How about you?"
"I was, until now."
Paloma laughed. "Don't worry. I don't bruise easily."
Regardless, Kirkegaard tried to keep his distance, as much as custom and space would allow. Unlike other dances he attended, mostly during his youth, the vast majority of guests were out on the floor, rather than sitting at the limited tables or hugging the walls. This is not the place for wallflowers, or the inept, Kirkegaard thought.
The big band song was just about ended when Kirkegaard caught sight of Amara and Stavros. Apparently, there tiff was mended long enough to get them up and dancing. He agreed with what Stavros said, but knew Amara was not used to being called out for anything. She was far from a spoiled brat, however. Undoubtedly, she had her reasons for asking such intimate questions. Did any of it have to do with the IPB investigation?
And what of last night? Agent Smith insisted Amara was at Paloma's house, somehow invisible, and had overheard their entire conversation. She hadn't had a chance to mention it, really, but even so, she was acting as if she had no knowledge of last night. What's more, she was insistent she be around Kirkegaard, and by extension, Paloma, who Kirkegaard would have thought she would see as a rival.
He had to stifle a laugh when that thought came into his head. The thought of two women, any women, less Amara and Paloma, would be locked in some bizarre competition for him was absurd at best. Especially when Amara was adamantly against marriage and family, at least at present. Still, the feeling was hard to shake. Knowing if it was real, or if his male mind was playing tricks on him, was the hard part, but he couldn't help but conclude Amara would make some kind of move, if there was anything to it.
The slow dance which came next in the rotation was a welcome respite for Kirkegaard. Even though he was not a good dancer, he could at least two-step, which got him through it. Plus, being close to Paloma was a plus. Her warmth, not just her body, but her personality, rippled out from her, affecting him and anyone else around them that stayed consistently within range. Folks here were naturally content and polite, anyway, but somehow, contact with her kicked that and a variety of other redeeming qualities up a notch. It was something else Kirkegaard thought he might be making up, if he didn't feel a marked difference in mood and optimism based on the distance between he and Paloma.
Nine songs later, however, he was perspiring, aching a little, and ready to sit out the rest of the dance. Miraculously, he avoided stepping on Paloma's feet or kicking her in the shins. She could tell he was past ready to leave the dance floor, and with an amiable sigh, was turning to go. At that moment, Kirkegaard felt a tap on his shoulder from behind.
"May I?" It was Amara, her face turned up, her large dark eyes nearly childlike. Kirkegaard had to smile. He turned back to see what Paloma thought, but she was being engaged by Stavros, whose expression combined frustration with resignation. His and Paloma exchanged glances—she didn't mind dancing with Stavros if it meant dancing a little longer, and she didn't mind him dancing with Amara, as long as it didn't turn into the rest of the night. How Kirkegaard got all of that from a glance, he wasn't sure, but he did his best to wordlessly communicate the same intent.
"You okay?" Kirkegaard said, turning back to Amara. It was another slow song, and Amara had her arms wrapped around his neck. Apparently it was her favorite place to put them.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" she asked. He could tell she was annoyed, but something was keeping her from unleashing.
"I don't know, because Eugenio was taking you to task."
"I'd rather not talk about that," she said, "Let's just enjoy the moment."
She closed her eyes and nestled her face on his arm. Kirkegaard didn't know what else to say, so he just swayed in time to the music and let her be. They danced like that for nearly half the song, then she looked up into his eyes.
"There's something different about you," she said, without pretext.
"What do you mean?" Kirkegaard said, startled.
"I don't know. You're different."
"I got that. Different than what?"
"Than before, I guess," she said, resting her head back down. "You were confused and frustrated when I first met you. Angry. Defiant. The first two I could see going away rather quickly, but not the last two. Those should be more ingrained, but they're not. You've changed."
"You like me better when I'm banging my head against the wall?" Kirkegaard smiled.
"I didn't say that," Amara said. "I'm just noting a change."
"There's something about this place. I can't explain it. It does things to you." Kirkegaard's voice had a reflective tone to it.
Amara, head still on his arm, nodded. "It does. I've felt it, too." She paused, then added, "Of course, having Paloma around doesn't hurt, either."
"No." Kirkegaard had to concede that point.
Amara sighed. "Is it serious now?"
"Our relationship?" Kirekgaard was caught off guard, though he should of learned by now Amara was capable of any question. "There's not been enough time, I don't think, but I like the direction things are heading."
"I'm glad," she said. Her face was hidden from his, but he thought she heard her sniffing. A moment later, she rubbed her face on his sleeve.
"Amara?"
"Just hold me," she said, "for as long as you can."
She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Kirkegaard didn't know what else to do, so he tightened his hold around her waist, hoping it might be what she wanted. The last strains of the song were sounding, and he could feel her starting to move away, when something happened.
There was a distant crash, barely audible over the waning notes of the band. Then, it was as if the sky above and the darkness around them became the brightest day, followed by the loudest noise Kirkegaard had ever heard.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.