Chapter 18 #3
It meant we would be seated in a cabana.
Over the water. Not overlooking the water.
Actually over it. According to the pictures on the website, a wooden platform was built out in the Caribbean Sea, and patrons would walk to it via a wooden boardwalk.
There were drapes, topiaries, plants, and flowers, not to mention the most beautiful lighting, all surrounding an elegant table for two.
It was called “the best table in paradise” on Tripadvisor.
I carried my laptop over to the concierge at the main desk on the marina side. I pointed at the picture. “I want to eat at this table. What do I have to do?”
“May I see?” the concierge asked. Her name tag read Marta, and she wore her hair in a long French braid down her back. I handed her my laptop. “Ahh. That is the restaurant at the Aruba Ocean Villas.”
“Can you make me a reservation?”
“Yes, sir. But not for that table you have pointed to.” She gave me back my computer.
“Why not?” I wondered aloud. “Money’s not an object, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I chuckled at how pompous the sentence made me sound, especially since I knew it was the furthest thing from the truth.
“You need to be a guest of the Aruba Ocean Villas. Private overwater dining is available for hotel guests only.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, can you call them for me please? And let me talk to them?”
She looked at me warily. “Of course, sir.” She picked up the receiver and dialed the number.
“Thank you, Marta.” Then, for no good reason, I lowered my voice as if I was telling this woman I met five seconds ago a deep, dark secret. “It’s for a girl.”
This made her smile. “Hello,” she said. “I have a guest here who would like to make a dinner reservation. Yes. Mm hmm. He’d like to speak with you, actually. Yes, of course. Please hold.” She handed me the receiver.
“Hello?” I began.
“Hi, sir. How can I help you?”
“Do you have any availability for the private overwater cabana for dinner on New Year’s Day?”
“I’m sorry, sir. The cabana is available for hotel guests only.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I’ll gladly book a room if I know that table is available.” Marta looked at me and raised her eyebrows, impressed by my declaration.
“Okay, sir. Let me check,” the male voice said.
My heart thudded in my chest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as the realization of what I was doing smacked me in the face.
“Thank you so much for holding. I have a party booked in the cabana at 8:00 p.m. The best I can do would be to give you a 5:30 p.m. reservation. I’ll be honest, though, it’s an excellent time because you’ll be there for the sunset.”
“I’ll take it,” I announced.
“Okay. I’ll put it on hold for now. First, I’m going to need to transfer you over to the reservations desk so that you can book a stay with us.”
“Go ahead.”
“They can transfer you back over to me when you’re done, and then we’ll finalize your details.”
“Sounds good.”
“Please hold,” the man said.
A moment later, a different male voice appeared. “Aruba Ocean Villas front desk, how may I assist you?”
“I’d like to book a reservation, please,” I replied.
“What dates are you looking for?”
“January 1st, please? Checking out the following day?”
“Unfortunately, sir, we have a two-night minimum. But if you’d like to stay until the third, I have one villa available. It accommodates two people. King-sized bed. Steps from the ocean. Complimentary breakfast is included.”
“How much is it?” I asked, although the answer didn’t really matter.
“It’s 519 U.S. dollars per night.”
I gulped. I didn’t even know if I would stay in this villa, and certainly not for two nights given the fact that my flight to go home on January 2 was nonrefundable.
Still, if it was the only way to have dinner with Harmony at the best table in paradise, then I would be fine eating at Taco Bell for the rest of the week to make it happen.
“And it’s the only one you have left, correct? ” I asked.
“Yes, sir. But, if I may, she’s a truly beautiful villa. They’re all really special, but I happen to like her the best. She’s a beach bungalow. A bit understated compared to some of the larger villas, but I think she’s quaint. Very romantic. Her name fits her perfectly.”
“Her name? The bungalow has a name?”
“Yes, of course. They all do.”
“What is hers?”
“She’s called ‘Joy.’”
Of course she was. “I’ll take it,” I said.
I set the book down beside me, my mind reeling. First of all, did Beckett not understand the concept of fiction? I completely deleted the scene from The Old Man and the Sea in my version—well, for a million reasons. And second, did he really have to book the bungalow for two nights?
And what was this business about him wanting to ask me to be his girlfriend?
I grab my hacky sack and place it between my chin and my chest, a nervous habit I have when lying in bed sometimes.
Then I pick up my phone and google “Aruba Ocean Villas” and—holy sweet mother of God—it says it right there on the reservation bar that, yes, in fact, all stays are subject to a two-night minimum.
I shut down the phone before I can get lost in the magnificent photographs of the bungalows or the restaurant. Looking at that will only make everything hurt worse than it already does.
Instead, I pick up the book and keep going, hungry for answers that are two years too late.