She looked at me for the first time since I walked in. “You should go to Playa Blanca. That’s where the older divorced ones go.”
* * *
The flight down hinted at the possibility I would get lucky. There was a group of five women on my plane, all around my age, all drunk and standing in the aisle and dancing to imaginary music. Two of them were saying things to the male passengers who walked by them on their way to the washroom—things such as, “See you in your bed,” and “If you need any help changing out of your bathing suit, give me a call.”
I was hoping they would say something provocative to me when I walked past them, but the only thing that was said was “oops” by one of them when she spilled some of her b****y Mary on my shirt. “That’ll leave a stain,” said another one.
* * *
I nev
