By the Bay Ch. 10

"Hello, sir. What can I do for you?" the man asked excitedly in heavily accented English. From his accent, Jay was able to deduce that the man had migrated to the island only recently, for his accent was thick. Second or third generation immigrants had already integrated into the population and spoke with only a slight accent, like Anita.

Jay looked around the room. It was filled with drawings of the different kind of traditional piercings and piercing-ceremonies that the man performed. In the Indian culture, the more piercings a woman had on her ear, the more beautiful she was. Women also often tended to get their noses pierced after marriage, as a symbol of their womanhood. He briefly wondered why Anita had stopped with only one piercing on each ear.

He put his bags on the floor and looked around, committing the interesting pictures to memory. However, none of them were pictures of men.

Piercings for men were absolutely unconventional back home; he'd seen a handful of black men working at the docks with a gold loop dangling from their ears, but that was it. Piercing any part of the body was an uncommon practice at home, but he wasn't homenow, was he?

He turned back to the eager little man and said, "I'd like to have my ear pierced, please."

*

She was washing the dishes when she saw him stepping through the back gate. Smiling, she rinsed her hands in the clean water and moved to open the back door for him. As he walked across the lawn, she noticed that his hands were laden with bags, and she wondered what he'd bought. But as he came closer, she noticed that there was something odd about him.

She tilted her head to assess him as he stepped in front of her. Then she froze, noticing the thin gold hoop. For several unblinking seconds, she stared.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

She turned wide eyes to meet his. "You pierced your ear."

His mouth turned up at a corners. "Well, I was hoping for something more insightful."

A smile flirted with her lips as well. "I like it."

"I was hoping you would."

She reached out and traced his jawline with her index finger. There was a tingling sensation curling low in her abdomen. The earring made him look so... dashing. Like a pirate. She'd never thought she'd like to be ravished by a pirate, but at that moment, she wouldn't have minded.

"So handsome," she murmured, her eyes clouding with desire.

The bags fell to the floor as he caught her to him. But she was the one who buried her fingers in his hair and drew his lips to hers. She found that she was really affected by that earring. It made him look so wild and exciting that it made her feel such unbearable desire.

"Oh my god!"

Anita pulled away from him guiltily when she heard her sister's shocked words. Meera stood a few feet away from them with a hand pressed to her heart.

"Do you two constantly need to do this? You just shocked all the godly things out of me."

"Sorry," Anita muttered, capturing Jay's hands so that he wouldn't continue touching her and make her squirm in front of Meera.

Meera rolled her eyes and walked away. Anita breathed a sigh of relief. Then she caught Jay's eyes and they shared a laugh. They should really stop being intimate in places where they could get caught.

He picked up the bags and they went into the house. She asked him if he wanted lunch now, but he shook his head and laid the bags on the kitchen table. Then he dug into one of the bags.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"I bought something for you."

Before she could ask what he'd bought, he'd dug out two different sets of saris. One was red, the other a deep violet. He handed it to her.

"I went into the shop and asked for saris that a woman wears at home, and this is what the saleslady handed to me. I hope you like it."

She stared at the bundles in his hands, then back up at him.

"You didn't have to," she murmured, wondering if a person could die from imbibing too much happiness.

He smiled. "I know, but I wanted to." He put the saris in her hands and went digging for more.

He pulled out two more; blue and pink. "These are for Meera."

They were simple cotton saris, but they made Anita's eyes swim with tears. She really wasn't used to receiving gifts.

"I... don't know what to say," she uttered finally.

His eyes twinkled. "I'm not done yet."

Then he pulled out a rectangular box, and Anita knew immediately what was in there. She'd seen it numerous times, but only the rich or middle-class people were able to afford such saris. She couldn't believe he'd spend so much money on her.

He took the cotton saris from her and placed the box in her hands. "Open it," he urged.

She lifted the lid and stared. It was a beautiful orange silk sari with a white border and gold trimmings. She hadn't seen anything so grand in her entire life... and it belonged to her. Her fingers played over the designs, feeling the softness of the silk and noticing the intricacy of the design. When she looked up, he was staring at her, waiting for her reaction.

She smiled sheepishly at him. "I'm not very good at receiving gifts, I think. I really don't know what to say. But it's beautiful. I've never had anything like it before."

He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering around the curve of her soft flesh. "That's enough. I love buying you gifts. It's a kind of pleasure for me."

She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest, clasping the sari to herself. What would she do without this man? Her heart felt like it had swelled to twice its size whenever he was near. He was such a sweet man. She doubted she'd ever be able to think of any other man after him.

Jay was content – a feeling he wasn't quite used to. He felt grounded and secure, when all his life he'd felt an itch for more. He knew that the woman in his arms was a big reason for this new feeling. He smiled, holding her close to him. He hoped she'd say yes to coming to England with him. There was nothing more he'd like than to show her the place he'd called home for the longest time.

*

Tonkin, the French colonies

It was dawn, but she was not yet asleep. She secretly doubted she'd ever sleep again, and even if she did, she would only dream of blonde ringlets and musty skin. For several weeks, she'd told herself that she needed to put the past behind and look forward to the future. She'd tried to enjoy herself in the foreign land, meet new women, immerse herself in a new culture. But she found that she could not seem to cease comparing everything new to something she'd seen or experienced on that fateful island. The only logical conclusion she could deduce was that she'd spent too much time in Singapore – or Sincapour, as the French referred to it.

She ran a hand through her silky auburn locks as she curled herself into a chair, staring out of the little window in her hotel room. The sun was rising. The orange streaks raced across the sky and penetrated her quaint room, landing on the figure between the bedsheets.

A shudder of self-loathing swept through her and she ran her palms over her face, trying to erase the memory of last night and the many nights before, even though she knew that she had no right to feel guilty. She had not committed herself to anyone, even if her heart told her different. In the long run, this would be best.

She sighed, watching nature mock her as the rays of the sun illuminated the brass coins lying on the bedside table. But she knew it wasn't the first time she'd paid for sex, and it wouldn't be the last.

A bath was what she needed, she thought, rising from the chair. Something to purge her of memories – those that were not water resistant. She needed to get the smell of hair oil and rouge off her body before she choked on them, for they only compounded the riot of emotions within her.

A while later, when she returned from her bath, she wasn't surprised to find that the figure on the bed was gone, and so were her five brass coins.

She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling cold water drip steadily from her wet hair and down over her back. The room around her felt empty. Sad. But that was probably a manifestation of her emotions.

She reached for the strip of paper on the bedside table. She'd received the telegram from her friend Pierre about a week ago, after she'd wired him that she was currently in Tonkin. But she'd yet to respond to his request. She ran her fingers over the words.

Gallery showing. Paris, June. Need you here. Collection not big enough.

She knew what he was asking of her, but she did not know if she could do it. It was a risk bigger than she'd ever taken. If the showing was in Paris, it was likely that her mother would hear of it or read of it in the papers. Pierre's father was a prominent man in the French government, and any news of his son would be reported in the papers. She really didn't want her mother to find out about her wanderlust and begin to worry.

With a groan, Rae fell back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. She needed to think; she needed to clear her head. But there were just too many things to think about. She put the slip of paper into her pocket. Later, she thought. Later.

*

The Island

It was the middle of the night when Anita carefully pulled herself out of Jay and Beau's clutches to get a glass of water to drink. As she rummaged through the kitchen, she noticed the faint glow of lamplight under Meera's door. Frowning, she took a sip of water to ease her parched throat then walked through the narrow hallway of the servant's quarters. She stopped in front of her sister's room and knocked softly on the door.

"Meera?"

There was a muffled reply from the other side of the wooden door. Anita turned the handle and poked her head through. Meera was seated at the little writing desk, scribbling away in one of her notebooks.

Anita's frown grew deeper. "Meera, why aren't you in bed? It's the middle of the night."

"I'm not sleepy" was the reply.

Anita stepped into the room and went to her sister. But she knew better than to peek at whatever Meera was writing.

"You should try to sleep, ma. Sleeping so late is bad for your body."

"I need to finish this. You can go to sleep."

Anita sighed, noting her sister's intense concentration. She took her writing very seriously. Anita relented, running a comforting hand through her sister's hair.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink? I could make some tea if you'd like."

"I'm fine, 'ka. Thanks."

Anita retreated to the doorway, hovering, not wanting to leave her sister while she was staying up so late.

A thought occurred to her. Well, since Meera was still awake...

"Meera, I talked to Jay about England."

Finally, Anita had her sister's attention. Meera turned in her seat, wincing at the soreness of her back muscles.

"What did he say?"

"If I'm going to England, you're coming with me."

Anita saw the spark of excitement in her sister's eyes. "So have you decided..."

"No." Anita shook her head. "But I just wanted you to know I'd never leave you here... in case you were wondering."

Meera nodded, "I understand." Then she smiled. "Thank you for all you've done for me."

Anita returned her sister's smile. "It's my duty, ma. I want nothing but the best for you. Always."

Meera sighed. "I could not have asked for a better sister."

"Neither could I."

They stared at each other for a while, feeling the intangible bond threading itself around them. They were like night and day, yet they were sisters. They'd been through so much together, and had fought against any hardship hand in hand.

Anita cleared her throat. "Goodnight then. Try to sleep soon, all right?"

"I will. Goodnight to you too."

*

Dawn had barely arrived, but she was already awake. The sky held just a tinge of white light against the night sky. She turned to look at Jay as he slept soundly, a hand thrown possessively on her hip. Again, his beauty amazed her, for even in sleep, there was no denying the appeal of his fine features, his scent, his tattoos... his earring. A small smile curved her lips. He was hers... for now, at least. And she wanted to spend as much of her life with him as fate would allow.

She'd made her decision, but she wasn't a coward. Her conscience was clear; she was not running away.

She was going to England.

*

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