Memoir of Claire

Gustavius' 3rd

Memoir of Claire – a screenplay by Gustavius

Something in a woman's gaze can draw you into her very being. If it happens, don't question her motives but simply enjoy the ride. She may offer herself to you only once in a lifetime.

Scene One

He felt the hull shudder as each row of whitecaps met the bow. The noise created by the crashing of the seawater combined with the engine's drone made conversation all but impossible. Twenty-odd minutes to the dive site translated into more of the same, so he busied himself like the others tightening the first stage to the tank's fitting and checking the air pressure load. A fill of 3K psi or more was always a good omen for the first of a two-tank morning. Today, the gauge registered 3.1K. The boat driver slowed the engine near the first of several site markers, signaling the time for all of them to dress and get ready for the plunge. He'd signed on as a single, as usual, and was introduced to his diving partner, a young accountant from San Francisco with only an admitted seven dives to her credit. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for her in the event of any trouble, but the dive master leading this small group of six would be doing the same – Eduardo had said as much to him in confidence earlier that morning.

Gear in place and tank air turned on, his fins slapped the deck as he moved to the stern and the launching platform. Hand across the mouthpiece with two fingers extended to his mask, he kicked outward with one fin, and, pushing off with the left, he joined the others who'd gone before.

Swimming back to the platform, one of them handed him the camera rig, and he slipped the safety lanyard over his wrist. Now the procedure he'd followed countless times before: dive computer punched 'On,' camera strobe light 'On,' check the RS-1 settings, tighten weight belt and vest straps again, and dump air from the BC.

The choppy surface closed over him with air releasing from his bouyancy vest as lead weights pulled him downward to the sandy shelf, below. Just past the thirty-foot depth, he felt the all-too-familiar surge of pressure to the ears and a cotton-dry mouth unable to swallow for equalization. "I'm getting too old for this nonsense...and pain." Then, just as suddenly, ears and sinuses cleared, and he dropped slowly to the rendezvous point where the others were waiting for the divemaster to begin another all-too-brief exploration of the reef. Settling into a comfortable neutral bouyancy, he leveled out in search of his diving buddy, and finding her with others in the group, he followed their guide into a sand chute that led to the outer wall.

Darkness prevailed as each one of them entered the tunnel in single file. Small pools of bright yellow appeared here and there, as divers used their flashlights in hopes of finding a lobster or two clinging to the sides. Moving carefully now, he noticed the cavern sides widening, and instantly there was an expanse of blue water everywhere. He turned slowly and took in the spectacular colors and shapes of coral that were growing from the near-vertical wall. He thought to himself that this was always the best part. His depth gauge read 84 feet, and his tank held nearly 2400 psi of air, while his wrist computer displayed a favorable nitrogen reading. His breathing slowed as he luxuriated in silent weightlessness, the sweet envelopment. And he thought about her and events of the past forty-eight hours.

Scene Two

There had been rain showers the night before that carried into the early hours of morning, and now the sun was battling with the remaining clouds adding the heaviness of humidity to the air. The hotel's outdoor breakfast pavilion was already humming with voices when he arrived and was shown to his favorite table at the side. Photography was his primary goal for today, and he'd made arrangements to have the U/W camera fitted with a 20mm lens and strobe. However, the lingering cloud cover could easily defeat any plans to capture the brilliant colors of these shallow reefs, and his thoughts shifted instead to exploring the local waters with mask and snorkel.

His daydreaming was interrupted when a chair leg scraped the tile floor. A young couple had just taken a center table nearby. Lifting his coffee cup and tasting its sudden heat, his mind tried to get back to deciding whether to attempt U/W filming or.... Something about her profile; striking, yet delicate...and the tempered gold of her skin. Turning toward their table just as they rose together for the buffet, he noticed the equally striking profile of her figure. Her body was clothed in the tailored fit of a fashionable sweat suit. The two of them had the appearance of those who take great pains to keep themselves in shape. He paused to consider how fortunate was he that this dark-haired woman was now a part of the local color; his meals would certainly be more enjoyable with her added presence. And with that, he got back to planning the day's events and, accordingly, the remainder of his shortened holiday.

A bit later, he was at the buffet bar attempting to choose between croissant and cut fruit when he noticed the filled glass of juice someone had left on the rail. A hand appeared to reach for it, and, quite mechanically, he slid the glass gently in that direction. He heard, "Merci!" and he responded politely, "Ne rien...." He turned in the direction of her voice in time to see her parted lips form a smile as she collected her omelet and breads and juice and returned with her companion (husband, lover?) to their table. He thought her beauty was more captivating than he'd first imagined, and he stood there longer than necessary selecting unwanted slices of fruit and filling a plate, wondering who she was. There was something different, even alluring, about this woman. It wasn't until voices erupted close to his side that he snapped out of the dream-like trance and moved away from the breakfast bar. Now seated again, he glanced quietly in the direction of their table only to find them enjoying their breakfast and entirely engrossed with each other. So he let it go.

He decided against diving that day, relishing the idea of snorkeling off the hotel's beach on his own, and working his way through a few more chapters of the awful novel he'd bought at Heathrow. After draining a last cup of morning coffee, he walked to the dive center to let them know he wasn't going, then took a longer-than-usual walk to his room to change for the beach. His route took him past the glass-enclosed fitness room, and, as he glanced in that direction, he made out the young couple from breakfast now peddling away on their stationary bikes. Walking past, he glanced away, then back again only to find that her eyes were following him. No, it wasn't his imagination he told himself. Her guy was facing straight ahead and working away at some imaginary hill, while she slowed and locked her eyes to his, almost...yes, beckoning him. And that unexplained sense of subconscious connection he'd felt earlier that morning came over him again. He couldn't deny the sudden sensation that surged in his groin, nor did he want to, despite his complete inability to understand what had come over him.

Scene Three

Rain-dampened sand clung to his feet as he made his way across the empty beachfront to a shaded lounge chair. Volcanic rock had been removed at one point to permit easy entry to the water and the shallow reef beyond. He noticed there was only one other couple on the beach that morning. One of them was reclining in the half shade of a thatchedpalapa; the other with chaise turned to take the sun's full glow. Then he stopped mid-stride realizing it was the young woman and her male companion from breakfast. All the better that neither of them had seen him, and, wishing to get into the water to clear his head, he carried fins, mask and snorkel to the sandy entryway, dunked his gear in the lapping water, and sat in the shallows to put it all on.

He could feel the sunscreen he'd applied earlier begin to work against the sun's rays. Soon he was kicking off for the depths and feeling at once the roll of the gentle swells rocking him, forward and back. Looking downward, he noticed the first of the colorless fish working the sandy bottom for anything resembling food. It wasn't until he'd gone out some distance that the shelf dropped away to greater depths, and isolated formations of brilliant coral appeared below, each mound patrolled by a rainbow community in motion.

Returning to the beach after an hour's exploration, he washed the sand from his fins and mask in a tiny pool formed by the rock, then quick-stepped through the hot sand. No sign of the couple. They'd left their towels and other beach gear on their chairs. He was settling in with the dreadful book and a pull from the water bottle when he noticed a head with snorkel appear at the water's edge. In a moment, she was out of the water carrying her equipment, and he could just make out a pleasant smile on her lovely face.

And now, more than before, he feasted on her gorgeous body, accented by the little bikini and wet, golden skin. Her strides across the sand - every sensual movement – he could not take his eyes off of her, but this time her eyes did not meet his. Carefully, he stole a glance, watching her dry herself. Then spreading the towel over the chaise, she sat and undid her top before anointing herself with creme from a yellow tube. The distance between them and the shimmering heat from the sand played tricks with his eyes as he took in her little breasts crowned with lovely dark nipples as she lay back to capture the sun's warmth.

Overhead, a series of smoky clouds pushed away the sun's light and left her in shadows. A distant fishing boat went speeding off to the south end without a sound, as the sun once again bathed the stretch of sand in white-hot light. She was turned on her side now – napping? – the deep brown tan of her shoulders and bared back interrupted only by the thin line of her bikini bottom that disappeared into the cleft. She lay curled like this for some time, while he tried to return to the same page without success. Still a distance away, he watched quietly when she sat upright with her back to him tying the strings of her top, and, stretching arms outright, she rose and walked slowly down the beach and away from his prying eyes. Enough! he thought. Once again, he put her lingering image from his mind and read on.

Her path in the sand made a lazy U-turn as she neared the lapping waters where she stopped, and, raising a hand to block the sudden glare, she searched the smooth surface until she found him. He was out more than a hundred meters but managed a vigorous wave when he saw her, and she waved happily with both arms before her hand sent a loving kiss out to him. And aglow with a smile, she turned and continued her walk where the water touched the sandy beach. The stranger from breakfast was over there with a book, and she made up her mind to give him a little show.

He kept the book raised as she neared, but now all hope of finishing the page was lost. And quite suddenly, she stopped almost directly in front of him, and, with her back to him, she looked out, eyes shielded with both hands, feet slightly apart, her dark hair blowing gently to one side exposing her lovely brown neck. The book fell to the sand – no matter, as he became entranced with the beauty before him. Sun-browned, oiled thighs subtly merged to the lovely hemispheres only womanhood can possess, her sweet secrets covered only by the tiny fragment of cloth bunched at the point where her thighs came together. She held this pose for but a minute or two, then crouched, perhaps to watch the hundreds of minnows in the rock pools at her feet, and this change of posture made her hips flare outwards from her slim waist and caused the fabric of her bikini bottom to find its way even deeper into the cleft of her sweet bottom. She made a hapless effort to adjust the waistband behind but to no avail. He felt the familiar twitching in his groin that signaled arousal when her hand reached behind and brushed the bits of sand from her ass cheeks, and his thoughts were reduced to utter debauchery, while another part of him fought to regain self-control.

She rose and turned to leave when he came quickly off of his chaise, and, with the plastic fish card in hand, he walked down to her, smiled and said "Allo," introducing himself. She said nothing, only looked at him, her lips slightly parted. He explained that the card could be used for snorkeling, then offered it to her, asking only that it be returned tomorrow,Jeudi matin, if that would be alright,oui? A smile to remember, mouth opening to reply, and aquamarine eyes all responded at once.Oui! Certainment...et merci! she answered, and pointed to two or three of the fish pictured to indicate she'd already seen those here. Yes, and her husband (!) had seen a large barracuda yesterday. AnotherMerci, and with that she returned to herpalapa holding the card as though a precious find, turning once and waving back at him. He stood there a moment longer, surrendering to the sight and sound and – yes! – even the smell of her, then returned to the chaise to his collect his things.

He left the beach and the living image of her at about the same time her man was making his way back through the shallows. It wasn't until he was washing sand from his feet on the walkway that he realized he'd forgotten to ask her name. Who was this youthful creature, this sensual beauty that held his mind captive, he wondered. Well, he could look forward to seeing her again when she returned the card Thursday, if only for a moment.

Scene Four

He saw nothing more of either of them that day, but recurring images of his encounter with the dark-haired girl on the beach continued to preoccupy his mind. He did the two-tank dive that afternoon to clear his head, but the boat ride and dives on Carribe Reef were uneventful, almost disappointing. Colorless coral formations at shallow depths with an almost total absence of small pelagics, and he took an extra minute to note this fact in his logbook back at the room. Almost evening now, he showered, dressed in a last clean shirt and slacks, and drove the short distance to the coastal town and dinner at a favorite restaurant overlooking the town square. A noisy crowd of vacationers arrived part way through his meal, and the rising volume of their competing conversations stole any semblance of atmosphere from the otherwise enjoyable surroundings. He finished and had to pay his bill with dollars when he realized hispesos had all but run out, then left quickly.

He walked several blocks out of his way on purpose, stopping now and then to examine the shops mostly selling pottery and leather goods, and dodging the night-time crowds and kids hawking jewelry. And all the while he managed to fill his mind again with the memory of her, deeply tanned with raven hair and blue-green eyes, a piercing smile and soft, beguiling voice. Once, he tried to release her from his thoughts, concentrating instead on the nighttime traffic flow that met his drive back to the hotel, but he could not let her go. It was as though she had somehow taken control and held him captive within her grasp. He slept fitfully that night, rising once at four a.m. to the sound of rain, and, fully congested, he resolved to cancel the morning's two-tank dive. Sleep came only after he forced his eyes closed and the dream of a lovely French mannequin visited once again.

Scene Five

He ordered breakfast in, and when the strong coffee took hold and helped clear his nasal passages, he phoned the dive shop before eight and cancelled his place on the boat. Eduardo was surely going to lose patience with him. The rain had quit hours before, but there was no sun yet, and the air held onto the tropical humidity outside when he made his way to the hotel's cashier to exchange a few hundred dollars. The woman in the booth was counting out hispesos when he happened to glance to his left just as she came into view. His fish card in hand, she waved it in his direction while seemingly dragging her companion along with the other. He watched as they approached – a flash of a smile, her long brown legs capped in loose-fitting white shorts. And her little waist and flat tummy rising to a halter top and almost bared shoulders. That precious face with lips that said,"C'est jeudi Matin, non?" and a little smile that etched itself in her lovely features. Then, almost an afterthought, "...et mon mari, Gilles." The two men shook hands, and he managed an embarrased,bonjour, Gilles.

She handed him the plastic card and extended her hand with "Thank you, it is fun!" Her husband added his ownMerci, and with that the two turned to leave. He almost made the mistake of quickly returning to sign for thepesos, but paused when he felt her hand touch his. Opening his grasp, he gently took her hand in his, recalling the European custom of a fond farewell – and felt her place a small folded paper there. She returned the pressure for a moment, making certain he'd received her note before releasing his grasp and strolling off, arm-in-arm with her man. The two disappeared under the morning shadow of a majestic palm, as the sun fought to burn away the last of the morning's clouds. And he stood there, motionless, wondering what had just taken place.

Scene Six

He was stunned, at first believing this to be either a jest or, less likely, a bit of day-dreaming on his part – pure fantasy in which all of the characters, or at least the ones that matter, perform their roles according to one's every wish and desire. He remembered so well her profile of tanned flesh on the beach chaise and now the playful sway of her womanly center as she walked away with, 'my husband, Gilles.' And he replayed the brief encounter over and over again, attempting to decipher her expression, the way her fingers moved in his hand, and wondering all the while where this might lead.

He sat at the small cantina table near the beachfront and ordered coffee, and when it came he opened her beautifully penned note once more and read:

suite 4308, a dix heure ce matin, s.v.p.C

Well, he was getting closer to learning her name, he laughed, and he sat there for ten minutes guessing atC-names that might or might not be suitable for her. But by then it was already after nine, and he left quickly for his room and a shower, forgetting to pay for his coffee, returning to do so, then off again, suddenly reminding himself to slow down, relax! telling himself again that really, this was nothing. Lost in thought, he almost didn't hear Ricardo from the dive shop calling his name, then realized he'd need to reserve a seat for Friday's dives. Working his way around a group of young women – probably student divers, their equipment lying unassembled in piles on the dock – he returned morning greetings from the dive crew, and signed on for the next day's run toPalancar.

Scene Seven

It all seemed so unreal, almost laughable, from the moment he found the laundry cart at the entranceway to #4308 with the door open and clearly some activity going on in the front hallway. A wet mop in motion! – where was she? No sign of Gilles, either, hmmm. He was suddenly consumed with nervous excitement. Was this to be some kind of bad joke on her part? Then focused again, he side-stepped the wet mop and the housekeeper who was intent on making a path to the door, closed it quietly behind her, and he stood there – alone. He surveyed their room with its stylish furnishings, the huge bed dominating everything else – where the two of them had undoubtedly put the mattress to the test with their lovemaking – open suitcases that lay across low chests of drawers, a pair of lone sandals left beneath a coffee table cluttered with books and magazines. Off to one side a full kitchenette was equipped with sink and counter space, a small range and refrigerator. This was indeed a suite, much more spacious than his own, beautifully appointed. He noticed movement through the curtain, as she rose from a balcony chair outside, scraping the marble surface.