said.
âFine, great,â Jonathan said.
âSee ya!â Mickey cackled. Arno watched as he walked off down the bay side promenade, holding hands with Greta and Suki. He cursed himself for making such an amateurâs mistake.
Stephanie came up behind them then, wearing her usual jean cutoffs, tight Ocean Term T-shirt, and tossing her head of curls.
âAre we going to go see some gorgeous Catalan architecture or what?â she asked, her big toothy smile spreading all the way across her face. Patch nodded to the guys, and he and Stephanie headed into the warren of streets above the docks.
âListen,â Jonathan said, unfolding a map heâd gotten from somewhere, âif we go up Maritimo, which I
think
is what weâre on, like seven blocks or something, then take a right on Calle de San Cristobal, and then if we go, like, two blocks weâll be at the Ciber Tango Café â¦â
But Arno was so furious he wasnât even listening.
Mickey and the girls get a taste of the good life
âOh â¦
yeah
â¦â
Mickey leaned into his chaise lounge and took a sip of his mojito. He wiggled his toes and brushed the sand off his chest. Next to him, Suki and Greta had arranged themselves on their lounge chairs so as to catch the best sun rays. They had taken the bus to Playa de Palma, just outside the city, where the water was warm and gentle and the beach was wide and sandy. After a few hours of running in and out of the waves, they rented chairs and ordered drinks. All around them, lithe, tanned Spaniards and fat, pink English tourists were drinking and lounging and reading
Hello!
magazine. Mickey had been feeling good. Now he was feeling even better.
âIf we had more of
this
over
there
,â Suki said, pointing first at the beach below her and then at the
Ariadne
, which they could see docked on the other side of the bay, âthis trip would be a whole lot more fun.â
âEw, look at
that
,â Greta giggled. She pointed at the large, pale, dimpled rear of a touristy-looking womanwalking by them who was wearing a (thankfully) one-piece green bathing suit decorated with mauve flowers.
âAmerican or Brit?â Mickey asked.
âDefinitely American,â Suki said. âIf sheâs not, next round of drinks is on me.â
âAye, luv!â Mickey called in faux-Cockney. The woman turned to them, looking first confused and then pleased when she saw Mickey Pardo, the Latin fireball, waving at her.
â
Ayyyee, luv,â
she replied, putting a hand on her hip and cracking a thin-lipped smile at him.
âOhhhh ⦠hi,â Mickey said, his smile fading and his accent switching back to American. âI thought you were someone else. Sorry!â
They all suppressed giggles until the wide British lady was safely gone, and then they broke out in hooting laughter. When the hilarity subsided, Suki stood up and put her floppy straw hat on.
âWell, I guess itâs drinks time. Three mojitos?â
âYes, please!â
âThanks, sister.â Mickey gently slapped Sukiâs thigh as she turned to walk up the beach.
When she had disappeared into the palm-fronded shack near the beachâs entrance, Greta sighed and relaxed back into the chair.
âThe waterâs so
turquoise
,â she said.
âWe donât have beaches like these in New Yawk City.â
âYeah, or in my town, either. I mean, we go to the beach all the time because my boyfriend is, like, a surfer. But itâs never calm and tranquil like this.â
Mickey, who hated calm and tranquil, fought the urge to run down the beach and pants all the European dudes in their idiot Speedos. He took in the air and the sun and the salt air for a few good minutes until that urge passed, and then he turned to Greta with his signature wild-eyed smile.
âSo give it to me straight: Is your girl into me, or what the fuck?â
Greta opened her mouth to say
âFine, great,â Jonathan said.
âSee ya!â Mickey cackled. Arno watched as he walked off down the bay side promenade, holding hands with Greta and Suki. He cursed himself for making such an amateurâs mistake.
Stephanie came up behind them then, wearing her usual jean cutoffs, tight Ocean Term T-shirt, and tossing her head of curls.
âAre we going to go see some gorgeous Catalan architecture or what?â she asked, her big toothy smile spreading all the way across her face. Patch nodded to the guys, and he and Stephanie headed into the warren of streets above the docks.
âListen,â Jonathan said, unfolding a map heâd gotten from somewhere, âif we go up Maritimo, which I
think
is what weâre on, like seven blocks or something, then take a right on Calle de San Cristobal, and then if we go, like, two blocks weâll be at the Ciber Tango Café â¦â
But Arno was so furious he wasnât even listening.
Mickey and the girls get a taste of the good life
âOh â¦
yeah
â¦â
Mickey leaned into his chaise lounge and took a sip of his mojito. He wiggled his toes and brushed the sand off his chest. Next to him, Suki and Greta had arranged themselves on their lounge chairs so as to catch the best sun rays. They had taken the bus to Playa de Palma, just outside the city, where the water was warm and gentle and the beach was wide and sandy. After a few hours of running in and out of the waves, they rented chairs and ordered drinks. All around them, lithe, tanned Spaniards and fat, pink English tourists were drinking and lounging and reading
Hello!
magazine. Mickey had been feeling good. Now he was feeling even better.
âIf we had more of
this
over
there
,â Suki said, pointing first at the beach below her and then at the
Ariadne
, which they could see docked on the other side of the bay, âthis trip would be a whole lot more fun.â
âEw, look at
that
,â Greta giggled. She pointed at the large, pale, dimpled rear of a touristy-looking womanwalking by them who was wearing a (thankfully) one-piece green bathing suit decorated with mauve flowers.
âAmerican or Brit?â Mickey asked.
âDefinitely American,â Suki said. âIf sheâs not, next round of drinks is on me.â
âAye, luv!â Mickey called in faux-Cockney. The woman turned to them, looking first confused and then pleased when she saw Mickey Pardo, the Latin fireball, waving at her.
â
Ayyyee, luv,â
she replied, putting a hand on her hip and cracking a thin-lipped smile at him.
âOhhhh ⦠hi,â Mickey said, his smile fading and his accent switching back to American. âI thought you were someone else. Sorry!â
They all suppressed giggles until the wide British lady was safely gone, and then they broke out in hooting laughter. When the hilarity subsided, Suki stood up and put her floppy straw hat on.
âWell, I guess itâs drinks time. Three mojitos?â
âYes, please!â
âThanks, sister.â Mickey gently slapped Sukiâs thigh as she turned to walk up the beach.
When she had disappeared into the palm-fronded shack near the beachâs entrance, Greta sighed and relaxed back into the chair.
âThe waterâs so
turquoise
,â she said.
âWe donât have beaches like these in New Yawk City.â
âYeah, or in my town, either. I mean, we go to the beach all the time because my boyfriend is, like, a surfer. But itâs never calm and tranquil like this.â
Mickey, who hated calm and tranquil, fought the urge to run down the beach and pants all the European dudes in their idiot Speedos. He took in the air and the sun and the salt air for a few good minutes until that urge passed, and then he turned to Greta with his signature wild-eyed smile.
âSo give it to me straight: Is your girl into me, or what the fuck?â
Greta opened her mouth to say
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