Thursday Night:
The disco on the veranda bar was in full swing, the dancefloor awash with flashing lights: lime, turquoise, strawberry, tangerine, orange, and lemon strobes. DJ Lenox dimmed the lights down low and played his first slow number. I sank into a tufted black leather sofa in the shadows and watched the short, stocky, auburn blonde smooching an olive-skinned man with a balbo beard. Ana had changed into a sexy, full-length, black evening dress, split as high as her waist. Her partner caressed her hips. She drew him in and kissed him deeply. They seemed to be so well acquainted.
Feeling lonely, I walked to the rocky beach and watched the lighthouse, its moving lantern changing colours, and listened to the siren’s sad song of the sea.
Friday:
My hotel was strictly adults only, lonely hearts in search of new love. I attended the welcome meeting at 11am. There were newly-weds, young couples, freed parents, middle and old-aged couples, singles looking for fun, and widows. I was approached by a nosy, interfering old man,
‘Wife not joining you?’
I grimaced, ‘Afraid not. Moira was killed in a car crash four weeks ago.’
‘Sorry for your loss.’ he lied, and looked away, ‘Never mind, here comes our glass of bubbly.’
We were introduced to our holiday representatives: Tam, Elicia, Burt and Ana. Then I went on holiday. The hotel had no beach, just craggy rocks and sea swells. I lay on the lounger sunbathing most of the day, watching the heavily pregnant mums burst out of their bikinis, with their virile husbands crouched at their sides, sadly surveying the other women in search of bared breasts.
At noon I took lunch in the straw-thatched beach bar: an ice-cold cola and chicken wrap. I was served by the olive-skinned man with the Balbo beard, who caressed Ana’s hips last night.
After a short nap, a siesta out of the sun, I wrapped my lean torso in a fluffy bathrobe, pulled on my tight red trunks and padded to the spa. A girl with a bushy moustache offered me a full body massage. I declined, protesting that I had a weak spinal column. She told me she cured bad backs, performed extras, too. I told her to back off. In my view, girls shouldn’t offer men extras.
Instead, I worked my muscles on the sparse gym equipment. The shoulder press was the wrong way round and there were no mats for press-ups. I was entertained by the young, olive-skinned man with a Balbo beard who caressed Ana’s hips last night, pulling one-hundred-and-twelve kilograms. Feeling puny in my cheap trunks, I quit the gym and dived into the heated swimming pool, crawling and sputtering ten lengths breaststroke before I ran out of breath.
I towelled myself dry and sat in the sauna. A slim auburn girl in a skimpy bikini with a port wine stain covering her face walked in and sat down on the seat below me. I cupped water onto the glowing red coals with the ladle, steam rose. I made a polite comment to the slim girl about her burgundy face. She walked out.
At 3pm I took a rest in my room to escape the blazing sun.
At 4pm I attended Step Aerobics on the Fitness Terrace with Ana:
‘Gut job! Give your toes a holiday! Feel your butt! Deep inhale, deep exhale! Very gut job! Feel your toes, feet, calves, thighs, hips, chest, neck, nose, mouth, head, roll your eyes back, and drift away!’
I did everything she told me to do, thanking her for brightening my life, went back to my room and dreamed of her after I fell asleep. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Those stiff navy shorts, the busty olive-green top, her sturdy tanned thighs. I prayed that Ana would host the Quiz in the Bar.
At 5pm I sat on my own in the Beach Bar and took a Quiz. The other tables were full of Scots.
At 6pm I worked out in the indoor gym, swam the pool, and took a sauna. The fat girl with the beard was massaging a fat German on a large lounger. He had a broad smile on his red, blushing face and sweated like a pig. I couldn’t see her hands, so I left.
At 7pm, I attended the Gala Dinner in the Restaurant. It was a self-service buffet. All the veg had feta cheese topping, baked with a crust. The head chef wore blacks, which struck me as unusual, and a black baker’s hat which flopped to the left. I asked the head chef why the dinner was described as gala. He told me every night was gala night in the Palacio del Mare, asking if I had an issue. I told him I had no issue with him or his craft, but that it might make a nice change to see broccoli, carrots, peas, squash, swede and green beans served without the brown crust of feta. He told me to try the Beach Bar: they served pizza and Caesar salad with chips. I pointed out that both dishes contained cheese. The head chef bid me Bon Appetit, and scarpered off to the kitchen.
At 8pm DJ Rot played obscure house music in the Lobby Bar. The dancefloor was awash with flashing lights: turquoise, strawberry, tangerine, lemon, and lime green strobes. DJ Rot dimmed the lights down low and played his first slow number. I sank into my tufted black leather sofa, in the shadows, and watched the short, stocky, auburn blonde smooch the young, olive-skinned man with a Balbo beard. Ana had changed into her sexy, full-length black evening dress, split right up to her waist. Her partner caressed her hips. She drew him in and kissed him deeply, for minutes on end. I think the in phrase at adult hotels is: she ate his tongue and tried to suck his tonsils out.
We were interrupted at 9pm for a Gala Presentation by The Team, Tam, Elicia, Burt, and Ana.
At 930pm Rot appeared as Elvis. I went to bed, but didn’t sleep until the noise stopped at 11pm.
Saturday:
I was woken at dawn by the siren’s lilting song of love.
At 830am I enjoyed a breakfast of fruit, nuts, and feta cheese on the poolside echelon. The coffee was too strong so I tipped it into the pool, enjoying its putrid discolouration. One of the gold-fish floated on its back, poisoned by my coffee. The fat waitress told me, in a poor Texan accent, to have a nice day and asked if I was celebrating my birthday. I told her my wife was dead.
At 9am I walked to Eluder to search for socks and underpants. I was told that Cretans don’t wear underpants or socks as the weather is too clement. The nearest men’s underwear shop was in Knauss, twenty kilometres away. I reverted to my trunks and hoped no-one had noticed my bulge.
I returned to the hotel at 1030am just in time to change into my red trunks and participate in Aqua Fitness in the Pool with Ana:
‘Gut job! Give toes a holiday! Feel your butt! Deep inhale, deep exhale! Very gut job! Feel your toes, feet, calves, thighs, hips, chest, neck, nose, mouth, head, roll your eyes back and drift away. Marching! Swing those arms. Let your buddy roll like a porpoise in brine!’
There was a Couples Race. I was forced to swim holding onto Ana’s shoulders. I lay against her back, feeling her taut muscles, the cleft buttocks, as she swam with me attached to her body, her willing limpet. We reversed roles. I was hopeless. I thanked Ana for helping me find my way to the edge of the three-tier swimming pool. She laughed heartily, told me to learn to swim.
After noon, I went sunbathing. The sun was intense. One of the heavily pregnant women was topless. I had to stare out to sea to calm myself. The sea was empty apart from three oil tankers on the horizon.
I waited until 1pm to take lunch in my red trunks at the Beach Bar. I spilled some hot chips in my lap, burnt my stomach. I was served by the young olive-skinned man with the Balbo beard who caressed Ana’s hips last night.
At 2pm I took a restful siesta in my room, dreaming intermittently of Ana in her navy swimsuit.
At 4pm, feeling refreshed, I stood under the shady bamboo canopy in the Fitness Suite and enjoyed a Full Body Workout with Ana. Afterwards, I thanked her for changing my life.
She smiled and said, in stilted German,
‘Thank you, I am so glad that you enjoyed my buddy.’
At 5pm I came last in the Quiz in the Beach Bar.
At 6pm I worked-out in the gym, pool and sauna. The spa was like a morgue, corpse-white with the occasional vase.
At 7pm I attended the International Dinner in the Restaurant. I was forced to wear trousers and a hot cotton shirt. The International Dinner was the same as the Gala Dinner, except that the starter course, the so-called Vital Menu, was served with feta. I chose seafood pasta baked in a feta crust, followed by feta omelette.
At 730pm I returned to my room to change into a white tuxedo, black tie and Frank Sinatra lined black trousers. I sat admiring Moira’s photos, tears streaming down my face, until 9pm.
The Casino Night consisted of a Poker Table and a Roulette Table. Ana, wearing an odd dress with vents down the side, revealing the full extent of her tanned hips, span the roulette wheel.
‘Rein de la plus!’ she cried, incorrectly.
At 930pm, disappointed by Ana’s embarrassing terminology, and out of chips, I went to bed.
Sunday:
I was woken at dawn by the siren’s lilting song of love.
At 830pm I had Breakfast: greasy streaky bacon, frankfurters and eggs scrambled in ewe’s milk, served with a feta crust.
At 9pm I joined The Walk to Colocynth Causeway with Burt as far as the Eluder Peninsula. Half-way across the spit, I stopped to watch a man and a woman hold hands at a café table. The woman was crying. A speedboat went past. I went to speak. The film producer told me to shut up.
At 1pm I had lunch in the Beach Bar: Caesar salad made with feta, followed by a clean shave, shower, and a strange dream about Ana, naked in a glass ball. I blamed the illusion on the feta.
Then, at 4pm I enjoyed Circuit Training with Ana, wearing my tight red trunks. She laughed! I thanked her very much. She said I should try her yoga class if I wanted to experience instant karma in my buddy.
At 5pm I came last in the Quiz.
At 6pm I returned to the gym, where I lifted two 1kg dumbbells, doggy-paddled in the heated pool, and took a sauna. I was joined by an attractive girl from Minsk called Luba who wore a turban of towelling around her head and a ten-inch-thick sticking plaster around her midriff. She explained that she’d just had an operation for a hole-in-the heart, and that I mustn’t say or do anything to excite her. I thanked Luba for her honesty, pulled up my red trunks, and returned to my room.
At 7pm I attended the Seafood Buffet: Gala Dinner with fish and feta.
At 9pm I watched three sensational Russian acrobats hold each other in the Lobby Bar and pondered over the future of free speech.
Monday:
At 10am I attended Back Fit with Ana. I thanked Ana for curing my back pain.
She lightly touched my shoulder, and said, ‘Take care of your buddy.’
At 11am I attended Aqua Fit with Ana. During the Couples Race, I had to swim with Ana, holding onto her shoulders, lying against her back, loving the feeling of her strong muscles, the cleft buttocks. I thanked Ana for carrying me to the rim of the three-tier swimming pool. She just smiled and turned away.
I went to the sea.
At 245pm I enjoyed a free full body massage with the bearded lady.
At 4pm I attended Dumbbell Fit alone with Ana. I mentioned to her that I wrote short stories.
‘I would like to read one of your stories,’ she laughed, ‘Would you write a story about me?’
I said I would love to write a love story about her, and she taught me how to lift dumbbells.
At 5pm I attended Stretch and Relax with Ana.
At the International Dinner, I was personally greeted by Ana, wearing an odd dress with vents which highlighted the perfect shape of her bare tanned hips. I wondered about Balbo Beard’s hands, whether Ana would give of herself to him tonight on the dancefloor. I heard a siren sing of the sea. I heard my siren sing!
At 730pm I took an evening stroll by the beach and stared at the reflections of the Beach Bar lights cast on the water.
At 830pm I went to bed. I was kept awake until 11pm by DJ Rot.
Tuesday, Ana’s day off:
I sat in my room and sulked all day. The Naturals Trio kept me awake until 11pm. I sat and played thirteen-card patience until midnight but struggled to find the ace of hearts.
Wednesday:
I was woken at dawn by the siren’s lilting song of love.
At 9pm, I attended Night Yoga with Ana:
‘Very gut job! Feel your toes, feet, calves, thighs, hips, chest, neck, nose, mouth, head, roll your eyes back and drift away!’
She sent me to sleep under the stars. When I awoke, I found that Ana had made me a tiny cup of ginger tea. I thanked her politely. She lay down on the floor beside me. She looked beautiful.
Behind her buddy were two huge opaque illuminated orbs which changed colour from mauve to pink, strawberry, tangerine, lemon, and lime.
Afterwards, I helped Ana clear up all of her spent candles and washed up and towel-dried our two teacups and saucers in my bedroom.
‘Meet me on the beach in fifteen minutes,’ she whispered excitedly, as I presented her china.
I met Ana on the beach. A warm breeze of romance blew through our hearts. Waves of love crashed onto our souls. She made me feel young again. Ana’s huge, opaque, illuminated orbs changed colour: turquoise, strawberry, tangerine, lemon, lime green.
They lay bobbing on the surf. One of the orbs slid open. Ana climbed inside.
She called to me, ‘I must leave now.’
The orb closed.
I stared at her naked figure, hunched inside the orb, crying out vibrantly to me, crying with joy:
‘Feel your body float! Enjoy the moment!’
She floated off across the sea into the dark night.
‘What about me?’ I cried. ‘I love you, Ana, and I always will. You can’t just leave me here.’
She called me! My siren!
‘Feel your body float! Enjoy the moment!’
The second orb slid open.
I climbed inside.
I bounced across the crashing waves to my love.
‘Oh, Ana!’ I cried, ‘Oh, my siren of the sea!’
The siren sang her lilting song of love!
You bring this to vivid life.
Thank you, Thomas. HJx