Paradise Rush

By Leo T. Barbel

Paradise Rush
by LEO T. BARBEL

In PARADISE RUSH, author Leo T. Barbel, a lifelong resident of the West Indies, takes you on a journey through the generations to a chain of tropical islands awash with sun-drenched days, exotic evenings, and late-night enchantments. Here you will meet captivating characters living in a paradise filled with adventure and intrigue.

The heart of this multi-level tale revolves around Sasha Sassy Mattavious. As an island girl coming of age during World War II, Sassy finds herself swept up in a series of dramatic events ranging from the murder trial of a young man she adores to a high stakes poker game that escalates to incalculable odds.

At that gambling table sits an assortment of colorful players including internationally celebrated photographer Zane Wagoner, devoted churchgoer Armand Cologne, a well-heeled Frenchman from St. Barths, two savvy Puerto Rican businessmen, and a hard-edged Philadelphia street thug as well as the honorable Judge Harland Jacobs.

Their passion for poker aside, these men have one other thing in common: a singular fascination for the stunningly beautiful Anika Vandenberg. Despite her status as a married woman, the femme fatale enjoys flirting shamelessly with the hearts she holds in the palm of her hand. Inexplicably, one of the players disappears suddenly and is never heard from again.

Decades later, Sassys grandson Matt, an investigative reporter from Manhattan, finds his way back home to the land of his ancestors. In his travels, he stumbles upon a 70-year-old cold case that pulls him into the past.

In the process of unraveling the history and mystery of his own roots, Matt discovers more than he ever bargained for about life, love, and family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493119233

Leo T. Barbel

LEO T. BARBEL A lifelong resident of the West Indies, poker aficionado and renowned Caribbean businessman, Leo T. Barbel, is best-known for his success in the private sector and his commercial holdings—including the shopping plaza that bears his family name. Seen regularly challenging friends on the tennis court, he began playing the game early on and played collegiately in Minnesota—followed by a two-year stint in the military—before returning home to St. Thomas. In 1972, Barbel and Vic Ebbensen, two of the territory’s leading tennis players, became the first to represent the Virgin Islands at the U.S. Open in Forest Hills, New York. The duo maintained their top ranking in the region for several years. Barbel served as Chairman of the board of trustees at our local Hospital, Board Member of several local Banks, and is a founding member of numerous civic organizations. Paradise Rush is his first novel.

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Copyright © 2013 by Leo T. Barbel.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2013918921

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4931-1922-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4931-1921-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4931-1923-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 11/11/2013

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Rush—In poker, ‘rush’ refers to a series of events occurring in a short time frame with results far surpassing normal expectations.

CHAPTER ONE

Despite cooling trade winds wafting gently into her bedroom throughout the tropical spring night, Sassy Mattavious barely slept a wink. In truth, heat of a vastly different nature was simmering below the surface of her evening’s unrest.

Since before she could remember, the high-spirited soon-to-be nineteen year-old island girl had dreamt of the coming day. At last it was here—the final day of class at St. Sebastian High School, June 9, 1938. Next semester, the proud graduate would be returning to her alma mater as a teacher’s assistant in-training. It was a coveted position, particularly for any young lady determined to seek her own way in the world.

Several classmates had applied for the post but Sassy trumped them all with her high grades, warm personality, quick wit, proper manners and grace. Meanwhile, summer was around the corner and a brand new way of life was about to unfold.

On this special day, as part of her entree into adult society, after the ringing of the school’s brass dismissal bell at 2 o’clock, Sassy’s mother was going to allow her petite, shapely daughter to change out of her school uniform for the very last time and slip on a very fashionable new ensemble.

Lying in bed, Sassy could picture it vividly. After unraveling her braids, brushing out her lustrous raven locks, rubbing a touch of cherry juice on her coffee colored lips and placing a bright red hibiscus blossom behind her left ear, she soon would be enjoying a memory-making visit into town.

There she would be, sitting proudly alongside the grownups, socializing at Olivia’s Rhum Shoppe. For the first time in her life, Sassy was going to experience the secret world that lay within the walls of the most popular gathering spot on St. Sebastian Island. What a grand graduation gift!

The light of day was beginning to peer through swaying coconut palms. Sassy listened as thick tree fronds brushed up against louvered wooden shutters that framed the open windows in her room. Mourning doves began to coo, their mellow song harmonizing with the breeze.

Horns bellowing in the distance signaled the arrival of vessels approaching the harbor. The fragrance of frangipani danced in the fresh salt air creating a sweet aroma. As the temperature rose, it soon gave way to the pungent odor of nutmeg hanging thick and warm in the morning mist.

Reminiscent of burning wood, the intoxicating scent of tropical nutmeg evergreens dominated virtually all aspects of life in Sassy’s bustling island paradise. Nutmeg influenced everything from commerce to cooking. Its medicinal properties were considered a sure cure for stomach ailments. Some believed the aromatic bouquet inspired romantic entanglements among the most unlikely partners. In fact, nutmeg was often referred to as the ‘Nut Mon’—a Caribbean Cupid of sorts—and quite the rascal.

Some of the more fun-loving island residents made a habit of wearing a fresh nutmeg seed roped around the neck with a small grater attached. Because the nutmeg lost much of its flavor and zest once ground, true aficionados used this method to keep the spice close at hand, ready to top off fresh foods and beverages the moment they were served.

Most Caribbean nations of that era were little more than sleepy insular worlds unto themselves. The five islands that made up the Sugarbird chain: St. Sebastian, St. Stephan, St. Bernard, St. Benedict and St. Ignatius—the SBI—were a different story. St. Sebastian Island in particular boasted a magnificent natural harbor. At one time, it had been a haven for salty pirates, privateers, adventurers and rugged traders. It now served as home to a proud native population a colorful mix of former slaves, Arawak and Carib Indians, Tainos, independent traders and descendants of previous conquerors.

The exotic little nation with its rolling hills, turquoise skies and exquisite sunsets had been named for a tiny West Indian bird, a yellow and white flutterer that helped itself incessantly to the juice of the sugarcane stalks that thrived in the groves and grottos of the Sugarbird Islands.

Having been a possession of France, Portugal, Spain, Great Britain and Holland over the course of several centuries, the Sugarbird Islands had evolved into a proud independent Caribbean nation with the unique markings of multiple cultures. Thanks to the British who first transported nutmeg seeds from the Moluccas to the Caribbean, the celebrated spice greatly enriched the economic strength and culinary appeal of the SBI.

Early on, for extended periods of time, the Sugarbird Island chain had been left to its own devices, eking out an existence cultivating sugarcane and enjoying assorted rum and molasses products created from the effort. Many early European settlers found themselves too far afield from the comforts of their homeland to make a go of remote living on five seemingly inconsequential protrusions in the sea. Thanks to the Brits, generation after generation of native-born islanders quietly nurtured nutmeg in the rich volcanic soil, sipping rum as they went along. Eventually, the spice grew to become the most revered flavoring in the Caribbean and beyond.

In 1898, as a result of the ten-week long Spanish-American War, Puerto Rico had become a United States commonwealth. Meanwhile, little more than 100 miles to the south southeast, the Sugarians were left unscathed and uninvolved in conflict, a small sparkling West Indian gem rich in rum, molasses and that sought-after nutmeg spice.

By that time in history, the Sugarians were happily exporting tons of flavorful nutmeg to Puerto Rico and other destinations eager to indulge in nutmeg soup and nutmeg baked goods. In addition to topping off alcoholic beverages, nutmeg proved an ideal additive to vegetables, cheeses and sauces—particularly tomato sauce. On St. Sebastian, local taverns and eateries proudly served up luscious offerings such as crisp nutmeg chicken cooked in coal pots and presented to customers piping hot. And of course, there existed the unspoken knowledge that the fragrance of nutmeg was a gloriously potent aphrodisiac.

The discovery of the unprecedented growth that had taken place within these five isles came to light globally once the Panama Canal opened in 1914. Despite a lack of serious support from outside influences, the island chain had already become a cosmopolitan paradise—a dynamic tapestry of West Indian culture, British order, Puerto Rican-American innovation and Dutch engineering.

Perhaps the natural tenacity of the native-born population in combination with the survival instincts of visiting seafarers had contributed to the SBI’s unique synergy. Certainly, the appeal of nutmeg had become a major deciding factor in the fortunate fate of islanders who had stayed the course.

As soon as the Atlantic and Pacific oceans had been successfully connected, Holland in particular reemerged on the scene. No longer the motherland, Holland returned officially to the islands as a major partner in trade and transport. Eventually, Trans-Dutch Trading Company, clearly the most powerful enterprise in the Sugarbird Islands, ran the power plant as well as various elements necessary to operate the bustling seaport. Trans-Dutch Trading also transformed a once-tiny airstrip into a full fledged airport.

By the time Sassy Mattavious was preparing her foray into pre-adulthood, elegantly attired cruise ship passengers, crusty freight captains, savvy merchants, creative artisans, local bankers, businessmen and pirates of a slightly different ilk were mixing and mingling together quite freely under the sun-drenched flag of the Sugarbird Islands.

Donkey carts were common modes of transportation but an increasing number of drivers and delighted passengers had begun to buzz about the town’s flatlands and surrounding elevations in shiny motorized vehicles manufactured in Europe and the Americas. Popular imports included Ford sedans, Studebaker trucks, the American Banton Woody, Volvos and spirited Alfa Romeo sports cars from Italy.

Those not residing high in the steep, winding hills also opted for Schwinn or Hawthorne Ace bicycles to get from place to place with relative ease.

Had it been important to do so, it would have been difficult to categorize the Sugarians according to specific skin color and ancestry. So much intermarriage had gone on over countless decades, specific nationalities were fairly indistinguishable.

The unspoken caste system here was based not on skin color but rather the size and number of homes owned, properties and businesses acquired, countries traveled, automobiles driven and pleasure boats enjoyed.

The level of education achieved was yet another measure of a Sugarian’s status in the community. Those holding degrees from celebrated halls of learning in places such as Great Britain, France and the United States were considered among the most elite.

St. Sebastian was the only home Sassy had ever known but the inquisitive island girl was well aware that a complicated world lay beyond the sandy shores of her twenty mile-long island. Miss Crispin, her teacher, made sure all students read important articles in the local newspaper every day. The best readers, Sassy among them, were often chosen to read aloud in English, the official language of the SBI, a carryover from British rule. After class, conversations occasionally took place in French, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese or patois a lilting combination of several languages and dialects. But during school hours, the English language prevailed.

Now and then, a copy of the New York Times or London Herald would make its way into her classroom. Sassy found the foreign news particularly lively and exciting although the fact that Hitler had annexed Austria and western Czechoslovakia were unnerving revelations. Journalists were writing with increasing certainty that a second World War was looming.

Sassy marveled at the advertisements for enticing items such as French fragrances and silk stockings and fine lace and Belgian chocolates. She appreciated the fact that some of those very same goods were available in shops and pushcarts along Main Street in St. Sebastian—often at prices vastly lower than those advertised in the British or American newspapers.

Her teacher explained in grand detail that because St. Sebastian was an open, duty-free port, many items for sale were not taxed by the countries of origin—or by the Sugarians. Conversely, nutmeg and its byproducts were smartly exported for top dollar by savvy entrepreneurs throughout the Sugarbird Islands, successfully enriching the lives of islanders.

The spacious and well cared for home that Sassy shared with her mother and two aunts was situated on a gently sloping hill just above town. From Sassy’s bedroom windows, she was afforded a full view of the blue harbor.

Economics lessons aside, Sassy had the impression the flow of goods from visiting freighters sometimes went unaccounted for. The reason for her suspicion was simple. She could watch the questionable late night transactions in motion.

Sometimes in the heat of the night, Sassy would climb down from her four-poster bed and perch herself on the thick window ledge to catch a breeze. If the moon happened to be bright enough and she squinted her eyes just so, Sassy could make out men in dark clothing shuffling about on the pier.

Now and then, Sassy saw wooden boxes being carried off the newly arrived vessels. Also from her vantage point, Sassy could make out rum barrels being rolled aboard. Nowhere was there a tallyman counting these goods either coming or going.

Occasionally while Sassy was engrossed in this late night show, an unwelcome creature would fly out of nowhere, sweeping uncomfortably close to Sassy’s face, horrifying the girl. The very first time it happened, Sassy went screaming to her mother that a nasty black bat had tried to enter her room. The child was understandably distraught.

Wise woman that she was, Sassy’s mother calmed her daughter, telling her it was nothing more than a harmless little night bird. Although Sassy knew in her heart that a bat was a bat and it scared her to death, her mother’s innocent name for the frightening critter somehow successfully allayed her fears, at least for the moment.

Just as religious beliefs including Catholicism, Judaism, and those of Moravian faith had made their respective marks in the SBI, the mysticism of Obeah also influenced a sizable portion of the population. Based originally in West African culture, Obeah eventually made its way to the Caribbean. In the Sugarbird Islands, Obeah priests and priestesses were believed to hold the power to see into the future, predict storms, cure or cause illness and bring on death. On St. Sebastian in particular, it was not unusual to hear stories of bats being used as truth seekers by Obeah women—and men. Some believed those with ‘the power,’ communicated with the nocturnal creatures, casting spells and stealing the shadows of their enemy.

The Obeah were famous for telling scary tales about deformed people like ‘Big Belly Man,’ so huge his voice dropped down into his stomach—and then there was ‘Cow Foot Woman.’ As a little girl, Sassy remembered scrutinizing grown women’s legs in search of the curious bovine appendage. The most well known of St. Sebastian’s Obeah women was a soothsayer known only as Lovante. Although she rarely spoke in public, the wizened elder made quite the visual impression with her long unkempt gray locks, colorful gypsy-esque garb and rows of beads with assorted amulets hanging from her neck. It had never been proven but many islanders were convinced this frail-looking woman lived in a virtually inaccessible bat cave at the highest point on the island. On more than one occasion, adventurous young boys attempted to follow her home but each time they tried, the wide-eyed youngsters reported back to friends and family that the swift-moving Lovante simply disappeared into thin air halfway up the mountain.

As was Sassy’s, most homes in the immediate vicinity of town were painted white with dark red rooftops. Although she had never gone boating, Sassy often tried to envision how dramatic her island must look to passengers approaching St. Sebastian harbor by sea for the first time.

Lying in bed staring up at the ceiling fan as it swirled silently, Sassy was not thinking about any questionable transactions out on the docks or the picturesque island landscape—or the mystical powers of Obeah. She was imagining only how she was going to feel later today, how very mature she was going to appear, sipping on a coconut water while in the company of island residents and visitors from all walks of life. Of course, Sassy clearly understood she would be required to remain within view of her two maiden aunts at all times and that the trio would be returning home together before sunset. Just the same, Sassy’s very first visit inside Olivia’s Rhum Shoppe was going to be a sensational experience, she just knew it.

Because Olivia’s place was situated at the very beginning of Main Street, nearly everyone in the bustling Caribbean harbor town passed it on a regular basis either on foot, bicycle, donkey cart, or in their fancy automobiles. Hardly a soul from that sizable group went by without noticing the palpable energy emanating from the lively enterprise.

During daylight hours in downtown St. Sebastian, all were welcome to congregate out front and ‘people watch’ under the colorful awning at Olivia’s makeshift ice cream parlor by the bar’s entrance. Customarily, women and children would be deposited there by the head of household, left to enjoy flavorful confections and fresh fruits with chipped ice. The gentleman would then step inside to the saloon, unencumbered by family.

In her mind’s eye, Sassy pictured herself passing through the front door, entering Olivia’s Rhum Shoppe and sitting up straight and proud as her mother always encouraged. She would listen intently, contributing to conversations when appropriate, just as she did at home. Be gracious, Sasha, but above all be present, her mother would say. Pay attention and never let people dismiss you.

On this grand new day, Sasha ‘Sassy’ Mattavious most certainly would not allow herself to go unnoticed. She was going to wear the crisp pink and white formfitting dress with fine lace trim Aunt Beatrice recently had fashioned for her. She would be carrying a small white purse. Inside, it would contain a scented handkerchief embroidered with tiny pink roses. Sassy had selected the accessory from an assortment of French imports Mr. Haynes placed on display in his fabric and notions store. Most importantly, Sassy had purchased a pair of white high heeled shoes almost exactly like the ones worn by movie stars and ladies visiting off the cruise ships.

Sassy so hoped the electric current would be working at the rhum shoppe when she arrived. That meant music would be playing on the dark wood Silvertone console radio with its magic tuning eye. Sassy had seen the handsome cabinetry being delivered directly off a freighter. From that day forward, the sounds of Sidney Bechet, Cab Calloway, Billie Holiday and ‘The Duke,’ could be heard reverberating through the thick brick walls at Olivia’s Rhum Shoppe night and day—just so long as the Trans-Dutch Trading Power Plant had the power up and running.

What an entrance she would make if a sultry jazz instrumental happened to be playing in the background! Regardless, Sassy was going to be right there in the midst of freight captains, mechanics, taxi drivers, artists, merchants and travelers, too. Perhaps even a gambler or American mobster might be among the patrons of the day.

Sassy’s mother had never bought into the popular concept of the time that children should be seen and not heard. Quite the contrary; although Mrs. Mattavious knew full well certain factions of polite society regarded her as a permissive mother with her only daughter, she openly encouraged Sassy with snippets of what was considered radical thinking of the day:

"Don’t be concerned with bein’ refined Sasha. You are already quite fine just the way you are," she would say. Of course, Mrs. Mattavious set certain boundaries her daughter would not dare to cross. Still, compared to many of her sheltered classmates, Sassy was slowly being given sufficient opportunity to lead a life with countless possibilities.

Being that it was Friday, banks would be shutting down promptly at noon signifying the customary start to the Caribbean weekend. On this and every ‘Social Friday’, most higher-ups would hold back for a time, never walking through the door to Olivia’s Rhum Shoppe—or any other tavern before two in the afternoon. That was the acceptable hour for gentlemen of breeding to indulge in alcoholic spirits in the Sugarbird Islands. The less dignified, such as dockworkers and crew off the freighters, thought nothing of being at the entrance when doors opened at ten o’clock in the morning.

For just a brief moment, Sassy wondered what type of man her father might have been, had he lived. From her earliest memories, she had been told he was a soldier who died in the war. As she got older, she longed to ask unanswered questions burning inside her. What war? Where? But every time Sassy attempted to broach the subject, tears would well up in her mother’s eyes. Mrs. Mattavious would then profess to feel a fainting spell coming on and promptly leave the room. Sassy tried several times to pursue the subject with her aunts but they both were experts at diverting her attention or, if need be, ignoring her completely.

Although Sassy’s mother rarely ventured from home, both Aunt Beatrice and Aunt Bessie held jobs as seamstresses at Conyers Clothiers in the heart of town. The ‘B Sisters’ were quite well known for their ability to custom alter store-bought dresses for women and girls. The talented duo also had established themselves as a regular part of the afterwork clientele at Olivia’s. In fact, it was the sisters who first suggested Sassy might be old enough