A Troublemaker May Surprise: The Troublemaker Series, #2

By Genta Sebastian

Every surprise is a dazzling ambush.

 

It's 1968 and the Troublemakers, a group of lesbians living on a tiny island in the mid-Atlantic, are braving the shockingly decadent waves of a European sexual revolution. Butch Traf Mendes, a captain and VIP driver for the USAF, falls in lust with a breathtaking flamenco dancer. Carmen offers sexual pleasures she's never experienced, but what about pretty, faithful Ana and her desire for a baby?

 

Traf craves sexual fulfillment almost as much as she wants to give her girl everything her heart desires. Perhaps if she adopts a prostitute's unwanted newborn as a surprise, this ultimate act of love will solve all their problems. But will it cure Traf's fascination with Carmen's seductive bedroom eyes that promise so much… and her hips even more?

 

Who knows how A Troublemaker May Surprise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Genta Sebastian
• Release date: Apr 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224618088

Genta Sebastian

Genta Sebastian runs with scissors, always laughs without shame, sometimes writes naked, and dreams big. She started life as a child and against her own advice swiftly attained adulthood. Full grown adulting, however, proved to lie just outside her skill set and beyond her ken. Instead, she's enjoyed being an elementary school teacher, crochet artiste, amateur community theater player, master teacher, criminally wicked cookie baker, professional storyteller, Christmas stocking needle-pointer, an okay parent, cool grandparent, and epic great-grandparent. And along the way she also found time to become a published, award-winning author.

Book preview

Dedication

FOR THE TROUBLEMAKERS

Invisible in plain sight, you have always been here.

I see you.

Your strength is my inspiration and the reason

I keep getting back up when knocked down.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Introduction

1 - Not Drunk, Paralyzed

2 - The Original Troublemaker

3 - I Love Lesbians

4 - Can We Keep Him?

5 - Let Me Tell Your Fortune

6 - Handing the Woman her Heart

7 - No One the Worse for Having Known You

8 - Are You Done with Women, Now?

9 - Welcome to the Land of the Living

10 - My Once in a Lifetime

11 - Moral Compasses Realigned

12 - A Very Lucky Break

13 - She Didn’t Spit

14 - Zip-A-Dee-Ay

15 - No, I Won’t

16 - Lover of my Lover’s Lover

17 - Just Wasted

About the Author

Other Books by Genta Sebastian

Adult Content Stories

Introduction

Dear Reader,

A Troublemaker May Surprise is a historical novel about a determined young woman making her way in the world on her own terms with the support and encouragement of her fellow Troublemakers. Although a stand-alone novel, it is also the second in a series. For those who haven’t read the first book, here’s a bit of background.

The volcanic island of Terceira is seven-hundred nautical miles off the coast of Portugal and has been colonized for over 500 years by farmers and fisher folk. Following WWII, Americans established Air Force and Naval presences on the island, bringing an influx of modern products, ways, and opportunities. Coincidentally, the nine islands of the Acores were experiencing an oddly high birthrate of lesbians and gays lasting through three generations, perhaps Mother Nature’s way of forcing a diversification of the gene pool.

There were so many lesbians on the island of Terceira that they banded together, providing support and protection of a kind unheard of for each other. As girls, they were called maria rapaz (sexually deviant tomboys) and faced the disapproval of their families, friends, society, and church, all of whom tried to force them out of their masculine clothing and ways and back into the centuries-old, narrowly defined roles allowed island women. I’ve dubbed them the Troublemakers, and many of the stories found in the series are based in truth, gathered in first- and second-hand accounts and interviews.

The novel takes place in 1968 when American society teemed with sexual freedom, peace, love, and rock ‘n roll. The island of Terceira, in comparison, seemed much more like the USA’s rural 1940s. Imagine how isolated people are when radios are rare and telephones uncommon. Most people received only three or four years of schooling and traveled by horse-drawn cart. The young Troublemakers had no role models, a point explored in A Troublemaker Never Cries, as they struggled to define themselves in a brave new world. Newly exposed to the concept of butch and femme, the young lesbians eagerly separated themselves into each category, just as their American contemporaries had in the 1950s.

The young butches knew they didn’t want to be like the sexist island men, but they stood in the sandy footprints of their fathers, brothers, and uncles. Unsure and off balance, they felt a need to be seen outside traditional womanhood and, in their determination to break free of one mold, ended up copying inappropriate male behaviors.

Although disturbing when viewed through the lens of present times, the butch Troublemakers considered themselves, at worst, playfully scandalous. They took delight in impressing each other with tales of their forbidden love affairs and dalliances and sometimes they crossed the line. I hope, dear reader, you'll forgive them and relax into that time/place and enjoy the story of mischievous Traf and her friends in A Troublemaker May Surprise.

~ Genta Sebastian

1 - Not Drunk, Paralyzed

January 1968

From her table at a window Traf Mendes raised her espresso cup in silent salute as one of the original Troublemakers boarded a plane to escape the island of Terceira. Dropping the front two legs of her tilted chair, the off-duty young lieutenant tossed back the last of her coffee. While rising, though, she quivered as a nerve-jangling numbness swept through her.

Shaking her head only made it spin faster. Traf tried to move but a chaotic quavering severed brain from body. She willed her right foot to take a step, but it refused to obey, instead trembling in fear. Her heart pounded, a drumbeat of mounting alarm, as her left one followed suit. She tried harder to take a step and still her feet refused to do her bidding.

Traf gulped, eyes darting around as the room spun. Unable to make any part of her body respond to her commands. There’s a word for this...paralyzed. She tried to say, I’m paralyzed, but what came out was, Izzzzpalalaz.

Panic pinched her brain. No one can cure paralysis. Self-pity choked her. I’ll live the rest of my life as a helpless beggar in the streets. Ana will leave me to find another butch, someone strong and capable of supporting her.

She gasped for breath. Her head ached, clouding her vision. She willed herself to move...move...move! Her shoulder collided with something solid. She lurched to the side, then threw her whole body in front of her.

I-i-i can’t mo-ove! She hadn’t meant to shout but at least her ears worked. She ignored the shocked look on the waiter’s face as he snatched a chair from in front of her.

Blind instinct drove her to the place she always went, to her mother. Mom will know what to do. But wait. She stopped, the world spinning. Not even Mom can cure being paralyzed. Argh! She stumbled over her crumbling future as her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Maybe the Americans? Hope warred with anxiety, jumping around and throwing punches in her stomach. Squinting through swimming vision, strangers gawked at her wind-milling arms as her desperate straight-legged hop propelled her through the airport exit doors.

The A-A-Americans can cure me, she explained as they whizzed by. Lady of F-Fatima help me, I’m paralyzed. Unable to cross herself, arms no more compliant than legs, she gulped the crisp fresh air of a winter afternoon.

Traf glared at her hands, but they stayed stubbornly motionless. Move, damn it. Her panicked voice rang out and a woman standing in front of her jumped, scrambling out of the way. Traf craned her neck in search of a taxi.

She clambered up the curb and two-finger whistled for a cab, recognizing the driver. Antonio, quick, she ordered, grabbing the door handle. Rush me to the American base hospital, fast as you can. She slid limply into the back seat, unable to feel her hands massaging her numb legs.

Sure thing, Vitória. The chubby young driver used her real name, his dark-lashed eyes colored with concern. Do you need help? Do you want me to find Johnny?

No, I mean yes. I need help but from a doctor, not my brother! Can’t you see for yourself? I’m paralyzed! She glared so she wouldn’t cry, her flat palms slapping her thighs. I can’t walk. I can’t move any part of my body.

Antonio honked like a thieving duck, his laughter shaking the vehicle. He slapped his own thigh. That’s a good one, Vitória. You always were a kidder. His eyes traveled over her carefully as he sniffed her breath. Maybe you want me to drive you home instead? He offered her a toothy grin. They were old friends and due to the nature of his job he understood discretion. Go sleep it off, huh?

What? You think I’m drunk? Traf tried to bring him into focus. I’m not drunk, I’m paralyzed!

Antonio had known her since they played soccer together at school. Like all the boys, he’d learned firsthand how quickly Traf’s fists could fly. Exposing white teeth in a puzzled grin, he tried a companionable chuckle. Are you joking with me?

You jackass, get me to the American base doctors now. Her knees jittered uncontrollably, both hands fluttering above them. This is an emergency!

After a five-minute high-speed drive and being challenged at the gate, the taxi pulled up in front of the hospital. Antonio took her flailing arm and helped her out of his cab. Feel better, Vitória. He shook his head looking confused, troubled, and more than a little amused as she reached for her wallet. No charge. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. Good luck.

Luck? She tried to keep her lower lip from quivering. I’m paralyzed. What kind of luck is that? She careened inside.

A tall, muscular, very handsome one-striper wearing a carefully polished name tag reading PV2 Bernie Magnussen, stood at the registration desk eying her herky-jerky approach. He looked her over from head to toe. Can I help you, Miss? One eyebrow rose doubtfully.

Traf nodded, at once regretting it. Her head spun and bells rang in her ears making her lean on his desk for support. Through the dissonant chaos she struggled to find her voice and finally croaked out, Get me a doctor. I’m paralyzed.

He leaned in and sniffed in her direction. Yeah, right. Too much to drink, huh? Listen, young lady, this is an American hospital for American soldiers. He shook his head, speaking slowly, loudly, and enunciating. There’s a... he picked up a clipboard and flipped over a few pages, ...a clinic in the village of Praia and a Portuguese hospital over in the city of Angra. You’ll have to go there or go home and sleep it off.

Why does everyone think I’m drunk? Traf’s chin trembled in outrage. Listen, boy, she said, her tone threatening even though her tongue had grown surprisingly thick, You’re addressing an Air Force officer. She tried to straighten up but ended tipping over sideways. Salute.

Bernie laughed out loud. You’re a silly girl who's had too much to drink, but you’re a pretty one. He winked at her. When you sober up come back and I might ask you on a date.

Soldier! Traf barked, using her officer’s voice. I am First Lieutenant Vitória Mendes.

People up and down the hall turned to watch. She upped her volume. Stop wasting my time and get me a doctor, now!

What’s all the noise about? A deep masculine voice sounded down the hallway. Lieutenant Mendes! Captain Scott strolled up and shook her hand after they exchanged salutes. Good to see you again. He turned to PV2 Magnussen. What’s the trouble, private?

Traf’s back straightened, momentarily. But she managed a conquering look at the suddenly pale soldier before a powerful trembling shook her from head to toe.

Bernie began tumbling over his words as he hurried to explain. She’s snockered, Sir...I mean, she’s just drunk, Sir. She says she’s paralyzed but I watched her walk in here all by herself. And besides, she can’t be an officer, Sir. I mean, just look at her. He waved his hand dismissively at Traf while flashing the doctor a down-home, good-old-boy smile. She’s younger than me, not wearing a uniform, and a native, Sir.

The captain plucked a pen and notepad from one of the two patch pockets of his white lab coat. Military personnel are not required to report in uniform when sick, he squinted at the shiny nametag, Pvt. Magnussen. Capt. Scott frowned as he wrote something and then pocketed the pen and pad. Lt. Mendes, here, is my patient but more important, she is an officer who outranks you.

Salute, soldier, said Traf in what she meant to be a low and deadly voice, but which emerged as a thin squeak.

Bernie snickered, ignoring her. And she’s local, Sir, just an island girl, the callow youth persisted, digging himself an even deeper hole.

Traf’s voice deepened with strength. Yes, it’s true. Bernie’s blue eyes snapped to hers. I’m a Portuguese woman who is also an Air Force officer. Cope with it, boy. She stared him down, refusing to blink first. I’m not drunk. I’m paralyzed.

You’re not paralyzed, insisted sad-sack Bernie before nailing his coffin shut. Ya dumb Gue.

Before she could get herself in trouble for conduct unbecoming an officer, the doctor stepped between them. From which university did you receive your medical degree, Magnussen?

The one-striper looked confused. Sir?

Your alma mater, where you matriculated, Magnussen.

I never went to college, Sir, barely graduated high school. I’m no medic, Sir.

Capt. Scott thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat. Well, thank God for that. For a moment, I thought you were advising me as to her medical condition. Traf saw the doctor’s fists clench through the fabric.

He shook his head angrily. "You’ve just insulted an officer and you think she’s dumb? Has it occurred to you that she speaks English, and you understand her easily? It’s her second language, Magnussen. How many do you speak?"

The cowed private shook his head, dropping his eyes. None, Sir.

None? What, you don’t know you’re speaking English? Capt. Scott’s tone turned from mocking to menacing. Look at me when I’m speaking to you, soldier.

PV2 Bernie Magnussen snapped to attention, eyes glued to the doctor’s face. Sir, yes Sir.

Until you show me a diploma from a recognized medical school you will refrain from diagnosing my patients, private. If you ever again disrespect any of the island citizens, Air Force personnel or not, it will be your last day on Terceira and if I have any say in it, the service. Get out of my sight. The captain turned his back. Dismissed!

Bernie Magnussen, first striper, snapped his heels together and threw them both a quick salute before beating a hasty retreat down the hall.

Now, Mendes, let’s get back to you. Capt. Scott looked her over. It’s been a while since you’ve come to see me. What’s this about you being paralyzed?

Traf tottered back and forth, bracing against the admin desk to keep from falling. I don’t know what happened, Dr. Scott. One minute I’m fine and the next I’m, well, paralyzed. Her voice quavered. I can’t make my arms and legs work. You’ve got to help me.

Let’s get you checked out. Capt. Scott pushed a wheelchair over to her and helped her sit. He rolled the chair down the hallway to an examination room. Nurse, he called to an attractive blond in a crisp white uniform.

Yes, Sir?

Capt. Sullivan, he read her nametag. You must be new. Attend, please?

Certainly, doctor. She followed them into the room. The US Air Force strictly observed the proprieties by requiring a woman staff member to be present whenever a male doctor examined a female patient. Traf felt both comforted and on alert.

How long ago did your paralysis start? He picked up her wrist, taking her pulse.

Just a few minutes ago, Traf replied, breathing better now someone took her seriously. At the airport where I was seeing a friend off.

Capt. Scott popped a thermometer in her mouth and while waiting, took her blood pressure. Did you have anything to eat or drink, either before or while you were there? Some coffee maybe? He pulled a stethoscope from around his neck, positioned the earpieces, and listened to her heart through her starched white shirt.

"We had a few cafés com musica. Her head spun, she felt distinctly nauseated. But I’m not drunk like that idiot out there said."

Capt. Scott, familiar with the local expression, asked, How many espressos with brandy did you drink?

I don’t know, two, I think. Maybe three.

Anything else? Capt. Scott pulled up her eyelids one at a time flashing a pinpoint of light on and off. He stuck a wooden stick down her throat. Say ‘ah’.

Ahhhgggg... Traf gagged on the tongue depressor. Once the doctor removed it, she said, Just the coffee, that’s all.

How many more? Capt. Scott asked with a gentle smile and amused eyes.

I don’t know, three, maybe five. Traf resented his attitude. But what does this have to do with my being paralyzed? Visions of herself propped up on cobblestone streets begging from strangers, or worse yet friends, filled her brain. To her horror, she choked back a sob.

Now, now, Vitória, Capt. Scott reassured her, pulling a needle she hadn’t felt from her inside elbow. You’ll be fine in a day or two. I believe you drank too much caffeine and that, combined with a few shots of good Azorean brandy, knocked your nervous system for a loop. We’ll get your blood tested to make sure, but do you feel jittery, emotional, even shaky?"

Traf thought about the jangling feeling in her feet at the airport, jiggly knees, and fluttering hands. Um, yes, and I’m sweating. It’s like I’m both cold and hot at the same time. My belly is heaving, and I think...I think I’m...going to be sick.

Capt. Sullivan, the nurse attending, hurriedly handed her an emesis basin and when she finished, helped Traf wipe her face and rinse her mouth.

Yeah, probably not the last time you’ll do that before tonight. Capt. Scott raised his finger warningly. Caffeine is a drug. You drank too much too quickly and poisoned yourself. It’s going to affect you for at least twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Help your body out and drink all the water you can.

Water? she said, outraged. I’m allergic to water.

Nevertheless, he answered authoritatively, drink at least eight full glasses before you even try to sleep. He stood up. Please see the lieutenant is given a full glass of room temperature water, he handed her a vial, and get this sample to the lab for immediate testing. He turned to check with Traf. You do prefer lukewarm to cold drinks, right?

Yes, she grumbled, surprised he’d ever noticed.

Capt. Sullivan snagged a passing orderly. Room temp water, a big glass of it, for Lt. Mendes right away. She left with the capped test tube in her hand, leaving the exam room door open.

Capt. Scott patted her hand. I’ll be back when the lab results are in. You wait here and drink that water, Vitória. He disappeared, leaving her alone sitting in a wheelchair.

Reluctantly sipping her glass of water, Traf tried to remember what happened before the paralysis started. I got to the airport at noon. Really, only three hours ago?

Traf arrived early to wish an old friend well in her new life. She hadn’t read the unsealed letter she carried to the airport, but saw Lara visibly flinch as she did.

I can’t believe it. Linda really isn’t coming. Lara shook the letter in her hand, her girlfriend’s final answer to repeated invitations to immigrate together to Canada.

What can I say? Traf and every other Troublemaker had watched this disaster in the making. She did what any good butch does in that situation, she bought her friend a drink.

After stirring four packets of sugar into her brandied coffee, she leaned across the small table and punched her gloomy pal on the shoulder. Traf searched for a change of subject.

I can’t believe you’re getting off this rock. Out of all the Troublemakers, I never thought you’d be the first of us to leave. And why Canada? If you’re going to travel so far to start a new life, why not America? Traf leaned back in the chair of the small USAF airport bar, tipping it back until she balanced precariously on its back legs. Happy in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, she’d be just as content wearing her Air Force first lieutenant’s uniform. She loved it.

Traf enlisted in the Civilian Corp and enrolled in a trial ROTC program launched jointly by the Truman administration and Portuguese self-appointed president-for-life, Salazar. If she could stick it out for ten years she could apply for American citizenship and roll her years of service over into the Air Force, losing only one grade. Trained as a VIP driver with almost three years behind her, the seven ahead looked like smooth sailing. She understood the Air Force and respected its rules, hoping to become a lifer and escape her tiny island of Terceira. In just a few more weeks she’d be winging her way to mainland Europe on her next assignment.

Oh, Traf, Lara laughed, tucking her shoulder length black hair behind her ears. You and America. She picked up her own café com musica, and downed the strong brandy in espresso, then imitated Traf’s stance with her own chair. I’m not the first Troublemaker to go. Remember Juana? She was one of us during all those nights we gathered around campfires, long before the club was built. And Maria Antonia moved to France after her breakup with Lydia.

Lara let her chair legs fall with a bang. What is it about you and the United States, anyway? Ever since we were kids together in Professora Alameda’s fourth-year class you’ve talked about going to America. Lara shook her head in wonder. Now look at you, a world traveler. Where are you headed next?

Heady with guilty pleasure and anticipation, Traf’s mischievous smile gleamed. Torrejón, Spain. I’ll leave in February and be gone for three months.

Ana’s okay with you being gone for months at a time?

Traf lowered her chair legs and signaled to the waiter for another round, thinking about the woman she loved. She doesn’t like it but she’s getting used to it. It’s not my first time stationed somewhere that long. She looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially with a wicked gleam in her eye. I’ll tell you something, but only because you’ll be on a plane in a few minutes leaving this island forever, you lucky sonofabitch. She looked over her shoulder to be sure no one sat within hearing distance. There’s this amazing gypsy woman waiting for me in Torrejón. Her eyes turned inward, focused on a beautiful face many miles away across the Atlantic Ocean.

Kicked hard under the table, Traf started. What?

Lara’s eyebrows furrowed in a glare. You’re cheating on Ana? Her eyes squinted disapprovingly. You’ve been together for what, ten years or more?

Traf threw back her head and laughed. Wait, I haven’t cheated on Ana yet, and we’ve only been together for, well it was two years last October. I haven’t even known her for ten years.

Almost. I remember when we were little girls. She had braids and every day she watched you play soccer. We were only eleven, so eight years anyway. She accepted her drink from the waiter, waiting for him to leave. Well, who is this ‘other’ woman you haven’t cheated on Ana with, yet?

Traf’s dark eyes sparkled. A beautiful Romani dancer named Carmen.

Romani?

That’s what gypsies call themselves. Carmen lives in a gypsy caravan. Traf caught herself just before sighing, clearing her throat instead. She’s really gorgeous.

Oh sure, teased her old friend. As beautiful as Elizabeth Taylor?

Traf nursed a full-blown crush on the American actress and would forever be loyal. Well, of course not, no one is. My Elizabeth is the most beautiful woman in the world. But Carmen does have snapping black eyes, long graceful legs, dark curls falling around bare shoulders, and the most luscious pair of breasts I’ve ever seen.

Lara’s eyes traveled carefully over Traf’s face. Both butch lesbians, they appreciated a beautiful woman when they saw one. Well, if this woman is that beautiful what does she want with you? She slapped Traf on the arm and guffawed.

I really don’t know. It bothered her sometimes, wondering why Carmen remained interested even though communications were spotty at best and the time between visits long and lonely. The sexy gypsy dancer could have any lover she wished. Why me?

I don’t know, and I don’t care. Carmen turns me on too much to worry. Especially when I know she’ll get me there... Her face heated as she realized what she’d just said.

Lara’s turned just as red. There? As in...?

Traf couldn’t look her in the eye but voiced her truth anyway. As in all the way there, to the peaks of pleasure and ultimate orgasm. Beautiful, sexy Carmen will finally give me all the bells and whistles you other butches get with your lovers.

She tried to stop talking but couldn’t. Ana’s never gotten me there, not once. Never really tried, to tell you the truth. Why did I say that? She downed her drink, spluttering a bit.

They sat in a puddle of embarrassed silence, both staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at an Air Force plane landing across the field. After a moment Traf found Lara’s eyes reflected in the glass, watching her.

You know, said her friend’s image, none of us are alike. We have our similarities but each of us is unique. No two of us are the same, including our... Lara, who’d tended bar in a whorehouse for the last year, cleared her throat, ...sexuality. Some of us like it a lot and want it all the time. Others not so often and some few not at all. I know couples who play childish games in bed and others that treat it like going to church.

I think Ana’s playing some sort of game with me. She doesn’t like me to look at her but somehow, I’m supposed to get so hot touching her in the dark that I come just like that, without her even participating. And I’m supposed to be, by instinct I guess, the best lover ever. She shrugged. The burden’s all on me, and that’s what it’s feeling like now, a burden.

Lara’s reflection nodded. That does seem one-sided.

But I love her. I should want her to be happy. Why am I jealous of that?

Good question. You say you love Ana. Do you love Carmen?

No. I don’t even really know her. We’ve only kissed once. But what if she’s sexy enough in bed to take me to the place the woman I love can’t, or won’t, and I fall in love with Carmen?

Do you think that if Ana got you, Lara broke eye contact, there in bed you’d love her more?

I know it! How could I not? I get so frustrated after sex it’s sometimes hard to remember I do love her.

Lara laughed, turning to face Traf at the table and signaled for another round. Sex and love aren’t the same thing. She sighed. I mean, you can have super-hot sex with someone you don’t know or who is even downright ugly, and you can love a super-sexy woman and not want to bed her at all. If you’re lucky, somewhere along the range from unadulterated lust to platonic friendship will be the perfect woman for you. Then you’ve got to swoop her up, as I did my Linda.

Well, with Ana I’ve got a woman who seems more of a friend than lover these days. Maybe the lusty gypsy maid will set my heart on fire, as well as my loins.

They paused as the waiter swapped empty cups for full. Lara sighed and nodded, raising her café com musica in a toast. Don’t hurt Ana. She’s a wonderful girl. If you do anything, make sure you don’t get caught. They drank, their giggles growing into chuckles and then guffaws. The snort that sounded from her own nose affronted Traf.

She imitated a Canadian accent. Hmm, I think that’s enough brandy, eh? She signaled the waiter over, and then glanced at her wristwatch. What time does your flight leave?

"In a little over an hour. We’ve got plenty of time.

Two espressos, plain, Traf ordered. She turned back to Lara. Why Canada? And why isn’t Linda going with you?

Ah, you know how things are. Her parents don’t understand, and she’s not sure she’s ready to leave here, yet. Lara looked uncomfortable. I told her I’d go on ahead and make a home for us. She can join me there when she’s ready.

Traf watched the waiter set their espressos on the table. She added her sugar, stirring thoughtfully. Linda isn’t ready to go? Or Linda doesn’t want to go?

Lara looked at her friend, then slowly winked. You never miss anything, do you? She sipped at her espresso. Okay, so Linda thinks this is something I’m going to get over. She says I’ll go for a year or two, see how lonesome it is to be away from home, and come back here to settle down. She scowled around the airport bar. I’m never coming back. I can’t wait to shake the dirt of this island off my shoes.

Well, I agree with you there, but... where does that leave you with Linda?

I think she’ll miss me and will fly over to join me. Lara scowled into her cup. At least, that’s what I was hoping. After this, she waved the letter from Linda then crumpled it in her fist and thrust it deep into her pocket, shrugging expressively.

Oh yeah, they’re doomed. Oh well, I’m sure one of you will come to your senses, sooner or later.

It won’t be me, Lara muttered into her cup, making Traf stifle a laugh.

They let the subject drop and moved on to friends and their group, legally known as The Women’s Club of Praia, but always called Troublemakers by its members. After Lara’s announcement of her sudden plans, many of the old gang turned out last night to send her off in style. Slowly but surely the subject drifted back to Linda’s refusal to go with her.

Berta’s girl, Rita, said she’ll keep an eye on my Linda for me. Lara called the waiter over, again, switching to straight brandy so she could sleep on her long flight to Canada. Traf, not needing a nap on a day off, ordered