Few things are more memorable than a woman in a white see-through
surrong with purple Tiare flowers and a black string bikini top. See
through? Maybe just enough for the late afternoon sun to pass light
directly between her legs all the way up, leaving nothing to speculate,
while she assumes a stalking position, waiting for the patrons'
appreciation before entering the resort's poolside bar.
The Lioness scans the room and the streak of tigers, before moving
toward the Tahitian watering hole, like a big cat on the hunt. Men could
see the surrong flowed freely, following her from the small of her back,
like a waterfall, over her perfect precipice, hanging down to her knees.
Her blond hair was pulled partially over her face and back to one side.
A fresh orchid placed behind her ear. Men looking up from their drinks,
subconsciously sat up straight, sucking in their guts, their jaws
dropped. Their brains now out of gear, forgetting they were waiting for
their significant others, hypnotized by the large breasted, full-bodied
woman who approached slowly, walking across the room, crossing one
beautiful leg in front of the other, her sandaled feet finding their way
across the bamboo floor.
Men started taking mental pictures, their motor drives clicking
relentlessly. If a bystander could have read their minds, they were
thinking, this is why I came to Tahiti.
Of all the pool bars in Tahiti, she picked this one. Was it meant to be?
Maybe. I would love to have her, but God, the test drive would probably
kill me. How would I explain that to my wife back home? I don't want to
risk this woman, any woman, finding out. Me, acknowledging I'm not man
enough for her. So I'll just let her go . . . . This time.
The men continued to watch intently. Those drinking rums were able to
keep one eye on their glass, the other on the lioness. Who was she
waiting for? Where would she sit? What if she came and sat down next to
me? What would I say? What did I used to say?
What will I do when my wife walks in and asks where her seat is? Do I
get up and we move to a table or do I turn and pretend I've never seen
her before? These are all questions; one's players ask themselves, and
challenges the newly divorced or separated ask, doubting their judgment
in the ritual of settling.
Settling occurs when a man is in desperation, in need of ending a saga
in his life or when the bartender announces last call. The algorithm is
not how attractive, but will anyone see me leave with this woman?
The lioness walked past the men at the bar slowly, finger outstretched,
almost as if she was going to reach out and touch one on the shoulder,
"and she won't bite you, and she won't bite you, but she will bite . . .
At the end of the bar, the man-boy bartender is watching. His eyes are
shifting from side to side; shining a whiskey glass as if he was trying
to start a fire.
Next to him, is a man with black hair hanging over his collar,
clean-shaven within the last hour, because that's how long his shave
lasts, and a white shirt.
He is shaking a tall, thin glass of Pina colada. He is looking at his
watch trying to figure out how much time does it take a beautiful woman
to make herself beautiful.
The woman sits down and nestles her ass into the worn bamboo bar stool
cushion next to him.
"What will you have?" the bartender asks.
"A glass of water, please," the lioness said.
"Would you like to order a drink?"
"No, thank you. I'm waiting for someone to buy me one," the woman said
looking at the man with dark hair sitting next to her.
"Salut," the black haired patron said slightly raising his glass in her
"Salut," is her sultry reply.
"Ca va?" he pitches. How's it going?
"Comme ci, comme ca," she swings back. Easy come easy go.
At this point, the other men have picked up on their dialogue. Some
because they are in a French protectorate. Others, because they speak a
little French, are hating themselves for not trying out their French
"Qu-est-ce que tu fous la?" she explodes in a tranquil voice. What the
hell are you doing here?
"J'avais soif," he said looking down at his glass ignoring her. I'm
"Tu viens souvent ici?" she said tossing her hair back, a clear sign she
was trying to flirt. Do you come here often?
"Vas-tu m'acheter un verra?" she asks. Aren't you going to buy me a
"As-tu soif?" he asks without regard. Are you thirsty?
"Mes levres sont seches," she said, slowly rubbing an ice cube over her
lips back and forth. My lips are dry.
"Amener la femme a boire, s'il vous plait," he asks quietly. Get the
lady a drink, please.
"J'aurai un mojito," she informs the bartender. The bartender rushes off
to the mixing station and returns momentarily setting the glass down in
front of the woman after rubbing the maroon bar counter with his towel.
At this point, every breath taken by the men at the bar is in quiet
desperation. They want to see where this goes. If their wives or
girlfriends show up, they will wisk them aside to be quiet so they can
wait to see how this plays out.
"Vous venez de vous lever et quitte la piece," she said looking down at
her glass. You just got up and left the room.
"Je pensais que vous aviez fini," the customer responds. I thought you
"Je n'ai jamais fini," the lioness declares loudly. I am never done.
The men's eyebrows raise in unison, and their eyes roll back in their
heads. A man, heavy set with a mustache, an ex-jock with a sad comb-over
and two gray-haired men who could be brothers, wearing matching shirts,
long white socks, and orthopedic shoes, who were traveling together with
their fifty-something wives were leaning forward to hear every word.
"Reviens dans ma chamber," she commands quietly. Come back to my room.
The words echoed through the room. Even the surf hushed to hear it. The
man took a slow sip. He pulled the glass away and slowly rolled its
contents back and forth in his hand.
"Non," he responded.
"Non?" the lioness repeats slightly shaking her mane.
"Non," he replies in a firm voice.
"Pourquoi pas?" she asks squeezing her lips together in a pout. Why not?
"J'ai faim. Je veux manger en premier," he states. I'm hungry. I want to
"Si je vous nourris, puis-tu revenir dans ma chambre?" she asks with
carnal intent. If I feed you, will you come back to my room?"
"Si je vouis nourris, puis-tu revenir dans ma chambre?" she said in a
louder voice standing. If I feed you, will you come back to my room?
"Tu es impossible," she cries out slamming her glass on the bar. You are
"Oui," he replied in the stillness.
"Oui?" she repeats like a young lamb.
"Oui, allons manger," he directed. Let's eat. The man stood up, as if
turning to walk out alone.
"Enfoire!" The woman shook her mane in disgust. Bastard!
The two turned and threw back swallows, slamming their glasses down and
walked out of the bar.
Some of the patrons unconsciously got up off their stools, and
momentarily prepared to follow the couple out of the giant grass shack
at the edge of the pool to the restaurant next door. It was as if they
were leaving to see a gunfight outside.
The couple, Nicci and Michael, now swinging hand-in-hand, smiled looking
into each other's eyes laughing. Both loved foreign films and romance.
They loved each other even more.
Excerpted from "Stronger Together (Allouette Book 2)" by Michael Stone. Copyright © 2018 by Michael Stone. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.