“Not to worry,” Olympia replies with a jaunty wink. “I’m plotting our next move right now!”
* * *
Our next move suits me just fine. A Riva motorboat trip from the island to the mainland—a popular vacation resort teeming with tourists and boys, boys, boys!
We’re supposed to stick with one of Olympia’s aunts who has accompanied us, but that’s not the way it’s going down.
Aunt Alethea is a blonde languid woman who seems more interested in perusing the shops than spending time with us. She graciously hands us money, tells us to go enjoy ourselves, and reminds us to meet her at the dock at 6:30 P.M. ready to return to our island.
“Your aunt is way cool!” I say with enthusiasm.
“That’s ’cause she has a boyfriend she secretly meets up with,” Olympia reveals with a knowing smirk. “It’s all very under the radar—he’s black, and she doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“Then how do you know?” I ask, quite impressed with this nugget of private info.
Olympia gives a mysterious smile. “I have ways of finding out everything, so … if you’re hiding anything…”
I immediately flash onto Gino telling me that my name is Lucky Saint, and not to mention my true identity to anyone. “It’s for your own safety, kiddo,” he’d assured me. “Listen to what I say. Got it?”
As usual, I got it.
Now I wonder if Olympia knows who I really am? Lucky Santangelo, daughter of the infamous Gino. The girl whose mother was murdered, and whose father is notorious.
And if she doesn’t, should I tell her? She’s my first close friend and it might be a relief to be truthful.
I decide against it. Who knows how she’ll react.
We hit a crowded beach and mingle. No security. No watchful eyes. Simply two girls out to have a fine old time. Olympia is way into it; so am I. We pay for a couple of loungers, strip off our coverups, and lie out in our bikinis. Olympia all blonde and curvaceous, me so dark and lean. We make an inviting couple.
Although they are not in Olympia’s class, I now have boobs—hardly huge—but in my eyes just right.
Before long a boy—accidentally or on purpose—trips over the end of Olympia’s lounger. Mister Cool he’s not, although he is kind of interesting looking with long flaxen hair and a crooked smile.
“Sorry,” he says in accented English.
Olympia throws him an appraising look and deems him acceptable to flirt with. “Okay,” she says. “What’s going on in this place? Anything exciting we should know about?”
“Tourists?” he asks.
“From L.A.,” I say.
“I can show you around,” he offers, quickly latching on to what he sees as two hot babes out to have an adventure.
Olympia, who is fluent in both Greek and English, decides that she is also from L.A. and speaks only English. Olympia gets off on screwing with her would-be conquests.
He happily buys it.
“You play the table tennis?” he asks.
We both nod, although I know for a fact that Olympia has never played in her life. I happen to be a champion, having indulged in nothing but endless games with Dario for what seems like years.
“You come play with me and my friends,” he says, proffering his hand to Olympia.
“Okay,” Olympia says, allowing him to pull her up. “You got a name?”
“Borus,” he says.
“I’m Olympia,” she says. “And this is Lucky.”
I can see she’s kind of into him, and since he tripped over Olympia first, I guess I’m supposed to back off. She has dibs.
I only hope he has some cute friends, ’cause I’m in the mood to play, and I don’t mean Ping-Pong. “Almost” has become my favorite game.
Borus’s friends turn out to be a mixed group, with girls outnumbering boys, which I find quite disappointing.
They are all gathered at the top of the beach where there are several Ping-Pong tables set out. It seems that they are in the middle of a tournament.
Borus has totally zeroed in on Olympia and I’m starting to get that left-out feeling. Now that I have experienced my power over boys, I’m hungry for more.
I check out the group. There is one boy who instantly attracts my attention. The problem is that he appears to be with a girl.
Shame.
Or is it?
It’s not as if they’re married or anything. He probably just picked her up on the beach like Borus did with Olympia.
I go for a move, full of confidence I never realized I had. Striding over, I say, “Hi. I’m Lucky.” I say it to both the girl and the guy so that she doesn’t get all pissy on me.
“Wassup?” he mumbles, looking me over with a moody expression.
“Are you American?” I ask.
“’S right,” he replies, brushing back a lock of dark hair that’s practically falling into his eyes. Dark eyes, too, just my type.
The girl throws me a dirty look. She has short brown hair and wears a not-very-flattering polka-dot bikini.
“Hi.” I repeat my greeting to her.
She pulls on Mister Dark Eyes’s arm and attempts to drag him away.
He’s not having it; he shakes free and grins at me. “Lulu doesn’t speak English,” he says. “She’s French.”
“Then how do you communicate?” I ask.
He winks at me in a very knowing way. “How d’you think?”
“I think you should dump her and come play Ping-Pong with me,” I suggest.
Bold! Even I am startled by the words coming out of my mouth.
“You do, huh?” says Mister Dark Eyes.
I can tell he likes my attitude. “Oh yeah,” I assure him. “I promise you will not regret it.”
And that is how my big vacation hookup started.
CHAPTER TEN
His name is Brandon. He’s eighteen and he’s from Queens, New York. He’s visiting Greece on vacation with his parents, and he’s major sexy. I inform him that I am seventeen, soon to be eighteen myself.
Naturally he believes me. I have turned into a totally smooth and convincing liar—especially when it comes to fudging my age. After all, if he realizes I’m only fifteen—game over.
After I show off my prowess at Ping-Pong with Brandon as my partner, Lulu glares at me and runs off in a tearful huff. Not my fault.
Olympia and Borus and Brandon and I buy time on a couple of pedal boats and take to the sea, whereupon pedaling becomes secondary to full-on kissing.
Brandon is a great kisser, better than Ursi.
I like it! I like it! Why have I waited so long?
After a while Brandon informs me that he has to have dinner with his parents but that we should get together later on the beach. Sounds like a plan to me.
Once we hit land, I confer with Olympia, who I discover is equally eager to spend more time with Borus.
Question: How do we deal with Aunt Alethea and our 6:30 P.M. rendezvous to return to the Stanislopoulos island?
Olympia immediately comes up with a plan. That’s what I love about Olympia—she’s always thinking ahead.
“Our story is that you ran into a cousin you haven’t seen in ages,” she announces. “Which means we have to stay for dinner, and they should send the Riva back for us at eleven.”
“Great,” I say. “D’you think your dad’ll buy it?”
“Course he will, he’s so busy with his guests,” Olympia says, tossing back her long blonde curls. “There’s no way he’ll even notice we’re missing.”
It occurs to me that Gino and Dimitri are very similar types of men. Handsome macho dudes who care only about themselves. It’s no wonder Olympia and I have forged such a close friendship—we’re sisters from another life.
“What’ll we wear?” I ask, realizing that all we’ve got are the bikinis we’re standing up in, plus flimsy coverups.
“No prob,” Olympia says, groping in her purse and producing an AmEx card. “While the boys have dinner with their famil
ies, the girls’ll go shopping! Right?”
I’m so glad I have a friend like Olympia; she’s on it all the way.
* * *
Later we meet up with Aunt Alethea at the dock. Olympia’s aunt looks flushed and slightly dreamy-eyed. She’s forty-something. Do people of that advanced age still enjoy sex?
Apparently so, for it’s written all over her face that she was doing a lot more than shopping—even though she’s armed with several shopping bags.
Olympia feeds her our story and of course she buys it. We skip away from the dock, triumphant. I have to say that I’m loving every second of this adventure. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I am finally living my life, and surely it’s about time!
We shop outrageously. Olympia informs me that her dad never checks her credit card bills, they simply get paid by an anonymous accountant who questions nothing.
I don’t even have a credit card. Gino’s into keeping me under strict control.
Yeah. Right. That’s yesterday’s news. I am no longer Daddy’s little puppet. I am a free agent, free as the breeze! And nobody can stop me now, not even Gino.
After our shopping spree, we retire to an open-air café in a busy square. I am now wearing my new outfit of tight white jeans and a cropped red tank. Dead sexy. Brandon’s gonna love it. Olympia is in a short pink dress that shows off her amazing boobs to full advantage, nipples front and center. All new purchases courtesy of Olympia’s credit card.
I have to say that we both look major hot.
I can’t wait to meet up with Brandon again—I’m already fantasizing about how far I’ll let him go. Not all the way, of course, but with “almost” there are several inventive ways to play the game without risking getting pregnant.
Olympia sips a coffee laced with her favorite liqueur. I stick to a cappuccino and a baguette sandwich—which is good considering I’m now starving. Olympia is not; she only eats when she feels like it.
Borus turns up at exactly nine, the designated time of meeting. He’s wearing linen shorts, a striped shirt, and flip-flops. Hardly Mister Sex on a Stick. I imagine Brandon will look way cooler. I can hardly wait!
Borus is friendly, but I can tell he is impatient to get Olympia to himself.
I consult my watch. Brandon is late. We’d arranged to meet at nine o’clock and it is now almost nine-thirty.
Olympia doesn’t want to leave me sitting in the café alone, which is thoughtful of her, but I insist that she and Borus take off.
Borus doesn’t need to hear me say it twice. He grabs Olympia’s arm and pulls her up. She giggles and gives me a look as if to say “What can I do?”
“Go!” I encourage. “See you on the dock at eleven.”
It seems a bit weird sitting by myself, especially when two older creeps camped out at a nearby table start checking me out. Ugh! Old men with fat bellies and lecherous eyes. I bet they’re married, too.
By ten I decide that I can’t sit there anymore looking like a total loser. Maybe if I get up and take a walk, Brandon will miraculously appear. It’s obvious his stupid parents are holding him up—I guess that’s the kind of thing parents do. Like I wouldn’t know.
I wander down toward the sea, and as I approach I suddenly see them! Brandon and Lulu are standing by the entrance to the beach, locking lips like there’s no tomorrow.
Oh … my … God!
For a moment I am frozen in time—a pathetic little teenager struck in the face by the reality of it all. I want to either burst into tears or seriously throw up.
Suddenly I am filled with a surge of fury, and I make up my mind to do neither. Screw it! I’m a Santangelo, not stupid little Lucky Saint.
I purposefully walk by them, making sure that they see me, even though it’s kind of dark. “Hey, Brandon,” I say—cool and casual as if I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass.
Brandon unlocks lips and throws me a look. “Wassup?” he mutters, while Lulu gives off a triumphant sneer.
I shrug. “Gotta go,” I say, winking. Yes, I actually do a cringe-worthy wink! “Hot date waiting. Y’know how it is.”
“Hey—” he starts to say.
Before he can finish, I’m gone—walking away as quickly as possible.
Boys.
Not to be trusted.
Not to be believed.
I’m getting the message.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Olympia is not as sympathetic as I expected. She arrives at the dock ten minutes late with messed-up hair, smeared lipstick, and a burgeoning hickey on her neck. Lovely. I get dumped and she gets to make out. I’m jealous.
I relay my sad story. Olympia gives a casual shrug. “Boys are dicks,” she announces. “Thing is there’s so many of them around that it doesn’t really matter. They’re like trains—one rolls out, another rolls in. Don’t sweat it.”
Sometimes Olympia is smarter than she looks.
We make it back to our private island where Olympia’s dad is having some kind of Greek dance-off with multiple friends and relatives. The music is loud. The natives are drunk. It’s all too much.
“Bed,” Olympia whispers. “Don’t even think about joining in.”
As if I was. No way. Old people letting loose has never been my thing.
I sleep fitfully, thinking about dumbass Brandon. Was it something I did? Said? Where did I go wrong?
Finally I decide that it isn’t me, it’s him. He’s the asshole. I’m a Santangelo, and I refuse to be disrespected by some lame boy.
* * *
The next morning I am all revved up and hot for revenge. “Can we go back to town?” I beg Olympia, who is looking very sleepy-eyed and pleased with herself.
“Not today,” she says with a casual wave of her hand. “Poppa wants us on the yacht.”
“Why?” I ask, frowning.
Olympia giggles. “Set decoration for all the old farts to ogle.”
I am not thrilled with this plan. I need to spit in Brandon’s face—not literally, but somehow I have a strong urge to get back at him.
“Tomorrow,” Olympia promises, sensing my disappointment. “Today we’ll work on getting the best tan ever.”
“Okay,” I say, still seething about Brandon.
The Stanislopoulos yacht is quite amazing. The crew even more so. Why hasn’t Olympia mentioned that her father’s yacht is teeming with a crew of supersexy young guys in tight white uniforms?
“Wow!” I give her a delighted nudge. “These guys rock!”
“Hands and eyes off,” Olympia warns. “They work for Poppa. Forbidden territory.”
Forbidden, my ass, I think. They might be forbidden to her, but hey—I’m a visitor, I can do what I want.
There is one particular member of the crew who immediately grabs my attention. His name is Jack and I soon find out he’s an Australian. I spend the day trying to stir up some kind of conversation without Olympia noticing. It isn’t easy, but I think I manage to get through to him.
Before we leave the yacht I ask him if he ever goes into town.
This obviously takes him by surprise, but I can tell he’s interested.
“Yeah, sometimes,” he says, glancing around to make sure he’s not being watched by one of his superiors.
“Tomorrow?” I question. “We could meet up.”
“We could,” he says unsurely. “It’s my day off. So…”
“See you by the main beach at noon,” I say, adding a quick “And in case you’re wondering, I’m eighteen, so I’m totally legal.”
He looks relieved, but still wary. Fraternizing with the guests is obviously a big no-no.
I smile to myself. Flirting is so easy, and yet majorly empowering. Men. Boys. Old farts. They’re all the same. A provocative smile, a flash of suntanned skin, a toss of dark hair. It’s all a game, and I am fast learning how to be a power player.
* * *
Fortunately, Olympia is itching to meet up with Borus again. “What’ll you do if I go off with Borus all day?” she asks as
we board the Riva for another day trip to the mainland. “There’s no way I’m leaving you by yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I say with a casual shrug. “I like lying out on the beach by myself. It’s relaxing, and I can keep an eye out for any interesting prospects.”
“Whatever,” Olympia says, adding a not-very-enthusiastic “It’s okay if you tag along with us.”
“No thanks,” I say, thinking that Jack better turn up or else.
I have a plan. It’ll work, I know it will. I vaguely recall listening in one day when Gino was talking to Uncle Costa. “You always gotta have a plan, an’ you always gotta stick to it.” Those were Gino’s words of wisdom.
Yes, Daddy Gino, I think I am taking your advice.
Shortly before noon I linger at the top of the beach near the Ping-Pong tables. I have borrowed a red bikini from Olympia and cleverly stuffed the bra cups with socks for extra appeal.
Looking sexy works, and big boobs are obviously sexy.
Apparently so, for who comes trotting up but Brandon, alone and primed for action.
“Wassup?” he mutters.
A boy of few words.
“Not much,” I reply, licking my lips in a vaguely suggestive way. “You?”
“Thought I’d take a ride on one of those pedalos,” he mumbles. “Wanna come?”
“Don’t think so,” I reply, cool and in control.
His face registers shock. It’s obvious Brandon—with his brooding good looks—is not used to getting turn-downs. “Why not?” he demands.
“’Cause I’m busy,” I say, keeping it casual.
“You don’t look busy t’me,” Brandon says, squinting at me.
“I will be.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You pissed about the other day?”
“Are you kidding?” I retort.
“It was nothin’,” Brandon continues. “She’s a hanger-on. I was just trying to get her off my back.”
“Or front,” I murmur.
“You are pissed,” he says triumphantly.
“I am so not,” I reply.
And then—thank you, God—up strolls Jack in white shorts and a black T-shirt. Tall and tan, an all-Australian hunk.
Without thinking it through, I throw my arms around Jack’s neck and plant a kiss firmly on his lips.