Dirty Secrets Read Free Page B

to close out the pop-up, but to her dismay, it froze on her laptop.  Staring at the beautiful island images suspended on her computer screen, Adele remembered all of the vacation time she did not take over the last few years. 
    “Yes Mindy, I’m about to check in for my flight,” Adele said. 
    “Your presentation isn’t working.  The board members are freaking out.  There are Italian words flying around the room.  They do not look happy,” Mindy said. 
    "What are they saying?”  Adele heard the distress in her voice.
    “How the hell should I know?  I don’t speak Italian.  I pay you to speak it for me, but you’re not here,” Mindy’s nasally whine gave Adele an instant headache.
    “Did you turn on the projector?  Did you power up the computer?  Is the screen on and lowered?”  Adele asked.
    “I did it all.  It still won’t work,” Mindy said.
    “Call IT,” Adele said.
    “I don’t trust them.  I want you to do it,” Mindy said.
    “Just breathe.  Forget the visual presentation.  Just use the notes I gave you.  You did look at the notes, right?” Adele asked.
    “I did look at them. I can’t do this.  I need you,” Mindy said.
    “Can I see your ticket and ID, Ma’am,” the ticket agent asked.
    “Who do I talk to about a refund?” Adele sighed. 
    Adele groaned with the memory of Mindy’s incompetence.  A $385 penalty and a cancelled Caribbean cruise hadn’t resulted in a thank you from the Dark One.   Out of curiosity, she clicked the intrusive pop-up ad, resulting in a bevy of reasonably priced last minute vacation deals flooding her screen.  She looked out her window and back onto her screen. 
                  “I’m going to St. Lucia,” Adele yelled.
                  A raspy command bellowed from above, “Unless you’re gonna take me with you, shut the fuck up.” 
    Chapter 6
                  One overzealous TSA agent, a seat with a view of the bathroom, an unruly child and his oblivious parents, a flight delay and about nine hours later, Adele landed in St. Lucia. 
                  With her luggage in hand and a dazzling smile, Adele met her driver, Yanice, who greeted her with a hot pink rose.   Adele figured this must have been what it was like to be a celebrity without the fame, money to burn, and gratuitous crotch shots featured in TMZ. 
                  “Is this your first time in St. Lucia,” Yanice, island casual in a light green polo shirt with the color turned up, asked as his eyes focused on Adele in the rear-view mirror.  
                  “Would you like some gum?”  Yanice sorted through the five-and-dime store concealed in his cream-colored cargo shorts. 
                  “It’s my first time being anywhere besides New York,” Adele said a little embarrassed. 
                  “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.  It’s up to you, New York…..New York,” Yanice belted out the song at the top of his lungs.  His accent coated voice made the unofficial anthem of New York sound more like a reggae song than a jazz one.
                  “Have you ever been there?” she asked.
                  “No, but I have time.  I’m not in a rush.  I will go when I’m ready to see it,” Yanice said. 
                  He had a wait and see sensibility, the kind that would get you run over in the middle of Times Square.  The people of St. Lucia swam with the tide, not against it as New Yorkers did.  An unfinished task at the end of the workday was not a cause for panic; there was always tomorrow. 
                  “I want to be like you when I grew up,” Adele said.
                  “What do you mean?” he asked.
                  “You’re happy.  Everyone here is happy.  People don’t stream roll their way through their lives here.  I think I even saw