His eyes opened and he lay watching me.’ Startled, I dropped the book back on to the table. I glanced over at the group and found their eyes in my ...irection. The eyes of the storyteller were the same eyes that had watched me from the pages of the book. I knew he’d written it. I wanted to know more. I moved toward the group, sat amongst them and listened. He smiled and went on with his story. His voice mesmerised me. I was walking his tale, seeing his sights, feeling his touch. My whole being. "You want a chair?" I say, standing holding her coat. What the hell, she can stay as long as she wants, read all the books. But I'd rather see her read Dick Francis than Sylvia Plath. Even Judith Krantz.I stick my neck out a mile."You OK, Ms. Urquhart?" I ask. I don't call my customers by their first names, and I don't ask my customers things like that. Maybe the old ladies, but not big, handsome shiksas like this one."I'll take the chair, Abe, thanks."I hang up the coat and haul over one of. She was single, about 23yo, and French. She was obviously very wealthy and stylish. Whenever she walked out of the sea and back up onto the beach most activity on the beach stopped. On a score of 1 to 10 she would have been 12!Blond, with short page boy style, most of the time in a black bikini, which really offset her tan and curves.Most of the wealthy male guests, who were mainly white, sought her company, but were casually brushed aside.Her interest was in the island's coloured population. Please, I am trusting both of you, don’t mention it to Debbie after tonight, even as a joke… OK?” “Absolutely, our secret to the grave,” Paul said as he shook his head. “Yeah, sure thing. No problem. Are you sure this is all OK with you?” Said Eric. “Yes, I guess this is kind of your night and I've really wanted to do something like this for a long time. As the card says, Paul and I will assist you.” And I grinned from ear to ear, as was both Eric and Paul. “Let’s go.” All three of us.