“Sorry, Casey, over there with the rest of the band,” Morty said. I looked at the control room window. Morty was pointing to the side of the studio where the rest of the band leaned against the wall.
“What the hell,” I mouthed to him.
“We’re gonna do some takes of the vocals along with a click while he’s still fresh,” Morty said.
I pushed off the headphones and stomped over to the corporate rock peanut gallery.
Morty’s client entered, followed by a procession of cameramen and producers.
Were we just going to stand here for B reel? It was all ass-backward.
I stood around for a half hour while they took a million different angles of the kid singing the opening lines of a song that didn’t even exist yet. He was just going to have to do it over anyway once the music got laid down. Morty was a lot of things, but he knew how to make a record. If this was what he wanted, then fine. I just wasn’t going to stand around waiting. I walked over to the drum mike to tell him.
I bent down to test if the mike was on. The lionfish appeared out of nowhere, its beady black eyes and splotchy spikes right up against my face. I swatted at it, lost my balance, and fell forward onto the kit. Cymbals crashed and the toms toppled as I tried to stand. Morty burst through the doors.
“What the hell,” corporate rock boy said.
“Get the cameras off,” Morty yelled to the laughing cameramen.
I picked myself up and headed for the door.
“Casey, wait,” Morty said. But I kept walking. Screw it. I was going to the Caribbean.
****
Mercifully I didn’t see the fish on the plane but Kendra assured me they were there. We checked into the Blue Heaven resort in the middle of the night. Kendra sat down in one of the lobby’s rattan chairs while I went to the front and deposited her ring in the hotel safe with the manager. When we returned he escorted us to our low-rise suite on the beach.
After a few hours of sleep, we ordered breakfast and watched the ocean from our patio while we waited. Endless shades of blue stretched to the clear sky. A young couple held hands and leisurely picked shells at the rolling surf while a team from the hotel spread out a bright red chute for parasailing. Soon, the staff arrived with a lush spread of exotic fruit, caviar, fresh breads and juices.
Kendra held a crumb up. “Not long now,” she said.
I couldn’t see the fish well in the light like her, but I could feel them watching.
Kendra slid out of her chair and kissed my forehead. “I’m going to make the boat arrangements.”
While she was gone, I picked at the pineapple and thought of Nicholas. My assistant would be feeding him, but cats were creatures of habit; he’d miss me and his ghostly playthings. Morty however, was just a creature; he was going to kill me.
A half hour later, we were riding the wind away from the hotel dock in a catamaran. I sat on the net in the front and Kendra sat under the sail, covered in big sunglasses and a batik wrap. She flipped through a book on fish from the hotel gift shop.
I breathed deeply, taking in the salt spray on the wind. Breakfast had been exceptional and Kendra looked like a dream. I was sorry that back home I had forgotten how to truly live.
The driver, an old weathered guy with kinky gray hair and a quiet authority about him, stopped the boat over a shallow spot. I could see the sandy bottom and the coral heads below.
“No,” Kendra said. “Not here.”
“Ma’am. This is the best place,” he said. “My personal spot. No one snorkels here.”
“It’s not right. Over there…” she said, and seemed to arbitrarily point out to the water.
“Dangerous out in the open,” he said. “Currents are bad today.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
The driver made a face and tacked the boat a hundred yards away. I thought I could make out the long spikes and black eyes of the lionfish among the
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