Page 43 of Beach Bodies

Because I wasn’t really kissing Carli Elle, famous singer, half-dressed and sweat-drenched and– under any other circumstances– a more than desirable lover. I was kissing Jess. I was telling Jess she was beautiful.

It’s always about Jess.

‘Hey,’ Carli said at the sauna door, as if an afterthought had just struck her. ‘I have a performance at the Mambotel next Friday. Want to come with?’

‘Sounds amazing,’ I said. It clicked: that would be the night.

Carli had already told me about Michael’s legendary nightly baths, which she laughingly described as ‘his religion’. Scalding hot water, Epsom salts and R&B. He had one every day, without fail.

Me being on Saint Vitalis with Carli for her performance wasn’t quite an alibi, but at least I’d be off the island when his body was found… in the bath. It was almost poetic. Dead in his religion.

The sand is damp, cool, firm under my feet as I come to a stop. I’ve reached the end of the beach, where a jetty of white rocks makes a natural wall, extending pretty far out into the water. On the beach side of the rocks the water is calmer, but the other side is lively.

I stand there at the edge, not sure whether to turn aroundand walk the beach the other way, or risk the slippery rocks for the spectacular view at the end of the jetty.

Maybe you just fascinate me.Those words of Daniel’s keep coming back, like airport shrimp. They felt so good at the time. Being an object of desire always feels good– I suppose it feeds the hungry little narcissist that lives inside each of us, and God knows I’m no exception. But now, it’s all too easy to hear Daniel’s words from a darker viewpoint.

I glance behind me. But I’m not ready to go back to the hotel.

Up we go, then. I find my footing on the first flattish white rock, then climb. These are the same rocks I was going to propose to Jessica on. The same rocks Serena went viral for slipping on. The waves are still crashing to my left, but I know how to be safe, and anyway, it’s worth the risk. It’s out of view of the hotel, and I need that feeling of breaching a barrier, of space and more space, of expansive water and sky that are bigger than me.

Barefoot, I hop from rock to rock, pausing in between to recalibrate. I’ve already been so reckless with Daniel, and I can’t afford any more recklessness, especially on these rocks where I could break my leg and fall in the water and fucking drown. That would be rich. Not to mention Daniel would interpret it as a sure sign of guilt.I was on to her, so sadly, she took her own life… At least I gave her the orgasm of a lifetime before she passed.

Hah.

Puddles have settled into every crevice of the rocks, and the mossy patches of growth are slick. My foot skids slightly as I hit a slimy spot. It’s really not hard to see why Serena fell.As the waves crash up from the left of the jetty, the water sprays my ankles.

Traversing the rocks takes all my focus, giving my mind a welcome respite. I finally reach the last rock. Now, only the ocean is before me, grey and furious.

I sit with one knee drawn up and the other leg hanging down, not even caring that the wetness is soaking into the seat of my sweatpants. I close my eyes and breathe. I taste salt on my lips and remember Carli’s kiss.

It was a hair dryer, by the way. Not the speaker.

As I said, Michael liked to take baths with his Bluetooth speaker playing, which did bring electrocution to mind. Fortunately, the Riovan had old-fashioned metal drainpipes; that was a must. The Epsom salts would help– saltwater conducts electricity well– but even so, the battery voltage from Michael’s speaker wouldn’t be enough. However, 220 volts would do it…

I happened to be in my own bathroom washing my face as I was thinking about this, and my eyes landed on my roommate’s hair dryer. I picked it up and examined the tag.Do not remove this tag! Warn children of the risk of death by electric shock!A little picture showed a bathtub and a hair dryer with a red line over it. A little advertisement meant just for me.Here’s how you do it!

I frowned as I turned the hair dryer over in my hands. Of course, if I threw the hair dryer into his bath, it would trip the breaker. But if the breaker had been bypassed…

The next day, a bunch of us lifeguards went over to Saint Vitalis for some shopping on our day off. Everyone else bought shell jewellery, straw hats and boho maxi dresses.I bought a maxi dress too, to wrap my other purchases in.

It was easy to clip the Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter off the end of my new hair dryer and rewire it with a non-GFCI plug that would not act like a circuit breaker.

The evening of Carli Elle’s performance, I went to the electrical panel on Michael’s floor, unlocked the protective door marked RESTRICTED ACCESS, unscrewed the panel, and donned the electrical gloves I’d bought at the little hardware store on Saint Vitalis, along with my other supplies.

I identified the breaker that went to his room and flipped it off.

Using the screwdriver, I revealed the black wire that routed to the bathroom plug.

I pulled the black wire and stuffed it into the main 240-volt lug at the top of the breaker box. Then, I tightened it and replaced the cover.

The charge was now coming straight from the lug, which still had a breaker, of course, but the hundred-amp one that would be located somewhere by the entrance of the hotel. Way back where the whole box comes from… so it wasn’t going to trip easily. Nope. It would keep delivering killer electricity.

I’d got a key to Michael’s room the day before, from the front desk. ‘Carli Elle’s manager locked himself out of his room,’ I said. ‘He’s, uh… naked.’ They were more than happy to give me a key, and I was more than happy to pretend to run up with it.

Forty minutes before Carli Elle’s yacht was due to leave for the Mambotel, I let myself into Michael’s room. Right away, I heard the music filtering out from the bathroom door, which wasn’t all the way closed. Marvin Gaye.

I still had my electrical gloves on. First, I put my extra key card on the dresser. I didn’t bother wiping it down for prints; I’d collected it yesterday and, presumably, delivered it to naked Michael in the hallway, so if anyone even checked it for prints– which was unlikely– my prints made sense. A lack of prints, to my estimation, might be more concerning to authorities. Then, I pulled the hair dryer out of my backpack. I walked softly over the carpet. Through the crack in the bathroom door, I could taste the steam. I could smell his body wash. I could see Michael’s head lolled against the edge of the tub as he rolled it from side to side with the rhythm, his mouth puckered a little in his enjoyment of the music.

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