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Resorts > Mexico > Fiction. Fathers and daughters > Fiction. Canadian fiction. Mexico > Fiction. |
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Fiction. |
- ISBN: 1459731816
- ISBN: 9781459731813
- Physical Description 294 pages
- Publisher Toronto : Dundurn Press, 2015.
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Excerpt
All Inclusive
Ameera March 27, 2015, Huatulco, Mexico A DC8 droned above. âHere they come,â I announced. Friday was our departure-arrival day. One sunburned and grouchy group left for their northern homes, and another cohort, ecstatic and pale, touched down and took their place. Roberto grabbed a plastic file-box and gestured for me to sit beside him. I lowered myself onto the makeshift seat and wiped away a slick of perspiration from the creases behind my knees. âAmeera, you hear about that tour rep getting fired over at Waves?â Roberto stroked his thin moustache. âNancy? Yeah, Iâm still in shock.â I hadnât known her well, but Iâd gone clubbing with her and the other tour reps from our sister resorts a few times. Sheâd seemed all right to me. The airplane circled closer, and, in unison, we clapped our hands over our ears and tilted our chins to the sky. After it had rolled across the tarmac and quieted its engines, we resumed our gossip. âWhat I donât get is why someone in their late twenties would want to have sex with a fifteen-year-old.â Roberto shook his head, as though trying to dislodge the idea. âBut didnât the kid lie about his age? He told her he was eighteen, right?â While Iâd never in a million years sleep with a teenager, I could imagine how booze and loneliness could have led Nancy to her mistake. âWho knows. There was no investigation.â Roberto slouched, his lanky frame folding into itself. âTrue. Itâs unfair.â It was strange that there hadnât been an investigation. I couldnât imagine our cheerful manager, Anita, firing anyone. âAt least weâre gonna get a local boss soon.â Roberto was referring to our companyâs recent announcement to shift from an Ottawa-based management model to a Huatulco-based one. I was surprised he was raising the subject; weâd all been skirting it. âItâll be strange though â one of us promoted over the others?â Not just strange. Awkward. âWell, I think it should be Oscar. Heâs been working in the industry since he was a teenager.â âMaybe.â Truthfully, Iâd been fantasizing about the promotion since the memoâs arrival. It would make staying in Huatulco for another three years worthwhile. So what if Oscar was way older than the rest of us? I had the best sales record. I looked at our three coworkers: Manuela, Blythe, and Oscar, who stood listlessly in the glass-fronted airport terminal building. Did they all want the job as much as I did? Luggage began to circle on the conveyer belt, nudging them out of their collective stupor. They sauntered our way. âStill no tourists.â Manuela fished an elastic from her pocket and gathered her long black hair into a messy ponytail. âThe customs guys take too long in there,â Oscar said. âItâs getting bloody late,â Blythe complained. I checked my watch. We still had to welcome the incoming tourists, pack them onto Oceanaâs buses, and offer a perfunctory tour of the stretch of highway between the airport and hotel. When we arrived at Atlantis, our home resort, the vacationers would hold things up at the front desk, arguing for better rooms with king-size beds and oceanfront views. The whole tedious process would take about two and a half hours, provided that there werenât any lost suitcases, passengers, or other mishaps. Manuelaâs giggling fit interrupted my thoughts. Roberto, a head taller, grinned down at the blush spreading across her face and neck. Oscar, too, looked amused, his mouth tight, his chin jutting out. Even though Iâd missed their joke, I smiled along with them. I liked seeing my three Mexican coworkers like this, relaxed and natural, so different from their formal work demeanours.Blythe prodded Manuela for a translation; neither she nor I were fluent enough in Spanish to understand jokes delivered in double-quick time. âTheyâre talking about that lady and her husband who left today. With the big muscles?â Manuela explained. âAmeera, you know them. They spent a lot of time talking to you at the tour desk.â Roberto flexed his biceps and sucked in his gut. The bodybuilders from Buffalo, Marina and Mike. I tensed, wondering what heâd seen. âOh, yeah?â I asked, trying to feign indifference. Roberto winked at me. Why do people wink? Itâs such a stupid gesture.âA girl shouldnât get that big. Not natural. Women should have some fat on them,â Oscar opined. Manuela adjusted her skirt, and stood a little taller in her black pumps. Blythe rolled her eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest and squeezed my soft biceps, remembering how flabby I was in contrast to the bodybuildersâ hard bodies. The previous night, when Iâd straddled Marina, pinning her down on the bed, Iâd felt foolish, like I couldnât convincingly carry off the move. But sheâd played along, moaning and groaning while she pretended to struggle beneath my grip. Iâd pushed my tongue into her mouth and my breasts against her flat chest. Meanwhile, Mike watched from the sofa, naked, except for a ridiculous lime-green sombrero upon his head. âBodybuilding is a very big trend these days,â Blythe said, authoritatively, tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. She had a habit of offering us insights about our Canadian and American tourists, even though she hailed from a small town in England. â Fea. Ugly. There is your Word of the Week.â Oscar peered over the top of his bifocals at me. The others laughed â weâd long ago turned my weekly vocabulary-building exercise into a joke â but I was in no mood for it. I scanned the runway. The plane that had arrived earlier, belching a couple hundred men, women, and children onto the tarmac, was now the site of the departing groupâs mass exodus. I squinted to locate Marinaâs red coif and Mikeâs bright sombrero in the queue. There they were, at the front. I watched them climb the steps and disappear inside the dark of the airplane. When I turned back to my colleagues, Roberto was watching me with a bemused expression. âYes. Fea ,â Oscar repeated. He rubbed concentric circles into his back. And then, changing the subject as was his tendency, he said, âWe need chairs out here.â âChairs for us? Never gonna happen,â Blythe sing-songed at him. âWeâll see,â Oscar blurted. He raised the subject on a weekly basis even though management had told us chairs were not permitted because of some arbitrary airport regulation. âI will bring my own then. Yes, that is what I will do.â âFinally.â I pointed to the tourists who were now trickling through the baggage area. The five of us stepped into formation, and a middle-aged man approached our kiosk, his eyes skipping across our reception line of artificial smiles. He focused on Blythe. âWelcome to Huatulco,â she said blandly, reaching for their documents. âYouâre on Ameeraâs bus. Bus Number Three, over that way folks,â Oscar said with forced cheer. A group of four young men wearing khakis and T-shirts bearing my alma materâs logo asked about welcome drinks and Manuela promised them that theyâd be sitting at an overflowing bar in an hour. I was about to ask them about campus life, but a beverage vendor yelled, â Cerveza frÃa! Cold beer here!â and the men followed his voice, like lemmings over a cliff. A young couple with three children was among the last to approach the kiosk. The mother drooped under the weight of a sleepy toddler, while a young boy and slightly older girl clung to her thighs. The father dragged a squeaky cart with three suitcases and four overstuffed â and threatening to topple â backpacks in various Disney motifs. Manuela directed the family to my bus, when suddenly their eldest girl ran off toward the tarmac, yelling, âI want to go home!â I dropped my clipboard and gave chase. I scooped her into my arms, and the girl sputtered a surprised laugh, her cheeks reddening. I giggled along with her as I ushered her dazed-looking parents onto my bus. Before climbing aboard, I gazed at the afternoon sky to watch the outbound flight of vacationers, including the bodybuilders, fly away home. Excerpted from All Inclusive by Farzana Doctor All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.