Page 5 of For Your Eyes Only

“You’re not in court, Gia.” My best friend Bianca steps forward to take the heavy costume from my hand. “You’re in the Blue Coral Suite.”

My chin quivers. “Please don’t take me to jail.”

“You’re not going to jail,” the man growls. “But you are leaving this resort.”

It’s so unfair to be punished for doing my job.

Let me explain…

First, the background: Bianca got me this job after the ballet company I moved to Miami to join (as prima ballerina!) went completely bust.

It’s a long story that involves money laundering, adultery, death threats, and pseudo-Evangelical Christians—but the end result is me stuck here in south Florida with no job, no money, no way to get home, and no work visa.

If it weren’t for Bianca’s couch, I’d be homeless.

That’s how I ended up at the Whitecaps Resort as one of their “Happy Mermaids,” holding hands with the babies, smiling, and wiggling my tail. It’s an hourly job that doesn’t require a bank, and the pay is very generous for what I do.

Bonus: The kids love me, and I love them.

Today, however, after a two-martini lunch, one of the dads also decided he loved the way I wiggled. After joining us in the pool, and basically crowding everyone, he started touching my hair and saying how my curls were “authentic mermaid.” (What does that even mean?)

His wife sat fuming at me from her lounge chair, and when he put his hands on my clam shells, I belted him across the ears and high-tailed it out of there. (Mermaid-tailed?)

“Why didn’t you call hotel security?” My best friend glares at me.

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

The entitled white men at this resort seem very much above the law. From what I gather, they can grab all the clam shells they want, whenever they want.

“You could’ve at least called me.” Her voice is an urgent hiss.

The head of Whitecaps security frowns at me like he’s heard enough. His team is right outside the door, ready to escort me off the property.

“I was trying to call you when you showed up at the door.”

“Just give me the tail and go to my apartment. I’ll catch a ride home with one of the other mermaids.”

She’s shaking her head, and I’m not sure why I feel guilty handing over the rubber costume. I was the one assaulted. Still, if she gets fired because I got groped, I’ll feel like shit.

* * *

Four hours later,she still hasn’t appeared. I’m with my former dance partner and fiancé Michele, who moved here along with me to join the defunct dance company. He wanted to have drinks at Roxy’s, but I’m having coffee.

I actually prefer coffee, and as long as he’s having alcohol, my drink is free.

“You do look like a mermaid with those curls and that tan.” Michele is wearing a white satin shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, a slim gold chain, and I’m pretty sure I detect eyeliner and mascara in the dim light of the bar.

“That’s what he said.” My tone is bitter. “You never said such things before we broke apart.”

“Broke up. The American way to say it is brokeup.” He leans forward, his accent so thick, I roll my eyes.

“Like you know better than me.” Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure no one’s watching us. “You only want to be the center of attention.”

The truth is, no one is watching us. In this part of south Florida, there are so many gay men, no one cares.

“You have to realize,Mariposa, we can be whoever we want to be in America. The ballet didn’t work out, but we’re on a journey to an even better life—like those butterflies you love.”

“My life isn’t better.” Lifting the heavy mug, I take a sip of coffee to soothe the knot in my throat. “I came here to pursue my dream, and all it’s gotten me is sleeping on a couch and being groped by a creeper.”

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