The flight to St. Thomas took us through Puerto Rico, and then onto a sea-plane for the trip to St. Thomas. It was exciting, very "Indiana Jones." It took off from the piers, near where the big cruise ships are docked.
As we passed by in the cab from the airport to the sea-plane, mom said, "That's what I'd like someday, kiddo. A long cruise on one of those. Do you know they have all-you-can eat buffets all day long, and an all-chocolate buffet at midnight? Stewards to pamper you..."
"OK," I said, "next year for your birthday, you can have a cruise." Mom slapped me playfully on the arm.
The sea-plane landed in the marina in St. Thomas. We could see several very long yachts, and many sailboats, and we swooped right in among them. We taxied up to the dock and there were two of the staff from the Lost Beach resort to meet us, a man and a woman, in the tropical white uniform shirt and shorts of the resort staff.
"Brenda and Jack Reynolds?" asked the man. "I am Paul, your driver. I will collect your things and place them in our van. Maria here will by your escort to the resort. Welcome to St Thomas and the Lost Beach resort." Paul was strong and muscular and moved past us to get our luggage. Maria smiled at us and welcomed us, and shook our hands.
"How was your flight? she asked. I didn't say anything – I was stunned. Maria was a knock-out. Tall, blonde, tan, very well endowed and I don't believe she was wearing anything under the short-sleeved uniform jacket.
"It was fine," my mom said, shaking her hand. "Don't mind Jack, he'll be alright in a little while. That sea-plane landing is something else."
"Yes," said Maria, "they come in pretty steep, and the marina is full of boats. It can be pretty exciting."
The road to the resort was full of hair-pin turns, almost as exciting as the sea-plane ride, and we finally arrived at the resort. It resembled a Spanish villa with red-tiled roof, archways...it was high up over looking the amazingly blue water.
As we got out of the van, Maria walked with us. "Your luggage will be brought to your room. You have plenty of time for dinner, and there will be a cocktail reception for all the guests this evening."
As we followed Maria into a central courtyard, it seemed the place was a labarinth of hallways leading in all directions. There were no signs, but she knew which direction to go at each turn. We exited a hallway onto an outdoor sidewalk with a stone wall on the beach side.
"Aren't we kind of high up and away from the beach? I thought this was a beach resort," I asked.
"It is," said Maria. Everything you see from here is part of Lost Beach resort. This path winds down to the water in that direction, and this way, " she said, pointing in the direction we were going, "leads to your villa. We have several villas on the property. They each have a slightly different décor, and, while there are no strict rules, you're in the villa usually reserved for couples."
She thinks we're a couple, I thought, as in boyfriend/girlfriend. I had to correct this – and fast – nothing against mom, but I wanted to get to know Maria (and that marvelous cleavage) and I didn't want her thinking I was spoken for...but before I could say anything, mom spoke.
"Tell me about the beaches," she said, and Maria was off into her spiel.
