The Pelican Brief

On the fourth morning, she packed her new bags and took a ferry to Cruz Bay, twenty minutes away on the island of St. John. She took a taxi along the North Shore Road. The windows were down and the wind blew across the backseat. The music was a rhythmic mixture of blues and reggae. The cab-driver tapped the wheel and sang along. She tapped her foot and closed her eyes to the breeze. It was intoxicating.

He left the road at Maho Bay, and drove slowly toward the water. She’d picked this spot from a hundred islands because it was undeveloped. Only a handful of beach houses and cottages were permitted in this bay. The driver stopped on a narrow, tree-lined road, and she paid him.

The house was almost at the point where the mountain met the sea. The architecture was pure Caribbean—white wood frame under a red tile roof—and built barely on the incline to provide for the view. She walked down a short trail from the road, and up the steps to the house. It was a single story with two bedrooms and a porch facing the water. It cost two thousand a week, and she had it for a month.

She placed her bags on the floor of the den, and walked to her porch. The beach started thirty feet below her. The waves rolled silently to the shore. Two sailboats sat motionless in the bay, which was secluded by mountains on three sides. A rubber raft full of kids splashing moved aimlessly between the boats.

The nearest dwelling was down the beach. She could barely see its roof above the trees. A few bodies relaxed in the sand. She quickly changed into a tiny bikini, and walked to the water.

It was almost dark when the taxi finally stopped at the trail. He got out, paid the driver, and looked at the lights as the cab drove in front of him and disappeared. He had one bag, and he eased along the trail to the house, which was unlocked. The lights were on. He found her on the porch, sipping a frozen drink and looking like a native with bronze skin.

She was waiting on him, and this was so damned important. He didn’t want to be treated like a houseguest. Her face smiled instantly, and she set her drink on the table.

They kissed on the porch for a long minute. “You’re late,” she said as they held each other.

“This was not the easiest place to find,” Gray said. He was rubbing her back, which was bare down to the waist where a long skirt began and covered most of the legs. He would see them later.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, looking at the bay.

“It’s magnificent,” he said. He stood behind her as they watched a sailboat drift toward the sea. He held her shoulders. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

He changed quickly into a pair of shorts, and found her waiting by the water. They held hands and walked slowly.

“Those legs need work,” she said.

“Rather pale, aren’t they?” he said.

Yes, she thought, they were pale, but they weren’t bad. Not bad at all. The stomach was flat. A week on the beach with her, and he’d look like a lifeguard. They splashed water with their feet.

“You left early,” she said.

“I got tired of it. I’ve written a story a day since the big one, yet they want more. Keen wanted this, and Feldman wanted that, and I was working eighteen hours a day. Yesterday I said good-bye.”

“I haven’t seen a paper in a week,” she said.

“Coal quit. They’ve set him up to take the fall, but indictments look doubtful. I don’t think the President did much, really. He’s just dumb and can’t help it. You read about Wakefield?”

“Yes.”

“Velmano, Schwabe, and Einstein have been indicted, but they can’t find Velmano. Mattiece, of course, has been indicted, along with four of his people. There’ll be more indictments later. It dawned on me a few days ago that there was no big cover-up at the White House, so I lost steam. I think it killed his reelection, but he’s not a felon. The city’s a circus.”

They walked in silence as it grew darker. She’d heard enough of this, and he was sick of it too. There was half a moon, and it reflected on the still water. She put her arm around his waist, and he pulled her closer. They were in the sand, away from the water. The house was a half a mile behind them.

“I’ve missed you,” she said softly.

He breathed deeply but said nothing.

“How long will you stay?” she asked.

“I don’t know. A couple of weeks. Maybe a year. It’s up to you.”

“How about a month?”

“I can do a month.”

She smiled at him, and his knees were weak. She looked at the bay, at the moon’s reflection in the center of it as the sailboat crawled by. “Let’s take it a month at a time, okay Gray?”

“Perfect.”