Henry was thinking about his ex-girlfriend Callie, even before he entered the Starbucks on Route 1 in West Palm Beach. It was six months since they broke up and he was wondering if he should call her.

So it was a little disconcerting that she should be standing there at the counter ordering a latte when he walked in.

But of course this was not Callie in front of him. It was her double.

He had seen her before jogging along the boulevard. And once he had held the door for her at this same coffee shop. That time he said hello, and she gave him a generous smile and a nod, before she jogged off.

His mind implored Henry to consider that this could be Callie, and teased him with what he should say.

But the girl in front of him was wearing turquoise running pants. Callie wouldn’t be caught dead in anything spandex or anything turquoise. Underneath Henry could see the outline of her thong.

Callie had a lot of expensive underwear, but to his knowledge, no thongs.

“Are you staring at my ass?” turquoise pants said as she turned from the counter.

Henry snapped back to reality; his Callie reverie was shattered.

“Yes, I was actually,” he stuttered shamefully. “I’m sorry.”

“Well?” she said.

Henry was dumbfounded by the question.

“Well, do you like it?” she added demandingly.

“Yes. Yes ma’am.” Henry pulled himself together.

“You can call me Christine.” She extended her hand in introduction.

“Can I buy your latte?” Henry offered. “As atonement for ogling?”

“Absolutely. So long as you join me while I drink it.” She winked at him, knowing that it was agreed.

Henry ordered himself a coffee and paid for both, thinking that they would sit at one of the sidewalk tables outside. But on exiting the Starbucks it was clear that running girl was on the move.

“I can’t drink coffee and jog at the same time,” Henry warned.

“Can you walk and talk and hold onto your coffee,” she teased. “Follow me.”

“We aren’t going far.”

***

They were headed toward the ocean and Henry wished he wasn’t wearing a suit, a point which was soon to be moot. But he didn’t have to meet another client until 1:00 pm and it was some time since he had coffee with anyone but himself.

“So coffee boy, do you have a name?”

Henry had been so apologetic for his caveman behavior, he failed to reciprocate with introductions. Bad behavior, followed by rude. And yet, here he was, still following this girl, to what end?

“My name is Henry.”

“Henry like Winkler, or Henry like “Oh! Henry?” She emphasized the Oh! and drawled out the Henry. She obviously wasn’t referencing the candy bar.

“Henry like Flagler, the man who developed the East Coast of Florida.”

Lame, he thought, as soon as he said it. When he met Callie, he explained, “Henry like Ford” and from then on she would call him Ford whenever she thought he was being too conservative or not enough fun. Once she even called him Ford in bed. “Come on Ford, what are you, a missionary?”

“OK Henry, let’s get a few things straight.”

“First, I don’t drink lattes. I like my coffee dark.”

“Like my men.”

It was an old joke that he heard a thousand times in the office. The only time he laughed was when his buddy Mike, a black man, over heard two old white guys make the joke at the coffee machine, and he interjected, “Me too!” That made Henry laugh out loud, but he never heard it from a woman’s perspective and did not know how to respond.

They were walking briskly and Henry was getting short of breath.

But Christine kept talking in stride with her pace.

“Second, you don’t have to be sorry for staring at my ass. It’s kind of a turn-on, if you want to know the truth.” She turned at him and winked again, knowing it was agreed.

“Where are we going?” Henry inquired.

They were about a block from the Palm Harbor Marina. He considered stopping for a drink of coffee out of protest, but he was afraid she would keep walking and he would never see her again.

“Third,” she continued, “If you want to see my tattoos, you are going to have to loose that stoopid Dolphins hat.”

“I’m from Tampa.”

***

He followed her into and through the marina to the last slip on the farthest pier. He thought she was going to step right into the bay at the pace she was going.

Instead she stepped on to a modest fishing boat, and without breaking her pace, kicked off her running shoes and slipped out of the turquoise running pants and pausing for just a moment so Henry could absorb her mostly naked bottom, she said “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the cabin.

Henry pulled a deck chair out of the shadows and sitting down, finally took a drink of his coffee.

He guessed the boat to be a 36 or 40 foot Sea Ray. It had a generous fishing and diving platform on back, and if it was like similar boats he had been on, there would be a galley and lounge seating in the middle cabin and fore of that would be a stateroom.

The name on the bow, Carpe Diem was painted in blue cursive scroll.

***

When she came back, Christine was wearing a simple white two-piece bathing suit that covered little more than the thong in which she exited. He noticed that her current coverings matched her tan lines exactly, and noted this was likely a daily routine. He also noted the entirety of her athletic form.

When she stepped into the sunlight, he could detect a small patch of dark hair under the white bikini bottoms. Huh, he thought to himself, the carpet doesn’t match the drapes. No, this is definitely not Callie Montgomery.

“Staring again,” she said, “that can only get you in more trouble.” She shook her finger at him in mock scold.

“You call that comfortable?” He had only taken off his jacket. “Maybe I can encourage you out of those stripes…”

Henry didn’t discount or acknowledge the statement.

In what might be taken as a delay tactic, he changed the conversation.

“Nice boat. Is it yours?”

“Yeah, I wish,” Christine laughed. “No, I just watch it for a friend.”

It wasn’t that Henry was shy, or even modest, or hesitant in what was unfolding. But he did consider that it was a bad day to be wearing his Scooby Doo boxers.

Christine was now standing directly in front of him with one hand on her waist, in supervisory mode and taking a drink of her coffee.

He kicked off his shoes and stood up to step out of his pants.

As soon as she saw his Scoobby Doos she let out a raucous laugh, and unfortunately for her, unswallowed coffee came shooting out her nose.

“Rut ro Raggy!” she said once she composed herself. And she moved over close to Henry and wrapped one leg around his. She put the coffee arm around his neck and grabbed his tie with the other.

And then, pulling him close to her, she cooed in his ear, “Scooby Doo, Where are you?”

She leaned back ever so slightly and he thought she was going to kiss him.

Instead she stated emphatically in her regular voice, “The hat…”

When she did kiss him, she smelled like heat and tasted like cherry ChapStick.

***

“Let’s get out of the sun,” Christine said as she loosened his tie. “It’s getting hot out here.”

He followed her into the cabin. The galley was nicely furnished with modern appliances and cabinets and the cushions on the benches were all covered in a light colored leather. Nice! he thought, again admiring her ass.

The forward cabin, as he surmised, was a master stateroom. The king size platform bed occupied most of the floor space. Christine used his tie to pull him toward her and after a long and sensual kiss, she pushed him back on the bed.

“A water bed on a boat,” he said. “Isn’t that a little overdone?”

“Is there any part of this morning that hasn’t been overdone?” Christine asked rhetorically, raising an eye brow.

*V*

For the better part of an hour, they teased and played and pretended they were gymnasts. And for the final act he was behind her.

But when he opened his eyes he saw something he hadn’t noticed before, there just below his thumbs and across her buttocks, Felix Culpa was tattooed in green cursive scroll.

Damn, Henry thought, you have to be pretty committed to a guy to have his name permanently inked as your tramp stamp.

His countenance changed, not that she could see it. He could not picture this bleach blonde Callie look-alike with a Cuban guy. And he especially did not want to picture it now.

“Don’t slow down,” she implored. It was the first time all morning she wasn’t in control.

He closed his eyes and pictured himself with Callie Montgomery and picked up the rhythm.

Her moans came faster and faster, and louder and louder.

Definitely not Callie he thought. She was quiet in bed, rarely making so much as a whimper, even at the height of ecstasy.

And then they were done.

Henry did not know if he had missed the ending, but they were done.

***

“OK Marino, I have to get to practice, but feel free to hang out as long as you’d like.”

She was already dressed and headed toward the door, when he stood up to survey the locations of his clothes.

And as spontaneous as if she forgot her keys, she came back into the stateroom and slipped her tongue in his mouth and squeezed him.

“Mmm,” she said. “You’re so much better in bed than my husband.”

And then she was gone again, this time for good.

Henry stood naked and perplexed, and wondered.

Who is Felix Culpa?

###

2016 Kirt Van Buren