Chapter 5

Katrina thought she was alone in her sadness the next day. She did not go to her sunbathing spot. But with a long face, absently curling the ends of her hair in her fingers, she strolled up and down the beach, brooding behind dark glasses. She was utterly confused by the spectacle she had walked in on last night, and heartbroken as well. It was really hard to accept, she thought, over and over that Clint could have seemed so devoted to her and then been taking up with some tart on the side. For in Clint, Katrina had really found a new source of inspiration when it came to men and love, and it was difficult, no matter how hard she'd been jolted, to give up this renewed faith.

To Alya, who spent much of the day watching Katrina from the hotel terrace, it was obvious that the young black-haired beauty was upset. And this fact was important to her, because tonight was Katrina's evening, according to Boulo's schedule, for extracurricular recreation. Alya had known from the beginning that Katrina would be a tough nut to crack, since she was clearly more sophisticated than most of the hotel's guests. For the past few days, Alya had been trying to figure out where this woman's Achilles' heel was, without any great degree of success. In fact, she knew she had come close to being totally rebuffed by her designated guest, on the few occasions when Katrina actually appeared around the hotel.

But after watching her closely, Alya was more confident. For the woman was upset and seemed to be moody. And that made her easier to work with, more suggestion-prone, which was, after all, Alya's business. It must be a man, she thought. Katrina had not gotten any bad news by telegram, she knew, after checking the desk. So what else was there that could turn her smiling face to such a portrait of despair?

Alya walked off the terrace and down to the beach in the direction of the restless pacing figure. She came up behind Katrina quietly and unobtrusively.

"Hello, Miss Nadie," she said in a familiar tone. "How are things going for you today?"

Katrina looked up in surprise at the voice. But for once she was not immediately annoyed by the presence of the lovely hotel employee in her cut-away sheath uniform. After all, she was company, and anything that helped to take her mind off the nightmare scene of last night and its implications was thoroughly welcome.

"Lousy," she replied, after walking on, side by side with the other woman, who it seemed to her was being unusually discreet. Did her confusion and depression show that visibly? she wondered.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Alya. She paused and then decided to hit Katrina right off: "From the way you look, it must be a gentleman that has caused this trouble for you."

Katrina wasn't surprised at the other's conjecture. Somehow it seemed appropriate that the whole world should have divined the truth.

"That's about the size of it," she answered in muted tones. "Woman gets the shaft again same old story; no news."

"Oh now, do not look at it that way," suggested Alya, following up her lead. "It's my opinion that a woman should never put up with a man's bad behavior in general. And specifically, you know, I hate to see a woman guest relate her stay here to the rest of the world."

"Meaning what?" Katrina asked her.

"Well," Alya shrugged, "we look on the island as a place where the normal rules of a male-dominated society don't apply. Everybody's here to enjoy themselves equally. This is no one's world, least of all the men's, here at the island. If one of our woman guests, such as yourself, returns to the mainland feeling that she has not experienced anything unusual, we assume we have failed to provide her with a real vacation."

"Really?" said Katrina, a little baffled by her companion's textbookish conversation.

"Sure. By unusual, we mean anything from the feeling that the sexes are absolutely equal which for many of our guests, you know, is a revelation to experiences which demonstrate such a proposition."

"Why don't you get to the point?" asked Katrina, in an inquisitive but not unfriendly tone.

"Well, Miss Nadie to be straightforward with you: you have the look of someone who's undergone a blow to her dignity here on the island, of the sort one could see every day back in the states. In my opinion, as one woman to another now, I would suggest that the best thing for you to do is let me suggest that you undertake an experience which will restore that dignity."

"Ah," said Katrina, "you're trying to tell me that the hotel keeps a dignity-machine in the basement for jilted lovers?"

"Not quite," laughed the brown-skinned girl, breathing an inward sigh of relief with the knowledge that she had her guest on the hook for sure. "All I can suggest and this is on my own, nothing to do with the hotel is that you let me bring you along tonight to one of the island ceremonies. They can really give a person in your state a lift. The hotel's too respectable, you know, to suggest such things, but they're here, if you know where to look."

Katrina thought the suggestion over as both women strolled farther along the beach. She was trying to imagine what the other was referring to wild dances, midnight clam-digging, some sort of music festival? "What do you mean, the hotel's too respectable?" she asked.

"Just that," Alya replied, innocently. "These ceremonies are, to be frank, completely uninhibited. They can do a lot to restore your perspective on what it means to be a woman. But the hotel won't have any part of them. You know the standard worries about lawsuits from guests who lose their heads."

"Think I'd lose my head?" Katrina asked her.

"I think so," answered the other. "But that's the whole point, isn't it? You're" looking for something to snap you out of your inferiority complex..."

Katrina shot a hard look at her companion.

" ... or whatever it is that's eating you. But, of course, the decision to lose your head is yours. Tell you what: I'll come to the bar tonight after supper, and if you want to go by then, I'll take you along. That gives you the afternoon to think about it. Okay? See you later and cheer up!"

The girl turned and abruptly walked away from Katrina, heading for a group of young spinsters, who greeted her with enthusiasm, yelling corny cliches and waving their plastic golf hats. Katrina stopped and watched her go, the questions she had dying on her lips. Then, bending her head again and walking closer to the surf-line, she thought about the melodrama of the conversation she'd just had. And decided, that whatever it was, Alya's suggestion held true she really needed something to snap her out of her condition.

It was early evening when Clint finally took a shower and shaved. All day long, he'd been lying on his bed with a bottle from room service, trying halfheartedly to drown out his anger and the pain he felt about Katrina. But drinking had never been much of an out for him, so that after a day of swigging and studying his navel, he had forgotten nothing. And nothing had been blurred.

Enough of this, he thought, and headed to get cleaned up before going down to get some supper. He would look for Katrina and somehow get her to listen, and explain the whole thing, he thought. She was sure to understand and would want to listen, if she'd been going through anything near like the hell he had all day.

But at just that moment, Katrina was taking the step she thought would snap her out of her hell. She was sitting in the bar, where Alya, true to her word, had found her after dinner. For the last few minutes, Alya had been trying to explain to Katrina the disclaimer and the contract she had brought with her. And things had almost bogged down for Katrina had gotten justifiably suspicious about all the papers.

"I just don't see what any of this--this disclaimer, my tour contract has to do with a night out on the island, that's all."

"It's simple," Alya started again, trying to keep her cool. "I happen to be an employee of the hotel. If you broke your ankle, say, the hotel doesn't want to be sued. It's just a standard device to protect against everything from pimping to hucksters..."

"But look," Katrina objected. "You tell me that any expenses which I assume means some form of tip I pay to you for the evening are added on to the tour contract here under 'Other expenses,' so that's part of the hotel package. Then, on the other hand, you want me to sign this disclaimer saying that the hotel didn't solicit my interest for any special entertainment. I just don't get it, much less why you have all these papers in the first place."

"What's going on?" came a male voice. Katrina whirled around in her seat and saw Clint standing there, a nervous smile on his face, standing there looking almost meek.

"Clint!..." Katrina exclaimed.

Alya's eyes shot from the man to the woman. This must be the joker, she thought. Entering just in time to blow the show. "Look," Alya said, in a no-nonsense tone, "the hotel knows that some of its guests will get to the unusual things on the island. It's perfectly willing to let the expenses be included in the tour package. But it doesn't want people running off every instant and getting into trouble. If you think you can trust yourself tonight, sign the disclaimer, and let's get going. It's getting late. If not, I'll see you later..."

"Trust yourself to do what?" Clint demanded, edging closer to the table and trying to get a look at the papers. "Katrina?" he said, appealing to the woman, who turned her face away and clenched her hands on the table, "what are you getting into? Look, baby, I've got to talk to you. I've got to explain something."

"Really?" said Katrina, sarcastically. Suddenly, she snapped back to life and remembered what a blow her ego had suffered, and who was responsible.

"Give me the pen," she said, taking the paper from Alya and signing her name to the disclaimer. She enjoyed Clint's visible confusion. It was obvious to her that he had been suffering, and from the earnest expression on his face, she thought for an instant that maybe he was really about to justify himself. But the will for revenge overpowered these abstractions. She gave the papers back to Alya and stood up.

"Kat please, where are you going? I've got to talk to you!" entreated Clint.

"Later, lover," she said in a sarcastic tone. "Mama's going to go out and have a little fun herself. Don't stand around waiting. I'm sure your friend is waiting upstairs." Katrina and Alya sailed out of the bar, leaving Clint with his mouth open, catching flies.

Alya hailed a taxi, and they set out for a ride which lasted about ten minutes. Katrina already felt better, having asserted her independence and told Clint where to go. She was looking forward now to whatever the evening might bring, her hopes and curiosity having been aroused by Alya's hints in the bar.

The taxi seemed to be plunging into absolute darkness, and Katrina couldn't see anything out of the windows. Then, from the sound of the tires and the exhaust noise, she deduced that they had entered some sort of tunnel-affair. The taxi stopped and Alya got out, motioning her to do the same.

Alya grabbed her hand and led her away through the pitch blackness. Katrina heard a door open, and then she stumbled, before adjusting to the fact that they were going up a circular staircase. This was kind of odd, she thought, sort of like the drunken hide-and-seek games they used to have at production parties back in Beverly Hills.

At the top of the stairs, they emerged in some sort of shed. From there, Alya led her out into a courtyard, surrounded by a high white wall of the type that surrounds very big houses and courtyards. She followed Alya across the red-tiled yard and through an elegantly-polished door.

Alya grabbed her hand and pulled her into a sort of closet. "We change here," she whispered.

"Change?" said Katrina. "Into what?"

"Ssshh! Here put this on!" Alya shoved a garment at her. Katrina took it, but didn't move right away. She was watching Alya pull her own sheath off over her head. She noted the brown girl's magnificent body and the fact that she wore nothing under the sheath. Then, as Alya slipped into the new garment, Katrina caught a glimpse of her backside. For a second she thought she was imagining things, but no she was sure she had seen them the welts and stripes that crisscrossed the plump, dusky buttocks. For a minute, Katrina wanted to laugh. It was too silly. like some sort of bizarre East Village put-on, she thought.

But, at Alya's insistence, she complied with the game. She removed her own dress and hung it on one of the many hangers all of which were empty. She reached back and unclasped her bra without thinking. It was only when she had removed it and saw Alya staring at her own prominent breasts, that she wondered why she had done it. What the hell, she shrugged, as Alya nodded and pointed to her panties.

It was like a college initiation. She slipped her fingers under the waistline of her panties and rolled them down her hips, then stepped out of them and placed them with her other clothes. Then she donned the garment Alya had given to her. It was kind of like an Oriental dressing-gown, with very wide, short sleeves which came about half-way to the elbow. Katrina looked at Alya to see how the robe was supposed to be fastened. It was then that she noticed. Alya's wasn't fastened. And she couldn't fasten hers either, because of one simple thing. The way the robe was cut, it came around only to her sides. There just wasn't any more of it to draw in front of one. Alya was smiling at Katrina, watching the message sink in. This was the big hurdle.

Katrina looked down at herself at her breasts, stomach, loins and legs all of which were visible, framed by the robe, which was cut away so widely that it amounted to little more than a cape with sleeves. She looked at Alya and unconsciously admired the way the robe heightened the beauty of Alya's feminine charms.

"They ought to sanforize these," she whispered with a smile. Alya smiled back and nodded. Then, taking Katrina by the hand, she led her out of the closet and down a long tiled hall. Katrina's ears perked up as she heard the sound of drumming music drifting from somewhere in the building. But she didn't feel at all uneasy or alarmed. Somehow, it was too much a combination of the unusual and the ludicrous for her to question it. One thing was for sure in this robe affair, she really felt like an old-time priestess, ready to preside in semi-naked splendor at some pagan ritual.

Alya led her to a door and, opening it, they both slipped through. They were in a large room, dimly lit and deafeningly filled with musical throbbing of several ranks of drums. Katrina looked hard through the darkness and noted that the room was higher at one end, where the music came from. Up there were seated a bunch of bodies, including the musicians. And against the far wall, at the back of the raised level of the room, she could discern two high-backed chairs. She hadn't the vaguest notion of what was going on, and suddenly felt a great reliance on her companion.

Alya was standing motionless, apparently listening to the music. Katrina didn't think they could be seen, standing as they were at the darkened end of the room. But suddenly, out of the ceiling somewhere, came a spotlight, tracking along the length of the room until it bathed both women in a hot circle of white light.

Katrina's immediate instinct was to shrink back out of the glare. But Alya had grasped her hand again and was leading her forward. Dumbly, she complied and followed the other woman up the center of the room. The drumming increased in tempo as they neared the dais and then stopped completely.

She hadn't quite bargained on this, Katrina thought, as Alya led her up onto the dais. They walked through the seated circle of dark bodies toward the wall. Then Alya motioned her to one of the chairs, she herself sitting in the other. Katrina paused and then sat quickly down. Immediately, she crossed her legs, feeling her nakedness acutely. Especially, when she looked around at the circle of men seated below them and saw that, for the most part, each was completely naked. And yet, in spite of this amazing sight, she was reassured, because none of the seated men seemed to be paying her any attention. She shot a look at Alya and saw that the other was sitting completely relaxed, her golden breasts jutting out from the scanty robe and both feet placed firmly on the ground. Being the only white woman present gave Katrina an uneasy sense of prominence, especially seated up in the high chair as she was. But on the other hand, it seemed silly to want to leave, because she seemed to be the only person who was aware both of her identity and her nakedness. Some ceremony, she thought. No wonder the hotel wanted disclaimers.

Then the drums started up again, and Katrina felt her spirits lift as the resonating rhythm vibrated through her body. From somewhere appeared a young native girl, clad in a shirtwaist, who brought Katrina and her companion each a goblet full of a hot liquid. Katrina looked at Alya as she took her cup, and seeing the other smile at her, took a sip. The liquid, whatever it was, went down her throat like lava, searing her insides and falling, it seemed, in a pool deep in her stomach. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever known at once bitter and heavy, yet at the same time like a bubbling sort of hot dressing. Katrina's toes curled, and she could feel herself begin to perspire from the drink, which inflamed and knotted her body from within.

She shook her head, trying to clear her senses. For now the music had settled into a regular, frenzied pattern, and several young-looking men had bounded up from the circle. Katrina clutched the goblet in her hands as they started dancing a few feet from her. She was proud enough of her own body to have respect for physiques in general, and these young men were amply endowed on all counts. She felt an involuntary shiver of desire go through her limbs as her eyes feasted on the spectacle of the contorted, rippling brown bodies that darted and whirled before her.

Then she looked up as the spotlight went on again, tracking to where they had entered the room. Katrina leaned forward in her chair, oblivious of her own nakedness now, as she caught sight of three young nude female bodies, running up to the dais. With a look of incredulity on her face, Katrina turned to Alya, who smiled back at her, her face glowing like that of a lynx, and giving Katrina no clue as to how she should react.

And, really, there was only one way to react, Katrina thought, as she watched, fascinated, when the naked women joined the male dancers. And that was to enjoy it. After all, Katrina thought, she had seen naked dancing troupes before, and this was the same thing, really, despite the ridiculous costumes she and Alya were wearing.

But it wasn't quite the same as Katrina had expected, when she had felt her sophisticated presence returning. For there was more to this display than dancing. Much more, Katrina realized, as she took in the spectacle unfolding before her. For the dancers were going through some sort of ritually choreographed metaphor for the sexual act the men and women approaching one another, caressing each other's bodies and seeming to join together in any one of a hundred variations of the pursuit that Katrina herself had shown such versatility at.

Suddenly, Katrina began to grow alarmed. For something was happening to her body. True, she was being aroused by the sight of the flashing brown bodies, miming different erotic gestures and postures; but, down deep in the center of her being, she was aware of a sort of burning a pulsing of desire that caught her up and shook her every now and then in the desperate clutch of lust. Without realizing it, she had started squirming in her chair, sliding her buttocks back and forth on the robe and sliding down on the chair, to bring herself into closer contact with the edge of the seat.

Although she had just finished drinking the last drops from the goblet, her throat was suddenly parched. And yet, at the same time, the sweat was pouring off her as her muscles involuntarily flexed and shook. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin.

For one of the men had come forward and, bending down before her, had kissed her foot. She saw that another of the dancers, who themselves seemed to be in the throes of mindless desire, was doing the same to Alya. With her emotions battling her instincts, Katrina was paralyzed as the man moved up her lower leg, brushing her skin with soft, nibbling lips. Katrina clenched her hands on the chair, her back stiffening, as he moved higher. Her mind cried no, and screamed at her to run from the room. But her body, fed and goaded by the music and sensual pageant, forced her to submit.

He moved higher and higher, past her knees, turning his head and implanting kisses alternately on each one of her thighs. She tried to lock her legs together, but her body betrayed her, the strange, desperate spasms in her forcing her to open herself. Out of the corner of her wildly rolling eyes, she saw Alya slide out of her chair, disappearing beneath a male body.

She felt all alone, clinging to the chair as her body responded to the unbearable, slow kisses. From somewhere came the blinding light of the spot again, making her feel like her skin was being stripped from her convulsed frame. There were other faces and hands close by now. Katrina bit her lip in agony as different hands came out of the darkness to rub one of her breasts or stroke her legs.

With rising hysteria, she scuffled her feet, madly trying to gain some footing. And found some, scrambling back up into the chair and half-crouching, half-standing on it. Her fists went to her temples, and her head rocked back and forth as she felt one, then two mouths close on her again, slithering nearer and nearer to the point where her body seemed to be boiling with fatal intensity.

And then one tongue found her. And giving a cry, she toppled forward, falling into the arms and hands of several who were ready for her, who guided her to the spot lit circle on the floor and helped restrain her as she fought to pull a body, any body, toward her own seething flesh; and her mind left her as she yielded herself up to the lights and sounds and the parade of flesh which seemed to last for eternities, but only gradually managed to abate the unnatural, ferocious hunger she felt, coaxing her one by one, back from her wanton state to gradually enforced consciousness.

Clint spent the night working writing a monologue to Katrina in which he explained his entire situation, from the plane crash that killed his parents up to the preceding night when Katrina had walked in on the scene in his bedroom. When he finished, he felt vastly relieved and almost whistled as he sauntered down to the lobby to leave the long transcript of confession and apology with the desk clerk.

For Katrina, when she had read it, it was very nearly the straw that broke the camel's back. For all that morning, she had felt completely lost, ever since Alya had come to her room with Mr. Boulo after breakfast.

Her memory of the night before had been dim, all right. But not to the extent that she couldn't recognize herself in the pictures. They showed her pictures she could scarcely believe even when they forced her to study them. Nor was it any easier to believe the machinations that Boulo had explained to her as to how the pictures would be sent to her last few friends and relatives, the addresses of whom Boulo showed her with smug confidence. It was fantastic, she thought, staggering around her room after they had left: both the behavior she had been trapped into the night before and the use these people were making of it to bribe five thousand dollars out of her five thousand dollars which would be added to the "Others" section of her tour contract.

On top of all that, and Katrina's acceptance of the fact that she had been thoroughly taken, Clint's letter was heartbreaking. She realized now that she had been completely right in her initial estimate of his honesty. And now that he had come clean and even in her state of shock she could realize how much courage it must have taken to tell the whole story of his nymphomanic sister the burden of guilt was on her. In the conclusion to his letter, Clint had pleaded with her to meet him so they could straighten things out and make it up. But after last night, Katrina thought, feeling another wave of revulsion sweep through her as she thought of the pictures Boulo had shown her pictures that a sailor might blanch at after last night, it was either fight or run; one way or another she would have to obliterate the evidence of her mistake before she could face Clint again. She dared not attempt to enlist his help or his sympathy. Because his letter had convinced her that he was possessed of exactly the quality that last night's horror show told her she didn't have a stable element of moral strength. God, how she wanted to go tell him! But it was too great a risk suppose she should lose him when he had been told of it! There was only one thing to do, she thought, since she could degrade herself no more on purpose than she had done inadvertently last night. And so Katrina laid her plans, according to her own capabilities, with a design toward her own kind of redemption.