How I Escaped the Ruthless Vacation Swingers
I just returned from a weeklong trip to Puerto Rico with Rick, a man whom I've been dating for a few months. Given that neither of us have any friends or family on the island, we planned on spending the bulk of the trip vegetating at the resort, scarfing down nachos and sipping mojitos against the backdrop of the peaceful, azure ocean. Or so we thought.
The couple first approached, or rather, accosted us at the bar. The introduction was easy, and the conversation unfolded quite organically. They flew in from New York. The woman, Lila, lived on Long Island but originally hailed from Georgia. She was very easy on the eyes and quite fashionable. Despite having obviously adopted a Northeastern attitude and demeanor, she had retained her thick Southern accent, a trait which was initially rather endearing. Lila's boyfriend, Kirk, was petite and overly tan with a large, protruding gut. He donned an obviously fake gold watch and immediately began making insinuations as to his alleged gangster "connections".
Eventually, Lila sauntered over to me to give me a closer look at the jewelry I had complimented her on. We began a lovely conversation about her arrival in New York from the Deep South, her job as an assistant make-up artist to the stars, her pre-vacation self-tanning mishap, et. cetera. She went on and on as to how she felt like a square peg trying to be jammed into a round hole in Georgia, but never provided any details as to exactly why she didn't fit into whatever figurative hole she was talking about. She didn't have any crazy piercings, tattoos, or other outward indicators of some non-conventional lifestyle. Given the newness of our association, I didn't press the issue.
Several hours of chatter and sugary drinks later, Rick and I retreated up to our room for some respite from the sun. The next afternoon, Lila and Kirk again appeared at the bar and sat next to us. I wasn't particularly delighted and didn't feel like spending another full day with them, but hey, it wasn't my bar. After a couple drinks, Rick and I declined a third round and retreated to the pool. Minutes later, Lila and Kirk wandered over to "dip their toes in" and resumed the conversation as if we had never excused ourselves.
On the third day of our vacation, Lila accosted Rick near the tennis courts and bluntly inquired as to his size in inches. I'm not referring to height. Hours later, I was wading my way into the ocean when Kirk suddenly appeared behind me, placed his hands on my hips, and began gyrating against my derrière while singing "I like to move it, move it! I like to move it, move it!" I gingerly laughed it off and waved over to Lila, who was, quite disturbingly, waving her arms back and forth whilst spilling over in giggles at Kirk's lecherous display. The surprise visit was followed up with a series of probing questions about Rick's sexual orientations, all while Lila continued to grin and wave to us from the shoreline.
They began tailing us. Every time we moved our beach chairs, whether under the guise of lack of sun, abundance of wind, or respite from loud children, they followed suit. Watching, waiting, deliberating. Only a few minutes would elapse after each relocation before we would hear Lila excitedly proclaiming "HEY Y'ALL!", followed by the clinking of her numerous chunky bangle bracelets as she greeted us with her hallmark beauty pageant wave. Lila repeatedly requested that either Rick or I massage suntan oil onto her back, while Kirk continually droned on about how hot Lila and I looked together in our bathing suits. There were just too many run-ins to attribute each to happenstance, especially in light of the creepy timings of the same.
Lila and Kirk eventually got desperate and began seriously one-upping their game. We were invited up to their hotel room on many occasions and under several dubious pretenses, including but not limited to post-dinner cocktails, an opportunity to get some great panoramic photographs from the balcony of their ocean view room, and a free Lia Sophia jewelry demonstration. Call me crazy, but I was pretty sure at that point that they wanted to show us a whole lot more than a hematite necklace and bracelet set.
I found myself bobbing and weaving around them like Mohammed Ali, and became paranoid that they would slip some muscle relaxants into our cocktails in order to finally achieve their ends. At one point, I considered simply giving them what they wanted just to make them go away. Thankfully, the idea fled just as quickly as it arrived. While Lila would have been palatable as an old college try, no fraternity house in the nation had enough booze for me to even entertain the thought of Kirk naked in the same room with me, even if said room boasted the most spectacular ocean view in the world.
Needless to say, while we retained our décor, the mask of social niceties had officially cracked. Any typical person with some semblance of an emotional IQ would have gotten the hint. Nope. Not Lila, not Kirk, and certainly not the two of them collectively.
The tension officially came to a head on the day before we were scheduled to depart. Rick and I were returning to our room after a leisurely champagne brunch on the hotel terrace. The elevator was empty as we made our way in.
"HEY Y'ALL! Hold the door for us, we are coming upstairs!" Rick and I glanced at each other in telepathic agreement to continue standing there motionlessly as the elevator doors drew to a close. It felt like a medieval drawbridge was pulling up, securing our castle from evil pirates attempting to steal our booty, no pun intended. I was about to exhale a long sigh of relief when I heard it - the clinking - followed by the appearance of a freshly manicured hand wedged between the elevator doors. A millisecond later, the toe of a white Nike jammed the steel doors, catapulting them back open.
"Golly, thanks so much for holding the doors open for us, Y'ALL!" Lila exclaimed.
"Oh, no biggie", I mumbled, "we were just going up to our room to change before we head over to see the rainforests". Rick stood catatonically at the front of the elevator, staring intently at each floor number as it lit up.
After what seemed like an eternity, the light for floor number nine lit up, followed by the chirp of a bell. Suddenly, Kirk shoved his way to the front of the elevator like a starstruck pre-teen chasing Joe Jonas for an autograph. He proceeded to prop the heavy steel doors open with both his hands and feet in a spread eagle fashion. "NOPE", Kirk smirked, "you ain't going anywhere but to our room!"
Rick and I slowly turned to one another in a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Uh, why?” Rick asked, his voice wry and flat.
"BECAUSE WE HAVE YOUR ROOM KEYS, Y'ALL!" Lila shrieked, holding up our two magnetic door cards as if they were front row seats to the Super Bowl or the keys to the new Mercedes she just won on The Price is Right.
I stood there in bewilderment, aghast at the concept of having been falsely imprisoned in the elevator of a five-star hotel with Danny Devito and a more annoying version of Ashley Judd. Fortunately, Rick had his thinking cap on.
"Oh really", Rick snickered, reaching down into Lila's wicker beach bag. "That's perfect!
BECAUSE I HAVE YOUR SUNTAN OIL!!"
Rick then spun around and opened fire directly in Kirk's face, skillfully hitting all essential mucous membranes. As directed on the bottle, he proceeded to liberally apply the oil, getting in about eight or nine nozzle shots that could have easily knocked over glass beer bottles. As Kirk stood there blinking SPF eight with instant bronzer out of his corneas, I swirled around and snatched the two door keys out of Lila's now loose and lifeless hand.
I began charging past Kirk out of the elevator and into the floor lobby. Rick quickly followed suit, but not before turning around for one final bite at the Georgia peach.
"AND GUESS WHAT, YOU GLORIFIED AVON LADY, IT'S GOT PARABENS IN IT! NOW HOW'S THAT FOR A MASSAGE!!"
I must admit that I was quite enamored by both the inner Macgyver and Alpha male in Rick. He was quite pleased by my ensuing heightened adoration throughout the remainder of the trip. We never saw Lila and Kirk again.
In paler vacation news, we did see the Governor of New Jersey, Chris Christie, at our resort. We tried to approach him, but I could sense he felt accosted by us, a feeling to which I now have a profound and sensitive understanding of, thanks to Lila and Kirk. All I can say is thank God the Governor arrived with a fleet of security, as I'm terrified to even imagine what Lila and Kirk would have done for a rendezvous with Mr. & Mrs. Christie.