Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 03 - Insatiable by Emily Kimelman Page B

moist as we climbed into a cab. We were going to see Easy Robbins, a woman who flew a small charter plane anywhere you wanted to go in the Caribbean. She was based in Grand Cayman and I wanted a ride to St. Thomas where a woman who worked for US customs claimed I was her hero.

MS. EASY ROBBINS

    The cab ride was long. I spent most of the trip watching clouds get pushed around. They were wispy little things; the innocent cousins of storm clouds. They flew across the blue backdrop of the sky, sometimes bunching up on each other to form little mountains of whipped cream. Then they’d spread out so thin it looked like a spider web was stretched across the sun. From the clouds I’d look down at the picture of Easy Robbins. She was the first one I was going to ask for help. Asking a complete stranger to risk her livelihood and who knows what else for me, for an idea, made my stomach feel like shit (I don’t like to blame alcohol for my hangovers).
    The nausea reminded me how scary this was. If I mis-stepped, if I fucked this up, I could end up dead, Ana Marie with me. I looked over at Blue, his snout in the air taking in every scent that the open window offered. He might make it, I thought. Ana Maria sat in the front seat, her gaze focused on the horizon. She was barley a woman but at least she had something personal at stake. What would motivate Easy to join me? And who the fuck names their daughter Easy?
    I looked down at her profile. Ms. Easy Robbins owned her own plane. She loved to fly. Loved to take risks. Loved life. What did she like about me? According to Easy, Kurt Jessup attempted to rape her while vacationing in Jamaica. She wished she had the guts to “blow his fucking brains out.”  
    Palm trees gave way to the never-ending sea and before long we stopped in front of a marina. I handed our cabby a big chunk of change. He showed me crooked, yellowed teeth in appreciation.
    The marina was all boats except for one plane. We headed toward it. Two men stood on the dock watching a woman in cut-off jeans lean over and struggle to pull something out of the hold. They laughed when the woman stumbled back holding an insanely large suitcase. I stopped at the top of the dock to watch.
    The woman was tall and lean with brown shaggy hair; she wore a collared blue shirt and a wry smile. She dropped the bag and leaned back into the plane again. The two men looked at each other and then back to her butt. One of the guys pretended like he was going to slap her ass and the other laughed. They wore matching Hawaiian T-shirts. Both their stomachs were too large for their khaki pants and hung over their waist lines. One had blonde hair, the other black.
    The blonde reached over and was about to pinch the woman but when she pulled out another bag, it sent her a little off balance and the guy cupped her butt. In a faux attempt to help her, he placed his other hand on her breast. Even from all the way down the dock, Ana Maria and I could both see her face turn red and her mouth become a deep frown. She used the suitcase to knock the guy down. The other man yelled something we couldn’t quite hear and started to help his friend up.
    The woman said something low and deep. The blonde man looked up, shocked by the words. The dark haired man scrambled to his feet. They grabbed at their overweight luggage and dragged it toward us. The woman stood with her arms crossed watching them walk away. Then she spotted us.
    I waved and started toward her. As we passed the men, Ana Maria stuck out a foot tripping the blonde. He fell hard, scraping his elbow. “Hey!” he yelled. “What the fuck?”
    “Yeah,” his friend said. “What the fuck?”
    “Fuck you,” Ana Maria replied. The dark haired man puffed out his chest and started toward her. Blue growled and the man paused.
    “Forget about it,” I said, and taking Ana Maria by the arm, led her away.
    Easy watched the whole thing with her arms crossed and when we got close enough, I put my hand