Permanent Sunset by C. Michele Dorsey

was forced to meet him face-to-face and ask for a favor at the same time.
    “No. I want him to be as uncomfortable as I am,” Henry said. “And that’s pretty damn uncomfortable.”
    “I’m sorry,” Sabrina didn’t know how to comfort him. It was not lost on her that Henry was dressed far less colorfully than usual. Instead of a tropical print shirt or his beloved New England madras shorts, he was wearing khaki shorts and a plain white T-shirt.
    “It’s not your fault. Remember, I’m the idiot who forced Villa Nirvana on you.”
    “It seems like such a silly name now for the villa. Nirvana. ‘Stillness, after the extinction of desire.’ Hardly,” Sabrina said, trying to distract Henry from his guilt.
    “What? Oh, you’re talking Nirvana as in Buddhism. That’s not what it’s named after.”
    “I thought it was supposed to be a new age spiritual retreat with a business twist. That’s what Elena told me when we met with the chef.”
    “Hell, no. Sean told me he named it after Kurt Cobain’s band,” Henry said.
    That sounded to Sabrina more like the Sean that Neil had told Sabrina he’d represented in LA—fun-loving, ambitious, a little reckless, and a bit of a womanizer. It seemed to Sabrina that Elena had almost cast a spell over Sean, transforming or perhaps reforming him into a serious, although still ambitious, paragon of virtue. How had she done that? Sabrina wondered. How can one human being influence another so profoundly? She just couldn’t get a handle on Elena. And she’d never been able to getunder the skin of another human being like that. At least, not that she knew of.
    They arrived at the imposing black wrought-iron gates, which were closed but not locked. The gates said “Oppenheimer Beach,” but many people referred to it as Gibney. The beach below the steep driveway, which lay beyond the gates, was named for the two families who had settled there. No matter which name you called it, it was Sabrina’s favorite bit of coastline, the spot where she and Girlfriend swam to each night from the next beach, Hawksnest.
    Early beach goers took the four parking spaces located right outside the gates, but since she and Henry were actually guests of one of the people renting a Gibney villa, they used the private driveway that ran down to the cottages.
    They parked to the right of a rental jeep with the name of a St. Thomas car rental company on it. Sabrina and Henry always recommended that their villa guests stick to car rental agencies located on St. John to avoid the need to take the car ferry and also to avoid the complications that could occur if the vehicle needed repairs.
    “Jerk. He doesn’t even know where to rent a jeep from.” Henry slid out of the Ten Villas van.
    “Well, how would he if someone didn’t tell him?” Sabrina asked. She thought that Henry should maybe go a little easy on David, especially since they were there to ask him for a big favor.
    They walked up the driveway past the “Garden Cottage” and the “Orchid House,” which separated it fromthe “Beach Cottage” where David was staying. David had opted for one of the few accommodations on island where you could roll out of bed and land directly on white sand, within a few steps of warm turquoise water. Sabrina had always thought it was the perfect spot for a honeymoon, not that she was ever going to get another one. She and Ben had spent theirs in Detroit during the playoffs one year when the Red Sox had managed to exceed everyone’s expectations in Boston and Ben had been covering the game.
    Henry stopped in his tracks and pointed toward a chaise on the beach where a man in a Boston Red Sox cap, swim trunks, and sunglasses sat reading a very thick book. They would be approaching David from the rear, surprising him. Sabrina would take her cues from Henry. Even though they were there to ask for help protecting their business, Henry deserved the courtesy of choosing how.
    “Good morning, David,” Henry