The Trouble With Paradise

“You could tag along with your sister, Phyllis,” her mother suggested. “Phyllis would pay for your flight if you watched the kids for her and Donald.”

Yes, but she’d discovered she had a severe allergy to wild, sticky, loud, uncontrollable children.

“Or you could catch your own rich doctor,” her mother suggested. “And then quit your job for something better.”

Well, gee, she hadn’t thought of that. “Doctors aren’t really my thing.”

Her mother sighed heavily. “What is your thing?”

Sweet, she wrote on the pad. She was looking for sweet. And kind. And loyal. If he happened to be cute, too, then so much the better. But not a distant, egotistical, workaholic doctor…

“There’s a block mixer on Friday night at the clubhouse,” her mom said. “All the single, professional men will be there. You’ll come, and pick one of them.”

Her mother lived in a senior neighborhood in the west end of the San Fernando Valley. The mixers there did indeed include single, professional men. All retired, all wannabe golf pros, and all hair and teeth challenged. “Thanks, Mom, but I’m busy.”

“Do you know what your problem is?”

No, but she had a feeling she was about to hear it. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we do this later? We’ll sit around and pop some popcorn and list all my faults, promise. But for now I’ve really got to get to work before my boss blows a gasket.”

“You’re scared of commitment.”

Actually, she was scared of dancing with old guys with wandering hands. She was not scared of commitment.

The truth was she was scared she’d never get a chance to make a commitment, not with her social handicap.

“And don’t take this wrong, honey, because I have only your best interests at heart, but you’re too picky.”

Dorie rubbed her left eye, which was now twitching freely. “Mom, I’ve really got to-”

“Don’t hang up-”

“Love you.” With a wince for the lecture that she knew would be headed her way the next time they spoke, Dorie shut her phone, which immediately vibrated again.

All Continental Resorts.

The excitement came back in a flash, and her heart leapt into her throat, which was silly because what could she have possibly won? “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“Dorie Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Peter Wells, and I’m pleased to tell you that you’ve won a fabulous prize.”

“Really?”

“Brace yourself now, because you’re about to scream for joy.”

Uh, doubtful. She wasn’t much of a screamer. Sally said it was because Dorie didn’t let go enough, but she thought it was mostly because she hadn’t had sex in two years and she couldn’t remember much about the screaming factor.

Sally believed that not having sex was bad for the skin and bad for the body, and that certain parts of said body could actually shrivel up and fall off from neglect.

Dorie didn’t want to lose any parts, that was certain, but the guys weren’t exactly beating down her door.

Still, she couldn’t help but yearn for the occasional scream of joy-or otherwise.

“Dorie Anderson?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Prepare yourself. This isn’t just any contest win, this is a special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

He was clearly reading from something, and Dorie waited eagerly for him to get to the point. Maybe she’d won a new coffeemaker. Or a blender…

“You’ve just won a weeklong, all expenses paid trip on a sailing yacht, amongst the small, intimate, beautiful islands of-”

“Ohmigod. The Bahamas?”

“Fiji.”

Definitely more than a toaster. This couldn’t really be happening. Could it? “You mean the South Pacific Fiji?”

“Is there another?”

“Just clarifying.”

“Yes, the South Pacific. You and a handful of others will be spending most of your time on a luxurious sailing yacht, complete with a captain, chef, and crew hand, and in return all you need to do is attend a seminar on the joys of resort sailboat ownership-”

Ah, there it was. The scam. How disappointing. “Look, thank you, but if you have a toaster or a coffeemaker-”

“You don’t want to go to Fiji?”

“I don’t want to buy anything, not today.”

“No purchase required, Dorie Anderson.”

Okay, his use of her full name was beginning to creep her out.

“You filled out a form at Roger’s Gym last week, correct?”

She had. Her sister had bought Dorie a membership for her birthday. She’d taken a yoga class where everyone but herself could balance on one leg with their other wrapped around their neck like a pretzel.

Dorie, on the other hand, had fallen flat on her face.

Lying there humiliated on the mat, amongst a few snickers and some pitying looks, she’d decided she was better off dressing to hide the extra few pounds rather than make a fool out of herself again.

“Take a week off and pack your bags, Dorie Anderson, because the South Pacific awaits you! A dream come true!”

It did sound like a dream. She pictured pristine white beaches, with gorgeous cabana boys serving her drinks… “So this is completely one hundred percent free?”

“That’s right!”

At least he didn’t say her full name again.

Mr. Stryowski poked his head back in the door, still wearing his favorite expression, which could scare a ghost. He tipped his freakishly big nose down at her, which caused his toupee to slide down his forehead. Slapping a hand on it, he pointed at her with the other. “You’re clocked in but not working. What’s wrong with this picture?”

She covered the mouthpiece of her phone. “Apparently I just won a week’s vacation in the-”

“I don’t care if it’s on the moon-”

Of course he didn’t.

“Get your butt to work.”

“Dorie Anderson?” Peter said in that eerily cheerful voice. “Are you interested in this fabulous opportunity, at no cost to you?”

Hands on his too thin hips, Mr. Stryowski looked about ten minutes past annoyed, and in that moment Dorie realized something-he was truly and completely sucking the soul right out of her.

So was her life.

New goal-no more letting anyone suck on her soul. No more letting anyone suck anything…

Unless it was that cabana boy.

“Hang up,” Mr. Stryowski demanded.

She held up a finger, but he kept coming.

Oh boy.

He was going to take her phone and close it. But she wanted the prize. She needed the prize. “I’m interested,” she said quickly to Peter Wells, and turned her back on her soul-sucking boss. “Very, very interested.”

Behind her, Mr. Stryowski snorted his disapproval, but she didn’t care. For a week, for one entire week, there’d be no bullying, no working her fingers to the bone for too little pay, no wondering when her life would kick itself into