American Lovers

     There is one more tale about Martinique to share – I thought I was writing it for yesterday's post when suddenly all that other stuff came out about the tour of the island and the post card – the memories of which occurred while typing, and I guess that is what this blog is all about, so I let it flow.

     One afternoon while lying on the beach in Martinique I could hear two women talking nearby – each on her own beach towel, basking. One woman had what sounded like a German accent, and she was talking about different kinds of lovers. From the tone of her voice, I was not surprised to hear her say “American men are terrible lovers.” But you know she did not stop there, the German-sounding woman went on to proclaim, “The reason American men are such terrible lovers is because of the American women.”

     Indeed.

     If only I were capable of penning decent fiction – there are so many places I could take that scene – but I don't think I could be good enough, in any direction I took the story, to portray the German woman in any kind manner!

     One night, on my second visit to Martinique, my room-mate and I went to the dining room for dinner. As mentioned before, the hostess would seat us at a table for eight, and dinner was always interesting meeting new people and getting to know them over a meal. On this particular night, however, I should have written down every detail as soon as it was finished. I have forgotten so much now that it is a dis-service trying to pass along the story. But I will try.

     The table of 8 did not consist of travelers from all corners of the world who then solved all the problems that plague we humans. No. We were all Americans with the exception of one Canadian, my room-mate. Did we discuss culture, politics, dreams, philosophy, or history? Did we debate the noble topics or joke over silly stories from our respective home towns? No. The table conversation, the looks, the smiles – all seemed to revolve around …..coupling – past couplings, and in the minds of the six people who were not my room-mate or me, hopefully couplings of the very near future.

     To my left sat a young woman who had apparently been pitching at a softball game that afternoon. She seemed enamored of the young man sitting to her left who was raving about how wonderful she, the pitcher, had been during the game.

     Their game sounded like they had fun. And I observed fun sports to be the exception rather than the rule at this resort. I want to interject here that one thing I did find annoying about Americans in Martinique was the must win mentality of most of them even while on vacation, – I walked by a volleyball game on the beach one day, and an American guy was telling all the females on his team to be cheerleaders while the guys played! I actually stopped and asked him what that was all about – and he, well he told me to shut up and go away!

      So the two young people to my left at the table were fresh from an exciting softball game, Ms SoftBall Pitcher and Mr SoftBall Man. To the left of the young man was another young woman, and she was real quick to tell us that she was a recovering anorexic! This got the attention of Mr SoftBall Man. So while Ms SBP was obviously interested in her team-mate, Mr. SBM was clearly intrigued with Ms Anorexia who in turn was enjoying the attention of the male and the subtle irritation of the pitcher.

      To the left of Ms Anorexia was a female from New York City. Ms NYC was about 30 years old, with a thick New York accent – she metnioned that she got to and from work on roller skates during the recent public transportation strike in the City. Ms NYC was also newly divorced and announced that her intentions were to have intercourse with a different man each of her 14 nights there – she was looking for a wonderful lover.

      Next to Ms NYC was my room-mate, Daphne, who had been on several Caribbean Island vacations and was a wealth of info for the others at the table.

      On the left of Daphne was a young man, who after all this time I cannot remember anything about except that he was clearly interested in Ms SoftBall Pitcher all the way across the table from him! He can be called Number 7 for this write-up.

      And the eighth member of the table – between me and Number 7 – was a woman from Boston who was friends with Ms NYC – they had traveled to Martinique together. Ms Boston was a second grade school teacher, unmarried, and although she did not announce a desire to sleep with a different guy each night, Ms Boston was clearly interested in men – hungry for a man – wanting to catch a man.

      Thus with all the characters introduced, the ensuing meal and discourse made me feel like I was on a stage and in the midst of a one-act play about frantic singles. Ms SoftBall Pitcher was glowing from the praises heaped upon her by Mr SoftBall Man, but then getting a bit sadder as his preference turned toward Ms Anorexia. Then Ms Anorexia lit up and talked on about her eating disorder and about how fragile she was. I myself was probably the picture of disbelief and non-sympathy – especially toward her!

      Ms Boston was asking Daphne what her vacation in Cancun was like? Daphne started talking about all the sights there are to see at the Cancun resort. Ms Boston listened politely for a little bit, and then interrupted, and with clenched jaw, asked, “What....about....the ....men?” She looked embarrassed at being forced to ask what she was really wanting to know.

       I thought it was right for her to be embarrassed – second grade teachers are not supposed to be on the prowl for men! Daphne replied that she had been at Cancun with a boyfriend – so she had not scoped out the rest of the guests.

       Ms NYC was giving a recap of the men she had been with thus far on her stay in Martinique which had been more than a week – more than seven men. “I'll tell you what I've discovered. The better looking the man, the worse a lover he is. I guess that good-looking men don't have to try as hard to get what they want.” Daphne and I made eye contact when this was said, and we both knew we would be making much use of that comment through the rest of our stay, perhaps the rest of our lives!

      I might have asked Ms NYC her opinion of American men – but I don't remember for sure.

      Number 7 was asking Ms SoftBall Pitcher small talk questions that made it clear to the rest of us he was attempting to let her know he was interested, – but Ms SBP was clueless to Number 7 as she kept turning to Mr SoftBall Man next to her to revive the spark they had had together when they first sat down at the table.

     And of course, Mr SBM was lapping up every word of Ms Anorexia.

     Ms Boston asked Daphne what the resort at Dominica was like? Daphne started to tell her all about it, but again she was interrupted with the comment, “What....about....the .....men?” Daphne explained that she had been at Dominica also with a boyfriend – she couldn't tell what the rest of the men there were like. At this point, Ms Boston was the very picture of sexual frustration.

      Dinner probably took more than an hour – and the characters at the table continued their parts of the conversations much in the manner outlined here.

      Later in the week I saw Ms Anorexia at the nude beach with Mr SoftBall Man. Fragile? Nude Beach?

      And Daphne and I were talking to another Canadian – a shoe salesman, Dave, a couple of evenings after the famous dinner. We told him about Ms NYC and her desire to be with a different man each night. Our shoe salesman was more curious than amused. Duh! Then the trumpets sounded – which meant that a planeload of folks were leaving, and we were supposed to line up and give them a cheerful send off. It was a plane for New York City. Dave nudged me and said, “If you see the woman you were talking about in the crowd, point her out to me.”

      Well, lo and behold, Ms NYC went walking by with Ms Boston next to her. Our eyes met, and then she saw Dave and quickly looked away! I turned to Dave who went pale, and he said, “I was with her Tuesday night. Did she say anything about me at the dinner you were at?”

      I told Dave sorry, but Ms NYC did not talk about him – I suggested that perhaps he was just too good looking?

       Any other time a guy would have loved being told he was attractive or too good looking. But it made Dave sad.

      Alas.

      Of course, he can always blame it on the American women!

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