"Nobody comes here without an absolutely rotten reason."

On the day of what would go down in history as 'the Case of the Strawberry Ice Cream', Tina Aveterco was emerging from a very long weekend. A weekend of monumental binge drinking. It was a good thing her friends had promised not to bother her with messages on her honeymoon, because she would never have been able to account for the countless shots of tequila blanco she'd downed in a period of time far too short for her small frame. But as Antonio Banderas so aptly sang it: 'aguardiente es lo major'. Especially when you've just filed for divorce because you found your brand-new husband in the bed of a prostitute. An underage one.

The only excuse her – ex- – husband Maxim could come up with was the neo-colonial gauguinesque 'here on the islands, they're very mature for their age' (1). Tina coldly replied that if it made him feel validated in his actions, so much the better, but that taking advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl's financial misery was not a great sign of maturity. The French police had picked up Maxim upon his arrival in Paris. International bank CEO's son and heir or not, his ex-wife had threatened to spill the beans on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, SnapChat and Twitter, complete with incriminating photos and screenshots, if her criminal ex-spouse didn't turn himself in to the authorities. After the pedocriminal tourist departure of the Cayman Islands, Tina Aveterco decided to celebrate her divorce by drinking enough alcohol to kill an elephant.

When she woke up on Monday with a terrible headache, three stomach ulcers and a tongue pastier than mashed potatoes, she was able to take advantage of the detox program at the Tropicana's Relaxation and Wellness complex. The masseur had asked her, with a concerned look, if she was feeling better, which reinforced Tina's conviction that she really wasn't cut out for drinking. At lunchtime, after swallowing two aspirins and an anti-nausea tablet, she put on a pareo and cautiously helped herself to the all-you-can-eat buffet. As she sat down, she saw a tall and blond white man walk past the reception desk. He was an athletic, square-jawed hunk, the kind of guy who'd get the lead in any American cop show. Tina Aveterco had almost refrained from looking at the hunk's buttocks – yes, because with Maxim she'd never allowed herself to admire other men, who knew why... – before remembering that she was now single. She had come to the conclusion that Hawaiian Bermuda shorts might be suitable for some men, in the end. That's when the wallet fell out of said Bermuda shorts pockets. The guy ran too fast – he was huge and took very long strides – and Tina's head hurt too much to scream. She stood up and picked up the worn leather wallet. The boy at the front desk had winked at her and said nothing, and Aveterco had offered to keep the item and return it to its owner herself as soon as possible. Besides, despite his odd name – Ove Sven Rapp – he had French papers.

Tina had gone swimming in the emerald sea. It had done her good. On her way back to the beach, she bought an ice cream – strawberry, her favorite – from a street vendor and prayed that she wouldn't catch turista. Maxim would have criticized her, saying that buying ice cream in 'uncivilized' (sic) countries was dangerous for her health, or that she might gain weight, which seemed scientifically impossible. Yes, Maxim was like that. The young woman could now only see her ex-husband's faults and inwardly slapped herself for being so blinded by his charming demeanor. While inventing an imaginary discussion with the bastard, something she loved to do, she'd walked along the long tongue of white sand, sinking her bare, wet feet into it with relish – Maxim wasn't here to say you had to walk fast to stay in shape. Under a palm tree she spotted a handsome man with killer abs. As she approached the palm with the subtlety of a flatulent hippo, she realized it was the very white, very hurried guy who had lost his wallet. Tina had thought he looked pretty relaxed for a guy losing his wallet. She'd shrugged as she continued to enjoy her ice cream, walked over to the young man to inform him that she was holding his wallet hostage in her bedroom, and, one thing leading to another, found herself underwater, tackled by the blond man on whom she'd accidentally spilled her strawberry ice cream.

"Stay down!"

"Aren't you going to call me by my first name? And I'm not going to drown, so leave me alone!"

"D... didn't you hear?! There's a gunshot!

"Nonsense! You crazy lunatic!"

"Someone fired a shot, and the bullet landed three feet away from you!"

"If this is a technique for groping girls, you've come to the wrong place, because –"

"For what there is to grope!"

The guy had sneered. He had that snide, insufferable half-smile. He might have been sexy as hell, but right now he was the most unpleasant man Tina had ever met.

"Nobody fired! I didn't hear a thing!"

"Then you have shit in your ears. It was coming from over there."

Aveterco didn't even look in the direction the blond man was pointing. This was the wild part of the compound. There were snakes, tarantulas, and probably fifteen feet long alligators – there was no way she was going to set foot there.

"I won't waste my time here. You've probably had too much to drink and the sun–"

"Not as much as you, at least not this weekend", the guy replied, facing the jungle from which a bullet had supposedly been fired.

He had placed himself between Tina and the supposed source of the shot, and all his senses were on high alert. The Frenchwoman noticed this, but decided to ignore his attitude. All men were pigs. Period. Even if they thought they were standing between you and a bullet to save your life. Exactly.

"I– What exactly do you mean by that?"

"You got yourself trashed, poor thing. Like ugly trashed. It was like being in a Very Bad Trip alternate reality."

"Very Bad Trip?!"

"Yup, and the third one. So, nothing to be proud of here."

"Ah, great, I had no idea you were so interested in my life!"

"Are you kidding me?! You spent the whole weekend putting on a show! Everyone saw you! On the whole island!"

Tina pursed her lips in anger. To be honest, there was no point in denying it: she had no memory of the events of the weekend. He was probably a hundred percent right.

"You–"

That mocking smile again... Aveterco remembered that she was in a bikini, fifty centimeters shorter than this guy, and had never taken a single self-defense course. She turned on her heels in anger and walked away. The blonde let out a mocking whistle, which she didn't bother to answer. She would never speak to that complete asshole again.

Whenshe slammed the door of her Suite Royale bungalow and saw the asshole's walletlying on her bed, the headache intensified.

*

(1) Paul Gauguin sexualized Vahine women and girls and took a 13 years old (Teha'amana) as wife when himself was a syphilitic 43 years old.