Free Take It Off by J. Minter Page B

fucked up so badly with Flan that I would never be able to make it better, and that thought just made me feel way more desperate.
    Since I couldn’t go back to the Internet café, I figured I’d just go back to the ship. This day was blown to hell anyway. But maybe they’d have fixed the Internet? I walked down whatever street I was on, which seemed to be going toward the docks. That’s when I saw it.
    Prada. Thank the Lord, there was a Prada store in Mallorca.
    I think I remembered reading about this in
Black Book
, how this hot young architect, Rafik Merleau, had designed another highly postmodern Prada store in Spain somewhere. I went into the temple and soon found myself lost in its space-age corridors. Of course, there was fabulous clothing at every turn. I was totally consumed by touching the fabrics and picturing myself in different outfits, although I didn’t let myself try anything on because I didn’t have my credit cards, and if something fit really, really well, and I couldn’t buy it, that would basically be torture.
    If my life were a movie, this is where the camera would zoom in on a clock with hands moving around the face at hyperspeed. What I’m saying is: I lost myself in there.
    When I came out I felt much calmer, and the air was cooler and smelled of the sea. In my new, chill state of mind I realized what I should have realized hours ago: I could call Flan collect! Her parents wouldn’t even notice the charge on their bill, since the Floods are fabulously wealthy and also a little bit out of it. I would just tell Flan how sorry I was, and how much I’d been yearning for her, and this whole nightmare would be over. Itwas so simple, I wanted to cry.
    I found a pay phone, and after a few foiled attempts at dialing out of the country, I got an operator who spoke English (heavily accented English, but English all the same) and he agreed to put me through to the Floods. The phone rang a few times, and then someone picked up. The operator said that he had a collect call from Spain, and then it sounded like he was talking to himself. It sounded like he was telling himself that he didn’t want to collect any calls. For a minute I thought I might be going crazy, and then I realized I wasn’t going crazy. I was listening to the operator talk to Rob, the stepbrother who was invading my life.
    â€œWill you accept the charges?” the operator asked again.
    â€œCharges? But, Officer, I haven’t done anything!” Rob burst out laughing. His English was only marginally less accented than the operator’s. It sounded like there were people laughing with him, and they sounded like girls. Could that be … my sweet little Flan?
    â€œNo,
collect
charges!” The operator continued.
    â€œNo collect charges!” Rob parroted. Herepeated himself a few times, like a chant.
    For a minute, the fact that Rob would answer the Floods’ phone seemed very normal, but then I realized that it only
seemed
normal because it was
my
life. Except with Rob where I should be. First Rob had tried to take over my home, and now he was going for my girl. Why else would he be at Flan’s house at—I looked at my Tiffany watch and added six hours to account for the time difference—
two in the morning!
I mean, that was pretty hard to misinterpret.
    I slammed the phone down and realized that I was gripping it so hard my knuckles had turned white. Rubbing them distractedly, I left the kiosk.
    After taking a few steps, not knowing where I should go, I was stopped by a thought of a very different nature. This was when I started doing the backward calculation: If it was two o’clock in New York, it was … eight o’clock here. What was it, seven thirty that we were supposed to be back on board? For the second time that day, I began to run for my life.
    As I ran, my head filled with dire thoughts of Flan. Rob was moving in on her, and who could blame him?