Suppression; Writer's Cramp Entry

I held the giant Cuban cigar between my fingers and took a long, luscious drag. My body instantly relaxed as the potent nicotine took charge. It had been days since I had even held a cigarette, so this foreign treat was a welcome return to my addiction. My attempt to quit had been half-hearted from the start; I was amazed I had made it this long.

I walked over to the rail of the 5-star hotel’s balcony. The view of the Caribbean was incredible. Being a trophy wife wasn’t so bad, I thought. It had certainly taken this suburbanite places my blue-collar parents had never seen. I had a lavish home, a never-ending bank account, and a passport that actually had two volumes. My closets were filled with designer clothing and my jewelry was insured for more than my college education would have cost, had I gone. I have everything.

In between cigar puffs, I breathed in the warm, sweet, salty smells of the ocean. I watched as a young couple strolled hand-in-hand along the water’s edge. Every few yards they would stop and kiss. At one point, she left his grip and made a pathetic effort to run away. Naturally, he pursued. The ensuing embrace resembled more of a clumsy tackle than passion. Ugh. Romance was incredibly overrated and so cliché. I’d take 16 karats over a stroll on the beach any day…

My thoughts on love were interrupted by a piercing whistle from within my suite. My husband was summoning me. I tossed the Cuban in the potted fern and headed inside.

“We’ve got a very important brunch at 10:30 with a client. Wear the blue dress; keep the jewelry tasteful and understated. And for Christ’s sake, don’t wear that red and white scarf. You look like a damn flag.” With that remark, he turned and walked out the door.

I quickly showered. It did not take long to locate the blue dress I had been ordered to wear. I placed it neatly on the bed and decided to make a quick stop out on the balcony before dressing; my body was already screaming for the cigar I had not finished. It would only take a few moments to have my designer cigarettes brought up by the hotel staff, but I only needed a few puffs to ease my craving. Grabbing another fix from the humidor, I headed outside in my bathrobe.

The loving couple was nowhere to be seen. Thank God, I thought. It had been like watching a damn tourism commercial.

Minutes later, I snuffed the Cuban, and my heartache. I turned back toward my suite to put on my charlatan's dress.



WC: 443