Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 2: Mud Cakes
"Hilda, help," screamed Betty.
Jamming on her scooter's brakes, Hilda turned around to see Betty sprawled out on the gravel road, her scooter lying beside her. Thick forest lined both sides of the deserted narrow lane as far as she could see.
"Betty! What happened?" Hilda parked her scooter at the edge of the road and ran to help her.
"Mud!" said Betty, pushing up on her hands and knees. "I slipped on the mud."
Hilda dragged Betty's scooter to the side of the road.
"Don't do that!" cried Betty. "You'll hurt yourself."
Five months pregnant, Hilda cradled her bulging stomach and said, "I'm fine."
"I could've been killed," said Betty, picking gravel off her palms. "I'm lucky no cars were coming. Hilda, get off the road!"
"Don't worry. We haven't seen a car since the turn off two miles ago," said Hilda. "I guess no one comes down to the beach before sunrise."
The sun, radiating intense heat, was peeking over the horizon, heating the close, still air. Betty was already hot and sweaty from the day's warmth and humidity.
"This thing is stupid!"
Betty kicked the scooter's tire which made it spin, snagging the toe of her high-heeled boot under its fender.
"God damn it!" yelled Betty, yanking her foot.
Her boot stuck, making Betty slip and fall into the mud. "Crap!"
"Relax," said Hilda. "Boy, you better clean up your language before the baby comes–"
"Screw off!" said Betty, pushing herself up. "I'm covered in mud."
"Take it easy," said Hilda. "We're on a holiday, remember?"
"Yeah, some holiday," said Betty, checking her blouse.
"Hey," snapped Hilda. "You're the one that barged in! What did you want?"
"I just want to be alone! I didn't pick this god-forsaken island."
"Don't be such a snob!" said Hilda. "The Bahamas is beneath you now? I'm sorry it isn't Monaco."
"Oh, Monaco isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"Or wherever it is people who have money to burn go these days."
"Look," said Betty, slapping her thigh with her hand. Her chic, outrageously expensive wool slacks were streaked with mud from hip to ankle.
"Lighten up," scoffed Hilda. "It's kind of funny."
"I look ridiculous!" said Betty, gesturing at her mud-caked pants.
"News flash, you already looked ridiculous," said Hilda. "A silk blouse, wool pants, and spike-heeled boots are ridiculous beach wear."
"I know," said Betty, her eyes brimming with tears. "Don't you think I know that?"
"I offered you my clothes," said Hilda. "You could take anything you wanted."
"I don't want them! I can't be seen in your pregnancy clothes," said Betty, wiping her eyes. "The paparazzi would go nuts."
"Like they aren't already?" asked Hilda. "Just laugh it off."
"Shut up!" said Betty. "I'm the laughingstock of everyone I know and also, not to mention, everyone I don't know."
"But it is kind of funny," said Hilda. "Think about it."
"Piss off! You don't understand. Your life is perfect!"
Hilda rolled her eyes, "Yeah, sure. Everyone's is, except yours. You're such a big shot now. You're so stuck up you don't have time for your own family except when you're in trouble."
"I've been busy!"
"You don't realize," snarled Hilda, "how humiliating it is for me, to have to read the newspapers to find out what my baby sister is doing!"
"God damn it, I think my nail is broken."
"What a mouth!" said Hilda. "I get it, you're upset."
"And everything would be a hundred times worse if I looked pregnant. I can just imagine the tabloid headlines."
"Don't torture yourself."
"I used to write headlines," said Betty. "I know exactly how cruel they can be."
"Forget about all that stuff. Enjoy being here. You took a harmless spill and it's funny, okay?"
"I came here because the whole world is laughing at me! So I'm having a little trouble laughing at myself, okay? The guy who invented YouTube should be shot. No. That's too kind. I want it to be something much slower and much more painful."
"Calm down."
"How can I?" cried Betty, examining her fingernails.
Hilda looked at Betty's fingers.
"I better get a manicure when we get to town," said Betty.
"I could do it," offered Hilda.
"Sure, and I'd let you do it too," said Betty, "if I wanted to look cheap. I need a professionally done French polish."
"I'm just trying to help," said Hilda, frowning. "Well, buying you a new wardrobe will be fun. The sky's the limit!"
"Not even you can max out my platinum card, but the stores won't open for hours. How are we going to kill the time?"
"Um, maybe hang out on a beautiful beach in the Bahamas?"
Betty pulled her purse off of the back of the scooter and dug around in it for her phone.
"I'm going to call for a cab."
"Don't. You don't need to," said Hilda. "According to the directions the beach is just around that corner."
"Can we leave the scooters here?" said Betty. "I'm not getting back on that thing."
"We can push them if you want," said Hilda, wheeling her scooter along the road. "Come on, we're almost there, there's the sign."
With her silk blouse soaking wet from perspiration and clinging to her uncomfortably, Betty squatted over the scooter. She jerked it upright and the chain fell off the gears.
"Oh, jeepers!" cried Betty. "Can it get any worse? This rickety piece of junk is busted!"
"Come on," said Hilda. "Just push it this last little bit and we'll call a cab later."
Grumbling, Betty struggled to push her scooter after Hilda.
At the next bend in the narrow lane, the forest parted, revealing an empty white sandy beach and an endless expanse of sparkling aquamarine sea. No one was visible anywhere. A brisk, fresh breeze off the ocean blew through the deep shade of the palm trees, making the temperature drop sharply.
A dramatic contrast to the cacophony of New York, from where she had just traveled, the sight of the idyllic scene accompanied by the cries of seagulls and tropical bird song, charmed Hilda.
"Oh, this is so beautiful!" exclaimed Hilda. "It's just a little farther to the parking lot. I knew this was going to be a nice place! I wish Bobby could see it."
"I really can't appreciate it," said Betty, tugging at the collar of her high-necked blouse. "But it is nice that there is no one around. I'm grateful to be alone."
"That's all? That's all you're grateful for?" asked Hilda. "You call me out of the blue, just as I'm about to step on the plane, and you bump Bobby from my dream vacation!"
"Of course, I'm grateful to you," said Betty. "Thank you for rescuing me. And it was generous of Bobby to step aside."
"Yeah," said Hilda wryly. "It would have been almost noble, if he hadn't jumped at the chance to stay home. Men and their sports!"
"You can come with him another time," said Betty. "I'll pay for it."
"Thanks, but the next time will be a whole different experience because of the baby. I was really looking forward to a romantic-second-anniversary vacation, not a hide-my-sister-from-the-paparazzi thing, or whatever this is. What is this, Betty?"
"It's a 'me trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about the disaster' thing, or, it could be, if you would only try a little harder, dearest sister, a 'you helping me figure it out' thing."
"Ha, like you'd listen to me."
"Try me."
"You're acting like a big baby."
Stomping her boot in the gravel and clenching her fists, Betty screamed, "I am not! I haven't had a chance to tell you the whole sordid story yet. You don't know."
"I think you're running away from your problems."
"I'm taking a timeout!"
Hilda stared at Betty, arching an eyebrow.
Uttering a frustrated cry, Betty whined, "Thanks for all your help so far. At this rate, God only knows when I'll be brave enough to show my face in New York again."
As they approached the beach's entrance, Hilda spied a tiny ocean-view restaurant at the end of the lane, opposite the park. Nestled between lush palm trees and a tall dense hedge of hibiscus shrubs smothered with enormous scarlet blooms, it was hardly bigger than a shack. It was the first building they'd seen in miles.
Hilda muttered under her breath, "Uh-oh, I didn't know he was right-"
"Oh my God! Look!" exclaimed Betty. "Look at that sign! It's called Giovanni's!"