'Paradise'

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          “It has been two weeks,” Amy said while she watched her sister sift through two weeks worth of mail as they walked from the mailbox.  Once they went inside the house, she continued.  “It sounds as though the Coast Guard is going to call off the search.”

          “I don’t care what they do.  I am not going to give up hope,” Karen said.  She absently flipped through the stack of bills, pizza coupons, tire sale fliers, and various other unsolicited tidings from mostly unknown companies.
          She stopped when she got to a postcard of a darkly tanned blonde model standing on an empty beach.  She proudly displayed huge, bare breasts.  Above her was the word ‘Paradise’.
          Karen turned the card over, the rest of the mail fell to the floor around her as she saw the familiar handwriting.  Her knees gave out.  She collapsed into a nearby armchair.
          “What’s wrong?” Amy asked.
          “Here,” Karen said.  With a trembling hand, she gave Amy the postcard.  Karen’s eyes teared up.
          “Wow,” Amy said.  “If I had a set like that, I’d be running around topless too.”
          “Read it.”
          Amy turned the card over.

 

Dear Karen,
I haven’t found the girl on the front, but I’ll keep looking. Seriously, I miss you.  I am sorry for the way I acted the night before I left.  You are the one who wanted us to try a separation before we decide if a divorce is what we need.  But, to spring it on me as I am getting ready to leave town?  You should see this place.  It’s paradise.  They say it’s summer all year.  I hope you made it back okay from your getaway trip.  Tell your sister hi from me.  I ran into (continued on next card)

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          Amy and Karen dropped to the floor and frantically shuffled through the dropped mail.  Karen found another postcard.  This one had a picture of white sand with a lone palm tree.  The topless, big titted blonde leaned against the palm tree.  The word ‘Paradise’ was at the top of the card.
          Karen handed the card to Amy.  “You read it.  My hand’s shaking too much for me to read it.”

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Dear Karen,
You’d think that on an island this small I could find that big chested blonde.  Anyway, as I was saying; I ran into a couple that knew us from years ago.  They said to tell you hello.  So, hello from… I can’t remember who the hell they are.  Have you noticed that when you are alone and missing someone you are the only one alone?  Everyone else is paired up, and each couple is more in love than the last couple you saw.  I will be glad when this trip is over.  I miss you dearly.  I miss the way you looked at me before you fell out of love with me.  I miss looking at you.  I especially miss the way you look (continued on next card).

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          They searched through the remainder of the mail but found no more postcards.
          “What now?” Amy asked.
          “I don’t know.  He obviously is not lost at sea.  Somehow, after his plane went down, he managed to survive.  Now he is God knows where.  I can’t even call him because he said that the little island where he was meeting a new client had no cell service.  He said he would try to call from the client’s place using a landline if they have one.”
         Karen looked again at the two postcards.  “I don’t see anything on these cards that indicates where they were mailed from.  They are prepaid postage cards without a post office designated.”
          “That blows.  Why doesn’t he tell you where he is and how to get in touch with him?  Why hasn’t he called?” Amy asked her sister.
          “I don’t know why.  Maybe he is pissed at me for springing the separation on him as he was leaving for his business trip.  And, I have no idea which of the hundreds of small islands in the south Pacific he may have ended up on.  Hell, I don’t even know which island his client is on or the name of the client.” Karen dropped the two postcards onto the kitchen table.  “I guess we’ll wait.  Not much else we can do.”
          “Try calling him.  Maybe he ended up on an island that does have cell service,” Amy said.
          “Worth a try,” Karen said.  She called her husband’s phone.
His special ringtone for Karen’s number could be heard, although faintly.
          “Shhh, hear that?” Karen asked.
          “I do,” Amy said.  She turned slowly as she listened to Ed Sheeran’s song “Perfect” play, trying to hone in on where it was coming from.  “I think it is in the bedroom.”
          Karen and Amy walked into the bedroom.  James’ phone sat on its charging cradle on the nightstand next to his side of the bed.  A picture of Karen in a barely there bikini was up on the screen of the phone as it rang.
          “Nice profile pic, sis,” Amy said.
          “Thanks.  He wanted me topless but I told him no.  I didn’t want my tits being brought up on the screen if I called him while he was around his buddies,” Karen said.  She shook her head and smiled.  “He said that with my tits, it would only make the other guys envy him.”
          “Perv,” Amy said with a short laugh.  “Why is his phone here?  Do you think he left it on purpose?”
          “I guess he must have accidentally left it behind.  We were both arguing that morning as we loaded out to go on our separate trips.  Me to your house to hit the road with you.  Him to the airport.”

          Two days later, another postcard arrived.  This time, the big titted blonde, still topless, was on a small sailboat.  Behind her was a small island with white sand beaches and palm trees.  ‘Paradise’ was printed in large letters across the top of the card.  Karen called her sister and read it to her as she read it for the first time.

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Dear Karen,
Where was I… Oh, yeah.  I especially miss the way you look when you are sunbathing nude in our backyard.  I still haven’t found the blonde pictured on the card.  I will keep looking.  Yesterday, I walked completely around the perimeter of this island.  It is beautiful, with enough foliage to make it impossible to see much when looking inland.  The beach is made up of pristine white coral sand which, as you know from our trip to Cancun, does not get hot.  Thank goodness since I had to kick my shoes off to swim when my plane went down.  Fortunately, the pilot managed to steer us close enough for me to swim to this island.  Unfortunately, the pilot (continued on next card)

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          “He obviously is on an island with some means of communication with the outside world.  The least he could do is call or tell us where he is,” Karen said.
          “Asshole,” Amy said. “Why don’t I come pick you up and we go out?  Get drunk.  Maybe even get lucky.  Or rather, some guys might get lucky with us.”
          Karen turned the card over a couple of times while she thought about what her sister proposed.
          “Sounds good to me, Amy.  Let’s do it.  After all, James and I are separated.  I am entitled to a little fun.”
          “You got that right sister.  What do you think he is doing, or rather, will be doing if he does find that big titted girl?”
          “I can only imagine,” Karen said.  She took another look at the girl on the postcard. “Come get me.  Let’s go get drunk and laid.”

          A week later another postcard came in the mail.  Karen got it out of the mailbox after she got home from spending the night with a guy.  A guy she had picked up at the bar a week earlier when she and Amy went looking to get laid.
          On the front of the postcard was a picture of a couple lying side-by-side on an oversized beach blanket.  The blanket was spread out on white coral sand.  The girl in the picture was the big titted blonde, topless as usual.  Karen’s husband was lying next to her.  A huge grin on his face.  There was nothing written above them in the picture.  On the back, ‘Paradise’ was written in large block letters.  Nothing else.

 

Author’s Notes

Many years ago while vacationing in Cancun, I came across a postcard of a topless, big titted blonde standing on a white coral beach.  I thought it would be cool to mail the postcard to myself. So I did.  It was waiting for me when I got home a week later. Don’t know what ever became of the postcard but the nucleus of a story lie in that brazen postcard.