I’ll do exactly what I’m told. A quick learner, the workings of his dubious business will be my new study. Patience is my only advantage.
A light tap sounds. I rush back inside and hurriedly dress in the ill-fitting uniform. I’d go as far as saying the standard size is unisex, not stitched for a shapely female figure like mine. What should be straight legs cling to my thighs, and the shirt snuggles into my breasts, straining to close.
I peer around the door frame, finding a willowy man who greets me with a friendly nod. “Salvador.” He pokes out his hand. “Call me Sal. I’ll show you around today.”
Tightly wound curls are close to his head, and molasses rich eyes sparkle with hospitality. He’s wearing a uniform not too dissimilar to my own, with narrow hips and thin legs, so the material hangs rather than restricts. A warm amber complexion is smooth and unblemished, not a whisker or wrinkle in sight.
“Iris.” I offer a smile, accepting his courteous handshake.
“I’ll get you a better fitting uniform, miss.”
“It’s Iris, not miss.” My thick Scottish brogue blends the sounds.
His lashes lower. “You are not Iris. El Fantasma was very clear about that.” His gentle tone hints at compassion.
A hot temper zips through my veins. “He won’t let you call me by my name?”
Sal shakes his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “You will work alongside me tomorrow. This morning, I’ll show you the key areas. An induction of the oasis.”
“Where is he?” I demand. “I need to talk to him. This is nonsense. He can’t expect to take away my rights as a human being and my identity, then ignore me.”
Sal’s brow furrows. “You don’t want to make an enemy of el Fantasma. He’s firm but fair if you do as he asks.”
“You’re actually sticking up for him?” I pinch the top of my nose to steady my whirling mind. “Are you brainwashed? I didn’t apply to work here. I need to go home to my family. That man has trapped me against my will for some sort of ego trip.”
I watch Sal’s slow intake of air. “You’ll have the afternoon off. For now, I’ll give you a guided tour of the oasis.” He does his best to sweeten the day ahead. “I’m responsible for your wellbeing during your employment. If you need anything, come to me. Do not try to find him. Do not approach him. Do not ask about him, and definitely do not speak of him to anyone.”
“The less I know about him, the better,” I huff. There is nothing about that man that could be of any significance to me. No redeeming qualities or attributes to make me like him.
“Your hair.” His youthful eyes roam over my hive of curls. “It’s striking. I’ve never met a woman with hair so vibrant.” And just as I think he’s complimenting me. “It makes you stand out. Please tie it up, preferably in a chignon.” He holds out a bunch of elastic ties. “It might be best if you wear a cap. It will shade you from the sun, given your delicate complexion. I’ll see that you have everything you need for your first day.”
I gladly scrape heavy ringlets away from my nape and nod when it’s twisted high to the crown of my head.
“Thank you.” Sal rewards me with a pleased smile. “Let’s go.” He turns away, expecting me to follow him.
I have no choice but to abandon my lodgings and follow Sal under the dappled shade of emergent plants. His wide strides are brisk and inaudible, whereas I amble behind with a grieving heart, feeling muddled and lonely. How did all this happen? My folks are mourning the loss of one person. The daughter. The sister. The friend. I’ve lost them all. Every single person I know, including myself. I’m no longer Iris, the ecologist, not on the outside. I bite my lip, stopping the wobble. This isn't the setting to implode. They won’t know I’m fraying inside. I’ll remain vigilant. Learn about my surroundings. Find the real exits.
“Will I have the opportunity to talk over my terms of service with our employer?” I ask, trying my best to keep up.
“He’s a busy man. We rarely see him. I’d be happy to address any of your concerns.”
Perhaps it's best if I don't see him because my sour mood would strip layers of his cowardly existence. If I open my mouth in his company, I’ll more than likely find myself falling from a helicopter in the middle of nowhere without a jumpsuit.
We navigate the leafy walkway, stopping off at a key location announced by vaulted sunshades and timber beams. Sale guides me around a high-end food preparation facility run by skilled chefs to a treatment room with the most up-to-date equipment. It occurs to me as we tour the temperature-controlled medical facility that all the staff I’ve briefly met are male.
“This is where we collect a guest after surgery. Once they start to come around from anesthesia, they’re escorted back to a different cabin. They don’t even realize they’re wheeled into to a new suite. All the cabins are exact replicas of each other, so if they wander, they’ll be completely disoriented. Guests aren’t permitted to roam around the oasis. Period. They’re confined to an allocated suite.”
“Why do they have surgery? What sort of place is this?” Cabinets alphabetically labeled for supplies such as scalpels, scissors, and syringes wrap stark walls. The welcome reprieve of shade gives me time to sit on a wheeled stool.
“Wealthy men come here to start over. That’s all you need to know. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all served in their suite at set times. There is room service which is available at any time, day or night. We do not fraternize with guests or hang around unnecessarily. Ensure you deliver the pain relief before they leave here, or you’ll have to go back to their room and risk exposure. Their privacy is paramount. Your professionalism is essential.”
I take it all in, learning how waiting staff and cleaners always ensure client remoteness. Guest rooms lead off the primary structure like tentacles sprawling over acres, peppered in their own section of lush landscape.
The men I meet acknowledge me with a subtle chin dip or a faint smile. They don’t welcome the only female for miles with leering stares or handshakes. Each one returns to work, leaving me as lonely as ever.
Sal leads me to the main thoroughfare and out into the baking heat of the midday sun. “Your job is straightforward. A guest should never see you unless they phone for a specific service. I decide who goes.”
“Specific service?” A roll of sweat glides down my rigid spine.
He slides a pair of sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and places them on his nose. “If their dressings need changing, or they want stronger medication. Some guests are high maintenance and others enjoy the solace. If they require medical assistance, one of the team will transfer them to the triage room.” Sal turns away. “Rest up. We start before sunrise.”
“Wait. Please. Answer one question, and I swear I’ll never ask again. El Fantasma. What does it mean?”
Sal glances back at me. “Ghost,” he replies simply. A beep makes him reach for his pocket right away. “Salvador,” he responds in a beat.
A conversation unfolds in Portuguese. Sal’s chin lowers as he listens. When the walkie-talkie cuts out, his lashes lift to find me. “I have to go now. Don’t stray too far. There are eyes everywhere.”