The Trainer Pt. 01

If you have read any of my other stories, you must be getting used to this disclaimer by now: this is a slow-burn, long-building, multi-part romance story. If you are looking for a quick fix, this isn't it. Full disclosure: there's no sex in this first part. This story is based on a particularly interesting chapter I was lucky enough to have in my life. Many of the experiences in it were had by me or those around me -- with some artistic licence, of course. It is very close to my heart and it was quite the emotional rollercoaster writing it. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts: leave a comment or drop me a message. I thank all of you who have done so in the past; it greatly inspires and motivates me. Special thanks go out to my wife and to my author friend Broken Spokes for reading this first and giving me their thoughts. And now, I'll leave you to it. Let me know when you resurface. Happy reading!

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January

Amy paid the petrol station attendant who had filled up her car and tipped the guy who had made a solid attempt at cleaning her windshield. The rag he'd used looked like it had seen better days, but had never seen a washing machine. She could see the streaks it had left. Yet, she had learned quickly, it was easier to give it a wipe with a clean cloth herself later than to chase him away and be the spoiled, rich expat who would deny a poor local a chance to earn his income.

She'd only been here for two weeks and had already seen how many of these improvised and self-created jobs there were: from the youngsters who packed your bags at the supermarkets and carried them to your car, to the endlessly enthusiastic people who tried to sell anything from cold drinks and newspapers to fresh fish - or at least, it was fresh to begin with - at the busy intersections, making full use of the time it took the traffic lights to turn. They all targeted the rich and privileged - at least in comparison - expats like herself and the tourists that flocked the island en masse

Of course, Amy had never considered herself rich or privileged before she came here. But it was blatantly obvious that anyone who took one look at her pale, fresh off the boat skin and heard her speak would think she was. Desperate to not be seen as such, she had tried at first to resist being 'served' by the petrol tank fillers and the grocery bag packers. It wasn't that she didn't want to pay, but she was perfectly capable of doing these things herself at home. She did not need the distinction between her and the locals highlighted, especially in such a skewed power balance. However, her sceptic attitude had changed when she'd learned from others how these people were not looking to scam and make a quick extra buck. For most of them, their livelihood depended on the tiny amounts each transaction yielded, without which their evening meals would be small to non-existent. So, still very fresh off the boat but learning to adapt quickly, she did as everyone else did, as was expected of her, even if it still made her feel uncomfortable.

If that was the only discomfort to be experienced within this opportunity of a lifetime, though, she'd take it with both hands. And she had: she'd been the first to put her name forward when the words 'we need one of our consultants to go to the Caribbean' were uttered. And why wouldn't she? She had no mortgage, no relationship, no children, and no pets. If she didn't grasp such opportunities now, then when? Her manager had been quite taken with the idea of her going. Amy assumed that this was because she was trusted not to lead the project astray, rather than that her manager was glad to be rid of her. He had excitedly outlined the project to her: help the local government digitise and optimise their tax system.

A local software company had been contracted to provide a new software system for the administration and the business analysis process had already started. However, there was a great deal of organisational change needed, which could only be done by really understanding the local organisation, processes, and work culture, and by getting everyone on the same page. According to her manager, with Amy's consulting experience, expertise in tax processes, and people skills, she'd be perfect for the job. Just like that, her application had practically been written for her and it had been smooth sailing. Two months later she'd put her stuff in storage and had boarded a plane. And the rest was history, as they said.

Amy smiled as she recalled how fast everything had gone and how strange it was to think that such a short time ago, she'd had no idea that this would be her new life for the next twelve months. One year on a Caribbean island with sunshine all year round; she felt like she was the luckiest person alive.

A sudden flash of white in her periphery shook her out of her reverie. She slammed on her brakes, just in time to avoid a collision with a beat-up, dirty, white pick-up truck, which had pulled out in front of her from out of nowhere. Amy cursed loudly and hit her horn. What was wrong with people? Clearly this person had not even looked before pulling out of what Amy now recognised as the exit of a local supermarket. And judging by the look of the truck, it wasn't the first time it had been in a fight with other cars either. Amy would prefer to keep the lease car they'd given her for the year in mint condition, although that was proving to be more challenging that she could ever have imagined.

Driving here was a bit of a free for all. There were probably regulations and speed limits, but they seemed to be regarded as guidelines, rather than rules. To be obeyed when convenient and ignored when desired. And of course, the main rule of thumb was the road hierarchy: the bigger your truck, the higher up in the hierarchy you were. Forget about pedestrians; they were anyone's game. And the fancier and newer your car, the less likely you were to want to damage it, so the easier you were to play chicken with. As clearly demonstrated by the rude pick-up truck driver in front of her.

Out of habit Amy made a mental note of the pick-up's license plate and characteristics. At least she'd recognise it if she ever encountered it again. The back of the pick-up was littered with stickers: the local airline, the local radio station, a rock band, advertisement for a brand of energy drinks, and of course the common 'Jesus loves you'. Either this person had eclectic interests, or the pick-up had had a few owners which had each put in their two cents. The back of the truck was filled with cooler boxes and large bags of dog food: at least a year's supply for a Saint Bernard. Maybe this was some sort of supplier? No one needed that much dog food, surely?

A caramel-skinned arm extended from the driver's window and waved, either apologetically or dismissively - more likely the latter - as the pick-up sped off in front of her.

"Yeah, you're welcome, idiot," Amy grumbled to herself, as she continued her own journey, hoping to make it home unscathed.

She had just pulled into the driveway of her apartment complex and closed the electric gate behind her, when her phone rang with a video call. Amy rushed to her apartment so that her phone could connect to the Wi-Fi. The mobile data connection would not be able to cope for very long.

"Heeeey Ames!" The excited voice came through her speaker just before the pixels arranged themselves to show her friend's smiling face.

"Hey Megs, how's it going?" Amy was glad to see her. They had been trying to arrange a catch-up for a while but the time difference and their working hours had made it difficult. "What time is it there? Are you not working tonight?"

"It's almost 8pm and I am indeed off tonight! First Saturday off in forever!"

Amy did the calculation quickly: five hours' time difference then. "So, are you going partying tonight then?" She asked her friend, already knowing the answer.

Megan laughed. "Oh hell yeah! You know me. The kettle is boiled. I've picked my movie. I've got my chocolate. Party time!" It looked like she was walking through the house, the background moving rapidly around her head. "And this one..." The camera angle changed to show another person removing a massive pair of headphones and looking up from an even more massive book. "... Is studying all night. So I'm a PhD widow, yet again."

Megan's voice was full of affection and so was the eye roll her girlfriend gave her in return. "I'm sorry, babe. Your life is so tough," Jordan said, before turning to face the camera. "Hey Amy, how's the Caribbean?"

"It's amazing! I still can't believe I'm here."

"We can't believe it either," Jordan replied. "Isn't there a prison full of people that need to be interviewed or something? I bet I could add a few more chapters to my thesis, bringing in a cultural comparison of life in detention or something."

Amy smiled. "I think there is a prison. I'll go check it out for you. See what I can do."

"That would be great. It's not fair that I'm the only one who hasn't been there." Jordan pulled a sulky face.

"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't show your face in my life until my Caribbean partying years were long past me, and I had already transformed back into a hard-working student," Megan countered. "And speaking of hard-working students... Back to your books; I'd like to see you come to bed before 2am this time."

Jordan grumbled and waved goodbye to Amy before the couple exchanged a quick kiss, which was caught just at the edge of the video. Oh, young love. There was more movement as Megan moved through the house again and eventually settled down on the sofa in the living room with the cup of tea she'd hinted at earlier.

"So, tell me everything. Start at the beginning. You landed, and then what happened?"

Amy laughed. That was typically Megan to want to know all the details and treat her friend's life as the entertainment of the night. Amy wasn't a very good storyteller, but she tried her best, giving her friend an elaborate summary of her experiences since she got here.

"Ah, it sounds amazing," Megan said with a content sigh, "just like I remember it. Although I imagine your day to day is very different than mine was." Megan had often told her friends stories about the time she'd spent in the Caribbean after dropping out of university. She'd taken a gamble and just left, thinking she'd do odd jobs and get some much-needed relaxation. She had indeed worked, in bars and restaurants mostly, but only just enough to support her partying lifestyle. It was hard to imagine, knowing her now, but she claimed she'd gone through quite the wild phase.

When Amy had told Megan she'd be going to the same island, Megan had been over the moon and had overloaded her with tips and recommendations. Most of these had remained just a note in Amy's phone up until now. The past two weeks had been spent finding her way - GPS navigation was pretty useless as the maps didn't contain half the roads -, getting to grips with her job, and acclimatising to the culture and the weather. Bars and restaurants had not been high on her agenda.

"Did you get to check out some of my usual haunts? What about RelaX? Did you go there? You have to go sip a cocktail in one of the beach chairs there for me. I need to live vicariously through you."

Amy laughed. "I haven't had a chance yet, but I will. I promise."

"And you have to go to Bordeaux. That's the lesbian bar. Of course they don't say that but it is. It's just off the main road. You turn right just after the CIBC, the Caribbean Bank."

"You give directions like a local," Amy laughed.

"Oh, I have no idea about the street name. No one does, anyway. It wouldn't help one bit to ask someone for a street name."

Amy had noticed this too, when trying to find her way to work on her first day. She had been told to continue straight past six sets of traffic lights, and then turn after the third blue house, and again after the big tree. Naturally, she'd been very sceptical by this lack of precision of language, but it had proven to be surprisingly effective in getting her to her destination. At least, that bit hadn't changed in the years since Megan had been here.

"And the apartment is nice? Tour please!" Megan continued.

"It's great. I can actually see the sea from my garden. It's a few blocks away and I have to stand on a chair to look over the wall but it's there."

Amy got up and walked through the furnished one-bedroom apartment on the ground-floor, which work had arranged for her, commenting on everything for Megan. It was nothing like a one-bedroom at home. She had a generous open plan kitchen and living room with French doors leading to a small but private garden that was also accessible from her bedroom. Beyond the garden was the apartment complex's swimming pool, which was usually pretty quiet, but was occasionally the source of some children's cries of laughter. Her bedroom had a king-size bed, even though it was just her, and her bathroom had an electric shower with hot water, which - she had been told - was quite the luxury.

"It's huuuuge," Megan concluded. "You should have seen my digs, in Mrs Fernandez's garden." Megan had often talked about the improvised annex that was all she'd been able to afford. After a night of partying she had to climb over the garden wall because the gates were locked and make sure the dogs didn't bark. The next morning, she'd invariably be woken up by the Fernandez kids, who had no idea what a hang-over was and why their lodger looked so green.

"Yeah, it's really nice. They did great finding this place for me. And I'm paying less in rent than I was at home."

"And look at that sunshine... Hard to imagine now that two months ago you were shivering in your Dana tennis skirt at our housewarming, isn't it?"

"It sure is. I would kill for that tennis skirt now. It would be so nice and breezy."

"Oh yes, and the girls over there would fall over themselves when they saw your endless tanned legs," Megan said, uncharacteristically flirty. She probably didn't even realise it.

"I don't have a tan yet. I made the rookie error of getting incredibly sunburned the first weekend and then it peeled and now I'm back to white. Besides, I'm not interested in girls falling over themselves for me here."

"But it would be a nice bonus, wouldn't it? Nothing wrong with a bit of romance while you're there..." Megan was ever the romantic. She was probably looking for a new project ever since she'd accomplished the impossible and hooked up notoriously commitment-phobic Rowan with once-straight girl Riley.

"A holiday fling type of thing? And then all the tears and sadness when I have to leave again. No thanks, that's not really my jam." Amy deliberately left it vague whether she meant her tears and sadness or the other girl's.

Whichever it was, Megan wasn't buying it. "Famous last words, my friend. Famous last words."

February

Amy sat down across the table from her colleague and opened her lunch container. They were at one of their regular lunch spots. Lucas knew how to pick them: everywhere they'd gone had been off the beaten track, local, and a hidden gem in her eyes. A few of their regulars were little more than someone who had decided to cook a single meal in a big batch from their home kitchen and serve it to whoever wanted to pay the modest price. It was usually tasty, and since Amy wasn't against trying new things, it was perfect. Today's serving was some sort of meat stew. It smelled good and Amy's stomach growled enthusiastically.

Lucas was the colleague she collaborated with most on a day-to-day basis, as he was the local business process innovation expert. Together, they were expected to fully analyse current work processes and organisational infrastructure, and propose the necessary changes that would transform the tax administration from the piles upon piles of unprocessed paperwork and common tax evasion that it was currently, to an efficient and streamlined digital process. They had their work cut out for them.

Amy had soon found out that Lucas's background knowledge and rapport with the people on the work floor was invaluable. As a foreigner coming in to - in their eyes - scrutinise them and tell them how to do their jobs, she needed the balance of Lucas by her side to reassure them - often in the local Creole language after the official meeting had ended - that they only wanted to make things better for everyone and that no one needed to fear for their jobs.

On a personal level, Amy had also gotten on really well with the tall, muscular guy. He was quick with his booming laugh and seemed to get on with everyone. He was slightly older than her, probably in his mid-thirties, and had shaved his head when - at his own admission - he'd noticed his hairline starting to recede. He looked great with a bald head - that was also his own admission. As always, he was immaculately dressed in well-fitting suit trousers and a light-coloured shirt that complimented his dark skin. Amy thought he was nice to look at; even though she was - at her own admission - exclusively gay.

"Hey Lucas, you know the island really well, don't you?" she asked, while tucking into her stew.

He laughed. "I would hope so. I've lived here my whole life. Whatever it is you're after, I'm sure I can hook you up." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Booze, drugs, sex? What do you need, girl?"

Amy's face must have betrayed her shock at his sudden candour because he boom-laughed. "Relax, I'm just messing with you. Although I could hook you up, you know, if you were looking for those things."

"Erm, no, I'm good." Amy hesitated for a moment. Was she really going to ask this guy she barely knew about this? And in the process reveal more about herself than she had so far? It made her nervous, but if there was anyone she felt she could trust with this, it was Lucas.

"But I did wonder if you know if there are any gay bars?" She continued. Before coming here, she'd of course been told that being gay here was nothing like being gay at home, and that gay culture would be nothing like the gay quarters or gay streets you could find in many major cities all over the world. However, blogs also spoke about a lively, mostly underground, scene, which could be welcoming to tourists and outsiders, if you managed to find it. Now that Amy had found her feet, she was keen to find the scene, if indeed it existed. This was something she always liked to explore whenever she travelled somewhere new.

She had looked for the bar Megan had mentioned but there was now a computer store in its location. She hadn't seen any obvious contenders elsewhere either, no rainbow flags or suggestive names. And she hadn't heard anyone mention anything of the kind. Obviously, having been told that it would generally be less accepted, she hadn't mentioned to anyone she was gay or explicitly talked about anything gay with anyone since she came here. Until now.

Lucas looked at her with a deadpan expression. He slightly pursed his lips and said, "Why would I know that? Do you think I'm gay?"

Amy's throat went dry. Of course she thought he was gay. He had all the mannerisms, and he was far too fastidious and well put together to be straight. Of course, that was stereotypical and presumptuous, but it had been so blatantly obvious to her from day one that she'd never even considered any other option. But he looked really peeved now. Had she had it all wrong? If so, she was dangerously close to ruining this burgeoning friendship.

"No, but I just thought since you know the places to go for different things. Like this amazing lunch..." Amy back-peddled rapidly, trying to ease the tension with a compliment. Shit, shit, shit. She cursed herself for being so careless.