The man kept pressing on the doorbell. He'd come this far and was not about to leave without speaking to his friend. Maybe he'd been wrong to call Christos an "old fool," but that was no reason for ending a fifty-year friendship. For two days in a row Christos had been missing from morning coffee in the harbor. That wasn't like him.
They'd been friends since practically the day Christos got off the boat to open his nightclub here. And what a club it was. They all came: Brigitte Bardot, Grace Kelly, Sophia Loren, Jackie Onassis, Yul Brynner, Paul Newman, Gregory Peck. Christos' place had changed Mykonos forever. The times and crowds were different now, but the club still prospered from its perch above the old port following Christos' indefatigable philosophy: "I try to spend every day doing what others dream of doing just once in their lives."
Trouble was, Christos' approach to life had him falling for a twenty year-old Ukrainian pole dancer.
The man started pounding on the door with his fist. "Come on, Christos, it's Ted. Open up."
Ted had never actually called Christos an "old fool." His exact words were, "The trouble with Viagra is it fucks up an old man's mind a hell of a lot more than it ever gets up his prick."
He wondered whether he should leave and come back later. Christos had a quick temper, and showing up unexpectedly could set him off big-time. And when Christos took offense, his stubborn side kept the anger boiling well beyond his recollection of what had set it off in the first place.
Ted stared west at the sea beyond the treetops. He had to give his friend credit: Christos knew how to pick locations. This place was unlike any other on the island. It sat a little more than a half-mile from the old harbor, yet despite all the development pressing upon his property, when you looked west all you saw were rolling hills, the blue Aegean, and magnificent sunsets.
He turned his head and glanced around the backyard. Everything looked normal. "Probably out with the dog," a yellow Labrador Christos had saved from starvation a dozen winters before, one of the many pets tragically abandoned at the end of each summer by self-indulgent, uncaring seasonal residents.
Yes, it's Sunday, they must be out. Otherwise, the mutt would be barking up a storm at me.
He thought to take a peek in the windows but decided it wiser to leave. If Christos were inside and ignoring his shouts he was in no mood to be disturbed.
© Jeffrey Siger