”“Yeah, I gathered that from you talking to Morgan in the car earlier,” I admitted.“Right, yeah. It’s not that Mrs. Jackson is a bitch, she ...ust doesn’t get me,” Taylor began to complain. Yeah, Taylor. I was talking about the teacher thing. We really did live in different worlds. Taylor’s world had her having sex… apparently, usually more frequently than once every three months. Hey, she was beating me by a lot. And it was so casual to her, such an everyday thing, that she didn’t even care. A steel drum band played in one corner, attractive waitresses in white shorts buzzed the room, and there was a friendly, relaxed feel to the place. We ordered a bottle of French wine, a very mellow Pino Gris, and plates of grilled shrimp and lobster served with local plantains, rice, beans and tropical fruit. It was a wonderful meal, and the conversation flowed freely. We learned a bit more about Rachel: that she had been born in Seoul, Korea. Her mother was Korean and her father Spanish; that. More

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