Ramesh Sujanani, Contributor

It was July at the King's Inn, in St Croix, United States Virgin islands.

It was perilously hot outside and I was having a drink at the bar. The bar was almost circular; it had a glazed black surface that turned into a large cupboard filled with drinks.

The bartender wore a white shirt and tie, shaking a Planter's punch. The air conditioning was barely working, but there was plenty of ice. There was a group of us around the bar, most having had dinner, settling down for a chat and a nightcap.

I was on my second Black and Perrier, looking across the window into a dimly lit harbour.

There were two couples at the bar, another gentleman, and myself: I guess the couples were honeymooners, one of them just married on the island.

The air was filled with smoke from lighted cigarettes, but it didn't bother me. I lived with smokers all my life. The talk was mainly about islands, water, fishing, beaches and so forth.

One of the wives, Sue, looked at me curiously and asked, "So, what do you do for a living?"

"I have a business in Jamaica," I told her, "and travel around these islands selling the products that I make back home. My territory starts as far north as Bermuda, and as far south as Trinidad, and my clients have gift shops throughout the Caribbean."

The consensus was that I had an exciting life.

"A traveller throughout these glorious islands, drinking in all these fabulous places, eating in some of the restaurants around here, you must have had experiences worth remembering."

"Well, it's not so great when you have to catch these islander planes and move from airport to airport, most of which run late and are overbooked. The turbo-prop engines always seem to be right beside the seat you are assigned, and the immigration and customs lines are endless. You try and cover as much ground as you can each day to compensate for some of the delays, in order to maintain the schedule. And it's true, I've had some memorable experiences," I replied.

"Well, tell us one," said Sue.

It was around 9.30 p.m. and I was going nowhere.

So I replied, "It is a common dream of most men to be stranded on a deserted island with beautiful women," I said, "and I was stranded on an island with 28 attractive ladies."

"Sounds like a fishy story to me," said one man.

"Hear me out," I said. "You will understand why it was one of the most frustrating events of my travels."

The flight from Philipsburg to Kingston on BW 409 was booked solid. It was December 22, and everyone was trying to get home for Christmas.

BW was late leaving Trinidad as usual, and an 11 a.m. scheduled departure saw us at Juliana airport at 2.00 p.m. waiting.

There was a big American 727 leaving for New York via Antigua and the airport was full of people.

Finally, we were told that the aircraft was overhead and about to land. I swear I saw that BW plane coming in when the pilot swerved upward and continued over our heads and out of sight.

The waiting passengers, including myself, were alarmed.

"How are we going to get home, there is no other flight until Christmas Day," was the cry.

The agent stepped out and said: "BWIA passengers, there is a large group among you, and there is just not enough room on the aircraft. The best we can do is to send you to Antigua on American, and you can pick up our morning flight out of Antigua. We will put you up in Antigua, and take care of your meals and room expenses."

So, we found ourselves in Antigua, and after we cleared customs, I looked around and found there was a group of 29 teachers on tour, one of them male.

There were 28 females in varying sizes and ages, generally attractive, some of them stunning. An older English gentleman was with them.

The hotel we were placed in was called the Prince Edward (or King George?) and it was right on a hill overlooking the capital, St John's.

It was a sleepy town, I remember, built mainly of brick and wood, sloping down into the sea, and a traditional church tower near the top close to us, standing guard. The hotel seemed recently refurbished, but not yet reopened. I understood it would be opened in a few days.

I had bought two bottles of Scotch, Johnny Walker Black, to take home, and after we had a mediocre meal we all sat around the pool chatting, getting to know each other, with some of us having a drink with Black and ginger ale.

Francine and Denise were the ones who most interested me, and I was inveigling them to go out on the town with me.

Then came along a big American gentleman.

"I'm Abe," he said, "and I run the casino that has just opened in the ballroom of the hotel. I am giving all of you people a free $5 chip to come and try your luck. You can't bring any drinks, but my drinks are free."

He cordially escorted us to the casino, ushering us in a most benevolent manner. The casino was just across from the hotel pool and our rooms.

Schoolteachers on the whole are not adventurous with their money. However, given $5 with a chance to win big bucks seemed to interest most of the group.

I am not a seasoned gambler, far from it. But, I have been around sufficiently to give a decent account of myself at a blackjack table and liked to play roulette. I decided to give them a few pointers as we entered the casino.

The casino was clean and well laid out. The equipment did not seem to be spanking new but was in reasonable condition. The floor was spotless, and the brass on the tables gleamed in the bright lights.

There was an aisle running down the centre, with the slot machines on the left in rows, and the gaming tables on the right. The roulette tables were the closest to the centre aisle.

Those who wanted to chance a roulette game decided to come with me, about six of the girls, including Francine and Denise. The other ladies were headed in the direction of the slot machines.

I took them to an empty table and said, "Let's pool and share resources!"

I explained that one could place a chip on the line, on the corner, or directly on a number. I mentioned that the zeros were not to be ignored. Those who wanted could just play red or black, but cover your zeros.

Then, we changed the $5 chips into single dollar chips. We headed for a table, which was spinning and the pit boss clapped his hands. A waitress appeared miraculously. Drinks were ordered and the games began.

Those ladies played mean. One chip on a corner at a time. I covered what I could, using some of my own money, and for a while we were doing pretty well.

In fact, by around midnight Francine and the others were up $130. I was even around $100.

"Let's go home ladies," I said, "we have a flight to catch next morning."

I have to admit I was taking the casino's hospitality rather generously, feeling a little inebriated, and somewhat anxious to get some attention.

But Francine was having nothing of that. She said she was going to pool more and try her luck a little longer, and that girl and her friends played well into the night.

I tried some blackjack and lost my shirt, and about 2 a.m. I was ready to go to bed.

There was still a lot of action at Francine's roulette table. I could not find Denise anywhere.

I headed out into the refreshing night air and headed to my room. I took a shower and thought: "Well, I'm going to relax on my bed and go back to see how the girls are doing, shortly." I fell asleep.

During the night there were at least two knocks at my door. Who it was, I did not know.

Each time I rose and opened the door there was no one there.

Was it a vain hope or a missed opportunity?

At one point I stood by the door for a knock, and planned to be swift in opening, but no such luck. Exhausted, I went back to bed.

I woke up when someone pounded at my door saying, "It is now 7:30, get dressed!"

I quickly dressed and packed and stepped outdoors to see that everyone was ready to go, talking in excited voices. Francine had played until 6 a.m., winning around $700. They all shared the booty.

There were queries, "Where were you? We missed you. Whose room did you go to? Was it you that knocked at my door last night?"

In leaping for heaven, I landed in purgatory.

What could I say? I just laughed, mentally kicking myself in the rear.

What made it worse, Denise was sitting right beside me on the plane, saying: "I knocked on your door but was afraid I might be seen. Why didn't you answer me? I was waiting for you."

So, we continued our journey, arriving on time in Kingston. I had a splitting headache, even when Denise gave me a telephone number to call.

There was silence around the bar when I finished my story. I guess many people have had stories about the one that got away, but mine was about the school that got away.

Sue looked at me and said, "I don't believe you, you're much too smart for that to happen."

I ordered another Black and Perrier, and sipped it. They left me there looking at the dimly lit harbour and nursing my wounds.