The couple at Silver Point Hotel in Barbados

Somewhere in his late thirties and just about to start his impossible descent toward middle-age, he tells us that he’s a pro wake boarder and begins to name drop. Wearing sunglasses and low-slung trunks, he has Bro written all over him. He very much wants to impress us, to impress all the strangers at the Silver Point Hotel in Barbados, and his primary instrument with which to do this is the girl he’s with.

A blonde, Russian sex bomb, she has a different bikini for each day. Reclining in the sun he rests his head on her ass as he reads The Wolf of Wall Street, while she, reading what looks like a Russian supernatural thriller, kicks her feet back and forth in attempt to gather attention.

Simultaneously imperious and kittenish, she’s too obviously desirable to make eye contact with anybody else. To look her in the eyes would be an insult, to disrespect royalty. And so even though these two alphas are begging to be watched, everybody is looking away, pretending that they don’t notice them and that they don’t want to be invited to this crazy sex party they’ll never be invited to. No, we all look off at the horizon of water and sky, thinking of other things.

He defines himself as a man of action, and he loves the the ferocity of the ocean, of the power he will master. She prefers to pose by the poolside, stretching her body and tossing her hair, mastering desire. He’s encouraging her into the ocean, but she doesn’t want to get in. She’d have to take off her sunglasses. He sets an example, showing off, really, by diving and rolling easily through a wave as only a pro wake boarder might. He splashes water at her, but more contemptuously than playfully, as if irritated and saying, “C’mon, you’re in the tropics, enjoy it!”

She’s being bullied and she knows it.

Too small to withstand the surfer’s waves, she decides to recline in the breaking water like a calendar girl, shifting attention back to her, but the wave pushes in and knocks her over. Annoyed she stalks up to the resort where she immediately covers her head in a blanket and begins to furiously text. Moments later she goes into the pool with her big floppy hat and sunglasses and stares angrily off in the distance, literally pouting. The wake boarder returns to her, and just stands there not speaking. Posing in the sun is enough, the opportunity to do so all either of them really want from the other.