Authors: Catherine McKenzie
“Are you all right?”
“Jesus, Jack, I told you to go slow—”
“I’m so sorry, Anne. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s okay. I’m not hurt.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Miguel told me not to jibe. Fuck.” He splashes the water with his hands in frustation.
“Hey, you’re splashing me.”
He reaches up and wipes the water out of my eyes. “Sorry, babe.”
My anger melts. “Babe?”
“Do you mind?”
“No, I don’t mind.”
He smiles and leans toward me. His mouth is cold, his tongue rough against mine.
“You taste salty,” I say when we break apart.
“And you’re turning blue. We’d better get this boat up.”
“Tell me what to do.”
I follow his instructions, and we lever the turtled catamaran right side up. He drags himself back into it, reaches down, and grabs my arms to pull me in beside him. He kisses me again, holding me to him until our lips are warm.
“You know, I think blue’s a good color on you,” he says.
“Can we go back to shore now?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
W
e spend the rest of the afternoon lounging by the pool, trying the different concoctions listed on a handwritten sign above the bar, from Bahama Mama to Tequila Sunrise. By the time the sun goes down, the buildings are starting to soften around the edges.
At seven, we get back into our wedding clothes and go to the Blythe & Company reception. It’s being held in the same restaurant as the dinner last night, though it’s been reconfigured with larger group tables. There’s a band in the corner wearing matching glittery outfits, and the room has been decorated with centerpieces, soft lighting, and candlelight. We check the seating plan. We’re sitting at a table with Margaret and her husband, along with two other couples.
Margaret introduces us to Brian, who’s a soft-spoken guy with kind brown eyes beneath his round glasses. She chats away brightly as he eyes the breadbasket.
Over dinner, Jack entertains us by telling the table about our sailing adventure. I fill in some of the details. It feels like we’re already a long-time couple with a pocketful of similar stories, even though we have just the one.
After dinner, the band starts playing typical wedding songs—mashups of ABBA, the Village People, and the Jackson Five. A few couples throw their hands up in the air until the band transitions into sappy love songs. This is that time at weddings when the emcee usually asks all the couples in love to go to the dance floor. If you’re in a couple, good, bad, indifferent, you have to answer this siren call; you have to act like you’re in love and dance. Tonight there is no emcee, but the tables empty anyway, leaving behind white cloths stained with crumbs and spilled wine.
“Wanna dance?” Jack asks, slurring his words.
“Sure.”
Jack guides me to the middle of the floor and takes me in his arms. The band is playing “Endless Love.” We turn in circles to the schmaltzy music.
Jack leans back. His face is flushed, and he’s obviously having trouble focusing. “You look pretty.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I may be drunk, but you still look pretty.”
Jack brings his lips to mine, pressing firmly, urgently. Dr. Szwick’s admonishment flashes through my brain, but I quickly dismiss it. This feels too good to be wrong. I kiss him back, closing my eyes and slipping my hands from his waist to his neck. He puts his tongue against my lips, running it along my teeth, and soon my tongue is tangled with his, our bodies tight against each other. Feeling woozy and exposed in this roomful of just-married couples, I pull back. We look at each other as we spin slowly. The band is playing a sweet song about mockingbirds. This singer’s voice is raspy.
“I can never remember who sings this,” I say.
He concentrates, listening. “It’s Bob Dylan. ‘I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight.’ ”
“Really? I thought he only sang angry songs about women.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. ‘Don’t Think Twice.’ That’s a pretty angry song. Or ‘Idiot Wind.’ ”
“I guess it depended on his mood.” He starts singing quietly along with the song, a line about a big, fat moon. He has a good singing voice, rich and deep.
“You can sing.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve never had a man sing to me before.”
“And?”
“I kind of like it.”
Jack rubs the small of my back. His fingers feel hot, or maybe that’s my skin.
“You want to get out of here?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Outside, the air is warm, and there’s a gentle breeze blowing. The pool is lit up by tiki torches. The water reflects their acrid flames. Jack wraps his arms around my waist from behind. I lean back against him, enjoying the feeling.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask.
“How about your room?”
A shiver runs down my spine. My room’s a very tempting option.
“Jack . . .”
“I was kidding. Sort of. Let’s go to the beach.”
We walk to the place we went last night, where we had our first kiss. The moon is still nearly full, and the beach looks like a film set. Jack stumbles at the edge of the sand and falls on his knees. I try to help him up, but he loses his balance again, this time landing ass-down on the sand.
He looks up at me. “Hello, wife.”
“That sounds weird.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “Hello, husband.” I run my hand along his chin. “You know, I like your shaven face.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what are you doing all the way up there?”
“Where should I be?”
“Down here with me.”
He tugs at my arms, and I fall on top of him. Laughing, I shift over so I’m lying on my side, facing him. He props himself up on one elbow. “Much better.”
I watch his lips as he talks. I want them closer. I want him kissing me.
“What’re you doing all the way up there?” it’s my turn to say.
“Nothing.”
I reach for him, and his tongue is in my mouth, soft and rough at the same time. I press myself to him. He runs his hand down my side, brushing his thumb over my breast. I jolt away.
“What’s the matter?”
“That tickles.”
“What tickles?” He runs his thumb over my breast again, slower this time. “That?”
“Yes.”
He shifts his hand to my waist, rubbing the edge of my stomach lightly. “That better?”
I nod, and we kiss, kiss,
kiss.
I can feel his chest rise and fall, his breath quickening, matching mine. His fingers start playing with the edge of my underwear through my dress.
“Jack . . .”
“Mmm-hmm?”
I put my hands on his shoulders and push him away gently. “Stop for a minute.”
He lifts his head from my neck. “Did I tickle you again?”
“No, it’s not that. I think maybe . . . we’re moving too quickly.”
Jack sighs and rolls onto his back. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I put my head on his shoulder, letting my hand rest on his stomach. He plays with my hair, twisting it around his fingers.
“Is it okay that I really want to have sex with you right now?” he says.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
I hear his laugh through his chest, deep inside him.
“What about you?” he asks me.
“Ditto.”
“I’m glad.”
We lie there and watch the black clouds float across the moon, listening to the crash and boom of the ocean. I feel drowsy from the alcohol and last night’s lack of sleep.
“Anne?”
“Yes?”
“This is one hell of a second date.”
I giggle. “Sure is.”
“Dr. Szwick wouldn’t be very happy with us right now.”
“Probably not.”
Jack kisses my forehead gently and holds me close.
We lie there like that in the sand until we fall asleep.
Anything Goes
W
e wake up the next morning at sunrise, covered in a fine mist of salt spray. My left side has fallen asleep, and my hair is stuck to my face. My head feels like it’s been hit with a thousand booms, and my stomach is as choppy as the morning sea.
Jack is stirring next to me and moaning. “My head. My fucking head.”
I turn on my side to face him. Oh, boy. My stomach did not appreciate that.
Jack is squeezing his eyes shut. His hair is caked with sand.
“You okay?” I ask.
He cracks an eye open. What should be white is lined with red. “That has yet to be determined. You?”
“So-so.”
“If you feel anything like me, that’s a huge understatement.”
I sit up. The world starts spinning. “You might be right.”
We sit there for a few minutes, waiting for the world to right itself. When it doesn’t, we stagger back to our respective rooms for showers and sleep.
I take off my very wrinkled wedding dress and stand in the spray of the shower, letting the heat leach the toxins from my body. When I’m done, I wrap myself in a bathrobe and towel-dry my hair, working the cricks out of my neck. I put on some thin cotton pajamas, slip between the cool, unslept-in sheets, and rest my aching head on the soft pillow.
In the moments between awake and asleep, I think back to the things I let Jack do to me last night with the same odd mixture of pride and embarrassment I used to feel in college after some half-regretted hookup at a dorm party.
Did I do that?
Oh, yes, I did.
A
round noon, I find Jack dozing in a deck chair by the pool, a book across his chest. He’s wearing plaid shorts and a navy polo shirt. His eyes are hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. His forearms are starting to turn brown.
I sit in the deck chair next to him and open my own book, waiting for the sun to wake me fully.
He pushes his shades up. “Hey, you. When did you get here?”
“Just now.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked peaceful.”
He sits up and rolls his shoulders. “God, I really screwed up my back last night.”
“That’ll teach you to fall asleep with a strange girl on the beach.”
“Yeah, I should’ve learned that lesson by now. But I think an exception can be made when the strange girl is your wife.”
“I didn’t notice that exception in the rules.”
“It’s right there on page three of the brochure. It’s one of the tenets of the friendship philosophy of marriage.”
I giggle. “Really? Dr. Szwick never mentioned it.”
The side of his mouth curls. “I could’ve sworn he’s the one who pointed it out to me. It’s what convinced me to go through with all of this, actually.”
“What do you think Dr. Szwick would say about our sleeping arrangements last night?”
He swings his legs around so they’re hanging off the edge of the deck chair. His feet are long and white. “Not sure. Then again, I’m not counting to ten.”
“Did he do that chair thing with you too?”
“Annoying, wasn’t it?”
“Totally.”
We grin at each other.
“So . . .” I say.
“So . . . I signed us up for an excursion this afternoon.”
“You did? Which one?”
“We’re going snorkeling.”
“Cool. I haven’t done that in a long time.”
“The boat leaves at two, so we have enough time to eat.”
“Is that your way of telling me you’re hungry?”
Jack rubs his belly. “I could eat.”
We settle on the restaurant next to the pool. We order a large plate of nachos covered in beef, onions, tomatoes, and cheese sauce. When it arrives, we dig in. For a few moments the only sound between us is that of our mouths munching fatty food.
“I think I can feel my ass expanding,” I say, pushing the nearly empty plate away.
Jack puts his head under the table. “Looks okay to me.”
“Get out of there, silly.”
He pops his head back up, grinning like a little boy. “Want a beer?”
Just the thought of it makes me queasy. “Don’t think so.”
“You’ll feel better once you have one.”
“Isn’t that how people end up in rehab?”
“Probably.”
I wipe my hands on a napkin and notice the book Jack dropped on the table. It’s David Sedaris’s
Me Talk Pretty One Day.
“Any good?”
“Very funny. Ever read him?”
“Nope, but my friend Sarah keeps telling me to.”
“She’s right, you should.”
“What’s your favorite book? No, wait, don’t tell me . . .
On the Road
?”
“How’d you guess?” he says, surprised.
“Because all guys love that book. It’s like that Peter Sellers movie.”
“You mean
The Party
?”
“I bet you love that movie, right? That and
This Is Spinal Tap.
”
“Otherwise known as the Funniest Movie Ever.”
“I
knew
it.”
“You don’t like that film? Damn you, Blythe and Company.” He shakes his fist at the sky.
“No need to take it to eleven.”
Relief floods Jack’s face. “Oh, thank God. I take it back, Blythe and Company. I’ll never question you again.”
“Are you sure? Because I have a confession to make: I’ve never read
On the Road.
”
“That’s pretty serious, but we can remedy it. I’ll even lend you a copy, which I just happen to have in my room.”
“Of course you do.” I smile at him indulgently.
“Good thing too. You never know when an
On the Road
emergency might occur.”
“Right.”
“So I’ll lend it to you, but only if you let me read your book first.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I want to read it.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll be able to buy it at the bookstore soon,” he points out.
“I know, but that’s a couple of months away. You’ll know me better then.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“It’ll be harder for you to tell me you hate it.”
“Better toughen up, Anne. Somebody’s not going to like it. Those are just the odds.”
“I know, but you’re not somebody.”
He smiles. “I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
W
e spend the afternoon snorkeling, our backs getting burned as we float facedown in the salty water, watching the fish swim by. The highlight of the afternoon is when I spot a large gray shark weaving back and forth below us—okay, maybe “highlight” isn’t
quite
the right word. I’ve never swum so fast in my life, though we laugh about it afterward, lying spent on the deck of the tour boat.
We have dinner in the Mexican restaurant, then go to the lobby bar to enjoy an after-dinner drink. Rehab might be required after this break from reality.
“So,” Jack says, “I checked out the evening program here at Boringland. Cards, don’t you know, and I’m thinking not. But over in the land of the hedonistic twentysomethings, they have something called Anything Goes that sounds like it might be fun.”
“Do you ever take anything seriously?”
He takes my arm and kisses the inside of my wrist. “I take some things very seriously.”
I swat him away. “What do you think ‘Anything Goes’ means?”
“Why don’t we go find out?”
We walk down the long walkway that separates Blythe & Company’s resort from its twin and arrive at an amphitheater identical to the one where we met. It’s been a hot day, and the air underneath the white canvas feels thick.
“It looks like
Beyond Thunderdome
in here,” Jack says.
“You saw that movie?”
“Didn’t everyone?”
We take seats halfway up one side, squeezing into place between a young couple and a group of giggling girls who look barely eighteen. A thin woman with bleached-blond hair picks up a mike. She’s wearing a tight black tank top and short jean shorts.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name’s Jill and this is Anything Goes night, where, literally, anything goes. Now, those of you who’re uncomfortable with nudity, drinking, or general mayhem probably shouldn’t stick around. You should also know there’s only one rule on Anything Goes night: Once you’re in, you’re in. So, anyone who isn’t up for an adventure should leave now.”
“Do you think she’s serious?” I whisper to Jack.
“She seems pretty serious. You wanna go?”
“Not unless you do.”
“I’m good.”
I watch a few people get up and leave, looking embarrassed. I feel nervous about our decision to stay, but hey, what’s the worst that could happen?
Hmm. I seem to be saying that a lot.
“Now that the losers have left, let’s play some strip bingo! The rules are simple. Everyone gets a card. If a number’s called and it’s not on your card, you have to take off an item of clothing and place it in the middle of the ring. If you have the number, you get to keep your clothes on.”
I glance down at what I’m wearing: tan shorts, a blue tank top, my bra, underwear, and flip-flops. A grand total of five items—or six, if I count each flip-flop as one item. Which I’m pretty sure I’ll be doing. Even so, I’m so going to end up naked.
“Bet you wish you’d brought a sweater,” Jack whispers in my ear.
“I don’t have a problem with nudity.”
“Oh, you don’t, huh?”
“Well . . . maybe a little.”
Jill brings out a large spinning cage full of balls and passes out bingo cards and markers. When all the cards have been distributed, she turns down the lights so we’re sitting in semi-darkness.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe I
can
take my clothes off in front of this room full of strangers and this man who knows how to kiss me just so.
I glance at Jack. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, clearly happy with the thought that I might be naked in a few minutes.
On second thought, maybe I need to win this game.
“B12,” Jill calls out.
Dammit!
I take off one of my flip-flops and put my foot on the cold concrete.
Jack slips off both of his sandals. He wiggles his toes at me. “Cheater.”
I stick out my tongue at him.
“N19.”
Yes! I mark the square off with my pen. Jack whips off his shirt.
“Exhibitionist,” I tell him.
“
I
really don’t have a problem with nudity.”
“O39.”
Off comes my other flip-flop as Jack marks his card, looking disappointed.
“Come on, people, you’re supposed to be putting your clothes in a pile in the middle of the room. Don’t be shy. Bring them down here!” Jill commands.
Several already mostly undressed people climb down the stairs in the gloom and drop their clothes into a pile. I stay put, keeping my shoes where I can find them.
“G23.”
Shorts or top? Shorts or top? I settle on top. Sitting in your bra’s like being in a bikini. No problem.
I take off my tank top and place it next to my shoes. Jack slips out of his shorts, scrunches them up, and tosses them into the middle of the ring. He’s wearing a pair of white boxer shorts.
“Good luck finding that,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” He scoops up my tank top and throws it into the pile.
“Hey!”
“Rules are rules, Anne. You don’t want us to get in trouble, do you?”
“I17.”
I
knew
it. I stand up and unbutton my shorts. I hold them on my lap tightly as Jack tries to grab them from me.
“Quit it.” I slap his hand away.
“I25.”
Now, this is going too far!
“Bingo!”
Please don’t let that be a false alarm.
I sit there nervously while Jill checks the card of the woman who yelled “bingo.”
“We have a winner!” The room erupts in applause. “Now we’re going to turn out the lights, and everyone has to try to find their clothes!”
I give Jack a dirty look. He smiles at me reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll find our stuff. Stay here.”
He walks quickly down the stairs and is back in a moment clutching our clothes. I slip into my shorts and top while Jack does the same next to me.
“This kind of blows, right?” he says.