“Amen to that,” said Ann. “Sex comes first and everything else comes afterward.”
“You see, Peter, in the book, isn’t like that,” said Paula, swatting at but missing a horsefly that landed on her fleshy knee.
“That’s why it’s called fiction,” sang Ann.
“It used to be true, though, didn’t it?” asked Jesse. “Remember when we were dating our husbands? Remember how attentive they used to be?”
“Absolutely,” said Paula. “My husband was the original Prince Charming.”
“Flowers, dinner reservations, sunset strolls on the beach,” said Jesse, smiling. “They know exactly what it takes to win us over.”
“Then we get married, thinking we’ve met the man of our dreams,” said Ann, “and everything changes. After all, he now gets sex for free!”
“Not in my book,” said Paula. “Peter waits on Linda. He gives her foot massages.”
“Now that’s nice,” said Jesse, turning her attention to the Time magazine she’d bought for weekend reading.
Sally took the last sip of her drink and then spoke slowly, as if recalling a dream from the previous night. “So, are you saying all men really want is to make love?”
“Yup,” said Ann. “You’ve got it. Well, that and have power and money. Speaking of sex, where is that darling cabana boy?”
Sally sat back in her chair and covered her tiny tummy bulge with her hands. “That’s depressing.”
Paula leaned over and patted her shoulder. “That’s why I read these books,” she said. “You can have it when I’m done.”
Sally didn’t respond, deciding against talking to her friends about her love life. It certainly wasn’t what Ann and Jesse described, and it wasn’t found in the pages of Paula’s romance novels. Her husband, Jack, was tired when he came home from work, often not until eight thirty or nine in the evening. Most of the time he had eaten dinner at his desk and wanted nothing more than a quick look at the evening newspaper, a twenty-minute bath, and a good night’s sleep. Occasionally, when Sally would offer herself to him in the middle of the night, without saying a word to each other, they would make love. Until now, Sally actually thought this was quite normal. Neither of them seemed to require much physical passion. Of course, when she and Jack were first married, they made love regularly. They were in their early twenties and full of energy and, well, lust. That’s just what being twenty-two is all about, was what Jack, grinning, would say to her afterward. Now, they were close to fifty. And Sally assumed her lack of interest in making love mirrored her husband’s; that they’d just moved into another stage in their relationship and, frankly, didn’t need to prove their commitment to each other by groaning and grunting in the bedroom. She and Jack had never discussed it, and, until today, Sally hadn’t given it a lot of thought. Women made jokes about it, but Sally had taken them as simply that, jokes.
Paula put down her book and took a sip of her melted drink. She looked up at the horizon, composed of nothing but ocean and sky, one green and the other blue, stacked like colored sand in a gift shop jar. “Who wants to go for a swim?” she asked.
“Good Lord, no,” said Ann, reaching for her glass. “I was about to order another drink. Who wants one? Sally?”
Sally looked at her empty glass and, not wanting to disappoint Ann, nodded her head.
“I’m all set,” said Jesse.
“Me too,” said Paula.
“I’ll take you up on that swim, though,” said Jesse, getting out of her chair.
When Jesse and Paula had left, Sally watched Ann make her way to the bar. The sand impeded her progress, sometimes causing her to check her balance like a sailor on a ship in stormy seas. Halfway there, she was met by the beach boy, who had run to meet her. He bowed and ran back in the direction of the bar. Ann wheeled around and, appearing lost, scanned the sparse crowd, hand shielding her eyes. Instead of signaling Ann, Sally turned to watch Jesse and Paula work their way into the water. They stood, hands on their hips, in knee-deep ocean. She wished she had gone with them. She was light-headed and drowsy and had no use for the drink Ann had ordered for her. Perhaps she could just get up and join Paula and Jesse before Ann made it back. Sally looked back at Ann, then quickly stood and removed her cover-up. She had just finished reapplying sunblock to her nose when Ann ducked under the umbrella shading her chair. “God, that sand is hot,” she said. “My feet are on fire.”
“Come swimming,” said Sally.
“We’ve got cool drinks coming, my dear. That’s all the liquid refreshment I need at the moment.”
“Mmm,” said Sally. “I’m just going to test the water. I’ll be right back.”
“Suit yourself,” said Ann, settling into her chair.
Released, Sally walked quickly to the water’s edge. She called out a greeting to Paula and Jesse, who had made little headway. “Have you come to brave the salty waters with us?” asked Paula, turning around at the sound of Sally’s greeting.
“I don’t know,” said Sally. “Is it cold?”
“It’s lovely,” said Jesse. “I’m just not ready for full immersion.”
Sally walked into the water to meet them, lifting her feet up high with each step, as if she were wearing clothing she didn’t want to get wet instead of a bathing suit.
“We were just talking about Ann,” said Paula.
“Oh?” said Sally. “What’s up?”
“Well, Jesse’s worried about her drinking.”
Sally tucked her freshly highlighted bob behind her ears. “We’re on vacation, Jesse. She’s just cutting loose.”
“She has had a drink in her hand since we walked into the condominium,” said Jesse.
“The Ann I know does like her alcohol,” said Paula.
“We all like our alcohol,” said Sally.
“This is different,” said Jesse. “She’s been drinking more lately—she had too much when she was away with Mike, and she drank like a thirsty frat boy at lunch before the fashion show.”
“How do you know she had too much with Mike?” asked Sally. “Did she tell you?”
“I don’t know about the fashion show,” said Paula. “We all had a couple of glasses that day. Pinot grigio goes down like water.”
“So you think I’m worried about nothing,” said Jesse, hands on her hips.
“No,” said Paula, reaching out to touch Jesse’s shoulder. “I know Ann drinks a lot. I just don’t know if that amount has increased enough to warrant worry or action.”
“Action?” said Sally. “What are we talking about here—an intervention? I don’t think that’s necessary, girls. We’re on vacation.”
“Just watch her with me,” said Jesse. “I know we’re on vacation, and I know she’s going to drink more than she usually does. I’m telling you, I’m worried. She’s been different since her parents arrived.”
“Do you think that’s what it is?” asked Sally, her brain racing, searching for details. What had Ann said about her mother?
“Partly,” said Jesse. “Having long-term company is stressful, no matter who it is. But when you are face-to-face with your parents, your own history, every day of the week? Well, I can’t really imagine how strange and unsettling that must be.”
“You’ve got a point there,” said Paula, wading a foot deeper into the water.
“It can’t be that cold!” The three women turned their heads toward shore. Ann, holding her empty margarita glass, was standing on the sand dampened by the surf. “Go for it!”
Paula, Jesse, and Sally all looked at one another and then dove under the surface.
After late afternoon showers and a drink on the porch, they walked down the path to The Beachcomber, the resort’s casual beachside restaurant. The tables and chairs, made from bamboo, sat on a cement floor that had been swept free of sand. The grass roof, sheltering them from unlikely rain, was supported by four corner posts, and the clear plastic sheets that served as walls in bad weather were rolled up and fastened at the roofline.
They were shown to a table at the far end of the outdoor room, away from the resort kitchen and close to the beach. As they sat and chatted about the sound of the waves and the brilliant moonlight, Ann ordered an expensive bottle of white wine and insisted they all try the local fish, which was delicious as well as low-fat. Jesse closed her eyes. The warm breeze moved the stray hairs at her temples and cooled her hot skin. When she opened them, Ann was facing the bar in search of their wine; Paula was looking at the menu; and Sally was gazing into a compact, touching up her lipstick. As soon as the waiter arrived and filled Ann’s glass, she took a mouthful.
“Ann,” said Jesse softly, as soon as their waiter had left the table. “Where’s the fire?”
“No fire,” said Ann. “I’m just ready to get there.”
“Get where?” asked Sally, shutting her compact.
“To an altered state,” said Ann, taking another sip. “That’s where I’m going.”
“Take a look around you, Ann,” said Jesse. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like we’re already there. We’re not in Kansas anymore, honey.”
“We sure as hell aren’t,” said Ann, raising her glass to toast no one and nothing and then draining its contents. Normally, Ann could tolerate three small drinks in an hour, when she was home on her living room couch with nothing but the newspaper for company. But the effect of being in the sun all day, combined with the margaritas she’d sipped most of the afternoon, caught up with her, its power sudden and irreversible. Her head lost its weight, feeling like a helium balloon attached to her neck. When she spoke, her words echoed in her ears. And when her friends spoke, she couldn’t understand their muttering. It was all incredibly funny to Ann, until she tried to order another bottle of wine and Jesse laid her hand on Ann’s wrist and suggested they order bottled water instead. Ann pulled her arm away with such force that she rocked back in her chair. She was on her way down, her head seconds away from connecting with the shiny cement floor, when the waiter—who had just set their salad plates down on the table—reached out with his giant forearm and stopped the chair midair. He gently righted it, and then walked away as if nothing had happened. Ann burst out laughing.
“Are you okay?” asked Sally, hand at her throat.
“Absolutely,” said Ann. “That was fantastic!”
“What are you talking about?” asked Jesse.
“Where are your eyes, girl?” asked Ann. “I just fell off a cliff and survived! That calls for another round. Where’s our waiter?”
“He’s done with his shift,” said Jesse. “They’re closing up.” Ann looked at her friend with squinted eyes, as if she couldn’t quite make out who she was talking to. Sally and Paula also looked at Jesse, waiting for what would happen next. Jesse pushed her chair out from under the table. “I’m going to take Ann back,” she said, standing. “You two go ahead, and I will join you when I can.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Ann.
Jesse looked down at Ann, a rubber doll somehow able to talk. “It’s time,” said Jesse.
“Fuck you, it’s time,” said Ann, reaching for her empty wineglass.
The waiter returned to the table with a stout, middle-aged woman dressed in the crisp royal blue and white uniform of the resort. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun, the side hairs held in place by a glistening gel. She smiled at Ann, exposing coffee-stained teeth through pulpy burgundy lips. “I’ve turned down your bed, Mrs. Barons,” she said. “And I’ve put a jigger of brandy on your bed stand, just the way you like it.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Let me help you to your place,” she said, bending down.
Ann slapped her on the arm. “I don’t need your help,” she said, swaying as she got to her feet. “I’m forty-five years old. I know how to fucking walk.” She zigzagged around the other dining tables, making her way past the bar to the restaurant entrance. The maître d’ looked up as she approached. Ann raised the middle finger of her right hand and thrust it toward his face. “Thank you,” she spat, “for a wonderful evening.”
“Stay here,” Jesse said to Paula and Sally, who were half-standing. “I’ll go after her and come get you if I need you.”
“We want to help,” said Sally.
“I know you do,” said Jesse. “But if the three of us confront her, it may be overwhelming. Let me just see if I can get her into bed. I’ll be back.”
Jesse walked quickly out of the seating area before jogging along the path to find Ann. She found her friend fumbling with keys at the door and stepped forward to help her. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Let’s go inside,” said Jesse, sliding open the glass door that had not been locked.
Ann opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. She charged past Jesse and plopped down on the living room couch. “Get me a glass of wine, will you?”
Jesse sat down opposite Ann. “I think we went through the bottle before dinner,” she said. “Why don’t you lie down and I’ll see if I can get one at the restaurant.”
“Excellent idea,” said Ann, already leaning into the couch cushions.
“I’ll be right back,” said Jesse.
She jogged back along the path to the restaurant, where she updated Sally and Paula. “I think she’s going to pass out,” she said. “I’ll get her settled and then come back and join you.”
“Can’t we do something?” asked Sally, straightening her cutlery. “I feel useless sitting here.”
“Don’t feel useless, Sally. I know you’re here. It may be that tomorrow is the day you can help instead of tonight. Nothing is going to get through to her right now.”
“Do you want us to just come with you?” asked Paula. “We don’t have to say anything.”
“Ask them to hold my dinner,” said Jesse. “I’ll be right back.”
When Jesse got back to the condo, Ann was not asleep. Instead, she was standing behind the bar, fiddling with a corkscrew and the bottle of wine she had pulled from the fridge. Jesse heard the pop of the cork. “I found a bottle in the fridge,” said Ann, eyes half-closed. “I’ve got two glasses out for us.”
Jesse stood where she was, just inside the sliding glass door. “I don’t want any wine, Ann. And I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”
“What is this?” asked Ann, looking around the room. “A conspiracy?”
“Look, Ann,” said Jesse, approaching her. “Let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow is another day, and you don’t want to miss it with a huge hangover.”
“I thought I left my mother in Michigan,” said Ann, pouring herself a glass.
“I’m not your mother, Ann. I’m your friend.”
“A friend?” asked Ann incredulously, her voice rising in volume and pitch. “You call yourself a friend? I’m the one who invited you to stay for a weekend and you have the fucking nerve to tell me when I can and can’t have a drink?”
“I think it’s best for you to stop.”
“You think it’s best? Who gives a rat’s ass what you think?”
“You do,” said Jesse, standing on the other side of the bar from Ann. “Sometimes.”
“Well, tonight’s not one of them,” said Ann, hitting her hip on the bar as she walked around it toward the couch. “Ouch! Look, I’m here on vacation. I’m forty-five years old and I can do whatever I damn well please.”
Jesse watched as Ann, now stopped in front of the couch, swaying slightly, drank half her glass of wine in two swallows. Jesse thought about what to do next; the pitfalls of arguing with a drunk were well-documented. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, turning her back on Ann and walking toward the sliding glass door. “You can do whatever you please.”
“What are you doing?” asked Ann, setting her wineglass on the glass side table. “Where are you going?”
“To get Sally and Paula,” said Jesse. “I’ll be right back.”
Jesse closed the door behind her, walked a few steps until she was out of Ann’s view, then hurried dow
n the path. When she reached their table in the restaurant, Sally and Paula were just starting their entrées. “What’s going on?” asked Sally when she saw Jesse. “Where’s Ann?”
“She’s back at the condo,” said Jesse, breathless from running. “I don’t want to leave her long because she’s having another drink. Here’s my suggestion. Let’s all go back together and go to bed.”
“Go to bed?” asked Sally, looking at her watch.
“We have to pretend we’re going to bed,” said Jesse. “If we all go back there and stay up, she’ll have three more glasses of wine tonight.”
“Won’t she drink them anyway?” asked Paula, forking some garlic mashed potatoes into her mouth as she stood.
“I think she’s close to crashing,” said Jesse. “Let’s go.”
“You two go,” said Sally. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Jesse and Paula walked out, while Sally reached for her purse. She gave her credit card to their waiter and apologized for the commotion. She then scurried along the path to find her friends, catching up to them outside the sliding glass door.
“She’s always liked to drink,” said Jesse, hand on the handle. “But tonight she’s way out of control.”
“Do you think I should talk to her?” asked Sally, breathing hard.
“I don’t think talking to her tonight is going to result in anything but a fight,” said Jesse. “I’m hoping if we all go to our rooms, she’ll choose to do the same thing, rather than sit in the dark alone with a glass of wine.”
“Okay,” said Paula. “I’m in.”
“Sally?” asked Jesse.
Sally bit her lower lip. She was quite certain she could talk some sense into Ann if she could just get her alone. Perhaps she could sneak back downstairs after Paula and Jesse had retreated to their bedroom. Or, perhaps she could talk to Ann when she came upstairs. That was it. She’d have her all to herself in the master suite and they could talk, just the two of them. “Let’s go,” said Sally.
The Good Life Page 31
