by Donald Wells
“He’s old enough.” She says.
Derek smiles, the sexy smile, the one that drops them to their knees, mouths opening wide.
“Is there something I can do for you ladies?”
Dora takes Derek’s hand, as if to lead him away. “I know what you can do for me.”
“Hey Dora be fair. I thought we were going to use the keys?”
“Keys?” Questions Derek.
The older one explains. “I have one of our room keys in each of my hands, whichever hand you pick you get the girl, um woman, along with the key.”
Derek grins. This is a new one.
“So, which one do you choose?” The younger one asks.
Derek licks his lips slowly. “I want both of you.”
“Both of us?” The women ask in concert, the same underlying tones of curiosity and titillation in their voices.
Derek stands and the women rise also. He extends a hand palm up to each of them.
“What do you say ladies, double or nothing?”
The younger one, Dora, stretches up and kisses him on the mouth, hard. Afterward, the older one does the same, however, after kissing Derek, she leans over and hesitantly kisses Dora.
Dora reacts with a look of surprise. A moment passes, and then Dora takes the other woman’s hand with her right and Derek’s hand with her left and leads them toward the lobby, where the elevators await.
And Derek knows he is soon to make love to the 99th and 100th woman of his young life.
3
It’s Thanksgiving, and Jason is riding with his parents to his aunt and uncle’s townhouse in Philadelphia. Lindsay is likewise being kidnapped to an aunt’s house in Delaware.
For Jason, spending the day apart from Lindsay is pure hell.
“How come Angie isn’t coming too?” Jason asks his mother, misery looking for company.
“Your sister’s gone to Long Island to meet David’s parents.”
“Really? I didn’t think they were that serious.”
Marjorie smiles, “Yes, it’s beginning to look like wedding bells could be on the way.”
Jason becomes quiet again and looks out at the passing scenery, while thinking of Lindsay.
* * *
The townhouse is full of pleasant aromas, and on the console TV in the living room, the Cowboys play the Bears. After the predictable pinching of cheeks by his aunt and slap on the back by his uncle, Jason plops into a chair, resigned to a day of boredom.
The front door opens and a blast of cold air enters the room followed by a chubby girl with long brown hair, she wears jeans and a Princeton varsity jacket, Jason’s Cousin Melody, home from her freshman year at college.
Behind Melody walks a girl with green eyes, eyes that seem to fill her entire face under silky, raven bangs.
Melody yells to Jason, “Hey cuz,” and motions for him to join her near the kitchen. She then gestures at the girl beside her. “Everybody, this is Rita Milano. Rita, this is everybody. Rita wasn’t able to get home for Thanksgiving so she’s spending it with us.”
Rita sends everyone a smile and then speaks in an unmistakable Boston accent. “It’s nice to meet you all, and thank you so much for inviting me Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Think nothing of it dear.” Jason’s Aunt Mary says. “We’ve got food enough for twenty.”
“Rita this is my Cousin Jason. Jason’s going to be a famous artist someday, he can draw anything.” Melody beams.
Rita gives Jason a smile as she looks him over. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She removes her coat and Jason sees that the body beneath it is nothing short of spectacular. High, firm breasts, an impossibly small waist and legs so shapely that he can even make out their beauty beneath the black corduroy slacks she’s wearing.
Rita is at least a foot shorter than Jason’s own six-foot-two and can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, but they are nicely arranged pounds. For the first time since getting together with Lindsay, he wonders what sex with another woman would be like.
Melody gestures toward Rita. “Jason, you and Rita have something in common, she’s an artist too.”
“Actually I’m an art history major, but I’d like to see your work someday Jason. I bet you’re very good.” Rita says, and the way she says it tells Jason that she’s attracted to him also.
Jason smiles, Maybe this won’t be such a crappy day after all.
* * *
Dinner is served, surrounded by the good china sits the guest of honor, a succulent twenty-two pound turkey. Uncle Phil begins carving and Thanksgiving officially begins.
After dinner, Jason’s parents and his aunt and uncle drink coffee in the kitchen while gossiping about the rest of the family, and Melody suggests that Rita and Jason follow her to her room.
As she starts up the stairs, Melody hollers back across her shoulder. “We’re going to listen to records mom!”
They’re also going to drink from the bottle of wine Melody is smuggling upstairs.
In the room, the two girls take off their shoes and sit crossed-legged on the bed. Jason follows suit and settles across from Melody with Rita on his left.
Melody passes around paper cups taken from the bathroom dispenser and pours the wine. She then points to a luminous painting of a seascape above the headboard.
“Jason painted that, he definitely got the art talent in the family.”
Rita smiles, “He didn’t do badly in the looks department either.”
“The same could be said for you Rita.” Jason says.
Melody grins at them. “Maybe I should leave you two alone for a while, huh?”
“My girlfriend Lindsay wouldn’t appreciate that Mel.”
“I heard about your new girlfriend. Angie says you two are hot and heavy.”
“Angie talks too much.”
“Hey Jason,” Melody says loudly, and Jason wonders if the wine is already affecting her. “Why don’t you draw us something? Draw Rita.”
“Do you have a pencil and paper?”
Melody hops off the bed. “I can do better than that.” She goes to a closet on the other side of the room.
Soon, the floor in front of the closet is littered with rejects from her search.
“Melody tells me that where you live is beautiful.” Rita says.
“Ocean Beach Island, yeah it’s nice, you should check it out sometime.”
Rita smiles, “I definitely will.”
“Eureka!” Melody calls over. “I found it.”
She returns to the bed carrying a bright red plastic case and opens it.
Inside, are a spiral-bound pad of thick cream-tinted paper along with an assortment of charcoal and colored pencils.
“Where’d you get that?” Jason asks.
“I bought it for Walker a long time ago, but you can have it.”
“Who’s Walker?” Rita asks.
“Walker is Mel’s brother, he ran away from home last year.”
Melody sighs. “Walker’s not coming back, so if you like it, it’s yours.”
“You’re sure Mel?”
Melody smiles and hands Jason the case.
“Start drawing.”
* * *
Jason draws Rita from a perspective down on the floor. It makes her look as if she were sitting atop a sun-lit meadow, instead of a wool blanket. He uses the colored pencils along with a charcoal one.
It’ll take color to do those green eyes justice.
When finished, he hands her the pad. Rita’s mouth forms into an O as she takes in his work.
“My God, Jason you’re really talented, I’m impressed.”
“Thank you Rita.”
“I mean it looks like me, but I look better, special.”
“I just draw people the way I see them.”
“But I look so beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful Rita; I only hope I captured those incredible green eyes of yours.”
“Do you really think my eyes are incredible?”
&
nbsp; “Well, I meant that in an artistic way, but yeah they are.”
Melody raises her hand. “Are you guys sure you don’t want me to leave the room for a while?”
They all laugh, and then they play records and talk about music. Later on, as he’s leaving, Rita tells Jason to keep the drawing to remember her by and gives him a quick peck on the lips.
* * *
Thanksgiving at the Stern estate is the same as everywhere else, the family gathered together for dinner; however, here the family consists of only two people, Derek and his mother Charlotte.
“When is dinner mother?” Derek asks. He stands behind his mother’s desk, gazing out at the frost covered grounds beyond which lies the ocean. To Derek, the sea looks empty and alone.
“Marta said we would be dining around six darling, why do you ask, are you starving?”
He sighs. “No, just bored.” And the moment he says it, he closes his eyes, cursing his stupidity.
Charlotte swivels around in her chair. “Well, we can’t have you bored now, can we?”
She releases her red hair from its tight bun and it falls about her to frame a face which leaves no question as to where her son’s inherited his astonishing good looks.
When Derek’s father, Justin, returned from a Florida vacation twenty years ago with sixteen-year-old Charlotte as his bride, it was the talk of the Island for months. The fifty-four-year-old bachelor had been more than bitten by the love bug; it had swallowed him whole.
Justin was the only surviving member of one of the Island’s two founding families, the Reynolds being the other, and had managed to turn the family’s dying cannery business into a real estate empire.
A year after Derek was born; Justin—while enjoying the foremost pleasure of having a young wife—suffered a heart attack. Justin collapsed his 263lb. body atop his wife as the first agonizing jolt tore into his heart.
Charlotte extricated herself from beneath his bulk and watched as Justin struggled for breath, while gazing up at her pleadingly.
Charlotte watched for nearly forty minutes.
When she was certain his chest was still, she ran to the telephone and called for help in a pitiful and terrified voice. After hanging up, she returned to the bed and stared down at the corpse, while in a merciless tone she hissed, “Finally.”
At the age of eighteen, Charlotte became the richest woman on the Island; she now owns more of its real estate than anyone else.
“Derek, come give mother a massage.” Charlotte says. She’s now sitting sideways on the black leather couch that rests against the left wall; she wears a gray skirt with a white blouse.
Derek massages his mother’s shoulders. A sigh of pleasure escapes Charlotte and a look of bliss sits upon her face.
Derek’s face is a blank slate.
“Madam?”
The voice comes from the doorway and belongs to the maid. She’s in her late twenties and wears a uniform; her long dark hair is tucked under a black and white cap.
Charlotte asks, “Yes Marta?” with eyes closed and a blissful look still lighting her face.
Marta appears disconcerted by the scene before her, her slight Cuban accent is more pronounced in her anxiety.
“Pardon me Madam, but dinner will be ready in an hour.”
“Thank you, that will be all,” Charlotte says, and Marta leaves in a nervous little rush.
“Derek, lock the door.”
Derek makes his way to the office door and eases it shut.
Charlotte smiles and begins unbuttoning her blouse.
“An hour, that should be just about enough time.”
* * *
11:57 p.m.
Jason removes two sets of keys from the hook by the kitchen door and cringes when they strike each other, sending out a faint noise like a small bell ringing. He listens for his parents’ stirrings, but hears nothing.
After sneaking out the backdoor, he goes to the driveway, where he opens the car as quietly as possible, leaning in, he puts the car in neutral and pushes the heavy Lincoln Continental into the street.
As he drives past his house with the lights off, only one thought is in his mind.
I hope Lindsay was able to sneak out too.
* * *
Jason rolls the car to the curb with the headlights off and parks in front of Lindsay’s house.
He checks the dashboard clock. It’s twelve o’ four in the morning. He’s four minutes late with no sign of Lindsay and the house looking as dark as a well.
C’mon Lindsay, hell, I better go look for her.
Jason heads to the rear of the small home and hears a noise as he walks along the alleyway. He tenses up. Muggings are uncommon in The Squares, but not unknown. Suddenly a shape leaps from the shadows and pounces on him.
“Boomer,” The shape whispers, as Lindsay clamps her legs around his waist and her arms about his neck.
Jason nearly tumbles backward to the ground from the impact of her landing. “Jesus, Lindsay you scared the crap out of me.”
Lindsay nuzzles her face to the side of his neck. “I’m sorry Boomer, I’m just so glad to see you.”
Jason inhales the scent of her and smiles. “God I missed you today honey.”
“Jason,”
“Yeah?”
“You can put me down now.”
“Uh un, I’m never gonna let you go.”
They kiss, and while still holding her, Jason heads for the car.
* * *
They make their way to his family’s cabin located in the highest, southeast tip of the Island, which residents call The Hills and the tourists call Ocean’s Point.
The Hills were created in 1958 by the importation of soil and sand carried by dump trucks over the Gateway Bridge, the cable bridge itself having only been completed the year before.
The bridge is an architectural beauty whose creation is responsible for more than ten-percent of the Island’s population. In order to avoid hefty union construction costs, the Island’s leaders imported engineers and workers from Cuba.
A shantytown was slapped together to house the workers on the northwestern end of the Island and the building of the bridge commenced. The industrious Cubans soon built permanent housing and began fishing the waters off the coasts.
Political revolution in Cuba and infatuation with their new environs combined to make the Island the Cubans’ new home.
Racial tensions peaked among Island natives and immigrants in the early 1960’s in an incident that cost two young women their lives. The tragedy awakened the groups from their ignorance and they now live together in relative peace.
The most valuable residential sections of land on the Island now consists of the mainly Cuban, Isla Nueva, or New Island section on the Island’s west coast, bordering the Harborton Bay, and the land atop the man-made Hills in the east, facing the ocean.
The Hills were also a barrier against floodwaters from the sea, and this is how the project was presented to the Island’s residents.
A second reason for the project was the fact that the Island’s elite wanted to own homes with unparalleled views of the Atlantic Ocean.
Seven immense log cabins, each with its own private beach below, were constructed along the top of the artificial mountain using taxpayer dollars. What supreme arrogance it took to imagine this would go unchallenged by the people.
When it was revealed that the Mayor and his cronies planned to take up residence in these seaside estates, a cry went up from the Islanders. The five-term Mayor was recalled from office and the properties sat vacant.
What to do with the cabins became the great question.
Finally it was decided that a raffle would be the only fair way to bestow ownership. Jason’s paternal grandfather entered and won big, winning the coveted parcel on the high, eastern end of The Hills.
“The cabin in the sky,” so named, because at times, when the fog rolled in off the ocean and obscured The Hills from view, this one cabin appeared to be floating o
n a cloud above the water, like a full moon on a starless night.
Over the years, most of the cabins have been replaced by mansions such as the one owned by Charlotte Stern a quarter mile along Hills Road.
The Reynolds’ cabin is now the only one of the original cedar log cabins still standing. Adam Reynolds, the current proud owner, rents it out for a hefty sum from May through September. On this late November day the cabin sits empty and private, and Jason has the key.
* * *
They enter the cabin, to the left is a wide staircase, while before them is the vast living room. The room is roughly a thousand square feet and is dominated by a massive fieldstone fireplace on the opposite wall. The furniture is large and soft, an overstuffed white sofa with matching love seats, for Lindsay, the cabin is love at first sight.
“This cabin is fantastic. You’ve even got your own beach, how come your family doesn’t live up here?”
“We’ll spend a day here once in a while, but it was my grandfather’s place, so my mom never wanted it. I hear they really didn’t get along. I asked my dad about him once and all he would say was that his father wasn’t all snips and snails and puppy dog tails, the way he said it made me never want to ask again.”
“You and Derek are neighbors, he lives right next door.”
“Derek and I used to play together up here when we were little kids, then we had a fight when I caught him shooting squirrels with a BB gun. I took his gun away and broke it.”
“Is that why he doesn’t like you?”
Jason shrugs. “I don’t know; we’ve just rubbed each other the wrong way for years. You’ll never know how much I hated him when you two started dating.”
Lindsay hangs her head. “You must have hated me too. Last year, you asked me to the Founders Day picnic first, but I went with Derek instead.”
Jason takes her hand. “I could never hate you. C’mon, I’ll show you the upstairs.”
The cabin’s upper levels consist of an unused attic under a peaked roof and five bedrooms on the second floor, each with its own bath.
In the master bedroom, Jason lights candles and turns off the lamp. He takes Lindsay in his arms and they kiss passionately as they fall atop the bed. As he’s about to unhook her bra, Lindsay speaks.
