by Selena Kitt
"Everyone has secrets here, Lace. Some of them are pretty dark. Welcome to Grim Island."
About Jack Osprey
Jack Osprey lives in New England with his wife, curious calico cat, laid-back husky, and never enough marine fish. He still believes in rescuing damsels in distress; just not too quickly. Although he has two grown kids, he still keeps a light burning nightly and a close vigil on his thumping closet door. It’s only recently that he’s started letting some of his demon spawn slither forth, manifesting themselves on his monitor. Expect more; the closet is quite full.
The Flintstone Experiment
By Selena Kitt
If this didn’t work, Laura knew she was going to leave him. She sat, making herself even smaller in the narrow space of an airplane seat, looking out at the clearest water she had ever seen as they made their approach. It wasn’t anything like the small Midwestern town where she grew up. She knew she should have been excited, but it was fear she felt curled up in a ball in the pit of her belly, and she put her hand there, as if rubbing it could make it go away.
“Are you cold?” Rick leaned over and tucked the blue blanket around her thighs. She smiled at him, not saying anything as she turned back to the window. As they neared the island, she could make out the coastline. She leaned over and started packing things back into her carry-on—a paperback book, a pair of headphones, the uneaten bag of peanuts.
“Here.” She handed their tickets to him. “We’d better start getting ready.”
Rick took the tickets and stared at them for a moment. “Maybe you should keep them? In your purse?”
Laura sighed, took them back and tucked them neatly into her handbag. “Do you even know the name of the place we’re staying?”
He shrugged, putting the Gameboy he’d been playing into his carry-on bag. “You’re the one who planned this whole thing.”
“Yeah.” Laura sighed again, curling toward the window and watching the ground swell, as if it were rising to meet them. They were over land completely now, and she had a brief desire to be swallowed up by it. A crash wouldn’t be like that, of course, but that was the image—the plane just continuing its descent, plunging into the earth below until just its tail emerged and the passengers inside were all buried alive.
What’s the difference? I feel buried alive now.
The dry, stale air of the plane made her feel like she was suffocating.
“Are you all right?” Rick touched her shoulder.
She gave him another half-hearted smile. “I’m fine… Just fine.”
* * * *
“This guy is an asshole,” Rick reiterated, swallowing his orange juice in three huge gulps and signaling the waitress.
Laura pierced a grape with her fork, watching him spread butter on his toast. Then it was on to the jelly. He ordered another orange juice, and she watched him squirt ketchup onto his ten dollar omelet. Lunch and dinner main courses were included in their retreat package, but breakfast and any extras were on their own.
“You know, orange juice is three dollars.” She crushed the grape between her teeth and made it squirt into her mouth. It was a bitter one, and she thought that was just about right. “Each.”
“So?” Rick shrugged, smiling at the waitress and thanking her when she set the juice in front of him. “We’re on vacation, right? Why shouldn’t we have what we want?”
“Do you need anything else?” The waitress smiled at Rick. She was a tall girl, with short, stylish blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Laura grimaced at the girl’s clothes—a colorful blue sarong that matched her eyes, and a solid blue bikini top that barely contained the flesh spilling out of it. Clearly island-wear.
“Could you possibly bring me a lemon wedge?” He held up his water glass, as if that explained his request.
“Sure.” The blonde reached for Laura’s empty plate. She had been through her egg-white omelet before Rick had even started.
She looked over the railing and down at the beach—clear water, like blue glass, with a white sandy edge that looked as if it belonged on a postcard. Probably was, somewhere downstairs in the gift shop, with the words “Welcome to Elysium!” on the front. She felt far from paradise.
“So why is he an asshole?” Laura pierced a piece of cantaloupe.
Rick, pouring syrup over his pecan pancakes, answered through a mouth full of eggs. “Because he is. I’m surprised you like him. He wants to send women back to the stone age. Is that what you want? You wanna be my Wilma? So I can be your Fred.”
She remembered the facilitator who had started the workshop last night. He wasn’t an exceptionally good-looking man—in fact, he was balding, and she thought he was rather scrawny. Still, there was something about him. When he looked at her, she felt like she was being seen into, seen through.
“It doesn’t have to be the Flintstones.” She sipped her water. “And yes… if men who live that way are like the guy who lectured last night… it is what I want.”
“Thanks.” Rick smiled up at the waitress as she set a plate of lemon wedges next to his glass.
The blonde smiled. “No problem—I’ll take this up when you’re ready.” The waitress slipped the leather case containing the bill in front of Laura who looked at it with her lips pursed.
“I thought this was what feminism tried so hard to fight against?” Rick squeezed a lemon into his water. “Men in control, women being subservient. You really want to be subservient to me?”
She sighed and pushed her chair back from the table. “I have to pee.”
Rick was signaling the waitress again for something as Laura made her way to the bathroom. She closed the stall door and swallowed a scream. Her face felt hot and dry, her throat constricted and her whole body felt like one big clenched muscle. How could he not understand what it was that she wanted from him? How could he be so blind?
When she left the stall, she washed her hands, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she held them under a dryer. The air was blowing her long dark hair over her shoulder. There were two rosy spots on her cheeks, the glow that always crept in whenever she was angry or upset. Straightening her blouse and tucking it into the waistband of her long flowered skirt, she wondered if this was just as good as it ever got. Maybe it was.
The check was still sitting there at the table, untouched. Rick was using his last sausage to clean the syrup from his plate. He smiled up at her and winked. On a whim, she pulled her chair around and sat next to him, her thigh rubbing up against his under the table.
“Hey, there’s my girl.” He put his arm around her and leaned back with a little groan, his hand covering his belly. “That was a good breakfast. You ready for another day in Bedrock? Maybe the Great Gazoo will be able to help us, huh?”
Laura laughed in spite of herself, letting her body relax against his side. Maybe good enough just was—good enough.
* * * *
“Why are you here?” The question stopped Laura, and she felt herself recoiling from it. She stared into the dark, penetrating gaze of the facilitator that Rick called “The Great Gazoo,” and found that she couldn’t keep the truth from him, as much as her rational mind tried to stop her. Not in front of all these people! What are you thinking?
“He doesn’t know this…” She glanced guiltily over at Rick. “But I told myself that if this workshop didn’t change things between us, I was going to leave.”
“So is this your ultimatum?” Gazoo asked. Laura couldn’t help thinking of him as Gazoo, now—especially since they had to choose “fake names” for themselves, and Rick had dubbed them “Wilma” and “Fred.”
“The Great Gazoo” looked down at Rick. Laura could feel the eyes of the entire room on them; a thousand people were here, all watching.
“I guess.” Laura shrugged, talking into the cordless microphone he had given her. “I just don’t know how to get him to change. I try—I’ve tried giving him things to do, putting him in charge of things around the house…”
“W
hoa!” Gazoo’s were bright as he held his hand up to stop her. He looked at Rick, raising his eyebrows. “Is that true? Has she put you in charge of things around the house?”
“Uh…” Rick’s eyes slanted over to his wife as Gazoo gave him the microphone. “Yeah. I guess. I was in charge of the bills for a while—but then she took it all back.”
“Well, after four hundred dollars in bounced check fees…” Laura started, but stopped when Gazoo held up his hand again.
“Does she ever tell you how she’s feeling?” he asked Rick. “Does she ever express her emotion spontaneously in the moment? The feminine is like water—she flows, all the time. One minute, she’s up, the next she’s down. She’s all over the place. Does that describe your wife?”
Rick swallowed. “Uh… no.”
“You don’t trust this man.” Laura winced when Gazoo turned back to her.
“Yes, I do.” She put her hand on Rick’s arm. “Of course I do, he’s my husband.”
“You say you do.” Gazoo shook his head. “Look, you say you want him to be the masculine energy in your relationship, yes? You’re tired of being the one in charge, and you want to be able to relax into your feminine flow, right? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Laura nodded, in spite of the fact that she didn’t like the way this sounded.
“But how can you expect a man to take charge, to be your direction and guidance, if you don’t trust him to lead you?”
Laura shook her head, but she had tears in her eyes.
“I have a practice for you, if you’re willing to do it.”
“A practice?” Rick sounded unsure.
“For the next twenty-four hours,” Gazoo went on. “I don’t want your wife to do anything without your guidance and direction. And I mean anything. She can’t even pee without you feeling into what she needs and wants.”
“Can I talk?” Laura’s eyes widened.
“You can talk if he says you can,” Gazoo replied. “But I suggest that it be a non-verbal practice. And if it is… how are you going to tell him what you need or want?”
Laura bit her lip, her eyes falling to the auditorium floor.
“Do you think you can do that?” he asked them. Laura and Rick looked at each other, doubtful. “Let me just get a show of hands. Who else thinks that this a good practice for these two?”
Laura stared around in wonder as a thousand hands shot into the air. She didn’t like the idea—it scared the hell out of her—but she had told herself that she would do anything to change things between them. Was she willing?
“What do you say?” Gazoo asked. “It’s up to you—it’s not a mandate. Just a practice. Twenty-four hours of your life.”
Laura grabbed the microphone from Rick, blurting, “Yes! We’ll do it.”
Her response had the whole auditorium laughing as Rick sat there, dumbstruck.
Gazoo chuckled, too, his dark eyes settling on Rick. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, man. Is she always like this?”
Rick grimaced and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Not always…” Laura interjected, sitting forward. Gazoo held up his hand to her again, shaking his head.
“Did he tell you to speak?” The man raised his eyebrows. Laura’s mouth dropped open as he took the microphone from her. “Consider the practice started.”
Rick’s eyes widened and he looked bemused as he glanced over at Laura. Gazoo appeared satisfied and moved on to another couple. She crossed her arms and sat back in her seat, feeling her face beginning to flush.
Maybe this whole thing was like some strange time warp—she felt stifled and put into her place. That wasn’t what at all how she imagined this would feel. She swallowed and glanced back over at “The Great Gazoo,” working his magic on another couple—if magic is what it was. I wish it was that easy, she thought and gave a deep sigh. Rick didn’t seem to notice.
* * * *
Rick had to come back for her at dinner time. She didn’t know how far he’d made it before he realized she wasn’t with him, but the auditorium was nearly empty and her stomach was growling. She saw Gazoo watching her, his eyebrows raised. She just sat there, in her chair, her arms crossed, waiting and fuming. She knew that those rosy patches were appearing on her cheeks—she could never stop that.
She glared at Gazoo as he shuffled through papers on the podium. This was what she was supposed to do, right? Wait for Rick to tell her what to do? She imagined she had laser beams for eyes to cut Gazoo in two for suggesting this little “practice” in the first place. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. She was so hungry now that she was getting shaky.
“You know…” Gazoo stopped by her on the way out, speaking softly. “There are nonverbal ways to communicate your feelings. Have you considered that?”
She looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak and then remembering that she couldn’t, without Rick’s permission. She whirled to look for him, but he was still nowhere to be found. She turned back to Gazoo, sticking out her tongue at him.
“Yes!” He gave a little laugh. “Good! Gimme some more of that!”
She felt her anger welling, bubbling to the surface. She gave him the finger, her eyes blazing.
“Yeah!” His voice moved lower. “That’s what I’m talking about. Give your man some more of that. He not only wants it—he needs it. Trust me.”
She glowered at him, reaching out and shoving her hand against his hip. He didn’t move, but she saw his eyes were brighter, wider, with that same look she’d seen before, as if he was looking right into her.
“Trust him,” Gazoo grabbed her hand as she reached out to shove him again. “Just keep giving it to him, whatever it is—whatever you’re feeling. You’re doing great.”
His praise made her stop, and she turned as she heard Rick puffing down the aisle as he jogged toward them. “I’m sorry.” He held a hand out to her. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”
She stood, putting her hands on his chest and pushing hard. He didn’t expect it, and he stumbled, catching himself on the back of a chair.
“Hey!” Rick’s brow wrinkled. “I said I was sorry.”
“Word of advice.” Gazoo walked around them. “Stop apologizing.”
Rick snapped his mouth shut, frowning.
“She doesn’t care what you did a minute ago, or a year ago,” Gazoo continued, saying it over his shoulder as he walked past. “She cares about what you’re doing now. Right now. Good luck, you two.”
Laura was standing with her arms crossed, her mouth drawn, feeling faint from hunger, her bladder full to bursting. They stood there, looking at each other, neither sure how to proceed.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. Laura nodded, fast and furious, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her to him in the nearly empty auditorium.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said into her hair, holding her so close that she could barely breathe. “I’ll do whatever it is I have to do, whatever you want…”
Laura growled, wiggling and writhing against him.
“What?” He let her go and shook his head. “What did I say?”
She smacked her forehead, rolling her eyes.
Rick sighed. “Come on, let’s go eat.” He was nearly to the door again before he realized she wasn’t following, and he had to go back and grab her hand to pull her along.
Dinner was a disaster. They were all supposed to eat dinner together in the island retreat center’s cafeteria, and she felt as if everyone’s eyes were on them as they made their way through the line. Rick kept asking if she wanted this, or this, or this—and she just kept shaking her head. She watched his tray fill up with food, while hers stayed empty. They got to the end of the line, and Rick realized that all their money was in her purse.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Rick unslung her purse from her shoulder and looked for her wallet. He handed a twenty over to the cashier to cover their drinks, which were not included. “I thought you were hungry?”
Laura gra
bbed her empty tray and threw it on the floor. She threw it so hard that the orange surface cracked as it skidded across the tile. Everyone was definitely looking at them now!
“Hey!” The cashier frowned. “What the hell?”
Laura stomped her foot, her arms crossed over her chest. She could feel her cheeks burning with color, and tears pricked her eyes. Her stomach was protesting—it was nearly seven o’clock and she hadn’t eaten since noon.
Rick was standing with her purse in his hands and his mouth hanging open. The look on his face infuriated her, and she screamed. It was something primal, rising from deep in her belly.
For the first time in days, weeks, months, perhaps years, her throat felt unconstricted. She screamed and stomped her feet, jumping up and down on the tray. She nearly fell, catching herself on the tray rails, and she shook those, too, for good measure, although they didn’t move.
“Uh, Laura…?” Rick was blinking fast, looking around them, his face turning red.
She screamed again, long and sustained, grabbed his tray and swung around, threw it like a discus over her shoulder. The woman behind them in line screamed in surprise, taking an instinctive step backwards. It sailed through the air, spilling packaged rolls and fruit cups and salad as it went.
Laura was breathing hard, her hands clenched into tight fists. Rick’s jaw was tight, and she saw the line on his forehead appear, the one that showed up when he was really angry.
“All right, Helen Keller…” He grabbed her arm before she could throw anything else. Laura gasped at the tightness of his grip.
“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized to the cashier. “Do you need me to clean it?”
The woman shook her head, waving him away. “Just… why don’t you have her go lie down or something?”
“Or something,” Rick repeated with a grimace, yanking Laura’s arm nearly out of its socket as he headed toward the exit. She stumbled behind him, glad that her hair was hiding her face. She could feel the eyes on them as they made their way out of the cafeteria.
Rick was silent on the elevator, but she knew his angry silences well enough. She tucked herself into the corner, spent, and watched the number lights counting up to their floor. When the doors opened, he remembered to grab her arm, pulling her along the corridor to their room.
