Girls' Night In

by Jessica Adams

  She bounced down the concrete steps to the beach where Dave was standing by the seashore, his back to her, the wind whipping his scarf out at the cold green sea.

  ‘Hello, handsome,’ she called, bounding across the empty sand. He spun round, just in time to catch her in his arms as she leapt towards him. ‘How you doing?’

  Dave looked at her strangely, his eyes clouded, his face earnest.

  ‘Charlotte – I need to tell you something.’

  Charlotte’s heart stopped. Panic scampered through her body. His face looked different, the gravity frightened her.

  ‘What?’ she replied, too quickly.

  He smiled at her distress, and pulled her towards him. ‘Don’t look so scared. It’s just there’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time. It’s important, and I want to say it now.’

  Charlotte was frozen. No, please God, no! Please don’t let him finish it now. Her fingernails bit into her palms. Not now she’d fallen for him. Please no!

  ‘Charlotte – I don’t know how it happened, but I’m absolutely sure of it …’ Dave paused and swallowed. ‘You, girl – I’ve fallen completely and utterly in love with you.’

  Cupping her chin in his hands, his eyes melting before her, he declared: ‘Charlotte of Majorca, I love you.’

  It took three long seconds for Charlotte to unfreeze. A tingle ran up and down through her body, from her toes to hair to her toes again and the tears popped into her eyes.

  ‘Oh my God, Dave, oh – I think I love you too!’

  Step Six: Living Together

  Charlotte’s room in Julia’s flat was way too small for all her stuff, but initially it had seemed like a small price to pay for sharing with her best mate. When Dominic had kicked her out of his flat it had been about the only place she could go, and she had been very grateful for it. But Julia’s lifestyle – basically nocturnal as it revolved entirely around the Bournemouth nightclub where she worked – was beginning to interfere with Charlotte’s day job. She would be woken up at five or six almost every morning by Julia stumbling into the flat, bottle of vodka in one hand, random man in the other.

  And Charlotte was not best pleased that all the clothes Julia had offered to keep in her wardrobe were now so trashed by Julia’s constant abuse, that the only place they were fit for was Oxfam. Plus Julia was definitely being rather cool with her now – either because she felt Charlotte was crowding her space or, as was more likely, suspected Charlotte, she was holding the Dave thing against her – in the way good girlfriends do when they’ve retrieved a mate from a broken relationship only to watch them embark on another.

  Despite her protestations, Charlotte thought Julia was probably a little jealous her holiday romance had lasted, whereas Julia’s hadn’t. She and Carlos had spent the winter writing to each other, and there had even been talk of her going back there to work in the summer, but that didn’t make up for the fact that Julia had no resident boyfriend.

  So with Dave not wildly welcome at the flat, Charlotte had taken to spending more and more time at his – a two-bedroom place he shared over the other side of town with his brother, Neil. But Neil was moving out – he had a new job working for a record company up in London – and Dave needed a new flatmate to help pay the mortgage. Neither had spoken about it, but both knew the question was hanging in the air.

  The problem was Charlotte had such terrible recollections of living with Dom. The way he used to go on about her not picking the towels up off the floor, how she always had to explain where she was going, how every Sunday she ended up cooking lunch for him and all his mates while they watched football on the telly. It was his flat and one of the most emancipating things about their break-up was having her own space again, however small her room was. Still, the situation was ridiculous.

  Charlotte snuggled up to Dave in his big, soft bed, pulling his duvet around them against the February cold.

  ‘Do you know I can’t remember the last time I spent a night at Julia’s,’ she mused.

  ‘I can. It was Tuesday last week.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’d run out of knickers!’ remembered Charlotte.

  ‘Just how I like it. But I missed you terribly,’ grumbled Dave, nuzzling her hair.

  ‘You know, babe, I’ve been thinking,’ she said, leaving a significant pause.

  ‘Yeah, so have I,’ he eventually replied, throwing her a half-smile.

  ‘It does seem to make sense, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yup – and you know what? I think, for the sake of appearances, we should make it official.’

  Charlotte sat bolt upright in bed in shock.

  Step Seven: The Betrothal

  Charlotte glanced over at the suit bag on the empty seat next to her. The ivory silk was just visible through the window at the top of the bag, winking at her in such a significant way. Instinctively she reached out with her hand and smoothed the dress underneath its cover. It looked so beautiful on her, she thought for the millionth time since her first fitting. The most beautiful dress she had ever worn.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving at Las Palmas. We would like to wish you a pleasant stay in Majorca and look forward to seeing you on the return flight.’

  An involuntary flutter scampered through Charlotte’s body. She was so excited – not least because she was going to see Julia again. She had missed her since she had moved out, and now Julia had spent all summer in Majorca working in Carlos’s bar their friendship had been confined to phone calls. Quickly, willing the plane down on to the runway, Charlotte pulled the seatbelt tight round her waist. Airplane seats were so uncomfortable, designed to scrunch your back and crush your legs so that when you got up you could barely stand. Charlotte suspected this was deliberate, to stop you wandering up and down the aisle tripping over the drinks trolleys. And the seats were even more cramped on these cheap pack-’em-in-tight flights. Still, it was all she could afford now Dave had ‘officially’ entered her as joint holder of the mortgage.

  It was the take-off and landing Charlotte really hated. The luggage racks would rattle, the seats shudder, the window-panes vibrate. Still, it was all worth it, she was so looking forward to sun, sea and sand again, and as for the idea of a wedding on the beach, well, Charlotte thought it was wonderful. So romantic. Lucky, lucky Julia and Carlos. She looked across at the dress again, this time a little mournfully. Well, at least she got to be the bridesmaid.

  Karen Moline

  Karen Moline is the author of two novels: Belladonna and Lunch; the co-author of the bestselling humour/parenting book, Sh*tty Mom; and has ghostwritten/collaborated on over two dozen nonfiction books. As a pop culture journalist, she has also written for dozens of magazines and newspapers in the US, UK, and Australia, including Tatler, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, W, Elle, New York magazine, Interview, Nylon, and the London Evening Standard. She has a monthly GEMs of Beauty column at www.goodenoughmother.com. More of her work can be found at her website, www.karenmoline.com. She lives in NYC with her son.

  Lip Service

  Karen Moline

  ‘Oysters.’

  ‘What?’ Ginevra asked Sean.

  ‘That’s how I met her. At an oyster festival. And you know what – I hadn’t planned on going to an oyster festival.’

  ‘It’s not the sort of thing you normally plan, is it,’ Parker said, rolling his eyes as he helped himself to another beer.

  ‘Oysters, yes. Festival, no,’ his friend Gil said.

  ‘I was walking home and it was just there. A whole lot of noise and a whole lot of people,’ Sean explained. ‘On Division Street. They blocked it off.’

  ‘I’ve never been to an oyster festival,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Ginevra. ‘And I don’t think I ever want to. Oysters don’t do it for me. Although my parents ate them whenever they could and kept trying to entice me, every single time. They’re too squishy.’

  ‘I don’t like the colour, either,’ Rachel said with a shudder. ‘Or
the consistency. Yuck.’

  ‘If you swallow them fast, you don’t really notice. The squishiness, I mean,’ Gil said brightly. ‘Helps them go down, as a matter a fact.’

  ‘A lot you know about squishy things going down, I am sure,’ Parker said snidely.

  ‘Oysters are an acquired taste for only the most refined of tasters,’ Gil retorted.

  ‘Talking about yourself again?’ Parker said, swallowing a mouthful of beer and licking his lips. ‘Ha. You wish.’

  ‘Oooh, he’s getting all hot and bothered now,’ Rachel teased.

  ‘It was hot,’ Sean said.

  ‘When was hot?’ Ginevra asked him.

  ‘When I met her,’ he replied. ‘At the oyster festival.’

  ‘Was it the heat that’s made you look so off?’ Ginevra added, looking at him closely with a slight frown. ‘Or a few off oysters?’

  ‘No, the oysters weren’t off.’

  ‘Not your usual punk self, pal,’ Parker said.

  ‘Just punky,’ Rachel said, always trying to be the pragmatist and smooth things over.

  ‘Come to think of it, you do look kinda peaky,’ Gil told him.

  ‘But it’s not like we’ve seen you for the last few months. You did tell us you were going off to parts unknown on one of your usual assignments. But you’ve never come back looking like this. Something’s eating you, obviously,’ Parker said.

  ‘He’s eating the oysters, remember,’ Ginevra said.

  ‘Yes, but what month was it?’ Gil wondered. ‘You can’t eat oysters in months without an R in them. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘You think everyone knows everything,’ Ginevra said with a wink. ‘When they don’t.’

  ‘Well, everyone should know everything about when to eat oysters. Whether they like them or not,’ Gil said, a little defensively. ‘It’s one of those all-important lessons that will sustain you through life.’

  ‘Through somebody’s oyster-eating life, you mean,’ Rachel said. ‘I doubt that all the starving people in Bangladesh think that when to eat oysters is an all-important life lesson.’

  ‘Oh, you always have to get so real and be a bore, don’t you,’ Parker complained. ‘We’re just talking about oysters, for cripes’ sake.’

  ‘It was September,’ Sean said, not wanting to hear another verbal spat between Rachel and Parker, who seemed less and less a couple in love than a couple about to tear each other to shreds … and that was not something he could think about without an involuntary shudder. ‘Labor Day weekend. That’s why there was a festival, I guess. And it was hot. Really, really hot.’

  ‘You said that already,’ Gil said. ‘But I do remember that weekend. That heat.’

  ‘What he means is, she was really, really hot,’ Parker said. ‘The she he met. He met she. At the infamous Labor Day oyster festival.’

  ‘It was one of those perfect cloudless summer days,’ Sean said with a sudden smile so sweet he almost looked like his old self, the one that wasn’t pale and drawn and so thin his jeans were practically falling off his slim hips. ‘Hard to believe that there would ever be fall, or blasts of wind off the lake or snow and slush and freezing cold. Just heat, and sun, and blue, blue sky. The softest touch of a breeze. The kind of day that made you happy to be alive.’

  ‘Not even the slightest hint of snowballs and sleet and frozen toes,’ Rachel said, shuddering at the thought of another Chicago winter.

  ‘Not even the slightest hint, no,’ Sean replied. ‘I almost wish there had been. It felt like May, like all of summer and the things that were meant to grow were yet to come. It was so weird. There was a bandstand at one end and a band playing an Irish folk-song, and all these people dancing and the tables where they were selling the oysters and the smell … The damp sea smell. You know: pungent. And briny.’

  ‘Stinky, you mean,’ Ginevra said.

  ‘Combined with the smell of the Guinness. They were the sponsors of the festival, you see,’ Sean explained. ‘So it was heat and oysters and seaweed and stout.’

  ‘Yum. Appetizing,’ Parker said. ‘Think I’ll have another brewski.’

  ‘So I was minding my own business, listening to the music, standing in a line to get my oysters, just because I could, you know,’ Sean said. ‘Sort of randomly looking around at the crowd. And that’s when I saw her.’

  ‘Your eyes locked,’ Ginevra said.

  ‘Across a crowded room,’ said Rachel.

  ‘It wasn’t a room, silly,’ Parker told her. ‘It was outdoors. So your eyes locked across a crowded Division Street.’

  ‘She was standing there. Eating oysters,’ Sean said. ‘Yes, our eyes locked. I’ve never seen anyone eat oysters like that. I’ve never seen anyone look like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gil asked.

  ‘I’ll bet it was her lips,’ Parker said, licking his. ‘Here comes the kissable lips part.’

  ‘Yes, they were kissable,’ Sean said. ‘Absurdly, brightly, perfectly pink. I stood there and I saw her, and all I could think was: how do her lips stay so perfectly pink when she is slurping down all those oysters? I swore they almost got pinker each time she ate another one.’

  ‘Pink and grey,’ Parker said sarcastically. ‘Just my colours.’

  ‘Oh who cares about the colours,’ Rachel said. ‘I think that is so romantic.’

  ‘It was,’ Sean said. ‘She saw me looking at her, and then I couldn’t tear my eyes away.’

  ‘What did she look like?’ Rachel asked breathlessly.

  ‘Like anyone else, that was the thing,’ Sean said. ‘Nice-looking, but not someone who’d take your breath away at first glance. Medium height; not too thin, not too fat. Long straight brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail. Cut-offs and a white T-shirt.’

  ‘And pink, pink lips,’ Parker said.

  ‘Nothing like that has ever happened to me before,’ Sean said, nodding. ‘Ever. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe; it felt as if all my senses had gone slack except for sight.’

  ‘Sort of like when Tony sees Maria at the gym dance in West Side Story,’ Ginevra said.

  ‘And everything gets all fuzzy and the dancers are still there but sort of blobs of moving colour in the background,’ Rachel said.

  ‘And they have that dance. Tony and Maria.’

  ‘I liked her dress. That frothy white thing. With the sash.’

  ‘And to think that only a few minutes before she’d been busy holding hands with Chino.’

  ‘I like the song where they have the fake marriage,’ Rachel added, looking dreamy. ‘“One Hand, One Heart”; that’s what it is.’

  ‘You have the attention span of a gnat, you know,’ Parker told her sternly. ‘Would you let Sean finish his story? I believe we’re up to the point where the fair damsel was holding oysters in her hand. Slurping them down with perfectly pink lips.’

  ‘All I wanted to do was kiss her,’ Sean said.

  ‘Even with her oyster breath,’ Gil said with a laugh.

  ‘Can you imagine?’ Parker asked. ‘You have to be eating a lot of oysters too, not to notice it. Then your breath would be the same and it wouldn’t matter.’

  ‘But you hadn’t gotten your oysters yet,’ Ginevra said to Sean. ‘You were still waiting in line, right?’

  ‘Yes, but I wasn’t hungry any more. All I had was this overwhelming urge to touch this woman and kiss her. Right then. I had to do it.’

  ‘You didn’t know anything about her,’ Gil said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never seen her before in your life.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never felt possessed to kiss an oyster-slurping creature before.’

  ‘No. And that’s what she was. A creature.’

  ‘Not a woman,’ Gil said softly.

  ‘No,’ said Sean, after a long, uncomfortable moment. ‘A creature. A presence.’

  ‘You mean like a mermaid?’ Ginevra asked him.

  ‘Do you think mermaids like oysters?’ Rachel said, trying
to lighten the dark gloom that had suddenly settled in the room. ‘I mean, why wouldn’t they?’

  ‘I bet they like pearls even better,’ Ginevra said, smiling at Rachel.

  ‘She was wearing pearls,’ Sean said

  ‘Your mermaid,’ Gil said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does the mermaid have a name?’

  ‘Maria?’ Parker offered breezily. ‘“One Hand, One Heart”.’

  ‘She said her name was Amanda,’ Sean said. ‘Amanda Walker.’

  ‘When did she tell you that?’ Ginevra asked. ‘When she finally stopped eating?’

  ‘Slurping, you mean,’ Parker said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So who made the first move, you or Amanda?’ Gil asked.

  ‘She did, I think. Except the weirdest thing was, it was as if she hadn’t moved at all. I mean, I have no recollection of her walking or moving toward me,’ Sean said, staring intently at his shoelaces. ‘I blinked, and she was just there. Right next to me. Smiling.’

  ‘With her perfectly pink lips,’ Parker said. ‘This is getting freaky.’

  ‘Did you kiss her then?’ Gil asked softly.

  ‘Yes,’ Sean said, closing his eyes, only for a moment, so the muscles in his face relaxed and, again, he almost looked like his old self.

  ‘Hey, pal, it almost looks like you are kissing her still,’ Gil said a minute later.

  ‘But I’m not,’ Sean replied, that troubled look clouding his eyes again. ‘I never am going to kiss her again. Never.’

  ‘I don’t like where this is going,’ Rachel said. ‘She didn’t hurt you, did she?’

  ‘Food poisoning, maybe?’ Parker asked.

  ‘But wait a minute, you’re still at the oyster festival,’ Gil said.

  ‘And there she is, a woman-mermaid-creature-whatever. In your face. Kissing you.’

  ‘With her oyster breath,’ Parker said. ‘Laughing because you didn’t care about her breath at all.’