by Eden Bradley
“I’m not tired,” I tell her truthfully. No, my insides are warming up, alive, simply being alone with her.
“We should have our slumber party,” Audrey says, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Do you want popcorn, or maybe just some wine?”
“Wine,” I decide. “I don’t know why, but being here makes me want to drink wine. Like I’m in the Italian countryside or something.”
Audrey grins at me and we get up and head into the big kitchen without turning on the lights, but we can see our way around by the firelight coming through the doorway from the dining room. Audrey opens a bottle of Cabernet and I grab a large bar of dark chocolate from the well-stocked pantry. Viviane always has plenty of chocolate on hand; it seems to be a universal staple for writers.
“Are we going back to the living room?” I want to be alone with her, but I can’t seem to say so.
“Let’s go to your cottage. I don’t want to wake anyone up. Do you have some nail polish? We can make it a real girls’ night.”
“I do, but it’s pink. Don’t you usually wear red?”
“I don’t mind. Come on.”
We go outside, and the air is chilly, making goose bumps rise on my skin. Or maybe it’s knowing I will finally be alone with her.
Once inside my cottage, I turn on the lights and head into the bathroom.
“I have some polish remover, too,” I call over my shoulder. I look through the drawer where I’ve placed most of my toiletries, everything lined up in neat rows, and come up with the polish remover, a file, some cotton, and bring it back into the main room.
“Perfect,” Audrey says, and I feel unaccountably pleased.
She opens the wine and pours it into two glasses she brought with her from the house. I arrange all the nail supplies on the table and sit on the edge of the bed.
“I’m not very good at this,” I tell her, taking a long swallow of the wine. It’s rich and dark on my tongue. I swallow some more.
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she says, her tone throaty, flirtatious.
But that’s Audrey, isn’t it? I shouldn’t read too much into it, no matter how much I want to.
“No, really. I’m not that much of a girlie girl. I don’t wear much makeup. Keeping my toes painted is one of my few nods to being female.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Bettina. You’re very female,” she says, sipping her wine, watching me over the rim of her glass.
A small flutter starts in my stomach.
Don’t be foolish. This is just Audrey being Audrey.
I take a breath, forcing my pulse to steady. I drink some more of my wine, finishing off the glass. It helps a little.
“Can I do your toes?” she asks me as she refills both our glasses.
I am not going to say no.
“Sure.”
“Here, scoot up and sit on the bed against the pillows.”
She shakes the polish, and I wait with my breath held in my lungs as though I am waiting for her to bend over me, to undress me, kiss me.
Stop it.
She leans over my toes and strokes the old polish off with a ball of cotton. I can feel her fingertips around the cotton ball. I drink some more of my wine, trying not to watch the way her hair falls around her face, like dark satin.
“So, tell me what kind of guys you like,” she says to me. I laugh uncomfortably. “What?”
“We can’t have a slumber party without taking about boys!”
“I’ve never actually had a slumber party before.”
Audrey pauses to look up at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but that’s a little weird, Bettina.”
“I know. I’ve had a weird life, I guess, but not in any sort of interesting way. I’ve just missed out on a lot.”
“Well, it’s an awfully good thing that I came along then, isn’t it?”
She’s teasing me, but it’s true, I think.
“Yes. It is.”
She grins at me, and I smile back, and she empties her wineglass before bending her head to her task once more. I swallow the rest of my wine in a few gulps. It goes down easy, and my body relaxes.
“So. About the boys,” she prompts.
“I don’t know if I have a type. Guys are so…they’re a mystery to me. I don’t like that I never seem to know what they’re thinking.”
Audrey laughs as she opens the bottle of polish and begins to paint my nails. “I can tell you what they’re thinking. They’re thinking they want to get in your pants.”
“Yes,” I say a little too quietly.
She looks up then. “Hey. Are you okay?”
How does she seem to know something is going on with me from nothing more than a drop in my tone? But she does.
I shrug, lie. “Sure. Yes. I’m fine.”
“But…?” She arches a brow, clearly waiting for me to answer.
“But…I’ve had some…less than stellar experiences with men.”
“Welcome to the club, hon.”
She doesn’t say it sarcastically. She means it.
“What happened to you, Audrey?” I ask quietly.
She shrugs, goes back to painting my nails. “Same old story most girls have, I guess. Date rape.”
“Jesus, Audrey.”
Another shrug. “It happens. I was at a frat party with a friend. I wasn’t actually in college yet, but I went to the parties all the time.” She is stroking the polish onto my toes in short, even streaks of pink. “He was so cute, and I liked him. That part really bummed me out. Disappointed me. But I grew up that night, you know?”
“Maybe. But I don’t get how you can sound so casual about it. Wasn’t it awful? It must have been.”
“Oh, it was.” She bites her lip for a moment as she applies a second coat of polish to my toes. I wish she’d look up at me, that I could see her eyes so I’d know what she really feels about what happened to her. “And that wasn’t the only time. Happened to me again a few years later, and that time it was my boyfriend. He just didn’t want to hear the word no. But it’s part of life. I don’t let it get me down.” She’s quiet a moment, studying her handiwork. “I don’t let anything get me down.”
“I don’t know how you do that. I wish I could.”
“I refuse to give anyone that kind of power over me. It’s as simple as that.” She looks up finally and her eyes are blazing. She is not as unconcerned about what happened to her as she claims to be. She gets up, brings the bottle of wine back with her, fills our empty glasses. “You shouldn’t either, Bettina.”
I shake my head, drinking more wine, letting it warm my limbs. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can do that. I can’t think of it that way. I’m not a strong person, Audrey. I’m not like you.”
“We are all a lot more alike than we think we are,” she says. “Tell me what happened to you, Bettina, because I can tell something did.”
I shake my head again, but I take a long swallow of my wine and tell her. “It was a friend of my dad’s, another college professor. They had one of those cocktail parties people in academia seem to have all the time.” Hard lump in my throat, but I continue. “I was hiding away in my room, listening to music. He came in, said he was looking for the bathroom. But I’d seen him watching me before, and I knew he’d come looking for me. He was a little drunk.”
“But not enough that he didn’t know exactly what he was doing,” Audrey says, her voice low, dangerous.
“Yes.”
“Asshole.”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fuck.”
“He didn’t…I mean, he touched me, but he didn’t…you know.” I shake my head. I want to tell Audrey everything about me, just open myself to her, yet this is still hard to talk about. Even with my therapist. It’s hard to think about.
“He’s still a reprehensible bastard, Bettina! He probably would have done more if there
wasn’t a party going on in the next room.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“And it doesn’t even matter. What matters is the intent. That he meant to do whatever he wanted to you. That he made you a victim. That he took your power from you.”
Why does she seem more disturbed by my experience than by her own? More disturbed than I am myself? She puts her wineglass down on the table and moves up to sit next to me. Her mouth is set into a grim line, her forehead creased. Her eyes are dark, glittering.
I just nod my head, the extent of her anger seeming to drain some of my own.
“Look, Bettina. You can’t let this guy control who you are. Do you understand? You cannot let him win.”
“I haven’t, not entirely. It’s affected me. But I haven’t allowed that one experience to dictate who I am. I’ve still dated, had sex. I just haven’t…really had intense passion for anyone. But maybe I haven’t met the right person. Or maybe I haven’t been ready. I don’t know.”
She is so close to me I can feel the heat coming off her skin. How can I feel this way talking about what happened to me, about that night that scarred me. Fucking impossible. But I can’t help it. And this moment is all about Audrey, about opening myself to her, not about that asshole, as she says. Maybe this is what she means. And I realize I feel an enormous sense of relief, even more than I did when I told my therapist about the incident. Maybe it’s knowing that she’s been through it, too. I feel closer to her, some sort of kinship.
“Good,” she says, nodding. “You can’t let that experience define who you are. You can’t let it control what you do.”
“I don’t think I have. Not entirely. But these guys…it’s never been…important to me. I’ve never really been into it. I do better with my vibrator,” I tell her, then feel heat creep into my cheeks.
She smiles wryly. “Don’t we all? Nothing to be ashamed about, hon, we all do it. No one knows your body better than you do.” She pauses, licks her lips. “Except maybe another woman.”
I nearly jump out of my skin, my pulse racing. Her words have switched a gear in my brain so suddenly my head is spinning.
“Do I shock you, Bettina?” She’s watching me, her gaze steady, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”
I shake my head. I can’t speak.
“I turned to women after that first experience,” she says. “I needed that softness.” She reaches out and strokes my hair from my face, and I go hot all over, desire a thrumming pulse between my thighs. “Don’t you ever need that?” she asks, her tone so low I can barely hear her. “Don’t you ever crave that gentle touch? That safety?”
I swallow hard. “Yes. I think…I do.”
And it’s true. Somehow, I feel that it might be healing for me. I imagine her soft hands on me, and I am back to that simmering state of lust instantly.
“Do you want that with me, Bettina?”
It comes out on a whisper, my throat closing up, tight with need. “Yes.”
She smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.” And she leans in and kisses me.
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CHAPTER FIVE
We’re on the beach again, all of us, writing, brainstorming our way through blocks, drinking cool iced tea from the big thermoses Viviane always brings. The ocean is our constant companion, the waves rolling onto the beach, then receding, as though it can’t make up its mind.
I am a little in dreamland today, but I’m comfortable here, with these people who have quietly become my friends in the last ten days, or at least familiar to me. After a week with Audrey she is still as much a mystery to me as her body is familiar. And yet, I feel that I know her, and she knows me, perhaps because we have shared our secrets. I’ve shared some of my fears, but I know she still holds a lot back from me.
We have established a pattern already, a way of life here. Another set of rituals in which I find comfort. Not only Audrey and me, but the entire group. I’ve come to be familiar with everyone’s little quirks: the pure sweetness that is Kenneth, the glimpses of softness beneath Patrice’s sharp exterior, Leo’s odd, dark sense of humor and awkwardness, Viviane’s mothering tendencies, such a contrast to her cool and glamorous rock-and-roll exterior. And I find myself wishing this would never change, that we could be here at Viviane’s house, in this summer, forever.
But nothing lasts forever, isn’t that what they say?
It starts with Audrey yelping as she jumps to her feet. She is racing across the sand toward someone, but all I can see from where I’m sitting is a silhouette against the sun. Audrey launches herself at the figure, her arms and legs wrapping around him. And I know who it is: Jack.
Her weight makes him stumble back, and they fall over together onto the sand. I can hear their laughter. And I can see him now, or what little of him is visible beneath Audrey’s veil of hair as she lies on top of him in the sand. He’s tall, with one of those long, wiry builds. His hair is dark, curly, a little too long. Then they are kissing, and jealousy is a hard pit in my stomach. I feel nauseous.
“That must be Jack,” I say stupidly to the others.
Viviane has an odd half smile on her lips. “Yes, that’s Jack.”
Kenneth is getting up then, a grin on his face as he calls out, “Hey there, you two! Let the rest of us say hello.”
He ambles off toward Audrey and Jack, and Leo follows. Patrice glances at Viviane briefly, and I wonder once more what it might mean, but vaguely. I’m distracted by Jack’s arrival, by Audrey draped all over him.
Leo drags Jack and Audrey to their feet, and Kenneth pulls Jack into a bear hug, then Leo does one of those hand-shaking, slap-on-the-back things men do. They all come back to where we’re sitting, and I see him for the first time. Jack.
He’s even taller up close, with broad shoulders. His face and his arms are tanned, and there’s a heavy, black tribal tattoo peeking from the left sleeve of his black T-shirt, with some sort of lettering beneath it. His mouth is lush and wide. Great bone structure, with a little dark stubble growing along his jaw. But his eyes…they are a shifting dark and pale green with touches of gray, like the sea itself. Amazing. Compelling. And I am furious with my response to him: heat, desire like a punch in the stomach.
I do not want to like this man Audrey is so excited to see. Who kisses her in front of everyone as though he has some right to.
Maybe he does.
I feel my cheeks go uncomfortably hot, and my fingers clench.
Fuck.
That hasn’t occurred to me.
Obviously there is something between Jack and Audrey. What does that mean for me? Is whatever has happened between Audrey and me over? It occurs to me that I may have intruded on a relationship I didn’t know existed.
I hate this idea. It makes my time with Audrey seem tawdry, rather than beautiful and enlightening, and I am so upset suddenly, my vision blurs with tears. I turn out to face the sea, let the power of it drain some of the tension from me before the others see.
I don’t want to see Audrey in Jack’s arms, but after a few moments I have to turn and look, have to greet him so I won’t seem rude. But he’s smiling at me. He is watching me in that same sort of careful way Audrey has, his gaze seeming to pierce me. My cheeks go hot again.
“This must be our shy Bettina,” Jack says, his voice deep, resonant, a little husky.
He grins and it’s impossible not to smile in return; he is so sincere, so friendly. Audrey is clinging to his arm, her eyes alight with excitement, and I can see why. He is letting her, but not really paying attention to her as he takes my hand in his, his grasp warm and dry, his palms a little rough, as though he works with his hands. He seems so…elementally male to me. And his touch makes me go warm and liquid all over.
Whatever is wrong with me? It must be some leftover from last night, a lingering sensation of desire in my system. Or maybe somewhere in my subconscious I’m worried that being with Audrey means I’m a lesbian, even though on a conscious level this doesn�
�t concern me at all. I’ve never been one to be concerned with labels, for myself or anyone else.
Maybe I am simply losing my mind.
He is still holding my hand, those ocean-green eyes on mine. His smile is slow and languorous, as though we have all the time in the world to stand here and shake hands. Finally, he lets go, and he is absorbed by the group as we walk back to our spot. But I notice that Viviane stands back, watching as Kenneth jokes with Jack, the two of them laughing. Leo is practically dancing with excitement on the sand, and even Patrice seems entranced by him, sticking close to his side, touching his arm as they talk.
Audrey pulls Jack down onto the blanket and feeds him bits of pastry with her fingers. He is smiling at her, laughing and sucking the sugar from her fingertips, and it is purely erotic to me, watching them together, even as a knot forms in my stomach.
I don’t know who I am more jealous of: Audrey or Jack.
I am an idiot.
Somehow we get through the rest of the morning as we all settle in to write. There is the occasional murmur as some one either loves or hates whatever they are working on. And sometimes when I glance up, Jack and Audrey are smiling at each other, or she is pouring coffee for him.
They are too beautiful together. Perfect, really. I feel more the fool than ever.
The sun is high overhead and it’s really getting hot. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and put my pad down on the sand.
“It is getting warm, isn’t it?” Patrice remarks. “I’m going back to the house.”
“Good idea.” Viviane sets her pad down beside her, stretches her arms over her head. “Why don’t we all go back. Maybe have our usual afternoon siesta before lunch.”
“Excellent idea.” Kenneth nods and stands.
Leo gets up, then Jack, who pulls Audrey to her feet as though she doesn’t weigh anything. She doesn’t. I remember her body laid out on mine just last night. What is that old-fashioned saying? Bones like a bird.
