Blue Moon

by Luanne Rice

  Some nights, when the tar was slick, she would drive in wide circles without braking, rings spiraling smaller as she increased her speed. Holding the wheel hard to the right, she would lean into Billy, her shoulder touching his, and he’d be laughing in her ear.

  Then she’d tap the brake, tap it again easy, and pull the car into the darkest corner of the lot. She’d turn off the headlights. Billy would slide down in the seat. Cass would lie half on top of him, her lips kissing his, her back arched forward, leaving just enough room between their bodies to unbuckle his belt while he undid her buttons.

  She sat still, watching the entrance where Billy would drive in. She checked her watch: four-forty-five. She thought of Josie, at home alone with Belinda and Emma. A chain of worship: Josie worshipped Belinda, Belinda worshipped Emma, and Emma worshipped herself. By now Emma would have finished teaching Belinda beauty secrets of the universe. In fifteen minutes Emma would ride her bike home, and Belinda would be itching to start her homework. With regret, Cass realized she had just enough time to buy the groceries.

  Climbing out of the Volvo, she spied Billy driving in. Since he hadn’t known she had been planning to seduce him, she couldn’t justify the anger she felt at his being late.

  “Groceries?” he asked, kissing her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He caught her tone. “What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

  Explaining it would sound so stupid: Well, I got Belinda to babysit so I could fuck your brains out …

  “You followed me here, didn’t you?” he asked, grabbing her bottom.

  “Yes, let’s have sex right …” She kicked away a piece of glass. “Here. Right on the tar,” she said, as if she were joking.

  “Too hot, Cass. You’d melt it.” He mouthed the word “Later.”

  “What do you want for dinner?” Cass asked.

  “I’ll come in with you,” Billy said, surprising her. About to head offshore again, he had work to do on the Norboca.

  “Good,” she said. “We’ll get done faster.”

  “That anxious? Don’t worry—it’ll keep.” He brushed his crotch with a funny, crass gesture, but Cass didn’t smile. He grimaced, holding his index fingers twelve inches apart.

  “Great timing,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head, starting to walk toward the Star Market.

  “Knock off the silent treatment, okay?”

  “Let’s just say I had plans,” Cass said. “You, me …” She glanced at his crotch. “You.”

  “Oh, yeah? So what happened?” Billy asked, smiling.

  “The time clock,” Cass said. “I have to get home. Belinda has homework to do, and Josie can’t stand being by herself.”

  “Let Josie handle it for once. It’s good for her.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Cass said. They walked together into the store. As a father, Billy was entitled to his theories. The problem was, he was hardly ever around to try them out. All the lust Cass had been feeling ebbed away.

  “What would happen?” Billy asked. “What would be the big deal if Belinda ignored her?”

  “Screaming fit,” Cass said, easing into the numb zone she inhabited when Billy didn’t grasp one of the most rudimentary facts of her daily existence.

  While Cass pushed the cart, Billy threw things in. He knew what everyone liked as well as she did. He pawed through a bin of oranges, choosing six with the right color.

  “These come from Florida, right?” he asked, reading the box.

  “I guess so.”

  “It says right here: ‘Packed in Orlando, Florida.’”

  “That’s that,” Cass said, still distant. Her eyes roved the fruits and vegetables while her mind composed balanced meals for a family of five.

  “I always think of coral snakes when I buy oranges,” Billy said. “Here’s this box straight from Florida. Probably packed at the groves and shipped straight to the airport. What’s to prevent a coral snake from slithering into the box while the worker’s not looking?”

  “What a horrible idea,” Cass said, leaning forward to look into the box. “Could that happen?”

  “Why not? When I fill a box with cod it doesn’t guarantee that a crab won’t crawl in.”

  “Aren’t coral snakes poisonous?”

  “The most poisonous, I’d say,” Billy replied. Cass moved the cart forward.

  “Well, think of something else crawling in. Something harmless. Some nonlethal southern reptile.”

  “I was thinking danger, baby. Where were you planning to seduce me, anyway?”

  Cass ignored him. She knew Billy thought he was being cute, but she wasn’t ready to give in.

  “Your father told George Magnano he’s thinking of retiring to Florida,” Billy said.

  “Oh, were you talking to George about his boat again?” Cass asked.

  “Feeling him out.”

  “I don’t know,” Cass said. “I don’t see you on a Gulf shrimper.”

  “A chump boat, right?” Billy said. “Better suited for John Barnard.”

  Cass reached for the Pop-Tarts. Her husband was flirting, teasing her about John. They cruised into the frozen-food aisle. Billy touched the small of her back. She felt him getting to her.

  “They must keep these freezers at twenty degrees,” Cass said. During the winter she never registered temperature at the grocery store. She would be bundled in a scarf, hat, and parka, so the chill never got to her. But shopping during the summer, in a jean skirt without tights and a sleeveless shirt without a sweater, she’d be shivering halfway down this aisle. Her nipples were standing straight out under the thin cotton. She wanted Billy’s hands on her breasts, she wanted to run her tongue down the long red ridge of his penis.

  “Maybe we should have ice cream for dessert,” she said.

  “What kind?”

  Delilah Pentwarse hurried past the aisle, waving hello; Cass waved back. “Chocolate-almond,” she said to Billy.

  “Coming up,” he said.

  Billy rummaged through the waist-high freezer. He came toward her, a devilish grin on his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  He held out a pint of ice cream to her.

  “That’s too small,” she said. “T.J. would polish that off in ten seconds.”

  “This isn’t for T.J.,” he said.

  Cass watched fuzzy circles of frost melt around his fingertips. He let the cold transfer to his fingers. She shivered as they trailed across her collarbone. She thought of his fingers beneath her, lifting her hips.

  “Leave the cart,” he said.

  They moved toward the door. For a moment Cass thought he was going to walk out without paying, but he handed the checkout clerk some money.

  “Hurry,” Billy said, his hand under her elbow.

  “Not now,” Cass said. “I don’t have time. I have to get home …”

  “Get in,” he said, opening the door to his truck.

  Cass wanted to protest, but she didn’t. Now that she was inside, she could only think of what would happen next. Cass hoped he wouldn’t turn left out of the parking lot, toward Alewives Park. She didn’t want to go home. They could stick to her original plan: the boat. It would take too long, the girls would be fighting, Cass hadn’t even bought the groceries, she would be late—but she didn’t care.

  Billy started the engine, shifted into first, and slid forward twenty yards, into the spot where they used to park. “Oh,” she said, smiling as if he’d tickled her.

  He opened the pint of ice cream.

  “Oh,” she repeated, now disappointed.

  “What did you expect?” he asked.

  “Not exactly this.”

  “I want to eat ice cream.”

  “We don’t have spoons,” Cass said.

  “We don’t need them,” Billy said.

  Swirling his index finger, he made an S in the soft, melted top. He licked off his finger, then dipped it again, holding it out to Cass
. At first she thought he was joking. Was this his way of getting back at her for teasing him before? But his finger was right there, ice cream dripping onto the seat between them. She lapped the chocolate off his finger.

  Studded throughout the ice cream were dark-chocolate-covered almonds. This was Cass’s favorite treat. She loved to hold an almond in her mouth, sucking lightly until the chocolate melted off. Sometimes Billy teased her about how long she could make one almond last. His finger explored the ice cream now, searching for almonds. When he found one, he worked it to the surface.

  “Spoons would be easier,” Cass said. She opened her mouth, waiting.

  “Unzip your skirt,” Billy said.

  “What?”

  He didn’t reply. He slipped the almond into her mouth. “Take your time with that,” he said.

  Cass said nothing. She curled her tongue around the cold almond, watching him.

  He eased her jean skirt down over her hips. She hadn’t been out in the sun yet this summer; her unexposed skin was white. Billy wedged the container between the dashboard and the windshield and ran his cool hands between her thighs. He pulled her panties down.

  Cass glanced around the parking lot. A boy collecting grocery carts roamed the lot; two girls on bikes stopped to talk to him. Their voices drifted out on the hot breeze. People hurried in and out of the market. A car passed by. But Billy’s truck was alone in this shady corner.

  The dark chocolate tasted delicious, bittersweet on the back of her tongue. Intent on finding her another, Billy had the container in his hands, mining it with his finger. He pulled one out before Cass had finished savoring the first. He eased open her thighs. He placed this second frozen almond against her clitoris.

  “Ah!” she exclaimed. Radiant ice; it felt so good, it hurt.

  “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

  Cass couldn’t believe what was happening. She lay across the seat, her eyes closed, tasting the rich, intense chocolate in her mouth while Billy’s fingers massaged her, enclosing the almond in her warmth, sending exquisite icy spurts all through her groin.

  Then he opened her up, let the almond drop. She felt it slide beneath her, falling through the crack between the seats. She didn’t care. His tongue found her clitoris; she imagined him tasting the same deep chocolate she did.

  He licked her, played with the soft nut. Long, broad tongue strokes concentrating into the smallest circles. Tighter and tighter circles, everything focused on that one spot. Grocery-cart wheels clattered across the hot pavement outside; she knew that they were close, and that made it more exciting, other people, and Cass came.

  “Oh,” she said after a while, pushing herself up on her elbows.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that,” Billy said.

  “Which part?”

  “Give you a real one.”

  Cass smiled. On Valentine’s Day at Lobsterville, diners received complimentary strawberries dipped in chocolate. Mary called them “strawberry kisses,” but their underground name, coined by Bonnie and Cass, was “chocolate orgasms.”

  “Hey, Billy,” she said. “It’s your turn.”

  He said nothing, but smiled and raised his left eyebrow.

  “You know it is,” she said. Her thoughts turned to giving Billy oral sex; she envisioned her head moving up and down as she tried to take all of Billy’s penis in her mouth, and she wondered how much attention she would attract. A man could stay very still, his head steady, his tongue doing all the work. But for Cass to give him the same sort of pleasure at the Star Market in broad daylight might be to invite arrest. The idea excited her more.

  With one yank she undid his five-button Levi jeans. He moaned as she reached into the fly of his blue-striped boxers and grabbed his dick. It was already stiff against her hand as she pulled it free. Cass gave the very tip a quick lick, and Billy moaned again. She glanced around.

  Here came Delilah Pentwarse, carrying her grocery bag. She seemed to be on a direct course for the truck.

  “Shit,” Billy said, hiking himself up.

  Lying halfway across the seat, her bare ass gleaming in the sunlight, Cass hit the floor, crouching under the dash before Delilah could see her.

  “Hi, again!” Delilah called.

  “Hi,” Billy called back.

  “Some women have all the luck,” Cass heard Delilah say. “Billy, how does Cass get you to go grocery shopping with her?”

  “I blow him in the parking lot,” Cass said in a low voice.

  “She begs,” Billy said.

  “You men,” Delilah said. “I’d have to beg pretty damn hard to get Joe to the Star Market.”

  Cass reached for the ice cream container. She dipped her finger in to make it cold. She could almost feel Billy glancing down to see what she was doing. She felt his thighs tense up, anticipating her next move. At her icy touch, he let out a sharp breath.

  “Are you okay?” came Delilah’s voice.

  “Never better,” Billy said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Delilah said, her voice moving away. “Take care.”

  Billy didn’t reply. He slouched down in the seat. Cass’s tongue traced his penis from bottom to top, making slow circles around the head while she cupped his small, perfect balls with one hand. She loved to lick his balls, even though he had told her it didn’t cause the same wild sensation as when she licked his penis.

  The pressure of Billy’s hand on the back of her head, the way he arched his spine, told Cass to take him in her mouth. No matter how many times she did this, Cass never believed she could. She had often wondered about the fineness of his balls, hanging at the base of his cock, which was massive.

  She mouthed the head, kissing it at first, then surrounding it with her lips. With her tongue she traced its ridge, just the base, where it overhung the shaft. She moved slowly down his penis, taking it deeper and deeper. All the way.

  She licked upward, freeing him, starting all over again. Even slower. He grabbed the back of her neck. He wanted speed, so Cass slowed down. So slow. She imagined someone approaching the truck, standing even closer than Delilah, beginning a conversation with Billy, Billy talking about the weather, the fleet, anything, while Cass sucked him off.

  A tug on her shoulders, impatient now. Cass was tempted to ignore it. She felt she could go on all day. She clasped the base of his dick while concentrating on the tip, moving her mouth faster; she had barely started when Billy began to shudder. He squeezed her shoulders. She felt it with her tongue and lips: that electric sizzle along the base of his cock that always preceded his orgasms. It blasted through his body as he came.

  Cass wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Billy was sitting with his head back, his eyes closed. “Wow,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said. She hitched up her bottom, wiggled into her panties, pulled on her jean skirt.

  “Chocolate spots,” Billy said, touching where he’d dropped an almond. “Sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  Cass gave his penis one last lick. She eased it back into his boxer shorts.

  Billy glanced around the parking lot, barely seeming to register where he was.

  “It was all a dream,” Cass said. “We didn’t just go down on each other in the middle of the parking lot. The Star Market parking lot. Did we?”

  “Did we?” Billy asked.

  Cass gave him a long, soft kiss, full of lust and tenderness. The back of his neck felt hot and sticky in the summer heat, and she blew a cool stream of air across it.

  “See you at home?” he asked.

  “After I get the groceries,” she said.

  5

  Bonnie loved to invent recipes. Today she had asked her sisters over, and she was baking a new creation: fudge brownies laced with fresh-brewed coffee, drizzled with thin butterscotch sauce halfway through the baking process. She would cut them into squares before they cooled, and when you bit into one, the lacy butterscotch would crunch into the mocha brownie.

  Occasionally she e
ntered bake-offs, but mainly she baked for her family and fundraising bake sales for school and Little League. She considered herself an innovator in the traditional mode. Pies, cakes, brownies; Shore Dinners—but with a twist.

  And who would expect such a big woman to wear gorgeous underwear? Most men would look at a Playboy bunny—type woman and instantly think of crotchless panties, when for all they knew she bought her underwear at Sears, simple white cotton briefs—the better in which to play racquetball and do high-impact aerobics. The same men would look at Bonnie and picture the large white cotton briefs. Little did they know.

  Bonnie had found an outlet in Mystic that sold large-sized lingerie, and she had bought satin bras, lacy pink panties, and a startling lavender garment that felt soft as a teddy but actually lifted her magnificent bosom right up to where it belonged. She believed a touch of the unexpected was always in order. She never wore cotton.

  Bending to check on her brownies through the oven’s glass door, Bonnie heard someone in the kitchen behind her.

  “That smells fantastic,” Cass said, standing there with Josie and Belinda.

  “I thought they’d be ready by the time you got here,” Bonnie said. “Why don’t you girls run upstairs and find Emma? She just got home from school. See if you can get her off the phone.”

  “Okay, Aunt Bonnie,” Belinda said, already gone.

  Josie stood still, one arm linked around her mother’s left leg.

  “Hi, Josie,” Bonnie said, stooping down. “Can I have my hug?”

  “Hi, On Bon,” Josie said loudly, clutching Bonnie’s neck. Bonnie hung on as long as Josie would let her. It had been years since her own kids had let her hug them.

  Sometimes, on his way to bed, when he was too sleepy to protest, fifteen-year-old Sean would let her get away with it. He would stand totally inert, as if he had fallen asleep standing up, while Bonnie leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Then he would somnambulate out the kitchen, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, where the last thing he would do before crashing into a deep sleep would be to don headphones and crank his stereo up to maximum volume.

  Emma wouldn’t even give Bonnie that much. Bonnie was lucky to kiss the air, redolent with Liz Claiborne perfume, when Emma rushed by. Emma, her thirteen-year-old swan, was ashamed, possibly even revulsed, by Bonnie’s weight. As a child she had settled into her mother’s lap as comfortably as if it had been a featherbed. But when her own baby fat began to disappear, Emma stopped cuddling with Bonnie. As her cheekbones emerged and she discovered her hipbones, Emma had stopped going places with her mother, stopped confiding in her; lately, it sometimes seemed to Bonnie, had stopped looking at her.