Take It Off

by J. Minter

  Arno had really wanted someone to talk to, and he’d thought Patch would be perfect. After leaving Mickey’s room in a huff, and spending a lonely night trying to read The Odyssey, he was feeling a little alienated from his crew. Suki had mentioned the yoga class as an excuse not to spend the night in his cabin, so around five a.m. a sleepless Arno went to look for Patch. After he realized that Patch wasn’t in his cabin, he’d gone to Barker’s study and politely interrupted. Barker looked up from his desk, where he had been enjoying a twenty-year-old scotch as Patch sipped orange juice. Patch twisted in his chair and gave Arno a save-me-now face. Arno smiled at Barker, revealing a mouth of dazzling white teeth, and reminded Patch about their dawn jog-around-deck date. The older man nodded approvingly and excused them. Arno had been psyched about his craftiness, and glad to have his friend back from the grown-ups. But he hadn’t expected Patch to get all Jonathan on him.

  “Dude, she’s hot,” Arno said.

  “Dude, how many hot girls do we know?”

  “Dude, she’s different.”

  “Do you know what you sound like right now?”

  Arno paused, and pushed his hair, which he was wearing in a sort of mod mop these days, out of his eyes. “Look, I know I’m not sounding like myself, but I think all that bullshit between Mickey’s dad and my mom might have changed me. I’m really starting to think about how being with a lot of girls is just my way of wasting time. And about, you know, commitment.”

  Patch was silent.

  “I mean, Suki’s not like anyone we know in New York. I could have a totally alternative, bohemian thing with her that would be so polar opposite of all those art world lies.” Arno was almost convincing himself. He couldn’t help adding: “Besides, she would irritate the shit out of my mom.”

  Then an image of Suki and his mom doing yoga together sprung into his mind, and he shuddered in horror.

  The sun was coming up over the water now, and they could see that they were in the port of a new city. Out on the Paseo Maritimo that ran along the bay, shopkeepers were setting up fruit stands. Cathedrals and fortresses of another era rose up behind them. Patch seemed to have drifted off for a moment. When he looked back at Arno, he said, “Listen, all I’m saying is we’re on this boat for another week. You’ll have a whole lot more fun if you aren’t trying to go up against a mad Pardo the whole time. Naw mean?”

  Arno nodded. There was nothing he hated more than being told what to do. So he turned to Patch and said, “So what’s up with you and that RA chick?”

  But as usual Patch wasn’t listening. He had a thinking look on his face, and after a few beats, he turned to Arno, as though Arno hadn’t just said something, and said, “You know what I like? When I come home after skating around or whatever, and you guys are all just in my house. It makes me feel like that place might actually be home.”

  Arno’s first instinct was to say You know what you sound like? in a sort of mimicking tone. But what came out of his mouth was totally different: “Yeah, sometimes I just feel like we’re always going out. It’s nice to feel like there’s somewhere that is our, you know, home base.”

  “How about tonight the crew just shows up at my cabin, like we would in New York, and we see what happens?”

  They heard a footstep overhead.

  “What’s the plan?” Suki asked. Before either of them could say anything she knelt down and kissed Arno. It was the sort of gray-area peck that could either be romantic or friendly. She stood up and threw her arms in the air. “Wooo-hooo, I feel so good.”

  Arno watched as she reached into her bag—it was one of those sack things you can buy at health food stores—and took out a cigarette. She smoked those hippie clove cigarettes that smell like a Morrocan bazaar. She took two drags, and then slapped her forehead dramatically. “Silly me! I completely forgot that I quit smoking these things forever this morning,” she said, handing the lit clove to Arno. “I’m such a goose. You’ll take care of that for me, won’t you? Thanks. I’m going to go shower and stuff, but I’ll see you guys at morning meeting at eight thirty, right?”

  With that, she skipped off—literally skipped—across the deck and was gone. The two guys remained on their bellies, watching the city slowly come to life. Arno took a long, meditative drag of the clove. Then he stubbed it out because it tasted absolutely disgusting.

  Patch makes teacher’s pet look like a dream job

  “Good morning, sailors!” Stephanie was standing behind the lectern of the lower-level lecture hall. The rest of the faculty were sitting on the stage, to her left. They were mostly college-age kids like her, and as usual they were a wearing a lot of polar fleece and Gore-Tex. Patch walked down the middle aisle behind Arno, and Arno thought he saw Stephanie wink at Patch. They surveyed the room for a minute and then saw Mickey in the fifth row. He was sitting next to Suki and Greta. Arno cocked his chin in their direction, and Patch followed him over. As they took their seats, Stephanie continued to talk.

  “Now, we’re going to have a beautiful day trip to Mallorca in just a few hours. But before that, I want to tell you about the survival test. It’s the biggest challenge you’ll face here at Ocean Term, and it’s going to begin tomorrow morning. The survival test will take place over twenty-four hours. You will divide yourself up into ‘survival teams,’ and each team will earn points based on their creative abilities in the wilderness and on their cohesiveness as a group.”

  Mickey leaned over and hissed at Arno, “Think that pretty face is going to help you when you’re out in the real world?”

  Without turning his head, Arno whispered, “I’d hardly consider an Ocean Term survival night the real world.”

  Patch tried to shush them. Usually he wouldn’t have cared—if he’d even noticed, he would have assumed they could handle themselves—but right now he was sort of hoping not to catch any more of Stephanie’s attention. He enjoyed her company, but he didn’t want the entire student body of Ocean Term thinking that Barker and Stephanie were enamored with him.

  “… when I was a student at Ocean Term,” Stephanie was saying, “not so long ago, the survival test was one of the most rewarding things I did, so I encourage each and every one of you to do it. But, for those of you who don’t feel up to it, we have an alternative written exam. But I really, really encourage you to do it. I’m passing around this clipboard. Please sign up in teams of three to five on the first page, or, for those of you who really can’t handle it, put your name on the second page to take the exam.”

  Mickey wasn’t listening anymore. He hissed, “What, you scared, pretty boy?”

  “Survival challenge? I can take you. Easy,” Arno shot back.

  They both looked back at the stage. Stephanie had moved to a chalkboard and was drawing a big oval with little cresting waves all around it. “We’re very lucky at Ocean Term because several years ago Dr. Barker inherited a small island between Mallorca, where we will be moored today, and Barcelona in mainland Spain. That’s where the survival test will take place. So we’re going to have a nice relaxing day on Mallorca today, and then tomorrow morning we’ll approach Barker Island. You will break into your groups, and travel to the island by dinghy. Once there you will …”

  Suki leaned over Mickey’s armrest. “Are we a group?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Arno and Mickey replied at once. She smiled and leaned over to whisper something to Greta.

  “It’s on,” Mickey said.

  “It most definitely is,” Arno replied.

  “… during the survival test, myself and a few other staffers will monitor your progress in several areas. The test will conclude with a group swimming race from the island to the ship. We don’t want to tell you any more, but how you work as a group, and how you make use of the tools you’re given, is a major part of the scoring. Any ques—”

  Just then the door banged open and Jonathan came dashing down the middle aisle. He looked severely freaked. His faux-hawk had gotten much hawkier.

  “Jonathan, what
happened?” Stephanie asked, her face making an affected concerned-frowning expression.

  “The Internet is broken,” Jonathan said, a little winded. “So, I’m sorry I’m late. But I’ve been talking with the tech people all morning trying to get it up and running. Everyone should stay calm, but it looks really bad.”

  Stephanie’s face broke out in a relieved smile. “Oh, Jonathan, you’re cute. But it really doesn’t matter because today we’re going to Palma, Mallorca’s capital, and tomorrow we go on our survival test. So there won’t be any Internet.”

  “Survival test …?” Jonathan said, his eyes widening to milky saucers. Patch grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him down into a seat.

  “You can take a written test, instead, don’t worry, man,” Patch said.

  “What does that mean? I’m not afraid to do survival!” Jonathan said, grabbing the clipboard as it came around and writing himself into a group with Patch and two Brit girls from his orientation group.

  Everyone continued to buzz with excited little whispers. When Stephanie wrapped up the morning’s announcements, she told everyone to go back to their rooms and get ready for a free day in Palma de Mallorca.

  “Just don’t forget your passports,” she said. “And remember to be back on the boat by seven thirty. We set sail for Barker Island at eight o’clock.”

  Maybe Arno isn’t on top …

  Arno went to Jonathan’s cabin and let himself in.

  “Dude, what are you doing?” Arno leaned against the door and crossed his left ankle over his right jauntily. He was pretty sure he’d won Suki the night before—so sure, in fact, that he was feeling a little sorry for Mickey—and he was eager to get her off the boat and have her to himself for a while. “It’s our last free day before survival hell, and we’re going to miss it because you’re doing your hair.”

  “I was just hoping the tech people would give me a call and let me know that the Internet is up and running before we went ashore,” Jonathan said weakly, meeting Arno’s eyes in the mirror.

  “J, don’t be a douche. There’re Internet cafés on shore. You can wait a few hours. And besides, remember the New Year’s Eve we spent on Ibiza, what was it, three years ago? You loved it. So let’s mother-fucking-go.”

  Jonathan sighed and grabbed his Jack Spade suede tool bag. “What are you bringing?” he asked.

  “Um, wallet, passport, sunglasses? I mean, you don’t need an overnight bag here, J. Oh, and Stephanie left us a memo this morning reminding us to take out whatever plane tickets, travelers checks, etcetera, we might have in our wallets, ’cuz if we lose that stuff, we’re fucked.”

  “Right,” Jonathan said as he removed a hefty manila envelope from his bag and set it on the bed. He was wearing a white V-neck, Helmut Lang white cords, and his Gucci loafers; he wasn’t exactly going to look like your average American backpacker. He threw his argyle sweater in the bag for good measure.

  “Can we go now?” Arno prodded.

  They walked up to the deck. Most of the students were already on shore, although there were still a few, dressed for a day of beach and sun, debarking with them. Arno and Jonathan met Mickey and Patch on the dock. Greta and Suki stood with them, wearing big sunglasses and American Apparel cotton short shorts, red for Suki and blue for Greta. Suki’s long dark hair hung over her shoulders in two braids.

  “So what’s the plan?” Jonathan asked glumly.

  “Stephanie was saying that the old town is really cool, with castles and cathedrals and things,” Patch offered. Pretty much everyone groaned.

  Mickey flipped a tropical-design beach towel over his head. “I am all about the beach.”

  Arno tried to think quickly. If he could come up with another activity that left Mickey at the beach by himself, or better yet, with Greta, then Arno could have Suki all to himself. What came out of his mouth sounded pompous even to him. “That’s so frivolous,” he said. “We should really go into town and try and get some gifts and things. You know, for our moms.”

  “For your mom?” Suki giggled and winked. “Arno, you’re too much.”

  “Come with me.”

  Suki bit her lip. “I’d love to, but Greta and I are actually going to the beach,” she said, gesturing at their beach bags.

  Mickey did a little jig. “You could come with us, I guess, but that would probably feel a little, um, I dunno, frivolous.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Jonathan said. “I’ll go with you, Arno. I didn’t bring a bathing suit anyway. And we can buy stuff and check our e-mail at the same time.”

  “Guys, I think I’d rather, um, explore the town,” Patch said. “Let’s all do our own thing and whatever and then tonight we can meet up for dinner. Cool?”

  “Oh,” Greta said.

  “Fine, great,” Jonathan said.

  “See ya!” Mickey cackled. Arno watched as he walked off down the bay side promenade, holding hands with Greta and Suki. He cursed himself for making such an amateur’s mistake.

  Stephanie came up behind them then, wearing her usual jean cutoffs, tight Ocean Term T-shirt, and tossing her head of curls.

  “Are we going to go see some gorgeous Catalan architecture or what?” she asked, her big toothy smile spreading all the way across her face. Patch nodded to the guys, and he and Stephanie headed into the warren of streets above the docks.

  “Listen,” Jonathan said, unfolding a map he’d gotten from somewhere, “if we go up Maritimo, which I think is what we’re on, like seven blocks or something, then take a right on Calle de San Cristobal, and then if we go, like, two blocks we’ll be at the Ciber Tango Café …”

  But Arno was so furious he wasn’t even listening.

  Mickey and the girls get a taste of the good life

  “Oh … yeah …”

  Mickey leaned into his chaise lounge and took a sip of his mojito. He wiggled his toes and brushed the sand off his chest. Next to him, Suki and Greta had arranged themselves on their lounge chairs so as to catch the best sun rays. They had taken the bus to Playa de Palma, just outside the city, where the water was warm and gentle and the beach was wide and sandy. After a few hours of running in and out of the waves, they rented chairs and ordered drinks. All around them, lithe, tanned Spaniards and fat, pink English tourists were drinking and lounging and reading Hello! magazine. Mickey had been feeling good. Now he was feeling even better.

  “If we had more of this over there,” Suki said, pointing first at the beach below her and then at the Ariadne, which they could see docked on the other side of the bay, “this trip would be a whole lot more fun.”

  “Ew, look at that,” Greta giggled. She pointed at the large, pale, dimpled rear of a touristy-looking woman walking by them who was wearing a (thankfully) one-piece green bathing suit decorated with mauve flowers.

  “American or Brit?” Mickey asked.

  “Definitely American,” Suki said. “If she’s not, next round of drinks is on me.”

  “Aye, luv!” Mickey called in faux-Cockney. The woman turned to them, looking first confused and then pleased when she saw Mickey Pardo, the Latin fireball, waving at her.

  “Ayyyee, luv,” she replied, putting a hand on her hip and cracking a thin-lipped smile at him.

  “Ohhhh … hi,” Mickey said, his smile fading and his accent switching back to American. “I thought you were someone else. Sorry!”

  They all suppressed giggles until the wide British lady was safely gone, and then they broke out in hooting laughter. When the hilarity subsided, Suki stood up and put her floppy straw hat on.

  “Well, I guess it’s drinks time. Three mojitos?”

  “Yes, please!”

  “Thanks, sister.” Mickey gently slapped Suki’s thigh as she turned to walk up the beach.

  When she had disappeared into the palm-fronded shack near the beach’s entrance, Greta sighed and relaxed back into the chair.

  “The water’s so turquoise,” she said.

  “We don’t have beaches like these in New Yawk Ci
ty.”

  “Yeah, or in my town, either. I mean, we go to the beach all the time because my boyfriend is, like, a surfer. But it’s never calm and tranquil like this.”

  Mickey, who hated calm and tranquil, fought the urge to run down the beach and pants all the European dudes in their idiot Speedos. He took in the air and the sun and the salt air for a few good minutes until that urge passed, and then he turned to Greta with his signature wild-eyed smile.

  “So give it to me straight: Is your girl into me, or what the fuck?”

  Greta opened her mouth to say something, but quieted when she saw Suki coming up behind him with a tray of drinks. Once she had handed them around and resettled into her chair, an awkward silence descended. Greta took a few obligatory sips of her mojito and then excused herself, saying she wanted to take one last dip before it got too late.

  Mickey watched her until she had splashed in and taken a few strokes out to sea, and then he leaned over and began to kiss Suki. She tasted cold, like sugar and rum and ice, and Mickey was feeling good until he realized that he was kissing her way more than she was kissing him. Then she pulled back and bit her lip.

  “Listen, Mickey. I like you, and we had a really lovely night the other night, but I think I—”

  “Like Arno,” Mickey said with a tone of weary disgust.

  “Well, yeah, I guess … Yeah, I do. But that’s not really the point. He told me about Philippa.”

  “What?!” That pissed him off. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, I know. And it was hella shady for Arno to tell me. But still, doesn’t it seem like you might, just maybe, be rebounding?”

  Mickey had to sort of acknowledge this to be true. Pretty much all his rambunctious, self-destructive energy right now could be chocked up to his split from Philippa Frady. Making it all even worse was the fact that it had been an amicable, reasonable, tentative breakup—which really wasn’t the Pardo style. He was so taken in by Suki’s calm logic that he almost ceased being angry at Arno. Then he thought of Philippa and how in love with her he was.