by Fiona Zedde
His body shifted closer to her. He relaxed. Then for the first time she realized he’d been tense. With a smile she brought his hand to her lips.
“That was the last time,” she said.
His damp kiss burned into her shoulder. “Good.”
Chapter 31
Renee came to the surface slowly, becoming aware by degrees of the warm cocoon of blankets, sunlight across her eyelids, another body close to hers.
“Hmm.” With a sigh of contentment, she peeled the blankets away from her shoulders. The room was cooler but not uncomfortably so, the mild touch of a San Diego spring.
“You plan to lie there all morning?”
“Maybe.”
She opened her eyes to Mayson, propped up beside her in the bed, her hair loose around her shoulders, a thick folder spread across her lap.
“I already made and packed up our lunch. Breakfast is waiting on you.” At Renee’s blank look, she chuckled and poked at her ribs through the blankets. “The beach. We’re spending the day at Mission Beach before heading up to see your parents, remember?”
“Of course I remember,” she said. But she didn’t.
When Mayson came over last night, they’d cooked together, talked, played a sleepy game of checkers in front of the dark fireplace before heading to bed. They hadn’t discussed the next day.
“Liar.” Mayson poked her again, but the smile still lingered around her mouth.
“I know. I suck.” Renee sat up, yawning, scratched at her head. She pushed the blankets away and left the bed for the bathroom. “But it’s not as if I made other plans.”
“I know. And even if you did, all you had to do was cancel them.”
In the bathroom, Renee smiled. Mayson was right. She stood up and flushed the toilet, turned on the sink to wash her hands.
“What are you reading?” she asked, walking out of the bathroom and drying her hands. She tossed the damp towel in the hamper and clambered back into the bed.
“Your portfolio.” Mayson shoved the heavy fall of hair out of her face and anchored it behind her shoulder. “You’re getting better.”
She looked at the studio photos, a series of photographs Renee had taken at Dhyana Yoga, mostly black-and-white shots of students, the building, the meditation garden.
Renee reached over and turned the page. “I could be better.”
The photo she turned to was of Mayson, or at least her arm, its long curve of subtle musculature and dark skin, braced against a stone wall in the garden.
“Couldn’t we all,” Mayson said. She closed the portfolio, looking meaningfully at Renee. “Oh, I almost forgot.” A grin shimmered across her face. “Three of your prints we had on display at the studio sold this week. I put the money in your bank account before I came over.”
“Really? Are you sure you didn’t buy them yourself just to make me feel good?” She took the heavy portfolio from Mayson’s lap. It felt good to have its substantial weight in her hands. She hugged the portfolio to her chest.
“Why would I pay good money when I can get it for free?” Mayson tickled her through the nightshirt.
She yelped, pushing her away.
Mayson fell back against the pillows, watching her with a lazy smile. “I’ll even tell you who bought the pieces if it makes you believe.”
“I believe,” she said.
“And do you feel good?”
Renee smiled, allowing the slow pleasure of it to spread across her face. “Yes, I do.”
Mayson nodded with a look Renee could read as easily as her name.
“I know.” She leaned into her friend’s warmth, touched her lips to the bare shoulder, and inhaled her unmistakable eucalyptus scent.
Mayson kissed her forehead. “As much as I’d love to sit looking at you laze around in bed all day, breakfast is getting cold.”
“And the beach is waiting!” Renee bounced up in the bed, suddenly vividly awake. “I’m ready.”
They ate breakfast, then set off for Mission Beach with the stereo blasting The Skatalites and Mayson’s surfboard sticking up from the backseat of the convertible. At nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, the beach was still half asleep with only a few cars cruising down Mission Boulevard. A man walking his two dogs crossed the street against the light. The dogs, untethered by leashes, danced around the man’s intricately tattooed legs, nipping playfully at each other as they ran ahead of their human, then back to him.
“See if you can park by the lifeguard’s station,” Renee said. “I don’t want to get stuck carrying the hamper like last time.”
“You can carry my board instead.”
“Are you joking? That’s heavy too.”
“Wuss.”
The closer they got to the water, the more sand covered the road, crunching under the tires and floating up around the car in a pale cloud. Mayson parked against the curb between a yellow VW bus and an old blue Volvo station wagon. Out on the ocean, the waves were high, foam-topped, and a sharp blue in the morning sun. A few surfers were already riding high on the water, gliding across the surface like sea-bound birds, their arms outspread.
They unpacked their gear; Renee set herself up on her blanket with sunscreen slathered all over her body and her camera nearby, while Mayson pulled on her wetsuit and plunged into the water with her surfboard.
The water was cold. Renee could tell by the single sinuous shiver that took Mayson’s body as she rode into the ocean on her belly, a dark slash against her pale yellow surfboard. A wave rose up and she did too, leaping to her feet on the board and knifing into the thick trough of water, leaping on top of the wave, then inside it. The wave curled around her body, hiding her from Renee’s sight, then the wave uncurled, revealing a grinning Mayson trailing her fingers against the water’s glassy wall as she rode it down to the beach. Her laughter rippled out on the breeze.
Renee watched her, mesmerized by her grace on the water, the strength in her tall body. Even when Mayson fell, disappearing under thundering water, then reappearing again in her quest to conquer, she was beautiful.
The camera fell into her hands and clicked steadily, capturing images of ocean, woman, and sun. In the zoom lens, May-son’s face was a portrait of untamed joy.
A shadow fell across her face, blocking the sun.
“We don’t see too many black pearls on this white beach.”
Renee looked away from the water, squinting up. The camera dropped into her lap. “I didn’t know this was a white beach,” she said, keeping her tone deliberately light.
Two guys stood over her, California blond and tan, one with long hair falling into his face, young. The other could have been his twin, only his hair was neatly trimmed—al-most military—and his bare chest was half covered by a tattoo. Some kind of large cat. The long stretch of sand around her was empty except for a foursome playing a relaxed game of volleyball a half mile or so down the beach.
“It’s not really a white beach,” the short-haired one said. “But, you know….” He gestured to the meager oceanside population—the tanned volleyball players, the dozen or so surfers who were all pale reflections of Mayson.
“Your girl is hot. She’s got some totally off-the-wall moves out there.”
“Ah … thanks. I’ll tell her you said that.” Renee pointedly lifted her camera again and turned away from them.
“Come on. At least tell us your name.” Long Hair flashed a smile and moved back into her light.
Mayson jogged up on the beach, surfboard under her arm. She was only panting slightly, water dripping from her face, down her slicked-back braid. “What’s up, fellas?”
“We were just telling your girlfriend how hot you are.” Short Hair snickered, his greedy eyes devouring Mayson’s slim form in the wetsuit.
“Thanks, but she already knows that.” Mayson propped her board up in the sand and dropped onto the empty blanket next to Renee.
When the surfheads made no move to leave, she arched an eyebrow. “Do you mind? We came here to
be alone.”
Renee had never seen grown men stumble so much over their tongues, then over their feet as they apologized and hurried away.
“How do you do that?” Renee laughed. “People are never scared of me.”
“You look like a kitten in your little striped bikini and sunglasses.” She grinned. “Wetsuits are more intimidating.”
She stood up and unzipped the suit in question, peeling the slick black rubber off her body until all that was left on her was a bikini not much bigger than Renee’s. It was a lot like a striptease.
Renee looked away, rummaging in the duffel bag for a towel. She passed it to Mayson and her friend took it wordlessly, dried off her face, and passed it briskly over her hair and body. “Thanks.”
“You didn’t have to get out of the water for me, you know.”
“Yes, I did. Those assholes were about to start something.” She folded the towel and put it under her head. “They need to go smoke some more weed and just sit down somewhere instead of annoying every pretty girl they see.” Mayson closed her eyes and wriggled against the blanket. Droplets of water clung to her lashes, glistening against her cheeks. Under the sun, her body steamed.
Renee picked up her camera.
“Let’s go in here.” Mayson gestured to the shop with the red awning. “They have great bubble gum ice cream.” The sun glinted off her smooth hair tumbling around her shoulders, damp and gritty with sand.
Because of the incident with the two surfer boys, Mayson was reluctant to leave Renee alone again. But after they swam together, raced to a far-out buoy, and ate lunch, she sensed Mayson’s restlessness. With a laughing promise not to talk to strangers, she sent Mayson back out into the surf while she took her camera and went in search of interesting things. Hours later, it was her friend who hunted her down, insisting it was time for an ice cream break. Renee agreed.
“Bubble gum?” Renee stuck out her tongue, laughing. “Sounds nasty.”
But completely like Mayson. Ever since they were kids, she was forever putting strange things in her mouth. She laughed again and squeezed Mayson’s waist, feeling the sun-warmed skin against her arms.
They wove through the sun-kissed crowd on the Mission Beach sidewalk toward the ice cream shop, their shoulders and bellies bared in bikini tops, cutoff jeans hanging from their hips.
“Don’t judge until you’ve tried it. It even has pieces of bubble gum in it,” Mayson said.
“Definitely nasty. I either want ice cream or chewing gum, not both at the same time.”
“Okay, Grandma.”
Laughing, Renee followed her into the ice cream shop. The guy behind the counter flashed them a smile of welcome before turning back to his customers, a father with his two kids. The young boy and girl stood on tiptoe to see the flavors in the ice cream case.
Like Renee and Mayson, the kids had their bathing suits on but unlike the adults, they hadn’t bothered to put any pants on. And of course, the boy was bare-chested.
At the ice cream counter, Mayson made a show about looking at the other flavors, although it was obvious she had already made up her mind.
“Since bubble gum isn’t in your future, what flavor are you thinking about?” Mayson asked.
Renee peered into the case, her eyes drawn to the tamer, pale-colored flavors. She knew if she ended up getting vanilla Mayson would never let her hear the end of it.
“Rum raisin, I think.” She chewed on the tip of her finger. “Although I shouldn’t get the waffle cone since we’re having dinner soon.”
“No offense, Renee, but there’s no way your parents are going to have dinner ready when we get there. Between all the catching up and talking and usual pressure to play Taboo and the fruity drinks your mom likes to have before dinner, we’ll be lucky to eat before nine.”
“You’re probably right.” Renee eyed the case lined with waffle cones of all types and sizes. When the guy asked her what she wanted, she was ready. “Two scoops of rum raisin in a chocolate waffle bowl, please.”
Mayson chuckled. “Way to let loose, Renee.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Kiss off.”
“Here you go, Miss.”
Before Mayson could reach for her cash, Renee pulled a ten out of her bikini top and exchanged it for her overflowing chocolate-lined waffle bowl. “Thank you. This is for both of us.”
They walked out of the ice cream shop and back into the sunlight.
Renee sighed. “This is so perfect. Cold ice cream. The hot sun.”
“Bubble gum.” Mayson licked her spoon and grinned. The wind blew hair into her face. She shook it back with a toss of her head.
Renee chuckled and moved closer to Mayson to avoid bumping into an oncoming group of college girls on the sidewalk. A woman in a yellow scarf walked up from behind and between the formation of blond girls, splitting their group.
“Funny running into you here,” the woman said.
Mayson came to a dead stop. Then Renee did too, looking from her friend’s surprised face to the vaguely familiar woman who’d spoken to them. When Mayson only stared at the woman without saying a word, Renee abruptly remembered where she knew her from.
“You’re Kendra, right?” She felt no great joy in recalling the woman.
“Yes, that is my name.” Kendra stood still on the sidewalk, forcing people to move around her. She turned her back on Renee. “Do you remember it, Mayson?”
“Kendra, I was going to call you up later this weekend.”
“When? After your little ice cream date? Or will you wait until after you fuck her under the stars to compare how it was with me?”
At her side, Mayson stiffened.
“Calm down, honey,” Renee said to Kendra. “It’s not like that. It will never be like that.”
“And even if it was,” Mayson said, a hard finality in her voice, “it’s none of your business. There’s no reason for any of this drama.”
“Drama? Are you fucking kidding me?” Kendra’s eyes became wide in her face, the lashes wet. “I thought we had something special. Why are you trying to blow me off?” Passing eyes flickered to Kendra.
“I’m not trying to blow you off,” Mayson said with an impatient lift of her shoulders. “Listen, I’ll call you later and we can talk about this. Okay?”
“Whatever. I won’t wait for that phone call.” With one last glance at Mayson, she clamped her purse under her arm, spun, and walked away. The yellow scarf at her throat appeared and disappeared as she slid through the crowd.
“Come on, May. Let’s keep walking.” Renee looped an arm through Mayson’s, propelling her forward. Through their skin-to-skin connection, she felt Mayson’s deep, silent sigh. The melting ice cream lost its appeal. She dropped it into the trash, wiped her fingers on a napkin, then stuffed the dirty napkin in her pocket. “That woman is about as handy as a hot rock. You need to drop her,” she finally said in the silence.
“I’m starting to think that too.” Mayson sighed again.
“I hope the sex was worth it, at least.”
When Mayson didn’t say anything, Renee stopped and turned to face her. “Kendra wasn’t even that good, was she?”
“It was fine.” Mayson shoved her hands in the pockets of her cutoff jeans and looked straight ahead, anywhere but at Renee.
Renee burst out laughing. “That’s a damn shame.”
“Shut up.”
“Come on.”
She started walking again, pulling Mayson toward the beach. With sunset less than an hour away, the day had cooled down a little. From the water, they would be able to watch the sun fall into the horizon as they floated side by side. Mayson on her board. Renee on her back. The perfect way to end their day in San Diego before heading up to see her parents. Smiling, she grabbed Mayson’s hand and moved to the edge of the crosswalk. They waited for the light to change.
A yellow Mustang with a familiar face drove slowly past.
Renee stared after it. “Is that Kendra’s car?”
Mayson craned her head to look. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“That’s the car I saw near your place the other night.”
“Really? She hasn’t spent the night with me in at least two weeks. Maybe three. When did you see the car?”
“When I had my little breakdown and busted in on you in the middle of the night.” Renee made a face.
“No. She wasn’t with me. At least not really. She came over but I was just too tired to deal with anybody.”
“So you sent her away,” Renee said.
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
Renee rolled her eyes. “But she probably saw it that way, especially since she hung around long enough to see me come over later that night.”
“Yeah.” Mayson nodded. They both watched the road where Kendra had disappeared, each lost in thought.
Chapter 32
She’d taken him in this.
Renee shook out the red skirt and clipped it to a cedar hanger. The straight lines of the silk looked so commonplace in the row of other skirts. But there was nothing common about this skirt. Not in the way it had sat on her bottom as he slid his hands over, then under, cupping her willing flesh, kneading, stroking, before pulling her back into his lap. And though blindfolded, she’d stretched out the moment. She’d held herself above the palpable heat of him, then stroked him with her wetness, back and forth until he trembled.
With her face buried in the silk skirt, she searched for remnants of his scent and hers together, of that night. But the laundry had done its job and all she smelled was fabric softener. With a sound of self-mockery, she hung up the skirt and went back to the laundry basket in the middle of the floor. She began sorting her socks.
There was something that she wanted from him. Just one thing. Would he give it? She folded a pair of white socks and tucked them together. With her murky motives, did she have the right to ask?
Her cell phone chimed Mayson’s ring.
