The Pumpkin Man (11 page)

“Give him a smile and look away. Then give him another one in a minute or two. He'll come over. 'Course, that leaves me up a creek. Or . . . Never mind. Looks like he's got a friend!”

A dark-haired guy had appeared with a pitcher of beer, and he sat next to the man watching Jenn. Kirstin shifted on her seat enough so that her cleavage jutted forward. Then she made a show of sipping her drink and looking in their direction.

Jenn snorted. “Why don't you just take off your top and be done with it?”

Kirstin laughed and shook her head. “So gauche. I've just given them the universal sign: breasts and a nearly empty drink. My bet's on a refill shortly.”

“You can't be serious.” But Jenn knew she was. And before she'd shaken her head in disbelief—or disgust—a shadow fell across them.

“Hi,” said the dark-haired guy. “I'm Brian.” He out held his hand. Kirstin took it. She held it a moment too long, Jenn thought.

“My friend Nick and I are just hanging out tonight on our own, and we wondered if we could buy you girls a drink.”

Kirstin blinked innocently. “I'm almost empty. How about you, Jenn? I'm Kirstin, by the way,” she said.

“Do you want to join us?” Brian asked. He pointed. “We have a table.”

It was an easy decision. Moments later they were all squeezed around the table and Jenn and Kirstin had full drinks. Nick and Brian poured from the pitcher.

“You here for The Colorful Mission?” Nick asked. His voice was quiet, but still he could be heard above the noise. He pointed to the band playing on the small stage just past the bar.

Jenn pointed to Kirstin, who was giving Brian wide eyes and every trick in the world to make it clear she was interested. Jenn wanted to barf. “She saw the listing in the
Chronicle
.”

“Yeah.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I read the article, too, but they picked a dog this time.”

She agreed. With its angular rhythms and mix of horns, synths and guitars, the band wanted to be Oingo Boingo but seemed to be having a hard time staying in key. She was happy to tune them out.

Somehow, two vodkas bled into four, and then the band finally stopped caterwauling and tore down. A DJ took their place, spinning a nostalgic
This is the '80s
set. He ran through Nick Heyward, Duran Duran, The Cure and then Romeo Void. “Never Say Never” had Kirstin leaning on Brian as she slurred, “I might like you better if we slept together . . .” Then the entire bar began a sing-along to the Violent Femmes anthem “Blister in the Sun.” There was definitely a feeling of love spreading through the small space; brotherly, sisterly and otherly.

When last call came, Jenn was seeing trails whenever she ran her gaze past the Christmas light strands wreathing the bar. “I don't think I can drive,” she told Kirstin.

Her roommate giggled. “Yeah, me neither!” She promptly batted her eyes at Brian.

He grinned. “You can stay with us. We're not far from here. We'll get your car in the morning.”

“Are you sure about this?” Jenn whispered as the two guys stood up. She struggled to keep her words from slurring. “We don't really know them.”

“They're good,” Kirstin promised. “And . . . there's no way we're driving an hour and a half home like this.”

They piled into Brian's car and traveled a few blocks to an old apartment building just off the expressway. Flipping the lights on, Brian announced, “Well, we have two beds and a couch. So I guess one of us could take the bathtub, or . . .”

Kirstin laughed and took him by the hand. “Come on and show me your room, silly boy.”

They disappeared behind a closed door. Jenn found herself uncomfortably alone with Nick.

“I'll take the couch,” she said, slumping into it almost before she finished talking.

He smiled. “Hang on.” A minute later, he came back with a pillow and blanket.

“Thanks,” she said, lying back and making herself comfortable. But when he turned out the light and said good night, Jenn suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say, “Wait.”

He sat down near her feet on the couch. His voice was low, almost nervous. “What's up?”

“Would you mind . . . just staying here with me a little bit?” she asked. “I'm a little weirded out, being here in a strange place.”

“No problem,” he replied.

Jenn wasn't sure what would happen next, but she felt the weight of him along her back. The couch was deep, so he slid in easily behind her. Sharing her pillow, he slipped his arm across her waist, and with his warmth, an ease fell over her, an ease she hadn't felt in a long time. Between the alcohol and the feeling of being protected, she drifted quickly to sleep.

“I would have thought your bed might be more comfortable,” Brian said.

Jenn groggily opened one eye. The room was bright with morning light, and her back was hot from the sun.

“Yeah, well, we just kinda crashed here,” said a voice behind her ear. Nick.

Jenn's internal eyebrows raised. WTF? She'd spent the night on the couch with a guy she'd only met hours before?

Kirstin appeared, clad only in a San Francisco Giants T-shirt. Jenn had never seen it before. Her friend stretched, nipples clearly evident through the fabric. Brian rested his arm on her shoulder, and she smiled at him.

Oh gawd,
Jenn thought.

“Brian said we could go to the beach today,” Kirstin announced.

“I'm not sure I can get off this couch,” Jenn said, lifting her head and feeling the hangover.

Nick lifted his arm, and suddenly Jenn felt cold. Exposed. She wanted him back.

“Beach?” he said, struggling to push himself upright.

“Baker Beach,” Kirstin enthused. “It's by the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Nick said.

“Just one problem,” Jenn pointed out, at the same time pressing a palm to her forehead. It felt hot, too. “We don't have our swimsuits.”

“Not a problem,” Brian said. “Baker Beach is partially nude. You don't need suits.”

“Um, I don't know—” Jenn started to say, but Kirstin cut her off.

“There's nothing better for a hangover than sun and sand.”

Jenn laid her head back. To be honest, at the moment she didn't care if the whole world saw her naked. She just didn't care. Jenn closed her eyes.

The beach was crowded. It was a rare eighty-five-degree day in San Francisco, and the sand showed it. There was barely an open spot to lay a towel.

“Baker 2.0 is this way,” Brian said, pointing toward the looming orange struts of the Golden Gate.

“I don't know if we really need to go all the way,” Jenn began.

Kirstin rolled her eyes. “You need to
live
a little, girl. Twenty years from now, you probably won't be able to take that skin to a nude beach, but right now you have nothing to hide.”

Jenn laughed. “I have a lot to hide.”

Nick spoke up. “Come on, you guys. If Jenn's uncomfortable going all the way down Baker, we can find a spot here. It's crowded but there's space.”

Brian took Kirstin's hand and pulled. “We're going,” he taunted.

Nick looked at Jenn. “What do you want to do? I'm cool if you want to stay here.”

Jenn wanted to stay on the clothed beach. Hell, she wanted to be back in the apartment on the couch under a blanket. Her head still felt like mush. Maybe it was because Nick was there, but she was not going to let Kirstin show her up. Not today. Not now. “Let's just go,” she said.

As it turned out, the girls had less of a problem than the guys, at least in terms of people ogling them. As they walked, towels slowly began to take up less of the beach, and suddenly they
found themselves walking among men lying belly up and cock free. There were some women, most of whom were frolicking thigh-deep in the surf, but within a few yards it was clear there were more male nudists than female. And Jenn noticed an awful lot of the guys had towels very close to one another.

“Welcome to Gayville,” she laughed. “I hope you two are
up
for it.”

The foursome tossed their towels down near the water, and Kirstin wasted very little time in pulling off her borrowed T-shirt. Her borrowed shorts followed. She grinned, putting a hand on one bare hip and grinning.

“Let's hit the waves!”

Jenn couldn't help but be envious of her friend's jutting breasts and taut belly. Then Kirstin was running toward the ocean.

“Fuck it,” Jenn said, in disbelief though she was actually doing it. She pulled off her shirt, almost shaking from nervousness, but also felt raw and excited and free for the first time in who knew how long. She had no job, no family, no life at the moment. What did she have to lose?

As she kicked off shorts she'd borrowed from Nick, she looked up at the two men and said, “Well, are you guys pussies or what?”

It was totally unlike her, but it felt good. Then she was following Kirstin, naked as the day she was born and feeling amazingly, wonderfully free.

For a few moments, it was the most exhilarating experience of her life. Then the cold surf splashed her thighs and she questioned the entire exercise. Damn, that was cold! Numbing, skin-deadening cold.

“Fuck, this is freezing,” Kirstin complained.

“Uh,
yeah,
” Jenn answered.

Behind them, the two guys dropped their shorts and ran to the water with the obvious intent to submerge before being
seen. Jenn watched Nick dashing to the surf, and she saw what she hadn't the night before. And she liked it.

It warmed her just a little bit. It was even better when Nick actually ran through the waist-high saltwater to join her.

“Hi,” he said, clearly a little embarrassed. He cautiously slipped an arm around her shoulder.

“Hey,” she answered, smiling at him to let him know it was all right. She had never stood naked in public next to another naked person but she found that strangely she was okay with it. “Thanks,” she added.

“For what?” He looked surprised.

“For showing me this. I love it.”

Rampant male nudity aside, the view from Baker Beach was amazing. The orange-red struts of the Golden Gate loomed seemingly meters away, and the bay stretched out before them in a blue wash of possibility.

“It's beautiful,” she pronounced.

“You're beautiful,” he said.

She grinned and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said again, and leaned up to kiss him.

He held her close to him and pulled them low in the water so that only their heads jutted above the surface. But she felt him below the waves, and the press of his body made her smile.

After the beach, the boys took them to Fisherman's Wharf for a late lunch. “You can't be a tourist in San Francisco without stopping at the wharf,” Brian said. He acted very comfortable playing tour guide.

Nick, on the other hand, generally hung back. But this time, he laughed. “Generally tourists don't start at the nude beach!”

“We're not tourists,” Kirstin pouted. “We live near here now.”

“Okay, then we'll just drive by really fast and make fun of it,” Brian said.

“I could go for some crab cakes,” Jennica protested. “Do you think they'd have them at the wharf?”

Brian laughed. “The wharf is crab mecca. Fried, breaded, cold, boiled, fancy restaurant, walk-up vendor off the sidewalk—I think we can find you some crab.”

They walked along the strip near the water where jugglers and street performers staked out spaces. “I've never seen a guy tap-dance to hip-hop,” Kirstin noted, as they passed an old guy in purple baggy pants and a green button-down shirt dancing up a storm.

“There's a guy here who hides behind palm fronds and then jumps out at you and says ‘Boo'—and expects a tip for it,” Nick said. “They call him the Bush Man.”

“Nice!”

“Hot crab, cold beer,” called out an older Asian man in a white but well-stained apron. They were walking past a strip of outdoor food vendors, all of which featured crabmeat. Most bordered sit-down restaurants, but the stands were crowded with people buying crabmeat by the cup or fish and chips by the paper plate.