Tide's Ebb (6 page)

This was Marianna’s routine, which went undisturbed until one frigid day in early April.  That morning, Marianna stood on the pier. She noted that, even as spring approached, there was still ice near the docks.  She began her yogic practice. Marianna moved into a deep downward-facing dog, her hamstrings stretching. Her perfectly formed bottom jutted skyward, like an offering to Shiva, or maybe some other god that particularly likes asses.

Marianna wanted a more challenging pose—she walked her feet forward towards her hands and bent her elbows. She was going into “crow” pose. The pose, which involves stacking knees upon bent elbows requires considerable core strength. Marianna Holt, of course, had considerable core strength. But she was sweating on the back of her elbows—a problem that had plagued her since her teenage years. Even direct application of the most potent anti-perspirant deodorants could not prevent it.

For a moment, all was well—her knees now resting on her elbows, her entire body held up by her hands. But the sweat on the back of her elbows was slick… Her knees were slipping. She squeezed her knees in tightly, trying to stabilize herself. But her knees continued slipping. In one horrifying moment, her legs shot out, off balance, Marianna teetered on the edge of the dock. She swung her arms around trying to grab hold of the wood. Her perfectly manicured nails scraped against the dock but could not dig in. Pain shot into her fingers as splinters from the old wood dock pierced her. Suddenly, Marianna was falling.

The water was like a thousand of those splinters, entering her body from all directions. Marianna thrashed around, frantically trying to keep her head above water. But each contortion seemed slower than the last. The cold was all around her; her mouth opened to scream, and salty water burned her lungs.

It can’t end like this.

Her last thought was of the donkeys.

Marianna was fading away. She was in a tunnel and could see a beautiful white light. This must have been what the people of New Jersey felt coming through the Holland Tunnel.

There was a far-off sound, which sounded like someone throwing a large anchor into the sea. Or maybe some other poor soul, also fed up with Rhode Island, had taken her cue and flung himself into the water as a willing sacrifice to the sea.

Marianna couldn’t feel her body, but she could sense movement again. Was she alive?

Somehow her body was out of the water, lying on sharp rocks. Her skin could
feel
the rocks and the cold air, somehow warmer than the water. She was on the shore.  But there was a weight on top of her. Her pert bosoms heaved to try to bring more air into her lungs, but this weight kept pressing. She felt a warm embrace, and she opened her eyes.

A man was on top of her.  And he was naked.

“What the fuck?!”

“Ma’am—you fell into the ocean.” His voice was steady, deep and rough.

Marianna tried to focus on his face. He had piercing, steel-blue eyes and rugged cheekbones. A thick head of curly, black hair lay soaked and plastered against his temples. He smelled of sandalwood, elderberries and
male
. There was something wrong with his chin.
Oh, he has a beard.
Marianna had sometimes seen beards on people from Brooklyn, but never so close.  

Marianna felt the energy return to her body and became instantly indignant. “So you just think it’s fine to naked dry hump a woman because she falls into the ocean? You fucking pervert!”

“If my clothes became wet, they would have weighed us down. In the deep, only the dead wear clothes.”

He stood up. He had broad shoulders and blue skin but stood straight, unbowed and unshivering. As he lengthened his body, Marianna saw that his penis was not erect. She had never seen that before, and she was insulted.  
Doesn’t this man know how attractive I am?
There was also something wrong with his stomach. Where his six-pack ought to have been, this man had some sort of puffy mass of soft, sagging skin.

Marianna had never been exposed to anything so repellant in her life.
Don’t they have gyms in Newport?

Then she remembered reading an article in Cosmo about people who couldn’t afford personal trainers. She felt a twinge of shame. Marianna had once watched a program called
Extreme Makeover – Home Edition
and vowed that she would help the less-fortunate if she ever met them. And this man was clearly poor
and
dull-witted.

“Marianna Holt is sorry. The nice man risked his life, didn’t he?” Although she knew the lives of the working class were worth somewhat less than the lives of big law firm lawyers, she understood what she had to do.  “Marianna Holt is
very
happy that the nice man helped her, and she would like to
reward
the nice man.” She spoke slowly, so this simple man would understand.

“No need.”

“No! I would like to take you somewhere special—maybe somewhere you have never been before!” She was trying to be good-natured to this brutish beast, but he was making things so damn difficult. Marianna’s face flushed crimson.

“Really ma’am, it was nothing. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go get my clothes.” He spoke deliberately, his voice scratchy like a gravel road.

She watched as this man walked away. His rear, now red from the cold, was round and full, resembling a baboon’s.
Not bad
, she pondered. For just a second, she imagined what it would be like to grab this apple-red rump in another context. Marianna decided to lay all of her cards on the table.

“MAN! I would like to take you to STARBUCKS!”

He stopped. He couldn’t pass up that offer. How could he possibly?

“Ok, ma’am. I’ll have a coffee with you. Just name the time.”

They agreed to meet at 8:30 p.m. on Wednesday. Over her lunch break that day, Marianna found herself looking for new earrings.

Don’t I have enough?
she wondered.

But this meeting at Starbucks was important. It was to say ‘thank you’. Even though this humble man would clearly not appreciate her efforts, she wanted to look good.  

When she arrived at Starbucks, the man was not there yet. She tried sitting down in one of the comfy chairs but couldn’t stay seated. She got up and ordered a grande sugar-free vanilla skim milk Tazo Chai tea latte before sitting down again.

The door opened. The man entered. He was wearing a denim shirt. Marianna didn’t know that shirts could be made of denim.  Marianna stood up, her pert breasts standing up with her.

“You saved my life! So, please, let me buy you a coffee—you can even get one of the specialty drinks! All my friends always say that that generosity is one of Marianna Holt’s core values!”

“Well, Miss Holt, in that case, may I please have a drip coffee?”

“I’m going to get you a caramel macchiato instead! It’s much more expensive!”

Marianna saw the man raise his eyebrows, perhaps because he had never been able to afford a caramel macchiato before.  They sat down with their specialty drinks.

“So… what is your job?”

“Miss Holt, I work on the docks. I’m the skipper of the Downeaster Fitzgerald. In fact, I was securing the jib on its transom when I saw you fall.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. Do you catch fish?”

“No Miss Holt. The Downeaster is a yacht.”

“Oh, so do you catch lobsters?”

“No Miss Holt—it’s for passengers. Occasionally, I’ll take visiting dignitaries out on the sea.”

“Like a ferry?”

“Uh, yes, sort of like a ferry.”

“You must be very brave.” Marianna spoke coyly.

“Well, Miss Holt. The sea is a hard master. You’re not the first I’ve seen fall into the deep. These waters have no forgiveness in their hearts. I have seen a boat’s hull pierced and the cold water rushing in.”

Marianna suddenly remembered how small and distant she felt when she had fallen. Her skin felt those icy pricks again. “Those boats are so tiny. And the sea is immense.”

“The boats are sound, ma’am. They’re built by honest men to withstand far more than rain and chop. But once they’ve been compromised, they go down quickly.”

Just like Suzanne on a Saturday night!
Marianna thought to herself.

“You poor people. You probably have never known the joy of a home furnished with Italian luxury sofas and loveseats.”

“Ma’am, we are but simple folk here in Newport. But we have a few nice things: sincerity, community, and the well-earned rest that comes after a hard day of honest work.”

She noticed how his calloused hands gripped his specialty drink coffee tightly.  “Yes, but you’d rather live in the City, right?”