Wifey (5 page)

“Thanks.” Sandy stood up too. “It’s been very nice,” she said, “I hope you’ll excuse me . . . I’m really tired . . .” She looked across the room, at Norman.

“Sandy’s recuperating, you know,” Myra said. “She’s been quite sick. Take care, San. Get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’ll be in soon,” Norman told her.

“Yes, see you all tomorrow.”

Sandy got into bed with the green booklet.
Had Gish been serious? No, it was just a joke.
She opened the booklet. There were General Rules, Golf Course Rules, Tee Off Procedures, Club House Rules, Guest Rules, Tennis Regulations, Pool Regulations, Rules Pertaining to Children on the Premises, Rules Pertaining to Restaurant Minimums, and Rules Pertaining to Sons of Members Who Wished to Caddy.

Suppose Gish had been serious? He was attractive.

No, it was out of the question. He’d just been kidding around. Flirting, but not seriously.

There were Lessons For All, including but not limited to Private Tennis Instruction (by the hour or half-hour), Golf (by the hour or half-hour), Playing Lessons (nine holes or eighteen), Having the Pro Play in Your Foursome . . .

Sandy dozed off, the bedroom light still on.

6

T
WO DAYS LATER
Sandy, Myra, and the twins were having their lunch on the patio. “It’s just wonderful to be able to share your vacation with your family,” Myra said, squeezing Sandy’s hand in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “You’re looking so much better, San. How do you feel?”

“Stronger . . . healthier . . . I always feel good with a tan.”

Myra inhaled deeply and stretched. “I can’t think of any place on earth I’d rather be.”

“Well, I can!” Kate said. “And I’d also like to know why we can’t ever have anything besides blended salad for lunch?”

“Because blended salad is good for you,” Myra said. It was her latest kick in fad foods. She bought romaine lettuce by the crate. Sandy found it hard to take herself, but instead of complaining she just waited until the others left for their afternoon activities, then made herself a peanut butter sandwich.

“Green mush!” Kate moved it around on her plate.

“Seaweed!” Connie added. “And Bucky and Jen are in the kitchen eating hamburgers and fried bananas, is that fair?”

“Bucky and Jen are little children,” Myra told them, “but you are young women and need to watch your weight.”

“Bullshit!” Kate said, pushing back her chair.

“I thought I told you to watch your language,” Myra said, clenching her teeth.

“Oh, come off it, Mother. Aunt Sandy knows we’re human. Let’s go, Con.” She and Connie got up and stalked off.

Myra tried to laugh it off. “Just wait until Bucky and Jen reach adolescence.” She sipped her mint iced tea. “It isn’t easy.” She flicked her hair back. “Did I tell you I made appointments for them with Dr. Saphire?”

Dr. Saphire had performed Myra’s breast reduction surgery.

“No, aren’t they too young?”

“Nose jobs . . . not the other . . . not yet . . .”

“Oh, I didn’t know he did those.”

“Yes, he’s the best in the business.”

“When are they going in?”

“Early July.”

She nodded. She was always surprised that Myra had produced such unattractive children. It must be hard on them, having a gorgeous perfectly groomed mother, like Myra, Sandy thought. But no matter how hard she tried to like them, to find some redeeming feature, she couldn’t. It was so unpleasant being around them. Bucky and Jen felt it too. Just that morning Jen had said, “I hate Connie and Kate, don’t you?”

Bucky answered, “I hate Kate. Connie’s just dumb.”

“I don’t want to hear you talking about your cousins that way,” Sandy had said.

“Why not? It’s true,” Bucky told her.

“Yeah,” Jen said, “they never laugh or have any fun and they’re so ugly.”

“But they sure do have huge tits,” Bucky said.

“Will mine grow like that, Mommy?” Jen asked.

“I doubt it,” Sandy told her. “You’re small-boned, like me. The twins are built more like Aunt Lottie.”

“I hope mine grow bigger than yours,” Jen said. “Yours are so little.”

“Big breasts aren’t everything,” Sandy said.

“Yeah, I’m an ass man myself,” Bucky said. “Like Dad.”

“Like Dad?” Sandy asked.

“Yeah, he told me the other day when we saw Aunt Myra’s ass.”

“Bucky!”

“Well, we did and it wasn’t our fault either. She was standing there talking on the phone and it was sticking out for everybody to see.”

“You should have looked the other way,” Sandy said.

“Dad didn’t.”

Norman, an ass man? He’d never told her that, but she should have guessed, given his fascination with the product of that part of the body.

B
UCKY AND
J
EN
were not happy that afternoon, when Connie and Kate piled into the car with them. They poked each other and whispered but Sandy was determined to make it a pleasant outing.

“Now remember, Mom,” Bucky said, “you drive on the
left
here.”

“I know, I know.”

It was a short ride down the hill to the small, private, homeowners’ beach which was adjacent to the long beach belonging to the Runaway Bay Hotel. Often, Sandy and her children were the only ones there. The other homeowners and tenants had their own swimming pools, like Myra, and spent most of their time playing golf or tennis anyway. Norman hated the beach. “All that sand,” he’d say. “It gets up my ass and between my toes . . . who needs it?” But Sandy loved the beach. The warm sand, the endless blue-green sea, the salty air. “Isn’t the water beautiful down here?” she asked the twins.

“It’s all right,” Connie said.

More than their looks, it was Connie and Kate’s apathy, their lifelessness, that bothered Sandy. The twins took off their beach shirts, revealing bikinis. Their loose flesh hung around their middles and poured out from their bikini bottoms. They weren’t fair-skinned like Sandy and Myra. They were more like Gordon’s family. Gordon had olive skin and tanned deeply, changing his looks. Otherwise, during the winter months, Gordon appeared to have faintly green skin. He was balding and combed his remaining hair carefully across his head. His eyes were deep-set and his cheeks becoming jowly, but he still had a hard, compact body, although at just under five five, Myra dwarfed him.

How lucky Sandy was to have Bucky and Jen. Lovely little Jen, small and delicate with wispy hair and an almost constant smile. And Bucky, growing up to look like Norman, with a square body and almost no neck, set on broad shoulders. But Bucky would be warmer than Norman, warmer and kinder and unafraid of his feelings.

Jen ran off to hunt for shells and Sandy settled down for her afternoon nap. Just as she was dozing off, Kate screamed. Sandy jumped up and ran to her. “What is it?”

“My belly . . . my belly . . .”

Appendicitis? Would she be able to find Myra or Gordon? Oh, Jesus, she should have left them home. They were nothing but trouble.

“He burned it! It’s killing me.”

“Burned it . . . who . . . what?”

“Bucky! With his fucking magnifying glass.”

“What? He did what?” Sandy looked over at him. He was sitting under a palm tree, holding his magnifying glass, a sheepish look on his face.

“I didn’t know it would happen so fast,” Bucky said. “It takes a long time for leaves to burn.”

“I’m not a leaf, you fucking imbecile!”

“Okay, okay,” Sandy said, “let’s calm down now. Bucky, apologize to Kate and give me your magnifying glass.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, and now.”

He handed her his magnifying glass. “Can I have it back tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Day after?”

“I doubt it.”

“When?”

“We’ll see.”

“You always say that!”

“Apologize to Kate, please.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“We’re waiting, Bucky.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think he really means it, Aunt Sandy.”

“I do so,” Bucky said.

“I’m sure he does,” Sandy told Kate.

“What happened?” Jen asked, racing back, her Baggie filled with shells.

“Bucky burned Kate with his magnifying glass,” Connie said. “Look at that red mark on her belly.”

Jen examined Kate’s belly and held back a laugh.

“It hurt like hell,” Kate told her. “I thought a snake bit me, or something.”

“They don’t have snakes on the beach,” Bucky said.

“The hell they don’t.”

“Do they, Mom?”

“I really don’t know.” Sandy rummaged through her beach bag. “Look, why don’t the four of you go over to the hotel and have a drink. Here’s five dollars. You can bring me the change.”

“Five won’t buy us all drinks,” Kate said, “not down here.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” Sandy said, fishing out another five. “Take ten then and bring back the change.”

“They’re having crab races this afternoon,” Jen said. “I love crab races. Please, please, can we go?”

“Oh, all right . . . I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“Thank you, thank you.” Jen jumped up and down and planted a kiss on Sandy’s cheek. “You’re the best mother that ever was.”

Sandy laughed. “Go on, have a good time.”

She watched as they ran down the beach, Bucky and Jen out front, Kate and Connie behind them. Then she made a pillow out of two beach towels, settled back on her blanket, and closed her eyes, her face lifted to the sun. Ah, the hot sunshine. It felt so good. She began to drift off . . . the sun hot on her face, her belly, her legs. Hot between her legs. Yes, good and hot . . . so nice . . . so long since she’d had that feeling . . . since before she’d been sick. Norman hadn’t . . . that is, they hadn’t fucked since before. He wanted to, she knew, but she told him she was still too weak. Nice to know it was still working, that the cortisone hadn’t affected her that way. She opened her legs a bit more, letting the hot sun warm her there, warming her all over . . . on her nipples . . . erect now . . . she ran her hand across her belly . . . fuck me . . . fuck me, sunshine . . . so delicious, as it crept up her legs, to her thighs, to her cunt . . . kiss me there . . . lick me . . . oh, please . . . oh, hurry . . . She pictured the beachboy, the one at the hotel who set up lounge chairs and handed out towels. A beautiful boy, with white blond hair and deeply tanned skin. A beautiful body too. She could see every muscle in his back. Strong arms. And a line of pale fur extending from his navel to the top of his bathing trunks . . . and beyond? Yes, probably beyond. She could see the outline of his cock, of his balls, through his tight little Speedo suit. Every time she passed him, as she walked along the beach with the children, every time she looked, although she promised herself she wouldn’t anymore . . . she saw his bulge. How nice it would be to feel him against her. If he walked by right now, she would say,
Lie on me,
and he would, rubbing against her. Rubbing, rubbing, but not putting it inside her. It would be exciting enough that way, just rubbing on the outside of her suit, the way Shep used to do because she’d told him,
I can’t Shep . . . I promised my mother . . . I can’t do it . . . not all the way . . . but we can do this . . . and this . . . yes, Shep, yes . . . I can feel you through my clothes . . . can you feel me? Yes, I can come this way. I’m coming, Shep . . . oh, God . . . I’m coming . . . now now now . . .

“I think I love you.”

Sandy opened her eyes and sat up. A middle-aged man in madras bathing trunks was sitting opposite her, drawing in the sand with a stick. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Sandy asked, rearranging her bathing suit, hoping she hadn’t been squirming, that the man had no idea what she’d been thinking.

“I said I think I love you.”

Sandy jumped up, gathered her things in a hurry, and took off, running down the beach.

He called after her. “Don’t go, I said I love you and I mean it. Come back. Come swim with me.”

Jesus, a pervert on the private beach! She ran until her side ached, until she reached the safety of the crowded hotel grounds. God, he could have killed her. He could have bashed in her head with a coconut. Never again. From now on she was going to make her headquarters on the hotel beach.

She used the Ladies Room near the hotel pool, got herself together, then went up to the crab races and found Bucky and Jen.

“Hi, Mom, what are you doing here?” Bucky asked. He didn’t wait for her answer. He was too engrossed in the crab race. “Go little guy . . . go . . . look at that . . . go number three . . . go  . . .”

“I lost,” Jen said. “I bet on number six and then he turned around and walked the wrong way.”

“Maybe that will teach you a lesson about gambling,” Sandy said. “Where’s Connie and Kate?”

“Oh, they went off with the ganja man,” Bucky said.

“The ganja man?”

“The dealer.”

“What dealer?”

“You know, Mom, quit acting dumb.”

“Bucky, I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“Ganja . . . it’s like grass . . . like dope . . . pot . . .”

“Marijuana?”

“Yeah, down here they call it ganja.”

“And they went off with him?”

“Yeah, but they’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“They’re just down the beach,” Jen said pointing, “but Kate said if I told anybody she’d kill me. She said she’d hold me under water until I turn blue. That’s why I have to learn to hold my breath till one hundred, like Daddy.”

“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” Sandy said. “Now, listen . . . you two stay right here and watch the rest of the crab races . . . don’t move . . . I’ll be back with Kate and Connie and then we’re going home.”

Just what she needed. Where the hell were they and what was she supposed to do about them? And if they’d used her money, she’d kill them. The bitches!

She found them in a clump of trees, laughing their heads off. “Hi, Aunt Sandy,” Kate said. “What are you doing way down here?”

“I was just going to ask you the same question. I thought you were going to stay with Bucky and Jen.”

“Bucky and Jen aren’t babies. They can take care of themselves.”

“Have you been smoking pot?”

They laughed again.

“Do your parents know you smoke?”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. “We’ve never discussed it.”

“Are you going to tell them?” Connie asked.

“Of course she’s not,” Kate said. “What purpose would that serve?”