Tide's Ebb

by Alexandra Brenton

  They went down to the street and hailed a cab—it seemed barbaric to arrive at Dorsia in a cab, but Marianna gritted her teeth and persevered. Dorsia was in Chelsea, on a quiet street that seemed far too small for the three Michelin stars this formidable restaurant commanded. Marianna was afraid that perhaps the maître’d would see that they had arrived in a cab and refuse to seat them, or maybe the restaurant would find out that Screech was an IT guy and not let them through the door. But when they arrived, Marianna found her misgivings were misplaced: they were immediately escorted to a banquette off on the far side of the elegant dining room. It was almost secluded.

  And then the meal began. Screech had wisely selected the thirteen course degustation menu. Sea urchin ceviche? Pancetta foam wafers? Foie gras fondue? Locally-sourced Wagyu trotters? It was a one delicacy after another. Marianna felt her gut sticking out and pressing against the taut fabric of her dress.

  “So I have a surprise for you…”

  Marianna exhaled loudly. All of a sudden, the restaurant seemed completely empty. Screech got down on his knees next to the table.

  Oh no. No, no, no… Not this! Marianna thought.

  Screech leaned down further and put his head under the table. What the fuck? Marianna felt something pull at the bottom of her dress.

  “Screech! What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to surprise you!” he said, from underneath the table.

  She felt the fabric of her dress slide up her calves.

  “Screech! We’re at Dorsia!”

  “I know! I love these tasting menus!” She felt something like a wet mop on the back of her knee.

  “Screech! I mean it!”

  “But you love it! And I love it, too!”

  Now he was pushing his nose between her knees, which were now gripped tightly together.

  “We are at dinner at the best restaurant in New York—this is no time for oral sex!”

  “I’m certain you’ll go great with the sea urchin ceviche!”

  “Would Madame like the dessert?” A tall man in a white jacket stood next to the table. Marianna had not seen the waiter approach.

  “Wha-what?” This distraction was all Screech needed—while Marianna’s attention was temporarily diverted, Screech nuzzled his way up her thighs.

  “NO!”

  The waiter looked taken aback. “I’m so sorry if our dessert offends Madame. Perhaps some coffee or tea?”

  “Uh, no. Thanks. I mean, please, just let me think for a second.”

  The waiter looked down—Screech’s foot was sticking out from under the table cloth. With an amused look, the waiter turned and walked back towards the kitchen.

  “Woah! That was close!” a voice wafted up from under the table.

  Marianna was agitated and not in a playful disposition. She didn’t even want the haggis puree-filled petits fours as a dessert. All she had wanted that evening was to look beautiful—she had not wanted her knees licked at Dorsia. She didn’t speak a word to Screech for the remainder of the evening and into the next day. Their sacred trust had been broken.

  She had to make a change. She felt broken, violated, alone. Could she ever find a man—a real man—that made her feel like a woman again?

  Chapter 8 – Moving

  The next day at work, Marianna’s temples were pounding, and it was hard to concentrate on the computer screen. Her mortification from the night before had left her exhausted and tense. The office phone rang. It was Sam.

  “Ms. Holt, I have a special assignment for you. But I’m afraid it will involve extreme hardship.”

  Marianna swallowed her breath, as if trying to stifle a hiccup. “Of course, sir. You know my commitment to our craft.”

  “It will involve document review in a warehouse outside Newport, Rhode Island. Probably for four to six months. It’s an important supervisory role—you’ll be in charge of two paralegals to make sure they do their jobs.”

  Marianna’s neck muscles tightened up. Months of reviewing legal documents in a dimly-lit industrial building was fine. That formed the very core of what prestigious lawyers like her did. But… in Rhode Island? How could she leave the City?

  “Unfortunately, I need an answer today.”

  “Ok sir. I’ll let you know.” She hung up but then immediately dialed another number. “Suzanne? I need to talk. Downstairs. Now.”

  In the downstairs lobby, Suzanne instantly noted that Marianna was standing ramrod straight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Let’s just go to the coffee shop.” Marianna walked briskly in her cream-colored Chlo Spazzolato pumps and didn’t say a word—Suzanne, in her typical 4-inch heels, struggled to keep up.

  “Marianna! Just tell me what’s wrong!”

  Marianna felt heat rising to her neck as hot tears dripped down her face. “Sam’s asked me to do document review…”

  “Oh, that’s horrible!”

  “…in Rhode Island!”

  Suzanne let out a gasp. Law firms could be so cruel.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I just… I don’t know. Things in New York, with Screech, have been so comfortable after… my incident. But now…”

  “I know. But honestly, honey, do you think Screech is the man for you? His goatee alone is ridiculous. Trust me, I know he’s a professional muff diver, and that’s nice and all, but you’re not supposed to date him! The ladies in the office only ride the goat when we can’t mount a stallion! Seriously, is cunnilingus your only criteria for a soul mate?” As Suzanne said these words, she had to stifle a giggle, for she thought that expert oral sex was indeed a very good criteria for a soul mate. But now wasn’t the time to mention that.

  Marianna continued to sob. She couldn’t admit to Suzanne how much she had come to enjoy the feel of that goatee, tickling her core night after night.

  “Everything is so confusing…”

  “Maybe this is just what you need. I read a book where a woman traveled to third-world shitholes, like India and Italy, in order to find herself. Maybe going to Rhode Island could be kind of the same thing?”

  Marianna sighed. Maybe that was what she needed—to go to the ends of the Earth in order to find herself.

  Chapter 9 – America’s Society Capital

  The Rhode Island project was even more difficult than expected.

  The two paralegals were worthless. Although document coding required highly complex legal skills, such as reading and data entry, the paralegals seemed to treat it like it was just any job and refused to work even a minute past nine p.m.

  I’m part of management, Marianna thought to herself. I can motivate them.

  But no matter how many Starbucks gift cards she bought the paralegals, they never quite grasped the importance of document review. Maybe if they had Illy in Newport?

  But the fact was, they didn’t have anything in Newport. There were mansions, sure, but all of these were quite old and not accessible to public transit—not even buses. Although Marianna wasn’t sure what horrified her more: living in a place without a subway or the prospect of having to take a bus. She preferred not to think about it.

  But Marianna did find one activity in Newport to which she could unreservedly devote herself: yoga. Marianna had seen films about break-ups and she knew that she had to dedicate herself to something physical, preferably something that could be done against a picturesque backdrop in relatively skimpy clothing.

  That was how Marianna came to do solitary yoga practice on the docks at dawn. There was no yoga studio nearby, but next to the sea, Marianna could do sun salutations where she actually greeted the morning light. It was still freezing in March, so Marianna’s thin yoga clothes did little to protect her from ocean gales. But as each gust put a chill on her muscles, her nipples prodded rigidly against her Lululemon top. And the tightness of her tight body felt amplified by each breeze.

  During these morning yoga sessions, she could breathe and forget Screech’s frail comforts. With the co
ld water lapping the rocks, she could forget the warmth of Screech’s lapping in her lap. With the sun rising on the distant sea horizon, she could almost forget the braying of the donkeys.

  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.

  Chapter 10 – Rescue Me

  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.”

  Chapter 11 – The World’s Best Coffee

  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 f
elt 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.”