Wet: Part 1

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  “Sean thought I’d be excited about having him baptize me—the funny thing is, I would have, I’d always thought I would be baptized, eventually, but all I heard was the ultimatum. He loved the idea of baptizing me, but I want to be loved for me, not because I’m a name on a line of some membership record. I spent my whole life being accepted or not accepted, based on that.” At least she’d always told herself that.

  “If he really loved me, it wouldn’t matter. If any of them ever really cared about me, it wouldn’t matter. I’m done with it—I don’t want anything to do with that anymore. I’ve never been accepted and now I don’t want to be.” She’d gone over these thoughts a million times since her parents died—the last—only—true relationships she’d ever had.

  “Shoot,” she said, her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to kick herself for allowing the loss of her parents to creep back to mind. She missed them so much. She cried every time she thought of them so she rarely let herself.

  “Hey, don’t cry . . . I really don’t know what to do when women cry. Rhees, I don’t know how to fix it—what am I supposed to do?” Paul started to put his arms around her but hesitated. In his experience, that always turned out to be a bad idea. Girls tended to dislike being hugged after being told, just after sex, that he didn’t love them and would never love them.

  When they did let him comfort them, he just ended up wanting to have sex again, but then they would cry all over again because having sex didn’t change his mind about loving them.

  Rhees wasn’t crying because they’d just had sex. He decided to try to hug her after all, hoping she would stop. “I’ve never been able to figure it out, I do everything I can to avoid this.”

  She stiffened and pulled away as if he’d just shocked her with a cattle prod. He chalked it up to guessing wrong. A half a second later, she laughed and reeled in her emotion and tears.

  “I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

  “I like listening. I could do without the tears though,” he admonished.

  “The word on the street, probably from the few girls who aren’t madly in love with you, is that you’re callous. I’ll bet your reaction to, or your intolerance for, crying women has something to do with that,” she said. “I didn’t mean to give you a hernia, putting all that strain on your sympathy.”

  “I think you have it wrong. The girls I . . . hang out with don’t love me. It would have to be the girls who do. They’d be the ones who’d call me callous because I have to make it clear that I don’t love them back.” He put his hands in his pockets, dropped his head, and twisted his mouth in contemplation. He didn’t feel callous. He cared. It bothered him they always wanted more from him than he could give. It was just a result of who he was, a man who could never fall in love. He didn’t believe in it.

  She giggled, and he looked back up at her, relieved she’d stopped crying.

  “That’s how it works?”

  “For me,” Paul said, embarrassed. “Maybe not so much for them.”

  “I think you may not be a good judge at telling the difference. I think that even your Coitus Club groupies are in love with you. They’re just better at hiding it than the girls who don’t make it into the club.”

  Paul’s face twisted into confusion. “Coitus Club? Groupies? What the fuck is that?”

  “Oh shoot!” Rhees squeezed her eyes shut tight. She looked almost sick. “Nothing.”

  He glared at her, not accepting her answer.

  “It was either that, or Paul’s Playmates, but that sounded too much like Playmate of the Month or Playboy Bunnies, as in Hugh Hefner, and more women line up for that than they do to be in your club, and I didn’t want anyone to be confused that I thought of it as a good thing, not that I call it that to anyone, except maybe Claire, once or twice, but—”

  “You’re rambling.”

  “You’re right. I’ll shut up now.” She took a long drink of her beer.

  “I’m still not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “The girls at the shop—there are others too, they swing by the shop sometimes to join in on the impromptu meetings—but they sit around and talk about you, discuss who you’ve been with, compare notes on . . . your performance.” She hung her head and looked so embarrassed. She actually looked around as if searching for a hole to crawl into. She made him laugh.

  “So you think I’ve let a few of the wrong girls slip through the cracks and into the club? I’ll draw up a questionnaire, start weeding them out more carefully.”

  “How do you tell? How do you determine, or what clues you in that they’ll fall for you, more than you want them to, you know, after just . . . just once?”

  He half laughed again. “That’s my secret.”

  “Oh.” She accepted his answer so readily. It disarmed him.

  “They wilt.”

  “They wilt.”

  “Yeah, they wilt. At some point in the process, while we’re going at it, sometimes all I’ve done is kiss them, haven’t even had a chance to get to the really good part yet. They just kind of . . . melt on me. It’s the best warning system I’ve come up with so far, at least I thought so. Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get to work on that questionnaire.”

  “Any time. Do you stop?”

  “What?”

  “When you get the early warning, do you stop, before it’s too late, so you don’t have to break her heart?”

  He didn’t really want to answer that one, but he did with a guilty frown. “No.”

  “You’re kind of a self-destructive masochist then.”

  He didn’t mean to laugh so loud. “You’re very observant.” His laughter slowly subsided as the reality of that hit home. He put his beer bottle to his lips and took a drink to stall while he thought about how observant she really was. “I prefer to use the terms self-indulgent, self-gratifying, and son of a bitch. There’re a lot of girls out there who prefer my terminology as well.” He remembered what she’d called him the night of the dance contest. “And asshole. Someone recently called me an asshole.” They started walking again.

  “Rhees, you’re only twenty-four, nowhere near an old maid. You know that, right? Regardless of the culture where you’re from, by the rest of the world’s standard, you’ve got more than enough time.”

  “That’s what I told myself when I left home.” She said the next words with a sense of humor, emphasizing each word. “I have since come to the conclusion that I won’t be marrying a Utah boy, because I refuse to be baptized.” She giggled and then changed her tone back to normal. “The boys in the rest of the world, however, can’t get past the first date if a girl won’t full-out put out.”

  He stopped again to look at her.

  “Hey! Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. I learned that from experience—a very good source. I have to face it. I may never get married.”

  “And what source would that be?”

  They finished their beer and threw the bottles in a trash bin on the side of the road.

  “The famous world-class drummer,” she said quietly.

  “Are you kidding me?” Paul let out a string of cuss words, expressing a surprising amount of anger. “I knew there was something about that asshole!” Paul huffed incredulously. He wasn’t just trying to make her feel better. “Danarya, that asshole doesn’t know which end is his fucking brain, and which is his fucking ass.”

  “Hey Pauly Pockets! Calm down. He was very nice about it! He asked me to show him the sights, but when I told him I was new here, he suggested we go exploring together. He was cute, and funny, and we had a really good time.” She grew pensive. “He kissed me.”

  Paul still had a hard time hiding his anger and the only other expression he could manage came across as disbelief.

  “He asked me if I wanted to go back to his room.
I told him I didn’t do that on the first date.” She looked at Paul again with a trace of humor in her eyes. “I decided to try a new approach, after what happened the last time I tried to shoot someone down kindly.

  “He said he had a long tour coming up—meaning I wouldn’t get a second date. I said, ‘So, it’s a date. Shall we say, seven o’clock, twenty years from now?’ And he said, ‘I’m not a patient man. Let’s make it ten’. We laughed, he walked me home, and then he left . . . and I’ll never see him again, and that’s when I realized I may never get married, because I’m afraid I might be too old-fashioned for the world outside my home state.”

  Paul wiped the contented look off his face when he noticed the way she stared at him, probably wondering why her rejection pleased him. The drummer thing had been driving him insane.

  “Do you always tend to be so melodramatic?” He still looked too amused. “You’re much too young to be thinking that way, and marriage is highly overrated anyway.”

  “Marriage is ingrained into my whole being. I think I was born with a desire to be married.”

  “That’s why you were sad.” His eyes lit up, proud of himself for figuring it out. “At dinner, with the Swensons.”

  “You noticed that, did you?” Rhees closed her eyes, embarrassed.

  “You’re not the only one who’s observant.” He rushed on with the next bit to distract her from what he’d stupidly said. “She’s married, has two kids, a prize of a husband.”

  “A prize of a husband?”

  “Isn’t he everything a woman wants in a husband—tall, dark, handsome, powerful businessman, prolific, rich—”

  “How about already married—when he prolific-ized her the first time? Yes, I had a moment of envy when I realized the new and improved model of Mrs. Swenson was no older than I am, and she has what I want, minus the fact that there is a discarded version of her out there somewhere—I could never consider a cheater a prize. I don’t know their specific circumstances and I don’t mean to judge, but for me . . . I draw the line at cheating.”

  “Prolific-ized?” He chuckled. “So as much as you want to be married, and you don’t think you will be, but if you did hit the jackpot—as in, the way you’d see it, you’d still toss his sorry ass to the curb if he cheated?”

  “I’d rather die alone, on my own, than die alone because my man is in another woman’s bed.”

  His brow flashed up and then down as he considered what she said.

  “I did make a decision recently though,” she continued. “I’m thinking if I’m not married by my thirtieth birthday, I’m going to give up on my dream and—maybe just turn all promiscuous or something.” She laughed, mocking herself. A long moment of silence ensued between them.

  “Will you promise me something?” he asked, his tone suddenly very serious. “Promise me you’ll invite me to your thirtieth birthday party?” Another moment of silence before she finally broke out into loud, happy laughter. He laughed a little too, but the humor didn’t quite resonate in his expression. He wondered if a spell existed, one he could cast to make sure she wouldn’t marry by then.

  They arrived at the yard at Oceanside. She thanked him for walking her home, and unceremoniously dismissed him before he could walk her to her door. He hung on, not wanting to say goodbye until it started to get awkward. He finally had no choice.

  “Um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good night, Paul. Thanks for the ice cream . . . and the beer.”

  He knew he had to finally call it a night with her, but wished he didn’t have to. “Yeah, okay. Good night.” He halfheartedly started to walk away.

  “Thanks for walking me home,” she added. “And for letting me talk your ear off.”

  He turned and reflexively flashed her a designer-Paul smile. The one he’d perfected to melt any woman’s panties, wishing she would ask him to stay. She didn’t even notice. She’d already started across the path to the stairs that led up to her apartment. He felt rejected—again—but he told himself he could be patient.

  oOo

  Paul found Taylor at Tanked. The movie long over, Taylor had already managed to convince two different women he loved them. He’d planned to take them both home, but Paul’s unexpected arrival and weird mood made him feel obligated to share.

  If Paul had really wanted a date, he could have found his own, but Taylor didn’t understand how Paul would just rather not, not tonight—but it wasn’t worth the torment Taylor would inflict if Paul tried to explain. The last thing he wanted to do was try to explain. After a couple more drinks, they were about to leave when Paul saw Shelli at the bar with a man he didn’t recognize.

  “Taye! Give me a minute.”

  “Meet you back at your place.” Taylor left with both girls and Paul approached Shelli.

  “Hey! I hope Island Divers is treating you well.”

  “Sure. I liked Paradise better, but I got tired of watching you drool over her every day.”

  “Shell, I’ve been trying to apologize.”

  “Have you met Mario?” She reached to her right and patted the new guy on his back. “He’s from Brazil too.”

  “Oh, so you know each other?”

  Shelli laughed. “Brazil is a big country, Paul. No, we didn’t know each other until a few days ago, but we have a lot in common.” She and Mario gave each other a look suggesting they had a secret. “See you around, Paul.”

  Something about the way she acted didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t like that Mario guy either. He was what Paul figured women thought to be good-looking, but he had a bad feeling about the man.

  He brushed it off and made it back to his place, where Taylor and the girls had helped themselves to his private liquor stash. Taylor and his date left to go sleep on the beach while Paul and Maya started what should have been a great night in his bed, but something was wrong.

  Paul found it hard to enjoy himself fully. He wanted to, but he remembered how Shelli had accused him of crying out Rhees’ name at the worst moment he could have. He didn’t doubt her claim. He hadn’t been able to get Rhees off his mind, almost since the day she showed up. His determination not to make the same mistake again was getting in the way.

  Maya sensed his difficulty. She moved down . . . and looked up at him through her lashes.

  He couldn’t help the half-grin on his face, thinking how every woman who was willing to do that thought she was the only woman willing to do it, but it was on the menu so often—he wasn’t complaining, he just had a hard time feeling the sincere appreciation the girls always expected.

  Maya went back to work, but took it deeper.

  “Oh . . . kay,” he gasped. I’m impressed.

  His admiration was fleeting. When he leaned back to enjoy the unexpected treat, the memory of Rhees and their conversation flashed into his mind again. He would have to do what he’d been doing for weeks. He pulled Maya up and positioned her against him, being careful to look everywhere but her face.

  He pulled a condom from his pants pocket and found the release he needed, but the guilt returned once it was over. He rolled onto his side, facing away from her and pretended to fall asleep, quickly.

  The next day, a buzz went around about Paul and Rhees finally getting together. Paul heard the rumor before she did and worried how she would handle it. With his notoriety, he could claim to be with any woman and no one would doubt it. There were women he didn’t even know claiming to be his conquests, and no one doubted them unless he challenged it, but he rarely thought it worth the effort.

  Everyone believed Rhees’ denial, however, since her quick response came out so honest and sincere. She left no doubt in anyone’s mind, especially Paul’s. The idea absolutely revolted her.

  oOo

  Paul and Taylor didn’t spend m
uch time at the shop over the next few days. They spent their time out on the water, diving, surfing, parasailing—anything and everything dangerous and exciting. At night, they hit the bars and hit on women. On Wednesday, Paul got wind of a plan aimed at making Rhees the butt of a cruel joke.

  People at the shop had set up what was to make her believe they were all meeting up at Ray’s for dinner—as usual for a Wednesday night. However, they would really be at Coconut Inn. She would show up at Ray’s and be the only one from the shop, and for some reason, that gave them all a thrill. Even Tracy and Regina were sworn to secrecy. They didn’t like it but their need to fit in outweighed their consciences.

  The plan made Paul livid but he worried about trying to intervene. He knew their attitude toward her was his own fault. The way he’d treated her the first few weeks, the way he’d reacted after her diving accident, the incident with Shelli—one of their own had jumped shops because of it and the jealousy. All the girls were beginning to notice how uninterested he’d become. Any attempt to interfere would only make it worse.

  Chapter 17

  Taylor stood with Paul on the side of the road in front of Paul’s favorite restaurant, the only Italian restaurant on the island. Paul watched the road while they talked. He was stalling, acting indifferent about getting into the restaurant, even though Taylor knew he didn’t tolerate hunger well. Low blood sugar usually made Paul grumpy. Taylor suspected something, but he didn’t bring it up, curious to see what his friend was up to.

  Paul’s eyes grew wide and Taylor finally understood why they’d just wasted the last twenty-five minutes standing on the side of the road instead of waiting for food he knew would take three times that long.

  “I’ll be right back.” Paul slapped Taylor’s back and took off down the road a few yards before he stopped to wait.

  Paul stepped quickly to get into place. Rhees headed his way at a pace suggesting she wanted to get somewhere fast. Paul knew she’d already shown up at Ray’s, found that everyone had stood her up, and now her feelings were hurt. He knew about all of it, but he didn’t want to embarrass her even more, so he didn’t plan to mention it, though he couldn’t wait to see what she would have to say.