by Bird, Peggy
She inched her hand slowly down his chest until she reached the waistband of his jeans. “Yes, now that you mention it, there is.” She unsnapped and unzipped him. After he returned the favor he spread the second blanket over them so they could wriggle out of their jeans and undies.
“I thought we were … ” she began as he pulled her close.
“You think too much.”
“But you said … ”
“Talk later. Fantasy now.” He illustrated his point with his mouth and his body.
• • •
Still covered by the blanket, they slowly came back to Earth after sweet lovemaking. She played with the curl that fell onto his forehead and asked if a little boy with a curl in the middle of his forehead was like the little girl with the curl.
“No,” he responded. “When she was bad she was horrid. When I’m bad I’m wonderful.”
They were working up to round two in the sand when suddenly the breeze picked up. In fact, it was getting very windy, as if a storm were coming in. Which seemed odd because the sun had gotten steadily brighter while they were there.
Collins sat up to look out towards the horizon. He started laughing so hard she had a difficult time understanding what he was saying. Finally, he got out, “Your fantasy. The Coast Guard. They’re in it?”
“The Coast Guard? What are you … ?” She bolted upright and got the answer to her question before she had it finished. Hovering just far enough away so it didn’t swamp the couple with the backwash from the rotor blades, was a Coast Guard helicopter. The two Coasties inside the helo were waving at them.
“Oh, shit. This is awful,” she said, pulling the blanket further up over her before dropping her head into her hands.
“They’re too far away to see us clearly enough to know who we are. What’s outside the blanket is dressed and what isn’t dressed is completely covered. It’s really kinda funny.”
“Easy for you to say. Here I am … ”
“I’m here, too, babe. And all they can see is a couple having a little afternoon delight on the beach. They’re either impressed that a white-haired old guy can still do it or they’re jealous because they’re working and we’re not. Maybe both.”
“Right. Working. My tax dollars being used to spy on me.”
“You sound like one of those anti-government nuts.”
“Good God, I hope not. But I am embarrassed.”
“Because they’ll what … report you? To whom?”
“Because they’ll film us and put it on YouTube.”
“But I don’t see anyone hanging out the side of the copter with a camera in hand, so I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Come on, they won’t leave until we acknowledge we see them. We’ll wave; they’ll go away.”
He waved and, reluctantly, so did she. Just as Collins predicted, as soon as they did, the pilot and his — or her — colleague flew seaward until their helicopter looked like an oversized dragonfly in the distance.
When they’d gone, Collins pulled Liz to him and kissed her forehead. “So, we’ve got beach and public place checked off the list, haven’t we?”
“And added ‘with an audience,’ too,” she said.
“I don’t think they actually saw anything, Liz.”
“But they’ll have a good story to tell their buddies when they get back to base.”
“I doubt it’s the first time anyone’s made love on the beach, babe. Maybe they just amuse themselves by keeping count.”
Twenty minutes later, as they finished the last of the open bottle of champagne, two helicopters appeared from the south. This time, the couple was completely dressed and sitting up on the blanket.
“Looks like we have more company,” Collins said as he waved at the approaching helos.
Liz laughed and joined him in greeting their new friends. With nothing interesting to see, the Coasties waggled their aircraft at them in salutation and went on their way.
Once the helicopters disappeared, Collins started packing up the picnic basket. “I think we’ve done everything that can be done here, don’t you?”
“Hell, yes. And so help me God, if I show up on YouTube or Facebook or whatever else is out there to torment foolish old women … ”
“And so help me God, if you don’t stop harping on your age, I’ll take the damn videos of you half-dressed myself and post them.” He held up three fingers in the classic Boy Scout sign. “Scout’s honor.”
“I didn’t know you were a Boy Scout.”
He abruptly dropped his hand and grabbed the bag they were using to collect trash. “There’ve been times lately I wish I was more Scout-like than I am but, no, I’ve never been a Boy Scout.” He walked away from the blanket, picking up random bits of trash and adding them to the bag.
It was the second time today he’d abruptly pulled away from her. She couldn’t figure out what she was doing to make him draw back. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she felt inept in dealing with men. Maybe this was the result of falling into bed with someone she’d known for such a short time. Perhaps this had all been a mistake. She didn’t want it to be. But what the hell was going on?
When she caught up with him she took the bag he was holding and put her empty plastic glass in it. “You must be a Boy Scout if you’re intent on policing the beach like this. Need some help?”
“No, I can … ” He looked at her, seemed to register her concern. “Sorry. Got some other stuff on my mind.”
“Is there anything I can help with?”
His expression turned sad. “No, no. It’s fine. Just a business deal.” He held her close. “But you don’t deserve a distant lover. I’ll work on being better.” He took her hand and they returned to pick up the blankets and picnic basket.
It wasn’t exactly the free and open communication she’d hoped for, but at least he was back with her. For the moment.
As they slid down the dune towards the heavily wooded campgrounds, Liz asked, “Are we staying overnight in the tent?” She hoped the answer would be no, but was willing to be a good sport if that’s what he wanted to do.
He smiled. “What would you do if I said yes, sweetheart?”
“I’d be gracious and acquiescent. And probably not like it very much.”
“That’s what I thought. You didn’t strike me as the camping type. The tent was just so we could get a site and maybe a temporary place for us if the beach didn’t work out. I made another reservation down the road at a motel with spa suites and a good restaurant close by.”
“Are you planning on checking off all five of those things in two days?”
“I’d only planned two. But maybe we can get to four if I can find a nice forest on the way back tomorrow.”
“When did you say you were going back to the Wallowas?” She shook her head. “if I have any chance of surviving to get my gallery open, it better be soon.”
After checking “hot tub” off Liz’s five places they went to dinner at the four-star restaurant across the street from their motel, where they had another long evening of engaging conversation. Aside from finding him an adventurous — to understate the obvious — bed, bath, and beyond partner, she was learning to appreciate other aspects of Collins. He was, of course, interested in her work and loved discussing art. But he also had an interest in almost everything else — movies, theater, sports, politics, international issues.
He talked warmly of his family and was interested in hearing about hers. The only blank space in his conversation was his life as an attorney in L.A. He wouldn’t talk about it. He dismissed it as over and done with, not worth mentioning. She couldn’t help wondering if it was connected with his distracting business but she was afraid to ask, afraid to take the chance she’d drive him away with her curiosity.
She couldn’t remember when she’d
met someone she enjoyed being with as much as she enjoyed him. His sense of humor meshed with hers. They had similar tastes in restaurants, wine, and food. He was interested in everyone from the sommelier in the white-tablecloth restaurant to the ranger at the state park. He loved her music, thought she had a great eye for design and paintings (although he told her, with a smirk, she needed to brush up on the three-dimensional arts), and shared her love of spy movies and thrillers.
He was, in short, so damned perfect she was afraid if she wasn’t careful she could fall for him. She didn’t know which was worse, the idea that she might begin to love him or that she could lose him.
The morning after their beach adventure they slept in. Then they grabbed coffee and scones at a nearby bakery before taking the long way home, back up the coast to Astoria before heading east to Portland.
Jamie was still at the gallery when they arrived. After Liz inspected the new inventory and billing systems he’d finished, as well as the updated Facebook page and their new Twitter account, Jamie showed Collins his proposed template for the sculptor’s website. They got into such a detailed discussion that Liz left them to it and went upstairs. A half-hour later she heard the gallery door close and Collins’s footsteps on her stairs.
• • •
Before he left the next morning, Collins promised to send images of the work he’d be bringing her and to call her as soon as he got home. Although she held him for a long moment before he got in his car, she wasn’t devastated by his leaving. She knew he’d be back for the opening. And having him three hundred miles away gave her a chance to take a deep breath and figure out exactly what the hell had just happened to her.
He called when he got home and told her he missed her. In spite of her suggestion they text instead of phone, he called every night during the weeks they were apart. He needed to hear her voice, he said, needed to tell her how much he missed her, person to person.
He also told her he was pushing up his return date — he’d be there the weekend before the gallery opening. And he asked her not to make any plans for the Monday after he arrived because he’d made some plans of his own for them. She thought he came close to saying a lot more at several points in their conversations. But, unable to deal with both complications in her personal life and the mountain of last-minute details for opening her business, she pretended she didn’t understand what he was talking about. He let the subject drop.
Chapter 8
The Sunday before her gallery opening, Liz was inspecting the wall on which she’d just finished hanging a series of photographs of Portland when she got a weird feeling on the back of her neck, as if someone were outside, watching her. People walking past had been glancing in as she hung the work of her artists, but this didn’t feel like a random curious onlooker.
It wasn’t.
Collins was outside talking on his cell. He had an expression on his face she’d never seen — tense, focused, almost grim. Pacing up and down the sidewalk, he gestured wildly with his free hand, sometimes with his free middle finger. As she watched, he looked in, noticed she’d seen him, turned his back to her, and walked out of sight without any greeting.
Five minutes later he was standing outside the gallery window again, his arms crossed over his chest. On his face he wore his best cocky, arrogant Collins grin. Wearing jeans and the black T-shirt she loved — okay, honestly? she lusted after what was under the shirt — he was apparently sure she’d eventually realize he was there so he hadn’t bothered to knock.
“What was all that pacing about?” she asked as she opened the door.
He didn’t answer but drew her hard against him, kissing her. No sweet and tender kiss, it was hungry, fierce, and demanding. It said how much he’d missed her. How much he wanted her. Releasing her, he said, “God, I’m glad to see you.”
“How long were you outside and who were you talking to on the phone? You looked almost mean.”
“It’s just business. Nothing you have to worry about.”
“If you tell me not to worry my pretty little head about business, I’ll deck you.”
He looked as if he might be about to say something serious to her, but he backed off. Or, more accurately, moved in closer to drown her curiosity in another kiss. She tried to keep her question in mind but, once again, she found it impossible to think while he was kissing her. She got lost in his arousal, and her own, heat and warmth pooling in her belly as her body melted and molded to him. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, the questions were lost.
When he released her mouth, she held onto him, clutching his arms. “Dear God, you do things to me I don’t understand,” she said, close to gasping for breath.
He continued to hold her close. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, sweetheart. If we weren’t standing in front of two walls of windows, I’d already have you stripped and flat on the floor.”
“But we checked off ‘public place with an audience’ the last time you were here, so we don’t need to do that again.” She could feel him smile against her temple.
“Right. No need to check off anything more than once, is there?”
“No, like Stephen Sondheim says, ‘I Never Do Anything Twice.’ ”
“Oh, yes, you do.”
“All right. Apparently for you, I’m willing to make exceptions.” She disentangled herself from his arms. “But I want my gallery to be known for the work my artists show, not what I and one of my artists show of themselves. Let me get closed up here and we can … “ She paused as she locked the front door. “Oh, wait. What about your work? Where is it? Let’s get it into the gallery before we go upstairs.”
“It’s all in the back of my pickup.”
“A Porsche and a pickup? Interesting transportation options.”
“Ever try lugging metal sculptures around in a Porsche?” He followed her out the door. “When we’re finished unloading, how about the café down the street for dinner? I’m starved.”
“We can eat in. I was very domestic this past week. Made it to the grocery store, put clean sheets on the bed.” She cocked her head and frowned. “I guess I should ask before I assume — are you staying with me?”
“Where the hell else would I stay, babe?”
By the time they’d unloaded Collins’s truck, Liz had proof that in addition to whatever else she knew him to be, he was truly a talented artist. He’d brought eight pieces. Two were small cast bronzes of fishing boats on stormy seas. Two, the larger pieces for the window displays he and Jamie had designed, were abstract renderings of grasses with wildlife and insects hidden in them. The other four were representations of old Frank Sinatra songs. They were part of the series, he explained, that “World on a String,” the piece Jamie had admired, belonged to.
Liz saw how Collins viewed the world and she loved it. All of it.
• • •
Later that night he started to get out of bed.
“Want some ice water? I’ll get it for you,” she said.
He looked chagrined for a moment. “No, that’s not it. I brought something for you. I was going to give it to you Thursday but I can’t wait that long. It’s in my duffle bag.” When he came back to the bed he had his hands behind his back.
“I kept obsessively thinking about you and thought maybe if I worked it out in sculpture, I could move on to other work. Didn’t make any difference. I still obsessed about you. But I did end up with this.” He brought from behind him a grapefruit-sized, ball-shaped object. At his urging she sat up and took it from him.
It had three parts. The outer part was a hollow ball, created of metal wire that had no apparent pattern to it and no indication of how to get into an inner hollow ball that was a swirl of metal ribbons enclosing the final bit, a thin, metal piece shaped like part of a jigsaw puzzle.
She laughed with joy at the toy-like nature
of the work, rattled it so it made a noise, inspected it from all angles. “This is amazing. How did you do it? Why did you do it? What’s it called?”
“I told you why. So I could stop obsessing about you. And how I did it is my secret. It’s called ‘Liz’ because it’s you. A puzzle wrapped in mystery inside an enigma.”
“Isn’t that how Winston Churchill described Russia?”
“Close.”
“Why do I remind you of Russia?”
“You don’t. But that does represent how I think of you. You present yourself as someone who’s upfront when in fact, very little of the real you is obvious — and there’s hardly any way to figure out who you are from what is obvious. That’s the outside enigma. The mystery is why this woman ignored — or denied — how passionate she was for so long. And the puzzle at the center of it all is where she wants to go from here.”
She could feel tears well up in her eyes as she turned the object in her hand and listened to his explanation. “I don’t understand how … you barely know … no one has ever … ” She swallowed the lump in her throat before looking at him.
“Liz, I love you. I’ve been trying to tell you over the past weeks, but you kept changing the subject. That’s how I know you. I love you.”
• • •
After a couple hours of moving and rearranging pedestals, sculptures, and window displays, the perfect presentation of Collins’s work still eluded them. Well, eluded Jamie and Liz. Collins had been happy with the display for some time. Finally he said he was leaving, once again, to attend to some business.
“Wait, before you go, we need to talk,” Liz said as he headed for the door. She saw the uncomfortable, stunned-bunny look on Jamie’s face when he heard the dreaded “we have to talk” and suggested he take an early lunch.
She didn’t have to make the suggestion twice.
As soon as Jamie was gone, she took a deep breath and jumped in. “Collins, what the hell’s going on? You keep making these mysterious phone calls and disappearing for hours at a time and coming back in a shitty mood. I deserve to know what it’s about.”