#SandyBottom

by Alexi Venice

  “I’m not sure that’s a selling point, Mom,” Patrick said.

  Jen laughed. “Of course it is. What do you think we do on the weekends?”

  “Live your exciting life in the big city,” he said.

  “Tommy, is our life more exciting than a weekend at the lake?” Jen asked.

  “Our lives are crazy during the week, but in our free time, I’d say we’re downright boring.”

  “See?” Jen stared at Patrick.

  “Well, if you’re moving back here, then so am I,” Tommy said.

  “The San Francisco native?” Jake asked. “That’ll be the day.”

  “I’m sure they need homicide detectives in this Eau Claire place,” Tommy said.

  “Yeah, all two of them for the three or four homicides per year,” Jake said.

  “I know the Chief of Police,” Roger said. “He has a cabin on our lake. Want me to call him and set something up, Tommy?”

  Tommy looked at Jen. “Only if Jen visits Summerfield Clinic.”

  “You’d do that?” Jen asked.

  “I think a change of pace sounds fun. It’s beautiful here, and I feel like I could work well into my fifties if I could fish with Roger on the weekends.”

  “What about Cy and Tina, and the rest of your family?” Jen asked.

  “That would be a problem,” Tommy said. “Cy wouldn’t move from the city, nor would I expect him to, but he needs my help.”

  “I agree,” Jen said, closing the topic for now. To prevent further discussion, and open optimism by her parents, she excused herself to use the restroom.

  As she entered the bar area, she heard her name being called. She turned to see a dark-haired woman close to her own age rushing toward her.

  “Jen? Jen Dawson?” the woman asked.

  Jen’s mind worked overtime to recall the woman’s name. Coming up blank, she plastered a smile on her face.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” the woman asked. “We went to high school together in Madison. You were a year ahead of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jen said. “I’m at a loss.”

  “Victoria Marshall.” The woman grasped Jen’s hand tightly and gave it a vigorous shake. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Of course, Victoria. I remember you now,” Jen fibbed. “You look terrific. What brings you to Fireside?”

  “So do you,” Victoria gushed, then in a confident voice, said, “I own an interior design firm in Eau Claire, and I have a cabin on Fireside Lake. This is my local hangout.”

  Jen was struck by Victoria’s deep tan, set off by her tight, white tank top, and short black skort. Her lips were thin, but painted red, and she had dark, mischievous eyes. If Victoria had looked like this in high school, Jen would have remembered her.

  “What brings you here?” Victoria asked.

  “My family has owned a cabin on Sand Lake since I was a kid. I live in San Francisco, but I’m home for a visit.” Jen decided to leave Kristin and Tommy out of the equation for now.

  “I heard you went to school in California,” Victoria said. “Doctor, right?”

  “You have good intel,” Jen said. “Yes.”

  Victoria grasped Jen’s left hand and examined her fingers. “Not married yet, huh?”

  Jen was a little taken aback at Victoria’s interrogation. “No. Not married. Haven’t found the right woman yet.”

  Victoria smiled. “Lucky me. Then I need to take you to dinner, don’t I?”

  Jen’s spirits picked up, and she tried on a playful smile. “Are you always this direct?”

  “I had a crush on you in high school, so I’m not letting this opportunity pass me by. I’d like to get to know you better.” Victoria’s delivery was so smooth that Jen felt a little out of her league.

  “I’m flattered.” She let her gaze quickly travel over Victoria. “I’d like to get to know you better too.”

  “How about I make you dinner tomorrow night?”

  Jen remembered that Tommy said Kristin could stay with him in Jake’s cabin, so she was free—all night. Not that she planned on jumping into bed with the first woman she met, but she had good childcare, so she was open. To possibilities. “I’d like that. What time?”

  “Come to my place around five. I’ll take you on a cocktail cruise around my lake before we eat.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” Jen said. “Can you give me directions?”

  Victoria opened her phone and navigated to contacts. She handed it to Jen. “Enter your contact info, and I’ll text you directions.”

  Jen typed Jen on the first line, Dawson on the second line, and high school crush on the third line. She entered her cell phone number under that and returned Victoria’s phone to her.

  “Niiice.” Victoria laughed.

  “I’ll look for your text,” Jen said.

  “I’ll send it tonight,” Victoria said. “Are you having dinner here?”

  “Yeah,” Jen said. “I’m here with my entire family.”

  “Great,” Victoria said. “I have a small group on my boat. We just stopped in for a drink and to use the ladies’ room.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Jen said.

  Victoria shrugged. “They’re clients, but they’re fun.”

  Jen didn’t want to pursue that topic, so, having reached the end of their conversation, she wasn’t sure how to say goodbye.

  Consistent with their entire exchange, Victoria wasn’t at a loss at all. Her hand found Jen’s solid bicep and squeezed, then she raised up on her tiptoes and dropped a feathery light kiss on Jen’s cheek. “See you tomorrow night.”

  Jen’s hand flew to Victoria’s hip before she knew what was happening, and she returned the peck with a kiss to Victoria’s cheek. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  With that, Victoria turned on her heel and sauntered back into the bar, her round ass sashaying in her black skort. Jen admired what she saw. Victoria was about the same size as Amanda and had black hair, but it was straight. In contrast to Amanda, Victoria had a deep summer tan and looked…harder…in some way…but Jen wasn’t certain how.

  It’s my fucking night, she thought as she went into the ladies’ room— a job offer and a date . I like this place!

  When she returned to the Dawson table, the conversation was again in full swing, then men debating the strengths and weaknesses of Duncan’s football team. Tommy was even agreeing to attend a game at Lambeau Field in Green Bay.

  “Hi honey, is everything okay?” Kay asked. “You were gone a while.”

  “Everything is fantastic,” Jen said. “I met an old friend from high school who owns an interior design firm in Eau Claire. We got to chatting.”

  “That’s nice,” Kay said. “What’s her name?”

  “Victoria Marshall.”

  “Of ‘Marshall Designs?’” Kay asked.

  “I assume so,” Jen said.

  “She’s built quite a reputation for herself. She’s designed and decorated all the lake homes of the rich and famous in this area.”

  “Really?” Jen sipped her beer. “Well, she’s having me over for drinks and dinner tomorrow night. Can you babysit Kristin with Tommy?”

  Kay raised her eyebrows. “I heard she was gay. Is this a date?”

  Jen smiled. “Of course not. Just catching up is all.”

  Kay patted Jen’s arm. “Good for you. I’d love to help Tommy watch Kristin.”

  “Thanks Mom.”

  Kay’s smile turned into a frown. “What about Tommy?”

  “He said Kristin would sleep in his cabin tomorrow night, so if you could coordinate with him, that’d be great.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Kay whispered.

  It was Jen’s turn to pat Kay’s arm. “I know. I’ll speak to him tomorrow. No worries.”

  “Okay. If you say so, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “We’re close,” Jen said.

  From the opposite end of the long table, Tommy found Jen’s eyes. He s
miled and raised his glass of something dark at her.

  She raised her water in return, thinking that he looked happier than she’d seen him in a long while.

  Five

  A few days later

  San Francisco

  When the morning sun didn’t sweep away Amanda’s nightmare, she decided that Jack was right. She needed to see Susan, her therapist, sooner rather than later; if not to satisfy DA protocol then for her own mental health. For Jen. For their relationship, if there was going to be one.

  During her outpatient rehab visits, Susan had been very good to Amanda, pointing out barriers in Amanda’s thinking—and emotions—while refraining from judgment. Susan’s willingness to listen to Amanda’s raw ambitions and self-centered inclinations without raising an eyebrow was possibly the most refreshing aspect of their professional relationship.

  Amanda uncoiled from the fetal position and rolled herself out of her massive, unmade bed. She sat up straight and called the Cohen Clinic.

  “Cohen Clinic, this is Ginny. How may I help you?”

  Ah, Ginny, the red-haired receptionist with sapphire blue lipstick. At least, that’s the way Amanda remembered Ginny from her last visit. She couldn’t assume Ginny’s hair or lipstick color remained constant because, like the waters of the Bay, they frequently took on different shades. Amanda wouldn’t be surprised if the colors were entirely reversed by now. “Hi, Ginny. This is Amanda Hawthorne. I’d like to make an appointment with Susan.”

  “How are you Ms. Hawthorne? Are you enjoying your vacation with Dr. Dawson?”

  Of course she knows Jen is on vacation. They work at the same clinic, and receptionists know everything. How to answer without sounding pathetic or revealing too much.

  Amanda’s mind catalogued the possibilities. “Um…well… Actually, Jen and Kristin had to go without me. I had some things in the city that couldn’t be left unattended.” Like me. I cannot be left unattended.

  “I’m sorry,” Ginny said in a rush. “Can I put you on hold for a second?”

  Before Amanda could protest, she heard the tell-tale elevator music of being on hold. She couldn’t help but feel a little jilted. It felt like an eternity before Ginny came back on.

  “I’m sorry, Dick?” Ginny asked.

  Amanda’s brain reeled. “Ah, no thank you?”

  “Oh my God, is that you, Ms. Hawthorne?”

  “Yes.”

  Ginny laughed nervously. “I so apologize. I have a couple of calls on hold, and I thought you were someone else. Good comeback though.”

  “I assumed as much. Can you get me in to see Susan, please?”

  “Of course. Do you have a specific day in mind?”

  Trying not to sound desperate, Amanda squeaked, “Anytime, but as soon as possible, please.”

  “She has a cancellation in two hours if you can make it.”

  “I’ll be there.” Amanda wondered whether Ginny had heard the heartache in Amanda’s voice and magically carved out a time for her.

  “Very well, Ms. Hawthorne. You’re all set to see Susan at eleven. I’m sorry for the mix-up while you were on hold.”

  “No problem. Thank you.”

  “See you soon,” Ginny said and hung up.

  ***

  Amanda dragged herself through the shower and dressed in something marginally more presentable than pajamas. She gathered her courage and bag and left her house, determined to drive herself rather than rely on Frank Degrugilliers, her SFPD driver and Jack’s fixer. Frank, too, deserved some time off, since he had been instrumental in investigating the Kara Montiago conspiracy. He also took a bullet from Montiago’s wild-ass shooting spree.

  Amanda had received a text from Frank when the nude photos hit the news a few days ago. He reminded her of what he had told her in the car when the Koreans were trying to blackmail her— Hang in there. It won’t be as bad as you think. Trust me.

  Yeah, right! she thought, entering her white garage. Since her Jaguar reminded her of work, and it was a behemoth to park, she decided on the Mercedes Coupe that Jack had bought her, complete with the bulletproof windows that he had insisted on for her safety. He had personally given her driving lessons around the city in the sleek car to familiarize her with a manual transmission and high-performance engine.

  Jack was a car guy, so he had mercilessly talked about every detail of the car during their afternoon together, including its color—iridium silver metallic—a shade she’d never even heard of. Indifferent to cars and their status, she had to admit the interior colors—red upholstery with black lacquer trim—suited her dark mood, reminding her of a few exclusive clubs in grungy, low places that she had visited in her twenties.

  To feed her dark disposition, she played Billie Eilish’s new lament, Wish you were Gay, feeling the strong base reverberate through her chest, pounding against her pain. The lyrics reminded Amanda of Jen leaving her, especially the line “…when all you do is walk the other way.” Embracing the suck, Amanda recalled how they had made love to Eilish’s latest album, until she realized that falling down that manhole yet again plunged her into an abysmal darkness. She needed Susan’s help to find a manhole cover, or, better yet, to avoid going down that street altogether.

  As she navigated the chicanes through Golden Gate park, she ground the car’s gears then struggled with downshifting as she cornered onto California Street. The car momentarily sputtered, but she stayed calm, forcing her memory to find the familiar pathways of coordinating the clutch and the gear shift. Several months ago, she had shifted smoothly while driving fast along the Pacific Coast Highway, but she had somehow regressed while living her chauffeured life.

  She finally found a speed that required little shifting, as she moved with traffic on California Street toward Polk Gulch where the Cohen Clinic was located. The public ramp next to the clinic had plenty of spots available, so she didn’t have to waste time looking for a spot on the street.

  A few minutes later, she found herself face-to-face with an inky-haired Ginny flaunting bright red lipstick. Ginny had penciled in her witch-black eyebrows to match her hair color, creating a startled look that belonged on an actress in the theater.

  In contrast, Amanda was incognito, an Hermès scarf stylishly wrapped around her head and Coach sunglasses covering her face from eyebrow to cheekbone. She, too, looked like an actress, but of the furtive type trying to avoid paparazzi.

  In a hushed voice, Amanda leaned over the counter and said, “I like your hair, Ginny. Thanks for working me in to see Susan today.”

  “Anything for you, Ms. Hawthorne.” Ginny typed a few keystrokes on her keyboard. “You’re all checked in.”

  “Very well.” Amanda remained at the counter but turned to glance at the people sitting quietly in the waiting room.

  Continuing in a whisper, Ginny said, “I read about the Kara Montiago bust on the news. Were you there when she jumped out of the window?”

  Amanda nodded but didn’t say anything, hoping to telepath her desire not to talk about it.

  “No wonder you need to see Susan,” Ginny said. “How traumatizing.”

  Amanda wanted to grab Ginny by the bullring in her nose and tell her to shut her pie hole. “It was.”

  At that moment, Susan emerged from the back hallway. “Ready?”

  Amanda rushed over to Susan before her fear of being recognized by someone in the waiting area came to fruition. She followed Susan down the main corridor, careful to avoid Jen’s hallway.

  “Ginny gets bolder every time I check in,” Amanda said.

  “What did she say this time?” Susan asked.

  “Too much,” Amanda dismissed the temptation to tattle. “Never mind.”

  “She’s pretty mouthy,” Susan said. “Her job is on the line with Dr. Cohen.”

  “Yeah…well…it could be worse. She could try to shoot you like my assistant did. From where I stand, Ginny is just fine.”

  Susan nodded solemnly.

  Once they reached Susan’s offi
ce, Susan occupied her usual spot—her desk chair, but turned away from her desk, which was shoved against a wall. She motioned for Amanda to sit across from her. “Take your pick. Your old chair or my new sofa.”

  Amanda admired the floral print sofa. “Nice addition.” She unwound the Hermès scarf from her head, as she leaned back into the sofa and crossed her legs. She sighed, nervously balling the scarf in her hands then stretching it out again. Before Susan could speak, Amanda uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the opposite direction. Another sigh and twist of the scarf. She scooted her butt lower in a slouch.

  “Comfortable?” Susan asked, watching.

  Instead of answering, Amanda popped up and moved to the chair. “Sorry. The sofa doesn’t fit me quite right. Kind of uncomfortable.” She sank into the familiar club chair that was separated from the sofa by a coffee table with a box of tissues on it.

  Susan turned slightly and rested her elbows on the adjustable arm rests of her desk chair, leaning her body over her legs, setting the stage for an intimate conversation. “What brings you in today, Amanda?”

  Amanda removed her sunglasses, certain that her red, puffy eyes would tell half the story. With nauseating effort, she said, “Jen left me.”

  Susan nodded slowly. “I saw the photos on the news.”

  “Who didn’t?”

  “It probably isn’t as bad as you think.”

  “It couldn’t get any worse,” Amanda whined. “Didn’t you hear me? Jen left me.”

  “I thought you told me some time ago that you had prepared Jen for the release of these photos and taken engagement photos together to counteract them.”

  “We did—for a solo nude selfie of me. I had no idea there was a pic of Roxy and me in bed, so that was a complete shock, and apparently a deal breaker for Jen.”

  “Ah yes, Roxy. It was interesting to see her face after hearing you talk about her.”

  “She has a certain look, doesn’t she?” Amanda asked.

  “Yes.” Susan paused for a minute. “And, how do you feel?”

  “Like I want the earth to open up and suck me right into it.” She made a V-shape with her hands and slapped them together.

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t function without Jen. And Kristin, of course. They’re my world.” Amanda’s throat constricted, threatening a sob, but she choked it back.