#SandyBottom

by Alexi Venice

  Jen turned, leaning against the kitchen counter as she looked at the foursome of men at the dining table. Tommy and Roger were seated across from each other, making them partners, and Patrick and Jake sat opposite. From Tommy’s description of their last hand, she assumed he and Roger were in the lead.

  She set her glass on the counter and went to Tommy, resting her hands on his shoulders. “How did Kristin do?”

  He put a hand over hers but didn’t look up. “She ate a good dinner, and we played for a while. Then Grandma Kay gave her a bath and put her to bed in the guest room.” Tommy motioned toward the west wing of the cabin where the bedrooms were located.

  “Good to hear. Maybe I’ll sleep in there tonight too,” Jen said. “Where’s Mom?”

  “I’m not sure,” Roger said, dealing the cards. “She was buzzing around here a minute ago.”

  “Who’s winning?” Jen asked.

  “We are,” Patrick said, motioning between Jake and himself.

  “There’s a lot of game left,” Roger said. “Anything could happen.”

  “How was Victoria tonight?” Jake asked, emphasizing her name and wiggling his eyebrows dramatically.

  “Stop making faces. She’s fine. We were just catching up from high school,” Jen said in as neutral a tone as she could muster.

  “She’s gay, isn’t she?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, but just because we’re two gay women hanging out doesn’t mean we’re making out,” Jen said.

  “You look like you’ve been making out.” Jake put his index finger to his cheek, motioning to Jen that she had something there.

  She thumbed a circle on her cheek, wondering how she could have missed such as obvious spot. “She did give me a peck on the cheek goodbye.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jake said, then mouthed silently, “There was nothing there.”

  She flipped him off, and he chuckled in victory.

  The men picked up their cards and began sorting.

  Jen didn’t want to interrupt their game, and she was tired of denying what apparently was obvious, so she went in search of her daughter and mother. “Have a good game. Thanks for watching Kristin.” She squeezed Tommy’s shoulder and left.

  The guest-bedroom door squeaked when she gently pushed it open to check on Kristin, who was sleeping soundly, her face flushed and cheeks full. Jen leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “Mommy loves you, baby.” She tiptoed out of the room and found Kay folding clothes in the master bedroom. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hey Sweetie. How was your date?”

  Jen rolled her eyes and gave up. She would never intentionally mislead her mother anyway. “Fine. We just went for a boat ride and ate dinner. No biggy.” The omission of details was always acceptable when talking to her mother.

  “Hm,” Kay murmured in a way that encouraged more.

  “Victoria has done well for herself,” Jen said.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I didn’t realize interior design was so lucrative.”

  “Not all interior design businesses are. I think she’s unique.”

  “Marshall Designs,” Jen said, getting used to the name.

  “Is she nice?” Kay asked, making her way through the basket of clean laundry.

  “Yeah,” Jen said. “She’s confident and sweet. She has a certain ‘normalcy’ about her that Amanda doesn’t possess.”

  “Normalcy?” Kay asked.

  Jen blew out a sigh, not sure herself what she was driving at. “Amanda is so complex—struggling with her addictions and inherited wealth, and acting like a superhero, ridding San Francisco of criminals—that I guess I appreciate the simplicity of Victoria.”

  “Simplicity can be good,” Kay said, “and ‘normal’ can sometimes be boring. I’ve always considered Amanda brilliant and charismatic. Was I off base?”

  Jen smoothed her skirt and shifted on the bed, as she gave her mother’s question due consideration. “No. You’re right. She is, but...”

  Kay waited patiently while Jen formed her thoughts.

  “I don’t want to disparage her,” Jen said, “but I think there are characteristics of a personality disorder underlying that brilliance.”

  “Not uncommon to have those two traits go hand-in-hand, is it?”

  “I suppose not. I really do love her but…ugh. This conversation is too much for tonight.” Jen sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

  “I understand.” Kay continued removing clean clothes from the basket and folding.

  “I also really respect Victoria for earning her own money. No matter how hard Amanda tries, inherited wealth warps a person’s perspective, you know? She has this enormous safety net, so she constantly takes huge risks. Also, I think she’s experienced so much in life that she seeks out increasing levels of drama, even putting her own life at risk just to feel alive. I’m left wondering what she’s going to do next.”

  “I know what you mean,” Kay said. “I’ve always believed that your profession defines you as a person. Working hard to earn a living shapes your character, and when someone doesn’t have to do that, I think they need to make a special effort to stay grounded. Plus, working brings a sense of—”

  “Accomplishment and pride,” Jen interrupted. “Don’t get me wrong, Amanda works hard, but she works at things that give her an adrenaline rush and bring her to the edge of destruction.” Jen buried her face in her hands and murmured, “Being away from her is giving me a whole new perspective. I got so wrapped up in our lives in the city—Amanda’s craziness and my frenetic pace—that I’d forgotten what it was like to live at a slower, easier pace back here.”

  “I hope it’s slower,” Kay said, patting Jen on the leg. “You’re on vacation.”

  Jen shook her head. “True, but everything seems easier and less chaotic here. The city life is so congested. I have to watch my back all the time, never taking my eyes off Kristin, or my bag, or my car, or whatever…”

  Kay allowed a few seconds of silence, as if encouraging Jen to listen to herself, before affirming her feelings. “I’ve never felt comfortable in big cities. I’ll take my open space in Wisconsin anytime.”

  Jen nodded. “Plus, your dollar goes a lot further here. Unlike in San Francisco, I could easily afford to buy a house here on a physician’s salary.”

  “A house decorated by Marshall Designs,” Kay added while holding up one of Kristin’s outfits, admiring it.

  Jen lowered her eyes to the bed, where she smoothed a small pile of Kristin’s folded clothes. “I don’t know about that, but I’m thinking of calling Dr. Olson and taking him up on his offer to tour Summerfield Clinic.”

  Kay stopped folding, an excited-beyond-belief look on her face. “I’d be happy to drive you, or you can take my car.”

  “Don’t get too excited, Mom. I’m just taking a look around.” Jen rested her hand on Kay’s forearm.

  “I know, I know. I’m just offering. Whatever you need, dear.”

  “Can you take care of Kristin while I’m gone?”

  “I’d be delighted to watch my grandbaby.”

  “Tommy can help, but he’s a guy, and…well…you know.”

  “I understand. He’s a very good father, but there are certain things that moms and grandmothers do.”

  Jen leaned over and hugged Kay. “Thanks Mom.”

  When she released Kay, Jen shuddered, a profound feeling of escapism, followed by physical pain, claiming her, then dissipating as suddenly as it had pummeled her. She felt of her head, a headache creeping in to occupy the anxious space.

  “What’s wrong?” Kay asked.

  “A confusing jolt of pain in my head,” Jen said. “I think I need an Aleve.” She rubbed her face, trying to rid herself of the existential sensation. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep in the guest bedroom with Kristin tonight.”

  “If you want to sleep in your cabin, I can keep an ear out for her,” Kay said.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll sleep better if
I’m in the same house with her.”

  Jen rose and kissed the top of her mother’s head. “Thanks for folding these.” She carefully scooped up the pile of Kristin’s clothes and proceeded down the hall to her bedroom, unsteady and a bit shaken by a mysterious connection to a powerful energy. She couldn’t discern the source or reason, but she definitely felt connected to something outside herself.

  After placing Kristin’s clothes on the dresser, she retrieved her bag from the breezeway and brushed her teeth in the guest bath. When her eyes focused on her inner self in the mirror, she examined her intentions. Can I pursue this thing with Victoria? Is Tommy right? Am I just looking for revenge sex? Can I drop Amanda and start a new relationship in the span of a week? What the hell am I thinking? Slow down, girl. On the other hand, being here—and possibly living here—feels so right. Comfortable. Stable. Easy.

  She stared into her iceberg blue eyes, drained from a full day, and decided to let her subconscious sort things out while she slept. Everything was always clearer and brighter the next day. She washed down an Aleve with a glass of water and went to bed in the same room as Kristin.

  As soon as she lay her head on the cool pillow, Jen fell into a deep, troubled sleep. Not quite a nightmare, she dreamed of people by a bonfire, dancing tribal, erotic dances, smoking from a long pipe, their bodies painted, some colliding chest-to-chest as they moved in primal, leaping motions.

  Her mind erupted with the painted people chanting to music, accompanied by loud instruments playing quasi-demonic tunes. Amanda was at the center playing her cello, naked except for body paint and seashell necklaces draped at various lengths. She tossed her hair, her head swaying from side-to-side, as she bowed wildly across her cello, making deep, wild sounds that Jen had never before heard.

  Floating above the scene in the nighttime sky, like a grand puppeteer, was the unmistakable Roxy MacNeil, her shock of blonde bangs hanging over her fucking translucent eyes. Jen took repeated swings at her, her hands going through the floating, ghostly image. Roxy smiled sardonically, her spectral face unscathed.

  ***

  When Jen woke the next morning, she felt neither rested nor clearheaded. In fact, her mind was as muddled as ever.

  After feeding Kristin and drinking a cup of coffee, she left the house for a nice, long run. The air temp was balmy and already in the 70s, promising a hot, humid day. As she pounded the black pavement along Sandy Lake Road, passing groups of people walking their dogs, four-wheelers out for a spin, and bikers in their colorful garb, she settled into a pace for the long haul, hoping to run 10 miles.

  Smoothing her stride and finding a relaxing breathing routine, she ran. And ran. And ran. No other exercise allowed such a sense of freedom and immediate satisfaction, the endorphins releasing and clarifying her confused state of mind. The sun beat down on her shoulders, and the air flowed thickly in and out of her lungs, but she kept running, sorting through the personal and professional choices that were spread out before her, opportunities that could simplify her life. Or would they? She pictured her loved ones, and how they fit into Kristin’s and her world. Where was best? With whom?

  Fifteen

  Stinson Beach

  Amanda rolled over and slid her hand under the cool pillow next to her, fading back into a dream state.

  She stood on a Pacific beach with Jen, Kristin and Tommy, watching the flat water, a few puffy clouds reflected on its surface, when she spotted a pod of dolphins. They shimmered at the surface, swimming fast toward the beach. When they hit shallow water, they stopped suddenly and stood upright on their tails, morphing into merpeople dressed in Harley motorcycle garb. Their expressions were menacing until Amanda played some music on an old-fashioned boombox she held, then they started dancing as if on a nightclub dance floor. Relieved, Amanda danced too.

  Despite the deep state of dreaming, her sleep was no match for the bright sunlight hitting her face, so she quickly surfaced from otherworldliness. As she transitioned from sleep to awareness, her mind was a muddy mix of contentment. She felt good—rested—before registering who she was, where she was, and who wasn’t in her life any longer.

  She felt like she had partied the night before, but she didn’t have a monster headache indicative of a wine hangover. She lay very still as her nascent consciousness retraced her steps, piecing together the evening.

  Margot’s face immediately emerged through the fog, and Amanda blinked her eyes open with a start, expecting to see Margot lying next to her. No Margot. No panic.

  She remembered leaning into Margot’s warm embrace in Chance’s art gallery, even enjoying the kisses Margot had planted on her neck, but she couldn’t remember anything after that. Shit. She hated when she couldn’t remember her impaired escapades. She rubbed her eyes then leaned up on her elbow and looked at the bed sheets. Only her side was used, the other side still smooth and tucked in. Reassuring signs.

  Assessing herself, she discovered she was still wearing a bra, a tank and panties. More good news. She had clearly slept solo, but had someone helped her into bed?

  She rolled onto her back and huffed a sigh. Closing her eyes, she tried to recreate the evening. Weed always did this to her—wiped out her memory bank. Fucking ganja.

  She remembered sitting around the fire and talking about playing cello. That had been nice. Harmless even. She sensed that she had reached some sort of emotional and spiritual breakthrough while high but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Experiencing the frustration of someone who once held something in the palm of her hand but now couldn’t grasp it, she tried to remember precisely what she had been thinking last night. The harder she tried, the more it escaped her.

  Strange vibes flowed from the epiphany that eluded her. What did I learn about myself? I feel more comfortable in my skin than I have in days. Like I was at peace for a brief interlude.

  After a few minutes, she set aside her futile attempts and moved on to other events of the evening. She had enjoyed her walk on the beach and Margot’s comforting words while they sat in the surf, their clothes getting wet. Margot the flute player. Maybe the thin, tinny sound would grow on me. She scrunched her face. Doubtful.

  She recalled peeling away her clothes in front of Margot to shower. Ha . No wonder she wanted me.

  Amanda’s memory quickly moved to smoking pot from the glass pipe being passed around, a blue swirly design that looked like the marbles she had played with her brother, Nate, when they were children. She felt a little guilty, considering she was supposed to stay clean. Susan’s orders: No more drugs or alcohol.

  She pictured herself standing by the fire, her big toe catching on the log bench, then falling in a heap onto the cold, hard sand. Her wrists and left shoulder were a little sore from absorbing the brunt of the fall, but the pain didn’t compare to being shot, so she readily dismissed it.

  She remembered drinking water and chatting with Chance and Margot in front of several paintings. Did we go to an art gallery? Was there hippie sabotage in Bolinas? Then she remembered that Chance had a gallery in his house, and she had been so impressed with the idea that she had thought about creating one for herself. On the other hand, she hoped that Jen and Kristin would move back in with her, so there would be no extra room for a gallery, which suited her just fine. Amanda didn’t want an art gallery. She wanted Jen and Kristin back.

  Guilt thrummed through her as she recalled the feel of Margot’s lips on her neck, kissing, teasing and nuzzling in a slurry of impaired motion. Flattered beyond belief, Amanda also had remembered that Margot’s lips weren’t Jen’s. Likewise, Margot’s roaming hands in the art gallery had felt foreign and clumsy compared to Jen’s graceful and tender touch. Sure, Margot was attractive and nice, maybe even talented, but she wasn’t Jen.

  More hugging and nuzzling flashed through Amanda’s mind, but this time they were in the upstairs hallway, outside her bedroom door. She remembered placing her hands on Margot’s shoulders and pushing her back. Did she ask to come into my room? Was I
rude? Did I offend her?

  Amanda wished she could recall exactly how the conversation had gone. She sensed—not recalling the precise words—that Margot had wanted more than Amanda was able to give. Is she going to glower at me when she sees me at breakfast? In all fairness, I did sort of lead her on—undressing in front of her, resting my hand on her thigh in front of the fire. Shit.

  She covered her face with her hands. Accustomed to guilt, Amanda could find a way to assuage that with time. Shame, on the other hand, was an emotion Amanda rarely entertained, so she was at a momentary loss for how to assimilate it into her elastic moral template. She realized that Jen was the only one who could make her feel ashamed, and Jen would never find out about Margot. Problem solved.

  Her busy mind returned to searching for her fireside epiphany. What did I discover about myself? It was important. Significant. Maybe even life-changing. I had life all figured out for just an instant. Full comprehension of my journey and legacy. Clarity.

  The insight still not within her grasp, she shook her head and picked up her phone from the bedside table. It was after eight. She had slept for at least eleven hours. No wonder she felt rested. She was foggy, the cobwebs from Blue Dream strewn haphazardly from her memory bank to her cognition center, but she was well-rested.

  She knew the quickest way to clear her head was through caffeine and exercise. She pictured Chance’s kitchen then the beach. As much as she hated it, she would force herself to run on the beach. She was pretty sure she had brought a pair of tennies that could pass for running shoes.

  She threw back the covers and rummaged around in her Louis Vuitton duffel until she came up with a pair of cross trainers. After donning nylon shorts, a Victoria Secret sports bra to preserve her precious Cooper’s ligaments, and a light, flowy tank, she used the bathroom and bounded down the stairway.

  Ever the generous hosts, Chance and Kip were fast at work in the kitchen making a hearty breakfast. The bacon, eggs and pancakes smelled delicious, but Amanda poured herself only coffee, drinking it quickly.