Beware of Love in Technicolor

by Kirstie Collins Brote

  “He thought he could hide something like that, and I wouldn’t find out. It took all of two weeks to come undone.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Topher, of course. He was invited. John wants his old friends to know he has new friends, but not a girlfriend, apparently.”

  “Do you think what’s-her-name was there?” Penny asked.

  “I know she was,” I said, grinning. “And her boyfriend. Her new, six-foot-five, freaky, Lurch-like boyfriend.”

  I remember the day for the tennis as much as the conversation. Both Penny and I were on our game, and by the end of our hour and a half match, we had an audience of housewives in pastel tennis skirts waiting for their tennis instructor to arrive.

  “Good match,” I panted, shaking her hand at the net after the match point was won. The exact score escapes me now, but I know she beat me. She usually beat me.

  “Really good match,” she said, gulping down her water. The ladies watching joked that we should be giving lessons.

  “Feel better?” I asked, having trouble opening my bottle of Evian. She took it from me, opened it, and handed it back.

  “Much better. You ready to paint?” She began placing her racket back in its bag. I did the same with mine.

  “Bring on the glitter and rhinestones,” I joked.

  ***

  Back in the 1930’s, John’s grandfather on his mother’s side built for his family a sweet, little green cabin on a quaint lake just below the White Mountains of New Hampshire. This was where I was to meet John’s parents for the first time, over swimming and hamburgers during the Fourth of July weekend. Luckily, he was an only child, so I did not have any wiseass brothers or overprotective sisters to deal with.

  No, I got lucky. His mother, I was told on the car ride up, had absolutely disliked Abby, so she and I already had something in common. John and I rode up on a Saturday morning, as his parents had already been at the lake for a few days, and he used the time to give me the background information on his family.

  “My dad and Abby got along, but my dad gets along with everyone. I think he felt sort of bad for her, and liked her toughness,” he told me as he wound his mother’s navy blue Toyota over the ribbon of black road leading up to the lake.

  “I hope they like me,” I said, nervously checking my makeup in the mirror.

  “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” he assured me with a hand on my knee. “My mother is going to love you.”

  ***

  When we arrived, John was surprised but happy to see that his uncle, and his uncle’s young family, was there as well. I grabbed my beach tote out of the trunk, along with the peach-raspberry pie my mother had sent with me, and followed John through the screen doors and into the little cabin set in the woods on the lake.

  The cabin was empty. It was a rustic, charming step back in time, and one of the things I miss most about my time spent with John. There was a stone fireplace in the main room, with a split log mantle displaying various sized pine cones and old, sepia toned photos of family members enjoying the cabin on the lake in year’s past.There was a basket by the sofa, filled with old copies of Downeast Magazine and Reader’s Digest. The shelves above the sofa held complete collections of Bobsey Twins, Hardy Boys, and Nancy Drew books, which I went nuts for, much to the delight of his mother.

  We heard the squeal of children outside, and stepped out onto the screened-in porch to take a look. Outside, the woodsy lot sloped downward toward the water, where a wooden ramp rambled out over the rocks, depositing you in the sun on the wide open dock. Sitting in lounge chairs were John’s parents, his aunt, his uncle, and his two young nieces The little girls’ red hair shone in the sun as it whipped around their small faces in the breeze.

  “C’mon,” John said to me, taking my hand and leading me out the back door, down toward the water. I noticed the hammock hanging between two trees, and placed the pie on a picnic table in a cleared out space among the pines. We continued on, having finally caught the attention of his family.

  “We thought you’d never make it!” John’s father teased as we made our way down the ramp. John was immediately descended upon by the girls, who each grabbed onto a leg. John walked them around the perimeter of the dock once, threatening to drop the older one in the lake, before removing them to make introductions.

  “These two rugrats are Kasey, who’s five,” John said to me, patting the messy red head of the older girl, who smiled a toothy smile. “And Brianna,” he said, as the little one grabbed onto her mother’s leg and hid. “She’s what? Two now?” John asked his aunt.

  “Two and a half,” his aunt corrected. She stood up and extended her hand to me. “I’m Gloria.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “That’s my uncle, Tony,” John said. “And my mom, Mary, and my dad, Tom.”

  Big round of handshakes and how-do-you-do’s.

  There were a few minutes of small talk and such, when I noted that John got his height and smile from his dad. But then we were encouraged to explore a bit on our own. There was a small boat, a modest bow rider with plenty of room to stretch out and get some sun. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught an approving nod to John from his dad and uncle when I removed my shirt to reveal a modest, black one-piece my mother had practically insisted upon, underneath. When I think back to it, it creeps me out a bit, these two men looking me over with those “I’m looking but I’m not leering” stare they think nobody notices.

  ***

  When were were out on the lake, and out of earshot of his family, John asked me how much more weight I planned on losing.

  “I don’t know. Why?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I looked down at the small roll of belly fat that had nowhere to go but over the edge of my denim shorts. I sat up straighter.

  “I like you with curves,” he said, one eye on the lake, on eye on me. “Don’t go getting too skinny. I’m not interested in a woman who looks like a thirteen year old boy.”

  The roar of the engine made it hard to hear. We remained silent until he cut the motor, and let us drift on the calm, quiet water. He had maneuvered us into a small cove on the other side of the lake, with an island in between the cabin and us.

  “It’s beautiful out here,” I said, looking around. Cabins dotted the shoreline, nestled in among the towering pines and jagged rocks that sprung up from the water unannounced. The sky was a perfect robin’s egg blue, with small wisps of white cotton candy clouds blowing by for effect every once in awhile.

  “Is this a good place to swim?” I asked. Scorpio is a water sign, and I had been dying to jump in since we arrived.

  “Not so fast,” he said, leaving the driver’s seat and walking toward me. He was grinning his grin. His hair hung in his eyes; it was longer than I had ever seen it. I liked it. It had been a while since we had been alone.

  He pinched the strap of my bathing suit. “I was expecting that red two piece I know you have,” he said. He bent down and kissed my shoulder.

  “Your family is here,” I said, smiling, enjoying the attention. “I didn’t want to look trashy or anything.”

  “Not a chance,” he murmured, his lips now on my neck. We sat on the bench in the front of the boat. His hands tugged on the neatly tied bow of my halter top suit. He let out a moan when it fell forward to reveal my breasts, and a much more daring tan line.

  “I love how tan you get,” he said, placing a hand on one breast and kissing the other. I exhaled and tried to concentrate on the warmth of his hands on me, his breath on me, the way my body leaned into him and wanted him, really wanted him, to take me right there. It had been a few weeks since I had really been touched, and I did miss it. Despite my challenges with putting the cherry on top, so to speak, I craved the desire he had for me.

  With one swift motion, he lifted me up and had me sitting on top of him, his hands on my face as he kissed me, then finding their way back down, kissing my neck and tugging my suit down a li
ttle further, fingers exploring up my shorts and through my suit.

  “I want you to do something,” he said, breathy and broken.

  “Ok,” I said, caught up in the kissing, in what happened to him when he was about to have me. “Anything,” I said.

  He liked that answer. He kissed me intensely, and squeezed both my breasts, still gentle but with more force than before. I could feel him get hard underneath me, and my body, sometimes the one in charge after all, responded at the memory of what was supposed to follow.

  “Do you remember that night in the shower? At Wyndham?” he asked me, in between kissing my neck and chest.

  “Mm-hm,” I answered, slowly coming to understand what it was he wanted.

  I wasn’t at the point yet where I gave that trick out freely. I didn’t particularly like it, and really, I wonder what woman does. Honestly does, I mean. When there’s no pressure to be that girl who’s cool with anything and just where would you like me to get on my knees, please, so I can give you that blow job you so deserve?

  But I was learning that sometimes you have to do it, just like, I guess, sometimes they have to go shoe shopping with us. So I pulled a beach towel out of the tote bag next to us and placed it on the floor of the boat, leaving it folded. And I got down on my knees there in the private cove on the other side of the island on this perfect summer day of warm sun on my back, and I put him in my mouth. And I gave him the blow job he so very much deserved. With the motion of the boat on the gentle lake, we rocked gently back and forth as he instructed me to use my hands as well. And for a moment, I looked up, and he closed his eyes and had that look on his face. The look that said he was almost done.

  And then he was done, and I thought that was strange, as he always, always made an effort for me, regardless that we both knew it was mostly a fruitless endeavor. But there was always some focus on me, or us, some effort put into it at least. But today was different. And I was too mortified to talk about it, to pull him back and say, “What about me?,” but I had no idea, still, what “done” even meant, so I figured I was, and I wiped myself off, pulled up my suit and re-tied the halter top.

  He zipped up, smiling at me with that Cheshire cat grin.

  “You are amazing,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” I replied. “Can’t wait to get back to school, though I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, grabbing a Coke out of the cooler his mother had stocked for us. He drank it down in almost one gulp. I took a Diet Coke and washed it down, as well.

  “I hate wishing summer, and days like these, away,” I said, draping my arms over the rails of the boat and looking out over the lake, which sparkled and danced in the afternoon sun. I was kneeling on the seat. He stood behind me, and placed his hands on my back. He rubbed my shoulders. Even though the getting naked part, or the getting semi-naked part, was less than I wanted, it was everything he wanted, and so that was good enough for me, too.

  He walked back to the controls, checked everything, and turned back to me.

  “You going in?” he asked. “Or are we all done here?”

  Are we all done here?

  I walked past him toward the back of the boat, not so much mad at him, but peeved that he would say something so crass. It made me feel cheap. I stepped out onto the swim platform.

  “I’m going in,” I stated. I made a quick scan of the lake, and dove in, piercing the blue-black water with a graceful, nearly splash-free dive. It was warmer than I expected, which was a pleasant surprise.

  Though I had been swimming almost daily at Penny’s house, it was always with the number of laps in my mind. Out there in the lake, I Ieaned back in the water, and floated on my back, arms stretched out beside me, toes sticking up to show off their pale pink polish in the glistening sunlight. In the distance, beyond the lake and the wave of foliage gracing its shores, were the foothills to the White Mountains, a dark blue now against the brightness in the sky. A pair of ducks flew low over the water to my right, skimming the surface as they landed in tandem on the far side of the island. With my ears just under the surface, I could hear myself take long, deep breaths as the water lapped against my body.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” I called out to John when I realized I had drifted a bit from the boat. He had been watching me in silence.

  “I didn’t bring a suit,” he answered, smiling.

  “Swim in what you’re wearing,” I replied, swimming closer and splashing him from where I was treading water. “Why didn’t you bring a suit?”

  “I’d rather drive the boat, “ he answered. “And watch you. And I don’t want to be damp all day,” he added as a warning when I threatened to splash him again.

  “You suck,” I said, going under so I wouldn’t have to hear whatever witty comeback he had for me. I swam out from the boat about twenty feet, and looked back at him. He motioned as if to start the boat and leave me stranded. I ignored him, and floated on my back, eyes closed to the bright summer sky above. After a minute or two, I decided to swim back to the boat, where John was now waiting with a dry towel.

  “I wish you would have come in,” I said to him as he draped the towel over my shoulders. I sat down on the seat in the back. He sat next to me.

  “I prefer to watch you from afar,” he said.

  “Hmmm,” I half-smiled. “Sounds like a copout to me. Typical Virgo.”

  “I like to keep my feet dry.”

  “So, we’re back to thinking we can walk on water?” I asked coyly, with one eyebrow raised. He scooped me up,and threatened to throw me overboard. Instead, he placed me down in front of the controls.

  “You wanna drive for awhile?” he asked.’

  “You know I do,” I answered.

  We spent the next forty-five minutes speeding about the lake. I liked driving and going fast, but I preferred to sit in the front and watch the water go screaming underneath us, feeling the boat skim the surface as we glided along, the wind whipping our hair all around. It felt like we were the only two people alive.

  ***

  Back at home a few days later, my mother made a similar inquiry as John into my diet plans.

  “Exactly how much weight have you lost?” she asked me one morning as she scrambled an egg for me.

  “Not too much,” I replied, from behind the latest Cosmo. The pounding rain outside made my daily tennis game impossible. I had time before reporting to the pool house.

  “How much?” she pressed, adding a handful of shredded cheese to my eggs. She thought I wouldn’t notice.

  “I’m a size four, mom,” I answered. “Don’t call the Doctors or Oprah just yet.”

  “I just don’t want to see you do something unhealthy,” she said softly, sliding my food onto a plate. She placed it, along with a napkin, next to my Diet Coke on the island.

  “I know,” I said, feeling a pang of guilt. “Believe me, I really don’t want to lose any more, just keep it off now,” I assured her. “I know how much I ate last year, and how hard it can be with studying and everything, to work out and eat right. The food at the cafeteria is so fatty. I want to be able to be a bit lazy, and still fit in my jeans, you know?”

  How could she not know? I learned all my wacky eating habits from her. I don’t remember a time in my life when my mother wasn’t on a diet. No point in arguing, though. There were only a few more weeks left until I was back at school.

  ***

  Later that afternoon, after Penny and I had cut our day short due to rain-induced apathy, my mother popped her head in my bedroom, where I was reading Wuthering Heights for about the millionth time.

  “Greer, a letter came for you,” she said, handing me a green envelope with a Texas return address. It was from Molly. My mother saw what I was reading and lit up. “It’s on tonight,” she said. “On AMC.”

  “I know,” I said. “That’s what made me pick this up. I thought we could watch it together.”

  “I
’ll make the popcorn,” she said, closing the door and leaving me to my letter.

  It really should come as no surprise to learn the gist of the letter was explaining Molly’s decision not to return to New Hampshire in the fall. She chose a horse over a degree, remaining in Texas with dreams of making it to Atlanta in ‘96. When the Olympics finally did roll around five years later, I checked for her name in the newspaper, but did not see it listed among the other Olympic equestrians slated to compete in the games. Her letter promised to stay in touch, but I never heard from her again.

  ***

  With only two weeks to go until classes resumed, John finally got around to getting himself a car.

  “It’s no beauty,” he said to me over the phone. “But she’ll get us where we need to go.”

  “So, when are you picking me up?” I asked, surveying myself in my full-length mirror. My mother and I had just returned from a back to school shopping and lunching trip in Boston, and I was trying on my new wardrobe, piece by piece.

  “Are you sure you want to paint with me tomorrow? It’s messy work.”

  “I’m dying to see this house of yours,” I answered. “I think I can manage to throw a few coats of paint down in your room. As long as it’s not black paint.”

  “Gray,” he said.

  “What?” I was busy admiring my thin-again frame in short plaid skirt.

  “The paint is gray,” he said. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Only half,” I admitted. “I’m trying on new clothes.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Early,” he said. “Be ready.”

  “God, you’re sexy when you get all authoritarian,” I teased. “Will any of your roommates be there?”

  “Don’t know,” he answered. “We just got the ok to start moving in this weekend. Look, my mother is calling me for dinner. Tomorrow morning. Early.”