Jennalee ran her hands through his hair while he licked, enjoying the sight of him at her this way. She could feel urgency in his pull, in the small growls he issued, and she wished she could keep him like this, that everything didn’t have to progress the way it did. She ran her hands down his shoulders and pressed herself to him, feeling him tug all the more, but then his hands were under her skirt where he found her bare and he let go the breast as he drove his fingers up into her. “Christ, you’re ready,” he said.
He pushed her to the ground, lifted her skirt, then freed his hard member. As he started forward, Jennalee folded her knees together. “Condom,” she said and he huffed but complied. Then he was inside her, pumping, and she wrapped her arms about him as his thrusts picked up speed, sliding her hands down onto his buttocks, which contracted as he rammed home his ejaculation.
He quieted slowly, then pulled out to discard the condom beneath the manzanita. Jennalee remained on her back while he zipped his jeans. When he gave no indication he was willing to take her orally, she sat up, then stood and put her arms around him. He didn’t kiss her so she kissed him. “You’re so good,” she said.
He told her she was, too. “Best little fuck I’ve ever had.” She kissed him again, probing for his tongue, but he remained elusive and she could feel his retreat even as he held her. “Maybe I’ll see you at the barbecue,” he said as he let her go.
Jennalee resisted the urge to reach for him and asked instead where he was headed now.
“My dad said something about going into town.”
She nodded as she pulled on her halter, then followed him back around the manzanita and down onto the path. He didn’t look back as he strode toward his room.
Chapter 10
“Marian Sutherland asked if you can help with the children’s games,” Jane Preece told her daughter. “I said I’d ask.”
Jennalee had come from her room after putting on panties. “What?” she snapped. “Like a camp counselor or something? Don’t they have mothers for that?”
“Yes, and several have volunteered, but Marian still needs an extra hand. It’s either that or the serving line at the buffet.”
Visions of Andrea Witherspoon flashed before Jennalee and she was tempted toward the serving line for no more reason than to position her sexually ravished body next to her new rival who, of course, really wasn’t. She wanted Andrea to smell Garth Laidlaw on her; she wanted to stand beside Miss Priss and shovel potato salad onto Sutherland plates while recalling the prized penis going at her.
“Well?” Jane prompted.
“I don’t know!” Jennalee escaped to the kitchen and stood at the open fridge, trying to order things inside herself as she might food on the shelves. She wanted Garth to occupy more space, or maybe it was the other way around and she wanted to get into him the way he did her.
When Jane came into the room, Jennalee reached for a Coke. “Marian needs to know,” Jane prodded. “How about I tell her yes? It’s better than hot food all afternoon.”
“Not much.”
“It’ll be fun, children, games.”
Jennalee rolled her eyes. “Eight thousand little boys? You have noticed, Mother, that these people produce only male children, like they’re mutants or something? Don’t you think it’s just a little weird? Except Kimmie, Parker’s wife, the pregnant one. It’s a girl and she’s scared what the Sutherlands will do.”
“What they’ll do?”
“You know, like drown it or something.”
Jane laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. Harley’s mother was the first girl in six generations and they’re not exactly thrilled with the way she turned out.”
“Where are you getting all this? No, don’t tell me. Look, the games only last an hour or two, but the serving line goes on indefinitely.”
“And then I’m free?”
“Yes.”
“But two whole hours of little brats.”
“It’ll be good experience.”
“For what? I’m never having children.”
“You say that now,” Jane replied with a smile, “but someone will come along one day and you’ll deny you ever said such a thing.”
“No way. I’m not getting married, either.”
“Then that are you doing?”
“I’m going to be a concert pianist,” Jennalee said. “Like you didn’t know.”
Jane sighed and said nothing more. When she’d gone to assure Marian Sutherland that Jennalee would assist with the games, Jennalee stood bare breasted before her full length bedroom mirror envisioning first a baby at her breast, then Garth Laidlaw.
For the poolside barbecue, the Witherspoon women manned a long table of pork rib platters and huge pots of baked beans flanked by assorted salads, breads, and desserts while John Witherspoon again presided over a bar. A dozen tables had been brought down from the Oak Room and covered with red checked tablecloths. Those Sutherlands not so accommodated were spread across the lawn on blankets and damp towels.
Jennalee, recruited as games coach, found she had been misled. “You’ll be our fairy princess,” Marian Sutherland said as she attempted to place a shiny paper crown atop Jennalee’s head. “Our storyteller,” the woman added.
When Jennalee batted the old woman away, a plea came with such pitiful conviction that Jennalee not only accepted the crown but allowed glitter to be sprinkled onto her hair and further, her halter and skirt to be covered by a scratchy costume that gave her what she considered a Thumbelina look. Instructed to tell simple, traditional fairy tales—Jack and the Beanstalk, Red Riding Hood, The Three Little Pigs—she fell into her role reluctantly, droning through worn stories while scanning the party at large, watching for Garth Laidlaw and scarcely noticing the small children who sat in her circle.
The party gradually took on a pulse of sorts, fostered by a blaring boombox Jennalee couldn’t locate. Those not occupied with ribs and slaw took up dancing on the patio and along the wide concrete bordering the large rectangular pool. Jennalee became interested enough to desert her charges at times, offering long pauses as she followed this woman or that man in small intrigues. It was only when little Brendan Sutherland stood and demanded she tell a good story that she waded into her imagination and gave Jack’s beanstalk license to take on the universe until entire planets were entangled and Jack was pursued not only by his traditional giant but by space creatures, as well. Brendan Sutherland sat mouth agape as did most of the other little boys, and when Jennalee ended the tale with a laser battle that sliced the beanstalk in two and sent aliens adrift into space, along with the giant, she heard not only a chorus of tiny cheers but a resounding, “Cool.”
She turned to find Harley behind her, plate of ribs in hand. “Do fairy princesses eat?” he asked. Brendan Sutherland shrieked as it occurred to him his storyteller might desert him.
Harley handed the plate to Jennalee and kneeled beside the boy. “Hey, Brendan,” he said softly, “she’s not going to run away, but if she doesn’t eat, she’ll get like a car out of gas, she won’t go anywhere, and you want her to take you on more adventures, don’t you?”
Brendan’s pout relaxed as he considered this and Harley slid an arm around him. “And she’s got a great story for after lunch, one that’s not even invented yet, so it’ll be all yours, but first she’s got to fill up. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. You and your cousins play and I promise I’ll bring the princess back.”
Brendan had fixed on Harley’s earring—the eighth note—and Harley remained still as the boy raised a finger to it. In return Harley raised a finger to Brendan’s nose.
Mothers who had hovered on the periphery now stepped forward to lead their toddlers elsewhere, and Brendan ran toward his squealing with delight about the story for just him. “Isn’t that nice,” his mother said as she led him away.
When Jennalee started to remove her crown, Harley protested. “I’ve never had lunch with a fairy p
rincess,” he said.
“Okay, but I’m ditching the tutu. It’s driving me crazy.”
“It’s driving the little guys crazy, too.”
“Just want I wanted.”
“Eat your ribs.”
“What about you?’ Jennalee asked.
“I’ll get another plate. Be right back.”
She watched him at the buffet, tracing blue gabardine slacks from the combat boots up to an orange tank top that revealed a muscular upper back she decided had been favorably shaped by violin play. She ate nothing until he returned bearing Cokes, another full plate, and several paper napkins. He then suggested they find a cooler setting. “It’s got to be a hundred out here.”
The family living quarters were deserted, Gerald occupied at the front desk, Jane at the barbecue, so Jennalee and Harley settled at the kitchen table to enjoy the air conditioning. “Days like this I really miss San Francisco,” she said. “It’s never hot there.”
“Never?”
“Nope. It hits eighty once or twice a year and makes headlines.”
“Sounds nice.” Harley picked up a rib and began to gnaw, and Jennalee followed until her fingers were greasy with barbecue sauce, lips smeared red. When paper napkins dissolved in the mess, she offered Harley a tea towel.
“I think I need a bath,” he said as he mopped his face. Jennalee suggested a swim.
“Nah.”
“Don’t you swim?”
“Not with them and anyway, I want to practice.”
“You’re so disciplined.”
“There are those who would argue the point, but yeah, I am.”
“I was.”
He leaned back and aimed a rib at her, but said nothing.
“Can I practice with you?” she asked. “I’d feel better about our performance.”
“Sure, only don’t expect a lot tonight. No matter what they say, I’m still the low end of the food chain.”
“But none of them play, do they?”
“True, but the violin isn’t exactly the Sutherland instrument of choice.”
“What is?”
He thought a moment. “The almighty dick, except Sutherlands screw their bankbooks more than their wives—the great money fuck—which of course leaves out the Laidlaws who only know how to do it to each other.”
“Not that you’re bitter.”
“I’m fine till I get here, going along in my own little life which is pretty much fiddle and pawnshop, then comes Fourth of July and I get this mega-reminder of what the connection really is and spend half my time trying to avoid them and the other half trying to piss them off.”
“Is that why you dress like that?”
“Like what?”
Jennalee laughed.
“Can you really picture me combed?” he asked, and she kept laughing as he ran a greasy hand through his hair, which resisted all disciplinary efforts.
“So what will you wear to your big New York competition?”
“Haven’t decided. The boots for sure because I play better in boots. I’ve got these white pants and a wild red coat, but I don’t know, maybe just jeans.”
“And the vest?”
“Nah, just jeans.”
“The dinner jacket and no shirt was so cool.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I think.”
He poked at his potato salad and went quiet. “Mom says I’m sabotaging myself,” he finally offered. “Carroll said the same thing, that I really don’t want to succeed, but they don’t see it. I’d choke in their suits and ties.”
“But it matters in competition.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“But it does. There are rules on a concert stage.”
“You on their side?”
“No, but I want you to win.”
“I don’t want to win if I have to be somebody else.”
“What were you like as a kid?”
He gnawed a rib as he considered the question. “Under my dad’s thumb for a long time, then the usual scruffy long hair, but it gets in the way so I cut it and the rest just sort of evolved.” He reached across and touched the glitter in her hair. “We’re gonna blow ‘em away tonight.”
“You think?”
“I think.”
Jennalee didn’t want to go back to the children, but Harley did. He sat beside Brendan and listened as she made up a tale about a magical motorcycle and the knight that rode it, and Brendan glanced up at Harley several times in wonderment.
Everything else fell away as Jennalee wove her story. She realized a calm settled over her whenever Harley was near; even though he brought the unexpected, he did it with such quiet certainty that the rest of life seemed absurd while he seemed the norm. And she noted also how he gave himself to things—the music, of course, but the story too and the children. And her, she supposed. She could hear Sutherland shouts and laughter, but none of it mattered as she sent her biker-knight on a trip to the other side of the world and the mythical land of Garden Grove, where he became a hero to small bunny-like creatures living there.
She was mid-story when Melody Sutherland brought her tethered son Kipp into the circle. Accompanied by Kimmie Sutherland, who held Melody’s baby Eric in her arms, Melody unleashed little Kipp. He approached Brendan Sutherland, who informed his cousin the story was his alone and only he could grant entrance into the magic circle, which he did with a flourish. Kipp smiled gratefully, took a seat beside Brendan, and looked up at Jennalee. Kimmie, meantime, stroked Eric’s wispy crown of hair.
As the story progressed, so did the Sutherland barbecue. From the corner of her eye, Jennalee saw families clad in bathing suits jumping in and out of the pool, clogging the buffet, and spilling onto the lawn, all chatting in a cadence that rose and fell but never ceased. Amid this were conducted assorted children’s games—egg toss, three-legged race, cartwheel competition, and finally a tug-of-war across the pool which ultimately drew several drunken parents to anchor the ends.
Lizann Laidlaw, dressed in a vast yellow sun suit, sat at a table with Earl, who looked distinctly out of place in his pale blue shirt and khakis. As Lizann called to one Sutherland after another and periodically rose to engage in more lengthy conversations, Earl sat staring into his beer, acknowledging the occasional greeting with a nod and, when pressed, a comment. It was as Jennalee ended her story to applause from her small charges and Brendan rushed forward to hug her and smear a kiss across her cheek that she drew a final glance toward the Laidlaw table and experienced a familiar unsettledness as she noted Garth’s continued absence.
“That’s it, guys,” Harley said, but when Brendan howled, he added, “Maybe not. Kimmie, how about some practice? Sharpen your storytelling skills.”
Kimmie looked at Melody, who nodded and took baby Eric. Harley placed Jennalee’s crown atop the mother-to-be’s auburn curls. “Go for it,” he said, and Kimmie settled into Jennalee’s vacated place and began Red Riding Hood, Brendan working a skeptical frown.
Jennalee and Harley remained at the party’s edge for a time, watching Kimmie as she warmed to her role. “Look at her,” Harley said. “She’s a natural.”
Jennalee saw the small boys soon enthralled with their new princess, who now seemed to sparkle. Even Brendan was captured.
“They’re going to be super parents,” Harley added.
“But he’s so much older,” Jennalee noted.
“Twenty-six.”
“I thought he was about thirty-six.”
“So did Kimmie.”
“Look, your mom’s dancing. Who’s the guy?”
“Uncle Fred.” When Harley offered nothing more, Jennalee contented herself with watching Lizann’s spirited swing and sway and Uncle Fred’s repeated encounters with the sizeable breasts. Each time the music thrust him forward, he managed a well-timed collision, and each of these seemed to close the distance so when the song ended, he was pressed against the ever polite Lizann who smiled, kissed his cheek, and extricated herself.
“Doesn’t your dad mind?” Jennalee asked.
“Dad doesn’t dance so what can he say? Mom likes to socialize.” Harley sighed. “So do her cousins.”
Lizann was scarcely back at her table when another middle-aged man approached and spent a moment in spirited conversation before leading her to the dance floor. “That’s her brother, Boyd,” Harley offered just as Jennalee was poised with the question. She noted the dancers seemed perfectly coordinated and Harley explained. “They used to go on those dance party shows when they were kids, had routines worked out and everything. This is nothing. Give ‘em time.”
Jennalee noticed many Sutherlands had stopped to watch the two. The men seemed enthralled, the women tolerant. Earl Laidlaw wasn’t watching at all. “You dad doesn’t look too thrilled.”
“He’s not, but at least he keeps it to himself.”
“Where’s Garth?”
The question slipped out so easily, Jennalee thought maybe Harley would take it as just one more, but she felt the moment crash when he went silent. He finally glanced at the buffet table and said, “No idea.”
“Doesn’t he like parties?”
“Just his own.”
A shriek went up before Jennalee could probe further and she watched a Sutherland man advance on a bikini-clad Sutherland woman. The man reached out but the woman slapped him away and fled. When he ran after her, Jennalee turned to find Harley watching another couple who ran after the fleeing pair. “What’s going on?” Jennalee asked.
“Married shit,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go practice. The Oak Room should be empty.”
Voices were rising poolside and Jennalee wanted to stay, but Harley nudged her. “This is nothing,” he said. “The Sutherland fucking parade.”
When Jennalee agreed to meet him at the Oak Room, he left to get his violin. She lingered at the party, which now rose like some great uncontrollable creature. She saw Kimmie and Melody deep in conversation; saw two men in what appeared an escalating dispute, recognizing one as Noel Sutherland and the other Alden of ice machine infamy. He looked as exasperated at Noel as Noel had been at his child earlier, and Jennalee thought Alden ready to take similar measures.
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