by Chris Krupa
“The four-wheel drive access road, you silly old bag.” Velma’s tone was scathing. She was a sprightly sixty-seven-year-old, and everyone knew she didn’t suffer fools lightly, not even her best friends.
“Someone said the end of the road’s suspended.” Mildred leaned forward and stared at each of her friends in turn. “Must be... oh... two metres above the level of the beach.” She ran a hand over her hair, although there wasn’t a strand out of place.
“I’ll bet that made the papers down south.” Maude suddenly emerged from her vague spell. “They’ll be mightily pissed to learn their favourite holiday destination’s been.... What’s the word I want?”
“It’s not a word, it’s a new bloody brain.” Laughter tinged Velma’s tone. “Honestly, you’ll be forgetting your own name soon.”
“Leave her alone, Vel. She can’t help it.” Heather prided herself on sticking up for her friends. “You might end up like her one day.”
“I bloody hope not. I couldn’t think of a worse fate than losing my memory. I’d kill myself first.”
“Ah well, we can’t please everyone.” Mildred waggled her fingers in front of her face, swatting at non-existent flies.
The others stared at her.
“Jesus, Mil. Are you losing your marbles as well?” asked Velma.
“We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t have something to complain about,” Mildred continued as if Velma hadn’t spoken.
“She’s lost the plot.” Heather sighed. “Perhaps Mil got hit on the head during the cyclone.”
The others laughed.
“The town was lucky,” interjected Velma.
All except Mildred turned their attention towards her.
“Anxious to change the subject, Vel?” asked Heather. “Can’t stand the thought of getting old?”
“Time to cross that bridge when I get to it.” Velma’s cheeks flamed. “I just can’t believe nothing more than a few trees was uprooted. The wind was the strongest I’ve ever known. And I’ve lived here all....”
“Wind? What wind?” asked Maude.
The other three erupted into new gales of laughter. Their chortles had barely subsided when a teenager appeared beside their table.
“Take ya order, ladies?” she asked through a wad of chewing gum. She was rather pretty in a punk sort of way. Her rainbow-coloured hair stuck out at odd angles, detracting from her pleasant features.
“Thank you, Carmel.” Mildred prided herself on knowing everyone in town. “We’ll have four teas, thank you.” Her tone was soft and melodic, designed to seduce.
“Will ya have somethin’ to eat with that?” The waitress scribbled on her notepad.
“Some of those chocolate éclairs in the display would be nice.” Velma’s voice thickened, as if the mere thought of the treats made her drool. Her blue eyes gleamed, now the same shade as her hair. “That all right with you, Maude? Like an éclair?”
“What’s an éclair?” asked Maude.
The other three laughed again.
“That all?” Carmel chomped a few more times. Her mouth opened and closed like a cow chewing its cud. She kept her eyes hooded, guarding schoolgirl secrets.
“Thank you, dear,” said Mildred.
Carmel turned and walked away. Her hips swayed seductively, and her hot pink panties were visible below her hemline.
“Bloody dress. It’s too short.” Maude’s voice was almost an inaudible murmur. “Should be a law against it.”
This time, all four women burst into laughter.
“How do you know that girl, Mil?” Maude was the first to recover from the fit of cackles. “I can’t keep track of the youngsters, meself.”
“I know her mother.”
The others leaned forward and hung on her words.
“She’s related to someone famous from Broome’s past, I think,” Mildred added, as if this explained everything.
“Trust you to know that.” Velma turned down her mouth in a contemptuous sneer, displaying her well-known jealousy of Mildred.
“Anyway, between the four of us, I’d bet no one knows as much about this town as we do,” Heather rejoined the conversation.
“Or about the cyclone,” said Maude.
“Or the cyclone,” the others chorused.
They laughed again, and their chuckles continued until their beverages and cakes arrived. Like vultures, they grabbed their éclairs and thrust the flaky pastries into wrinkled mouths.
“What about Eco Beach?” Mildred’s mouth was partly filled with food.
“Eco Beach?” Velma’s words were barely distinguishable over the cake crammed into her mouth.
“You know, the tourist attraction south of here, where the turtles struggle ashore to lay their eggs.” Mildred’s tone was patient, like that of an adult explaining something to a child. She’d stopped eating and watched her friends.
Velma spluttered and choked, dollops of cream and large crumbs of pastry spattering across the surface of the table. She extracted a handkerchief from her dress pocket and coughed into it. “No, you silly old bag,” she said, once she’d recovered from her hacking fit. “I know where Eco Beach is. What happened there?”
Mildred seemed not the least bit offended by the name-calling. “Oh, I heard it bore the full brunt of the cyclone.”
“And...?” Heather prompted for more details.
All three ceased stuffing food into their mouths. Their eyes were expectant. What did Mildred know that they didn’t?
“It’s been decimated.” She looked from one to the other, enjoying being the centre of attention.
“Decimated?” said Maude.
Mildred couldn’t decide whether she’d lapsed into another vague spell or she simply sought more information. She decided on the latter. “There’s nothing left. The buildings, the sand dunes, the beach... all gone.” She studied the reactions of her comrades. Their eyes grew rounder with each word. “The whole bloody area’s been stripped clean back to the bedrock.”
“Shit!” Heather took another bite of her éclair.
“I don’t believe it.” Maude picked up her cup and sipped her tea.
“Is that all you know?” Velma tried to eat, drink and talk at the same time.
Mildred leaned forward, one conspirator to another. She opened her eyes wide and held their stares. “I did hear,” she whispered across the plastic tablecloth to her rapt audience, “that the bulldozers clearing the site for reconstruction found a skeleton buried there.” She sat back and devoured the looks of disbelief on her cronies’ faces.
Chapter 2: Dreams & Reality
~~~
Wednesday, May 3, 2000
~~~
Claire Elizabeth Jennings had dreamed of making love on the world-famous Cable Beach for a long, long time. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when this fantasy hadn’t been one of her favourite sources of sexual imagery. The pearling town of Broome held a special fascination for many people from the southern states, none more so than she.
An air of mystery had always surrounded this remote, tropical location. She’d thought of it often, especially when daydreaming or when emerging from slumber. Something pulled at the innermost secret places of her mind and body. Some siren song seemed to say she’d never be complete until she’d explored and satisfied her fantasies on the white sands of this remote paradise.
Dreams and reality were about to collide.
Claire and her partner, Martin George Mitchell, had driven to the Cable Beach Inter-Continental Resort to breakfast at the Boardwalk Café. Martin had arranged a special indulgence to celebrate their recent arrival at the pearling capital of the world.
They’d dined on freshly cooked pancakes, with chocolate syrup for Claire and blueberry sauce for Martin. As they satisfied their appetites, they took in the magnificent panorama of Cable Beach. They completed their repast with black coffee and cigarettes.
Claire turned to her partner. “Thank you, darling. That was beautiful.”
&nb
sp; “Glad you enjoyed it.” Martin’s green eyes twinkled. “But the fun’s not entirely over. Fancy a walk?”
“Whatever you say.” Claire smiled. “You’re the tour guide.”
They walked, hand in hand, from the resort to the beach. The tide had receded, already on the turn. The sun shone from a brilliant blue sky, the temperature already at twenty-eight degrees Celsius. The sand sparkled in the early morning light, and the faintest of breezes tugged at their hair. They were happy and in love, and they didn’t care who knew.
Claire had donned a maroon silk shirt for the occasion. She’d left it open at the neck and tied the ends around her waist. Old blue jeans with ragged holes in the knees and backside clung to her buttocks, a hint of red panties showing through.
Martin had chosen a white t-shirt, screen-printed with an image of a crocodile and the words: TRUST ME. His old, cream-coloured jeans hugged his backside.
They walked barefooted and talked about the times they’d had together and what they hoped to achieve in Broome. A cyclone had raged through the town almost a month ago. All the debris had been cleared away, leaving nothing to show of its path. They laughed and joked, very much enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company. At this moment, the reason for their presence in Broome drifted far from their thoughts.
As they strolled, Martin relinquished his companion’s hand. He reached behind her and trailed his fingertips over her perfectly moulded bottom, toying with the tear in her jeans. Claire laughed and ran away from his touch, teasing him. But she didn’t run far.
She stopped and bent over to pick up some cuttlefish washed ashore by the tide. There she waited, secure in the knowledge he’d be unable to resist the temptation of her rear pointing towards him, tantalising him. Martin caught her again and played with her arse while she stood motionless. She feigned interest in what she’d discovered, but she couldn’t hide the gentle quiver of desire coursing through her body.
As they reached the water’s edge, they continued in this manner, full of the zest of life and this wonderful magical world around them, each content in the knowledge that, before this morning grew much older, they would make love on this very beautiful and famous beach.
While they walked, they searched for a spot somewhere relatively private, yet not hidden away from the sky, the sand and the sea. At this hour of the day few people wandered down by the ocean, and they had this stretch of beach to themselves. They sought some place hidden from prying eyes but not somewhere to hide.
Soon, they reached a location where they couldn’t be observed from the resort, yet they remained on the beach with the sea before them, the sky above and the sand all around. A scattering of rocks screened them from casual eyes.
The fresh, salty tang of sea air, the lapping sounds of tiny waves breaking on the packed sand, the rustle of the gentle breeze ruffling their hair, and the warmth of the tropical sunshine all added to the surreal sensation this time and place generated.
***
Claire halted by a cluster of rocks and, giving Martin a coy glance, shook the large white towel she carried. She spread it on the soft sand three or four metres from the water’s edge. Martin smoothed out the sides and sat, looking up at her, silhouetted against the sky. Her impressive height was magnified from his vantage point. He reached up and took her hand. She smiled down at him and lowered herself to his side.
He reached across and ran his fingers over the smoothness of her cheek, marvelling yet again at her beauty. He wondered, not for the first time, why she’d chosen him as her partner.
Somewhere in the distance, they heard a transistor radio. Martin recognised the Beatles singing, ‘Do You Want to Know a Secret?’. Although he scanned the length and breadth of the beach, he failed to locate the source.
They kissed—slowly at first, then with hunger as the fires of lust raged, their tongues seeking and finding each other.
Martin applied gentle pressure to his partner’s shoulders, and she sank onto the towel. Their lips were still entwined, and his body melded to hers. After they divested themselves of their clothes, their hands and mouths explored each other’s bodies. Soon, nothing mattered but their pleasure.
When Claire climaxed, Martin watched her tremble for what seemed an eternity. Moments later, he joined her in a mutual orgasm.
While they lay regaining their breath, the tide came in and caressed their feet and legs. The water felt warm and sensual, and they didn’t move.
At length, a wave broke over them, ending their embrace. They scrambled along the sand, intent on keeping their heads above the tide. During their lovemaking, they’d rolled off the towel onto the sand. Where the incoming tide had wet their bodies, fine particles clung in irregular patches that gleamed like tiny pearls in the sun.
He found his cigarettes and lighter on a rock just above the high tide. He lit two. He inhaled with pleasure and passed the other cigarette to Claire. They sat on the sand, smoking in silence, and took in the scene around them.
Martin glanced towards the horizon and pointed at several seagulls hovering and diving, making raucous calls to one another in their endless search for food.
The birds watched the two humans from afar, beady little eyes wary, yet alert, lest the humans discard some morsel of food for probing beaks to snatch up.
There wasn’t another soul in sight on this lonely, lovely stretch of northern beach to witness Claire and Martin in their quiet, perfect haven.
Martin finished his cigarette, turned to his lover and grinned.
Claire squinted, the brilliant sunlight illuminating her finely chiselled features. Her hair, damp and untidy, hung in thick clumps down the sides of her face and past her shoulders, not quite reaching her breasts. She’d acquired a slight trace of redness on her cheekbones and nose where the hot morning sun had kissed her. She took a last drag of her cigarette and responded with an answering smile.
Martin dropped onto all fours and crawled towards her, oblivious to the sand clinging to his arms and knees. He focussed on his partner’s body.
Claire’s laugh was magical, filled with joy and the promise of still-hidden depths to her sensuality.
They embraced, and the kiss was long and smouldering. A new song drifted on the breeze from the unseen radio. Frank Sinatra’s unmistakable voice informed them of the perils of ‘The Tender Trap.’ Eventually, they broke the clinch and climbed back onto the rocks.
Still naked and not caring who saw, Claire lit two more cigarettes and passed one to Martin. They sat and smoked, enjoying this moment of pure enchantment. The tide reached its peak, filling numerous pools of water in the rock hollows around them.
“Tell me this isn’t a dream, my darling.” Claire’s voice was whimsical. “And if it is a dream, may it last forever.”
Martin turned to her and smiled. “No, my sweet. This is no dream. Welcome to paradise. Welcome to Broome.”
***
Atop a not-too-distant dune, hidden from the lovers by tall grasses, a shadowy figure watched and smiled. One hand clutched a small radio, while the other held high-powered binoculars. When the lovers departed, walking hand in hand along the sandy shore, she snapped her fingers. The rocks that had concealed the duo from all eyes bar hers vanished.
Let the games begin. Now that I’ve lured these interlopers to this remote location, they’ll soon learn not to interfere in the affairs of Wanda Jean.
—-End of Special Sneak Preview—-
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~~~
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