Skinny Dipping Season

by Cynthia Tennent

  “Thanks for the delicious meal,” I said, kissing Nestor on the cheek.

  Nestor tilted his head and opened his eyes. “What? No more euchre?” he asked.

  “Sorry, Nestor, it’s past my bedtime,” J. D. said gently as he helped him rise from the chair.

  A few minutes later J. D. and I waved at Nestor from the driveway. He stood outlined in the doorway with the glowing light behind him.

  “Do you want a ride?” J. D. asked, unlocking the doors and triggering the lights to his SUV.

  “I have a flashlight in my purse and besides, it’s not raining anymore,” I said without enthusiasm. The moonlight peeked through the evening cloud cover. Even with the evening shadows on the road, part of me was a little creeped out at the prospect of walking by myself at night.

  He opened the passenger door and said, “Come on.”

  I didn’t want him to know I was that easy. I threw my head back before climbing in and said, “All right, if it makes you feel better.”

  J. D. backed out of the driveway and turned toward me as he shifted into drive. “Thanks for making me feel better . . .”

  “My pleasure,” I said in a soft voice.

  He laughed and stretched a hand over the back of my seat.

  With shadows of the night on him, his long, straight nose and his square jaw reminded me of the vampire I had just read about: Dangerous and oozing with something that made a girl want to offer her neck up for tasting.

  A few minutes later, J. D. pulled into my driveway. The evening wasn’t overly warm, but the inside of the car was steamy. I kept thinking about what we had been doing in the kitchen. For the first time I understood why people took cold showers when they were frustrated. At the very least, I planned on putting ice on the part of my neck that craved his bite.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said as I climbed out.

  His eyes flashed in the darkness. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, hot stuff!”

  Chapter 9

  “She has on more eyeliner than Alice Cooper.” Marva pushed her pink-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose and stared.

  I was Sandy’s first makeover. A half-hour ago she had started applying foundation and eyeliner. Every few minutes she stepped back to see the results, as if she were afraid to keep going. But she crossed over to the dark side somewhere between the eye shadow and mascara. The women sat at the dining-room table watching in repelled fascination.

  It was girl time at its best.

  I had forgotten how much I missed girlfriends. On the dining-room table were empty bottles of beer and wine and the last crumbs of some simple appetizers that I had bought from the frozen-food section at the Family Fare. I had that warm, fuzzy feeling that I remembered from nights in college when my girlfriends and I used to sit around in our pajamas and style each other’s hair.

  I could barely believe my luck. The ladies, all guests tonight at the recommendation of Marva O’Shea, were fast becoming my new friends.

  I picked up the handheld mirror and stared at the stranger in the reflection. The Tastefully Conservative Congressman’s Daughter I had been molded into since I was young had been transformed into Sexy Warrior-Queen Elizabeth.

  “Just a little more gloss over the lipstick, I think,” said Sandy, cocking her head sideways.

  “Honey, if she puts any more gloss on her lips, the governor is going to have to declare her smile a flood zone!” Marva said.

  Was it really possible I could look this way?

  I stared at the stranger in the mirror and wondered what my mother and sister would think if they saw me right now. What would my life be like if I had never cared so much about my mother’s opinion of me?

  When my father had first been elected to the House of Representatives, we had made the trek to the Capitol building for the swearing in and my mother had tried and failed to make me look as sweet as Alexa in her Lilly Pulitzer dress and matching headband. At one point after the ceremony, I realized I was alone. I was jostled by the crowd and I fell on my first high heels. Some kind soul helped me up and asked where my family was. Blinking past my tears, I saw my parents at the top of the gallery steps. My father’s arm was around Alexa and my mother held a baby-faced Elliot. As they smiled and waved at the flashing cameras, I heard my father’s booming voice: “Meet the Lively family, my biggest accomplishment to date.” I was struck by how neat and glossy they all looked. I gazed down at my dirty knees and torn stockings and figured it was a good thing I wasn’t ruining the family picture. The photograph of the family minus me was published in the Toledo Dispatch the following day. No one commented on the missing daughter. Including my father.

  I still didn’t belong in the family picture. But looking at myself in the mirror now, I wondered what my life would be like if I had never cared so much. What if I grew up in a place like Truhart? Not just summers, but really grew up here. Maybe this summer I would have a second chance to see what life was like without them.

  “I like it,” I announced.

  “Well, I was a little heavy on the eye shadow,” Sandy admitted.

  “You made her look like she should be working down at Booties!” said Marva.

  “Booties?” That name sounded familiar to me.

  Marva picked up a platter of mini-quiches and passed them around while she explained. “You know that place where the waitresses are practically topless and bottomless . . . it’s where all the men go when they think us women aren’t paying any attention. They say the food’s good and it’s just like a normal restaurant. But we aren’t fooled. The men go there to get a little T and A eye candy. Shoot, my Joe would be over there tonight if he didn’t have to umpire a softball game!”

  Several of the ladies sat together on the couch, shaking their heads at my makeover.

  “Okay, I know what you’re all thinking. I should have quit three layers ago,” Sandy said with a grin.

  “You said it, not us!” someone shouted.

  I laughed, trying not to mar the perfection of my lascivious lips. “Believe it or not, I have never had this much makeup on in my life. And I know it’s not exactly the kind of thing I would wear every day. But I am tired of my old look. It hasn’t exactly been working for me lately.”

  Marva pushed the makeup tubes aside, placed the platter on the table, and straightened the pink frames on her glasses. “What are you saying, Elizabeth? Were you dumped?”

  Flo, who ran the local bait-and-tackle store, chimed in. “I’ll bet the other woman was younger and trashy too! They always are.”

  “Everyone is younger than Flo,” someone said. A giggle was hushed.

  I looked around the room and was surprised by the tightness that rose in my chest. Where did that feeling come from? I didn’t even care about Colin anymore. In fact, I had barely thought of him since my encounter with Officer Hardy. But being with women who seemed to care about me even though they knew nothing about my past was touching a nerve.

  I opened my mouth to tell them it was my sister who was the other woman, and shut it quickly. All my life I’d been taught to hide the dirty laundry.

  “It’s okay, honey, we’ve all been there. You’re with us girls now—you just let those tears come,” said Corrine, who had taken the evening off from the diner.

  Sandy handed me a tissue nervously. “Or maybe not. We don’t want to smear the mascara now, do we?”

  Corinne walked around the table and put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Why do you think we have so many of these parties, my dear? It keeps us from taking down the shotgun and searching for our men.” That got a good round of chuckles from the group.

  “Speak for yourself, Corinne! Anybody who wants Joe can have him. I have parties ’cause I like my candles,” said Marva.

  “You’re the only one,” said Flo behind her hand.

  Marva put her hands on her hips. “Admit it, you like them. You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “I’m here for her,” Flo said, pointing at me. That made my eyes
well up again.

  “Parties like this are nice. But while we are all here, we need to talk about the fact that no one is stepping forward to handle the big party this summer,” Corinne interjected before a war broke out between Marva and Flo.

  Sandy grabbed a mini-quiche. “She means the Timberfest.”

  “That’s right.” Marva explained to me, “Anne Marie Howe, our sheriff’s wife, usually chairs the event. But she is in Arizona with that new grandbaby. We asked Annie Adler, but she’s in Ann Arbor with Nick Conrad. They were best man and maid of honor last winter and rumor is they eloped and well . . . that’s another story. So then Regina Bloodworth was supposed to be in charge. But she’s got a stick up her backside about something.”

  “Ssshh!” someone hissed.

  “Why? She’s not here!” said Marva.

  “Regina Bloodworth quit,” Corinne explained.

  “That was J. D.’s fault. He wouldn’t share information she said she needed,” someone said from the couch.

  “That’s not how it was—” Sandy tried to explain.

  “Well, she wasn’t any good at it, so no loss. That theme she’s pushing, the one that says Truhart is the Paris of the Midwest, is really dumb. She already blew the budget on a prelit replica of the Eiffel Tower and we haven’t even paid for a bouncy slide for the kids yet,” Corinne said.

  “Or the band for the dance on Saturday night,” said Marva, with a hand on her hip.

  “The proceeds from the Timberfest were supposed to go toward our community center fund,” Sandy said with a frown.

  “Once Nick and Annie come up for air, he says he’ll help us with a design,” Corinne said. I didn’t know what they meant, but the way the ladies smiled, it was clear there was romance involved.

  “We need to find someone who knows how to run things,” said Flo.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Sandy. “I work extra shifts and this makeup business on the side is the only thing I have time for.”

  “I could run it if you would let me,” said Marva.

  “No!” came a chorus of voices.

  Marva’s lower lip trembled.

  Sandy said, “Marva, honey, what we mean is—we don’t want to lose you from the home-business front. You’re so good at directing the rest of us that we would be lost if you put your attention elsewhere.”

  “What is your budget?” I asked.

  “Budget?” Corinne said. “If we have one it’s been blown. Regina Bloodworth wouldn’t know what a budget was unless it was found at the outlet mall.”

  “On the designer rack!” someone added.

  I leaned in. “Well, do one of you know what your expenses are and what your income is expected to be after you pay for the expenses?”

  The ladies looked at each other and I wondered if I said the wrong thing. “Anyway, it was just a question. Just forget it.”

  “No, wait a minute, Elizabeth. You sound like you know about this stuff,” said Sandy, taking the seat next to me.

  Here is the thing: I can’t sing, run, paint or dance. I can’t cook or play the piano or decorate a room. Although I love crafting, it makes me crazy-OCD. However, there is one thing I actually do really well without obsessing. I can organize.

  After four years of college as a double major in education and accounting, I had been a good fit as the executive director of a small educational foundation. I was an unofficial event coordinator for my dad’s campaigns. I hired caterers, planned menus, venues, invitations, and everything in between.

  “It’s not that complicated, really. It’s just about lists and finding people to help accomplish what you need.”

  Marva squeezed my shoulder. “Easy for you to say, honey, but this is a big affair. Right, ladies? I mean, we aren’t talking about a little party like this. The Timberfest gets hundreds of people!”

  I put my hand over my mouth and covered my smile with my fist. “Well, that is pretty big. So, who is on the committee?”

  “Honey, it was a committee of one,” Flo said.

  “Not that any of us have actually volunteered to work with Regina.” Corinne said the last part loudly and looked around the room.

  “Who wanted to work with her? She wanted to trash the craft fair and bring in what she called ‘real artists’ from the west side of the state,” Marva said with her mouthful of mini-quiche. “The only people she wants to impress are the summer people and Dylan Schraeder, the guy who owns the ATV dealership,” she said to me.

  “Oh, I can’t stand that man,” someone muttered.

  “Why don’t you get a committee going? I mean, you’ve all planned things like weddings, right?”

  “We sure have. We planned Charlotte Adler’s wedding during a snowstorm last year! It was on The Morning Show!” Marva said proudly.

  “You didn’t plan it. Charlotte’s sister Annie and her mother did, Marva!”

  She stuck her nose in the air. “Well, I helped give ideas just like everyone else.”

  As Corinne and Marva argued, I turned to the other women at the table. “What do you want besides bouncy houses and a band?”

  The ladies were quick to give me a list of things that the mayor’s wife hadn’t even begun to plan: A beer tent. A craft fair. Battle of the bands. And an evening celebration. I shrugged my shoulders. “If you can’t afford a bouncy house, you can always ask a local business to sponsor it. If you give them credit in the newspaper or on a sign, they’ll probably underwrite that kind of thing.”

  “I would ask anyone but Dylan Schraeder,” Marva said.

  “He is the only one who actually lives here and has money,” Sandy said.

  “Yeah, but he thinks he owns us,” said Flo. “I can sponsor the bouncy house. Put down Flo’s Bait Shoppe as a sponsor, Elizabeth.”

  I realized that I was holding a pen and paper and had written down ideas. I pushed the paper away from me as if it was infected. “Wait a minute. I’m not in charge here.”

  “Why not? You seem to know what you’re doing and besides that, everyone likes you,” Sandy said.

  A warm feeling grew in my stomach as I thought about what she said. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had friends before. I was a nice person. Or at least I thought I was. But when I was growing up I was kept so busy that I just didn’t have many close friends. Summers were spent in Truhart, where I entertained myself and helped with Elliot. College was my first real opportunity to make close friends.

  I looked around the room now and marveled at the fact that these women just liked me. For no reason.

  “Are you all right, Elizabeth?” Sandy asked.

  “I just didn’t think you would want me to be part of something as important as the Timberfest when I am so new to town.”

  “Oh, you may have the face of a harlot after Sandy’s handiwork, but you talk like a PTO president,” Corinne joked. “So, what else should we do, Fearless Leader?”

  “Well, if you really have no budget, you could always raise money.”

  “How?” Flo asked.

  I reached out and grabbed a brochure from the table and laughed. “Are you really asking? You sell things better than most insurance salesmen. Why don’t you host something where the proceeds benefit the Timberfest?”

  Flo’s mouth hung open. “Wow. You really are good at this organizing thing.”

  Marva threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m not going to lose my shirt. I can’t plan another candle party and make no profit. No offense—I love all of you and the Timberfest. But these things aren’t cheap, if you know what I mean.”

  Corinne put her arm around Marva. “We need to shake things up. Let’s think of something that doesn’t require selling—but involves good, clean fun! Well, almost clean fun!”

  Marva sent Corinne a meaningful look. A silent message passed between the two and they giggled.

  “You think they would go for it?” Marva asked her.

  “Oh, most definitely they will go for it! The problem is, I might just have a heart attack at th
e thought of doing it myself. It’s crazy, Marva.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Ladies, I’ve got a special little type of party that is all the rage on the East and West Coast. Our friend, Elizabeth here, might be amazed at how much money we could make while having fun. In fact, we could all benefit from this type of party. There’s no selling, no crafting, no monogramming involved at all.”

  “Oh, thank God,” piped up one of the younger ladies. “I can’t handle any more products. I’ve got a box of Handy Dandy hand lotion sitting in my attic that I’ve been hiding from my husband.”

  “Oh, no need to worry about him. Actually, your husband might really appreciate this kind of party. He won’t have a clue what you’ve been doing when you get home, but he’ll beg you to come back for more,” Corrine said.

  Marva clapped her hands. “We should charge thirty dollars just to get in the door. We’ll charge Regina Bloodworth double. It’s her fault we have no money. But be ready to move, ladies. It’s time we brought a little life to Truhart.”

  Even though we had no idea what she was talking about, we started to clap in excitement.

  “We’ll make it a week from today. Now, all we need is someone with a big living room—that’s you, Corinne—and a few volunteers to bring the margaritas. You all wear your shortest shorts—bikini tops if you still own one that fits—and tall heels and I’ll supply the rest. Who’s in?”

  “It’s not illegal or anything, is it?” Sandy asked.

  “Not unless it’s illegal to pee ’cause you’re laughing so hard, it ain’t. Who’s in?”

  Everyone raised her hand.

  Marva glanced down at me. “You, dear, can wear that face you got on. You’ll fit right in!”

  Chapter 10

  One week later . . .

  I spread my legs wide. Around me the ladies whistled and raised their margarita glasses.

  “Go for it, Elizabeth!” Corinne yelled.

  I straddled the shaft and bent my leg, sliding my whole body around it until I hit the floor. I brushed away the wild, tangled mess of hair that stuck to my beet-red lipstick and tried to see the crowd around me.