Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  “I’m delighted to do it, honey.” She enfolded Bella in a warm hug. “What a success tonight was! Congratulations!”

  Ben and Aaron were hefting the barrels of ice out the front door, tipping them so the melted ice splashed onto the gravel drive. Slade and Josh were folding the legs of the wine table and carrying it through the door into the back room. Bella cruised the gallery. Everything was already in place.

  Natalie had been standing with her arms around her waist, staring at her charcoal of Aaron. Now she threw herself at Bella, grabbing her in a fierce hug, nearly knocking her over. “Oh, Bella, you genius.” She burst into tears.

  “Hey,” Bella said, holding her friend. “I’m not the genius. You’re the one who sold two pieces tonight. You’re the artist.”

  “I am,” Natalie blubbered into Bella’s neck. “I am the artist.”

  “All right, everyone!” Josh bellowed. “Time for a celebration dinner. My treat.”

  “Oh, Josh, that’s not necessary,” Bella hastily insisted.

  “I know that,” Josh said. “But, Bella, I’m feeling very expansive tonight.”

  They drove in various cars to Judie’s in Amherst, a noisy, crowded restaurant, a place to be seen, and as Bella and her group followed the waitress to their table, she noticed how heads turned to stare at her and her friends. She felt high on the success of the evening, sleek in her black dress, tall in her high heels. She felt dazzling, charismatic, mysterious.

  They were all starving. They ordered everything—fried shrimp tempura, sweet potato sun spot fries, nachos, drunken scallops and bacon, steak and mushroom risotto, seafood gumbo, lobster ravioli, lots of Caesar salads. They shared it all, exchanging plates, eating from one another’s forks, crying “You’ve got to try this!” The men drank beer, and the women drank sparkling water, all of them confessing they’d already had enough champagne at the opening.

  The table was long and rectangular, and after she’d eaten enough to quiet her hunger, Bella noticed how the group had spontaneously arranged itself into pairs. Aaron and Bella sat on one side, Josh at the end, on Bella’s right. Morgan sat at the other end of the table, chatting with Ben. Ben and Natalie sat across from Aaron and Bella, and so it would have been symmetrical, except that Slade made seven, and he was squeezed in next to his sister.

  “Oh, Slade,” Bella leaned forward, raising her voice to be heard in the crowd. “Thank you for your help tonight.”

  Slade’s face gave away nothing. “Welcome. Glad to help.”

  “You sold several pieces of Penny’s jewelry, right?” Bella asked.

  Slade nodded. “The only one who didn’t sell anything tonight is Shauna.”

  “Her pieces are unusual,” Morgan commented.

  “Her pieces are weird,” Josh added.

  Slade had seemed aloof, even cold, but the business talk drew him out. “Oh, and the rugs,” Slade added. “No one bought a rug.”

  “No one could see the rugs,” Bella pointed out.

  Natalie laughed triumphantly. “Too many people standing on them!”

  More seriously, Slade agreed. “True. I have a suggestion. We do this at Ralston’s. We hang one of the smaller rugs on the wall, like the work of art it is. That draws attention to it and leads into a discussion of the ones on the floor.”

  Bella nodded. “Good idea.” She filed the idea in one of the buzzing corners of her overwhelmed brain. Suddenly her feet, trapped in the four-inch heels, hurt like crazy. She yawned. “I’m whipped.”

  Aaron patted her knee. “You deserve to be. It was intense.”

  “It was fabulous,” Natalie crowed. “It was magnificent!”

  Just like that, the evening was over. Their plates were empty. Their glasses had been drained. Conversation faltered. Bella’s yawn was contagious.

  Only Josh remained effervescent as he called for the bill and whipped out his credit card with a proud flourish. “Anyone up for a swim?” he dared.

  Bella groaned, hand on her stomach. “I’m so full, I’d sink straight to the bottom.”

  Natalie stretched and confessed lazily, “And I’d just drown.”

  Next to her, Ben said quietly, “No, you wouldn’t.”

  Bella saw how Natalie and Ben looked at each other. Well, well, she thought.

  The group rose from the table and filed out of the restaurant, nodding at the waitress and hostess, and then they were out in the night.

  Aaron had his arm draped lightly over Bella’s shoulder. “My apartment?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she agreed, “but only because it’s closer and I’ll be able to fall asleep faster.”

  Aaron laughed. Taking her hand, he led Bella toward his car. They waved at all the others splitting off in different directions to their cars, and it was only through a haze of exhaustion that Bella heard the roar of Slade’s motorcycle as it peeled off into the dark.

  21

  During the meal, Natalie paid special attention to the way Ben interacted with the others at the table. He followed the topics of conversation, and while he seldom spoke, what he’d said was appropriate to the subject. He listened, he participated, he was there. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it. Never once did he talk about his chemical experiments, and even though he was next to Morgan, who sat at the end of the table, he didn’t go into a huddle with her about science.

  As the party ended and they filed out of the restaurant, Natalie woozily attempted to recall the conversation with Morgan when Morgan said she’d had lunch with Ben—had that been exactly what she said?

  More kisses from Morgan and Bella, lots of calls of “Good-bye!” and Natalie headed for her aunt’s silver car.

  A tall figure loomed up beside her. “Could I catch a ride?”

  Natalie looked at Ben. Light and laughter spilled out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk. Bella and Aaron had waved good-bye, and Slade had roared away on his motorcycle. Morgan and Josh were just down the street, on the way to their car.

  “Don’t you have your car?” Natalie asked.

  “I rode in with Morgan and Josh. But I don’t want to go home with them.”

  His words carried an ambiguity that cut straight through the fog of her adrenaline- and alcohol-fired evening. And she couldn’t forget how, just minutes before in the restaurant, when she said she’d drown if she tried to swim, Ben had looked at her and said, “No, you wouldn’t.” Something had passed between them again, intimate and connecting.

  “Sure, you can ride back with me.” Natalie wanted to touch the man, lean against him, hear his heart beat, hold his hand. So do it, something told her, and she reached out and took Ben’s hand. “Come on. The car’s this way.”

  He loped quietly along beside her. His hand was much bigger than hers, and cooler. How could it be cooler? Her own body was steaming, and it wasn’t just the heat and humidity of the summer evening.

  “I’m so hot.” She sighed. She hoped her palm wasn’t damp with sweat.

  “Thermogenesis,” Ben said.

  “Oh, of course,” she snorted.

  “Heat production by the body. Digestion is one source, and we’ve just had a huge meal.”

  “I don’t know how much I ate. I’m afraid I had more alcohol tonight than food.”

  “Hormones also increase the body’s temperature,” Ben told her.

  They’d arrived at the Range Rover. Natalie paused next to Ben. He was so tall.

  “I had only one drink at the restaurant,” Ben told her. “I hate feeling drunk.”

  “Oh, all right, then. Would you like to drive?” she asked. Swaying slightly, she said teasingly, “Or are your hormones increasing your body temperature?”

  Ben said, very seriously, looking her in the eye, “Actually, they are.”

  She almost swooned.

  “But the air-conditioning in the car should help,” he added.

  She rolled her eyes. He was hopeless. “Could you be more romantic?” She handed him the keys and started to open the passenger door
.

  “Yes, I think I could.” Ben’s voice was low and husky.

  He took her in his arms, bent down, and kissed her. Natalie reached her arms up to wrap around him, pulling him closer. His mouth tasted salty but fresh, like ocean water. She dreaded to think what her own mouth tasted like—champagne and, oh, what was that drink they all had tried?

  Ben drew back. Keeping hold of her with both arms, he said lightly, “Do you realize you’re sagging?”

  “I’m sagging?” Immediately, she thought of breasts. Hers were fine!

  “I think you’re tired,” he told her. “Let’s get you home.”

  Ben opened the passenger door and helped her slide in. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

  Ben steered the car away from the curb and out through the streets. Natalie focused on her interior, body and mind. So much was happening there. She wasn’t really drunk, not sick-to-her-stomach throwing-up drunk like she got when she was younger. She’d had plenty of water throughout the evening, a sensible trick she’d learned long ago. She was stuffed with food, and she was tingling all over from Ben’s kiss, but something else was fighting to reach the surface of her consciousness—

  “Ben!” She turned toward him. “Ben, I sold two pieces tonight! The charcoal of Aaron and an abstract. Good grief, I made a ton of money! Well, Bella’s gets forty percent, of course, but still I made more money tonight than I’ve ever dreamed I’d make from my art. And they liked the works, Ben, they liked them.”

  Ben glanced at her with affectionate tolerance. “Of course they liked them. They bought them.”

  “Yes, but … they weren’t friends. Bella’s doesn’t have any reputation yet, so they weren’t showing off, they can’t say casually to their other rich friends, Oh yes, I got it at Sotheby’s. Wait, I’m not trying to insult your sister. Obviously she’s going to have a super reputation; look at the success of her opening!”

  “You’re babbling,” Ben said, and he sounded happy.

  “I know. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” They left the lights of the town streets and wound along the dark country road toward the lake.

  “Well, since you hardly talk, this way we can have a conversation and both of us can be comfortable.”

  Ben laughed out loud. Reaching across, he took her hand. “I think, in your own bizarre way, you’ve hit on something.”

  At home, Ben parked in the driveway, then came around and helped Natalie out of the car.

  “I’m not drunk,” she insisted.

  “I’m not saying you are.” He held her elbow as he ushered her up the walk to the front door. He still had the keys, so he opened the door.

  He stepped inside with her.

  “I think I’ll sleep here tonight,” he told her, looking down at her.

  Heaven forgive her, she almost batted her eyelashes at him. “Are you going to take advantage of me?”

  “Actually, no. I’m not a college kid, Natalie.”

  “But …”

  “I just think it would be nice to sleep with you.”

  She bit her lip. How could anyone ever be this happy? “Because you don’t want to drive all the way back to your apartment in Amherst?”

  “Natalie, I could simply walk next door and sleep in my old room,” he reminded her. “No, I meant what I said. I only want to sleep with you.”

  “I don’t know if I’m complimented or not,” she worried.

  “You’ll find out in the morning.”

  Once again, he took her hand. They climbed the stairs and entered her bedroom. It was almost two a.m. The air-conditioning had kept the house pleasantly dry and cool, and the queen bed stretched before her like the very definition of softness.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m so tired, but I might be too excited to sleep.”

  Ben had slipped off his khakis and was unbuttoning his shirt. “You’ll sleep.” He unzipped her black dress.

  She let it fall to the floor. “You’ve seen me in my bikini,” she rationalized blurrily. “That’s like seeing me in my underwear.”

  “Yes, Natalie, that’s true. And vice versa.” He removed his shirt and tie.

  She sank onto the bed and eased her feet out of her high heels. The pleasure was exquisite. “Ben,” she said, “people actually liked my work!”

  He said, “I know. You’re an amazing artist.” He went around the bed, climbed onto it, took hold of her shoulders, and pulled her back down so her head rested on the pillow. They stretched out together on top of the light cotton quilt, two people in their underwear, too tired to make love, but two people together, like an old married couple.

  “Ben,” Natalie murmured.

  “Natalie,” he answered.

  They fell asleep.

  Sun splashed across the room, spotlighting itself right on Natalie’s eyes. She raised her lids slightly, expecting the stab of hangover pain, only to discover she didn’t feel bad at all. She thought: Last night I sold two pieces! I made over seventeen thousand dollars!

  A man snored. Turning her head, she saw Ben sleeping soundly beside her. Carefully, she raised herself up on one elbow and surveyed his body. He was perfection. She wanted to draw him. She’d ask him to sit for her; he would be her next charcoal, but would she be able to sell it? Which angle should she draw him from? From the side, the high barrel of his ribs rose, concealing his private heart, then his skin slid tautly down to his flat belly. A trail of hair led beneath the band of his briefs.

  His legs were very long. His torso was long also. His feet were bony and enormous. What if she drew him straight-on? The whole person—head, shoulders, torso, pelvis, legs …

  Sitting up, she cocked her head and considered. The sun illuminated every aspect of his body. She scooted to the bottom of the bed and tilted over his feet, studying him from this angle.

  He opened his eyes. “Um, hello?”

  Natalie jumped. “Oh!”

  “I don’t even want to imagine what you’re doing.” He stretched, his long bones elegant.

  “I want to draw you.”

  “That’s what you want to do with me?”

  She lay down on her side next to him. He turned onto his side, facing her.

  “How do you feel?” she asked him.

  “Fine. You?”

  “Fine, too. It’s so odd. I thought I’d have a crashing hangover. I’m glad I kept drinking water last night.” She put one fingertip on his hand. “Thank you for driving.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned his hand over and captured her hand. “I have an idea.”

  “Oh, gosh.”

  “Actually, it’s really a dare.”

  “That sounds scary.”

  His eyes were as blue as summer.

  “I dare you to spend the day with me without mentioning your art.”

  She drew back. “Huh?”

  He repeated his dare. “And I’ll go all day without mentioning my work.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think you’re trying to make a point.”

  “Which would be?”

  Crankily, she twitched her shoulders. “That our work is part of us. Maybe even the most interesting part of us, or the defining part of us.” Suddenly she brightened. “Did you say we’ll spend all day together?”

  “If you’d like.” He let go of her hand and slid his palm along her wrist, up her arm to her shoulder.

  Everything changed in the intensity of that moment of physical connection. Her chest and neck went rosy with a flush that flashed up her cheeks. “I know a way we could get to know each other without using any words at all,” she murmured, inching her body toward his.

  “Oh, I’ll make you use words,” Ben said.

  Afterward, they slept again, wrapped in each other’s arms. Natalie woke to a snuffling sound—her nose pressed against Ben’s chest. She rolled away from him and smiled up at the ceiling.

  He had made her use words.

  Mostly, his name. Ben. Ben.

  As if she
’d spoken aloud, calling him, he opened his eyes. “Good morning.”

  She snuggled against him. “I’ll say.”

  He gently pushed her shoulder back. “I don’t want to be rude or, God forbid, unromantic, but I’m starving.”

  She realized she was, too. They pulled on their underwear and padded barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  “I’ll make eggs,” Ben announced. Opening the refrigerator, he peered inside. “With cheese and stuff.”

  “You can cook?”

  “I live alone. I usually do cook for myself. Besides, I like to cook.”

  “Oh, right, I suppose it’s sort of like chemistry for you.” She filled the glass coffeepot with water and poured it into the reservoir. “Do you like your coffee strong?”

  “I do. With a spot of milk, no sugar.”

  He cracked eggs into a bowl, grated cheese, chopped vegetables. Natalie set utensils and napkins on the table, poured orange juice, prepared his coffee, and set it next to him.

  They ate quickly, not talking.

  Natalie cocked her head at him. She was going to try to stick to the dare. “How do you usually eat your breakfast?”

  He looked puzzled. “With a fork and knife. I raise my hand from the plate to my m—”

  “That’s not what I meant!” she protested, laughing. “I mean, do you eat cereal standing over the sink before rushing to work?”

  He thought for a moment. “No. I like a big breakfast. With protein. I usually make eggs and bacon, or cream cheese and salmon on a bagel. I like to fuel up in the morning because later I sometimes forget to eat. I usually watch CNN while I eat. Catch up on the news of the world. See if anyone’s solved the energy problem while I slept.” He neatly laid his knife and fork on his empty plate. “What about you?”

  “Coffee for me, first. The biggest cup in the house. Orange juice while I wait for it to brew. I take my coffee up to my studio and get to work.” She skipped ahead. “I don’t usually eat until around lunchtime.”

  “Do you like to cook?”

  “I don’t know, really. I’ve waitressed so much, I’ve always had my biggest meal wherever I worked, and of course in New York I usually grabbed takeout. Your mother’s such a wonderful cook, so you probably learned from her without even thinking about it.”