Arranged

by Catherine McKenzie

  “Nothing.”

  I reach for him, and his tongue is in my mouth, soft and rough at the same time. I press myself to him. He runs his hand down my side, brushing his thumb over my breast. I jolt away.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “That tickles.”

  “What tickles?” He runs his thumb over my breast again, slower this time. “That?”

  “Yes.”

  He shifts his hand to my waist, rubbing the edge of my stomach lightly. “That better?”

  I nod, and we kiss, kiss, kiss. I can feel his chest rise and fall, his breath quickening, matching mine. His fingers start playing with the edge of my underwear through my dress.

  “Jack . . .”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  I put my hands on his shoulders and push him away gently. “Stop for a minute.”

  He lifts his head from my neck. “Did I tickle you again?”

  “No, it’s not that. I think maybe . . . we’re moving too quickly.”

  Jack sighs and rolls onto his back. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  I put my head on his shoulder, letting my hand rest on his stomach. He plays with my hair, twisting it around his fingers.

  “Is it okay that I really want to have sex with you right now?” he says.

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  I hear his laugh through his chest, deep inside him.

  “What about you?” he asks me.

  “Ditto.”

  “I’m glad.”

  We lie there and watch the black clouds float across the moon, listening to the crash and boom of the ocean. I feel drowsy from the alcohol and last night’s lack of sleep.

  “Anne?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is one hell of a second date.”

  I giggle. “Sure is.”

  “Dr. Szwick wouldn’t be very happy with us right now.”

  “Probably not.”

  Jack kisses my forehead gently and holds me close.

  We lie there like that in the sand until we fall asleep.

  Chapter 14

  Anything Goes

  We wake up the next morning at sunrise, covered in a fine mist of salt spray. My left side has fallen asleep, and my hair is stuck to my face. My head feels like it’s been hit with a thousand booms, and my stomach is as choppy as the morning sea.

  Jack is stirring next to me and moaning. “My head. My fucking head.”

  I turn on my side to face him. Oh, boy. My stomach did not appreciate that.

  Jack is squeezing his eyes shut. His hair is caked with sand.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He cracks an eye open. What should be white is lined with red. “That has yet to be determined. You?”

  “So-so.”

  “If you feel anything like me, that’s a huge understatement.”

  I sit up. The world starts spinning. “You might be right.”

  We sit there for a few minutes, waiting for the world to right itself. When it doesn’t, we stagger back to our respective rooms for showers and sleep.

  I take off my very wrinkled wedding dress and stand in the spray of the shower, letting the heat leach the toxins from my body. When I’m done, I wrap myself in a bathrobe and towel-dry my hair, working the cricks out of my neck. I put on some thin cotton pajamas, slip between the cool, unslept-in sheets, and rest my aching head on the soft pillow.

  In the moments between awake and asleep, I think back to the things I let Jack do to me last night with the same odd mixture of pride and embarrassment I used to feel in college after some half-regretted hookup at a dorm party.

  Did I do that?

  Oh, yes, I did.

  Around noon, I find Jack dozing in a deck chair by the pool, a book across his chest. He’s wearing plaid shorts and a navy polo shirt. His eyes are hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. His forearms are starting to turn brown.

  I sit in the deck chair next to him and open my own book, waiting for the sun to wake me fully.

  He pushes his shades up. “Hey, you. When did you get here?”

  “Just now.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You looked peaceful.”

  He sits up and rolls his shoulders. “God, I really screwed up my back last night.”

  “That’ll teach you to fall asleep with a strange girl on the beach.”

  “Yeah, I should’ve learned that lesson by now. But I think an exception can be made when the strange girl is your wife.”

  “I didn’t notice that exception in the rules.”

  “It’s right there on page three of the brochure. It’s one of the tenets of the friendship philosophy of marriage.”

  I giggle. “Really? Dr. Szwick never mentioned it.”

  The side of his mouth curls. “I could’ve sworn he’s the one who pointed it out to me. It’s what convinced me to go through with all of this, actually.”

  “What do you think Dr. Szwick would say about our sleeping arrangements last night?”

  He swings his legs around so they’re hanging off the edge of the deck chair. His feet are long and white. “Not sure. Then again, I’m not counting to ten.”

  “Did he do that chair thing with you too?”

  “Annoying, wasn’t it?”

  “Totally.”

  We grin at each other.

  “So . . .” I say.

  “So . . . I signed us up for an excursion this afternoon.”

  “You did? Which one?”

  “We’re going snorkeling.”

  “Cool. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

  “The boat leaves at two, so we have enough time to eat.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you’re hungry?”

  Jack rubs his belly. “I could eat.”

  We settle on the restaurant next to the pool. We order a large plate of nachos covered in beef, onions, tomatoes, and cheese sauce. When it arrives, we dig in. For a few moments the only sound between us is that of our mouths munching fatty food.

  “I think I can feel my ass expanding,” I say, pushing the nearly empty plate away.

  Jack puts his head under the table. “Looks okay to me.”

  “Get out of there, silly.”

  He pops his head back up, grinning like a little boy. “Want a beer?”

  Just the thought of it makes me queasy. “Don’t think so.”

  “You’ll feel better once you have one.”

  “Isn’t that how people end up in rehab?”

  “Probably.”

  I wipe my hands on a napkin and notice the book Jack dropped on the table. It’s David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day.

  “Any good?”

  “Very funny. Ever read him?”

  “Nope, but my friend Sarah keeps telling me to.”

  “She’s right, you should.”

  “What’s your favorite book? No, wait, don’t tell me . . . On the Road?”

  “How’d you guess?” he says, surprised.

  “Because all guys love that book. It’s like that Peter Sellers movie.”

  “You mean The Party?”

  “I bet you love that movie, right? That and This Is Spinal Tap.”

  “Otherwise known as the Funniest Movie Ever.”

  “I knew it.”

  “You don’t like that film? Damn you, Blythe and Company.” He shakes his fist at the sky.

  “No need to take it to eleven.”

  Relief floods Jack’s face. “Oh, thank God. I take it back, Blythe and Company. I’ll never question you again.”

  “Are you sure? Because I have a confession to make: I’ve never read On the Road.”

  “That’s pretty serious, but we can remedy it. I’ll even lend you a copy, which I just happen to have in my room.”

  “Of course you do.” I smile at him indulgently.

  “Good thing too. You never know when an On the Road emergency might occur.”


  “Right.”

  “So I’ll lend it to you, but only if you let me read your book first.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I want to read it.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’ll be able to buy it at the bookstore soon,” he points out.

  “I know, but that’s a couple of months away. You’ll know me better then.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “It’ll be harder for you to tell me you hate it.”

  “Better toughen up, Anne. Somebody’s not going to like it. Those are just the odds.”

  “I know, but you’re not somebody.”

  He smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  We spend the afternoon snorkeling, our backs getting burned as we float facedown in the salty water, watching the fish swim by. The highlight of the afternoon is when I spot a large gray shark weaving back and forth below us—okay, maybe “highlight” isn’t quite the right word. I’ve never swum so fast in my life, though we laugh about it afterward, lying spent on the deck of the tour boat.

  We have dinner in the Mexican restaurant, then go to the lobby bar to enjoy an after-dinner drink. Rehab might be required after this break from reality.

  “So,” Jack says, “I checked out the evening program here at Boringland. Cards, don’t you know, and I’m thinking not. But over in the land of the hedonistic twentysomethings, they have something called Anything Goes that sounds like it might be fun.”

  “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  He takes my arm and kisses the inside of my wrist. “I take some things very seriously.”

  I swat him away. “What do you think ‘Anything Goes’ means?”

  “Why don’t we go find out?”

  We walk down the long walkway that separates Blythe & Company’s resort from its twin and arrive at an amphitheater identical to the one where we met. It’s been a hot day, and the air underneath the white canvas feels thick.

  “It looks like Beyond Thunderdome in here,” Jack says.

  “You saw that movie?”

  “Didn’t everyone?”

  We take seats halfway up one side, squeezing into place between a young couple and a group of giggling girls who look barely eighteen. A thin woman with bleached-blond hair picks up a mike. She’s wearing a tight black tank top and short jean shorts.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name’s Jill and this is Anything Goes night, where, literally, anything goes. Now, those of you who’re uncomfortable with nudity, drinking, or general mayhem probably shouldn’t stick around. You should also know there’s only one rule on Anything Goes night: Once you’re in, you’re in. So, anyone who isn’t up for an adventure should leave now.”

  “Do you think she’s serious?” I whisper to Jack.

  “She seems pretty serious. You wanna go?”

  “Not unless you do.”

  “I’m good.”

  I watch a few people get up and leave, looking embarrassed. I feel nervous about our decision to stay, but hey, what’s the worst that could happen?

  Hmm. I seem to be saying that a lot.

  “Now that the losers have left, let’s play some strip bingo! The rules are simple. Everyone gets a card. If a number’s called and it’s not on your card, you have to take off an item of clothing and place it in the middle of the ring. If you have the number, you get to keep your clothes on.”

  I glance down at what I’m wearing: tan shorts, a blue tank top, my bra, underwear, and flip-flops. A grand total of five items—or six, if I count each flip-flop as one item. Which I’m pretty sure I’ll be doing. Even so, I’m so going to end up naked.

  “Bet you wish you’d brought a sweater,” Jack whispers in my ear.

  “I don’t have a problem with nudity.”

  “Oh, you don’t, huh?”

  “Well . . . maybe a little.”

  Jill brings out a large spinning cage full of balls and passes out bingo cards and markers. When all the cards have been distributed, she turns down the lights so we’re sitting in semi-darkness.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe I can take my clothes off in front of this room full of strangers and this man who knows how to kiss me just so.

  I glance at Jack. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, clearly happy with the thought that I might be naked in a few minutes.

  On second thought, maybe I need to win this game.

  “B12,” Jill calls out.

  Dammit!

  I take off one of my flip-flops and put my foot on the cold concrete.

  Jack slips off both of his sandals. He wiggles his toes at me. “Cheater.”

  I stick out my tongue at him.

  “N19.”

  Yes! I mark the square off with my pen. Jack whips off his shirt.

  “Exhibitionist,” I tell him.

  “I really don’t have a problem with nudity.”

  “O39.”

  Off comes my other flip-flop as Jack marks his card, looking disappointed.

  “Come on, people, you’re supposed to be putting your clothes in a pile in the middle of the room. Don’t be shy. Bring them down here!” Jill commands.

  Several already mostly undressed people climb down the stairs in the gloom and drop their clothes into a pile. I stay put, keeping my shoes where I can find them.

  “G23.”

  Shorts or top? Shorts or top? I settle on top. Sitting in your bra’s like being in a bikini. No problem.

  I take off my tank top and place it next to my shoes. Jack slips out of his shorts, scrunches them up, and tosses them into the middle of the ring. He’s wearing a pair of white boxer shorts.

  “Good luck finding that,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah?” He scoops up my tank top and throws it into the pile.

  “Hey!”

  “Rules are rules, Anne. You don’t want us to get in trouble, do you?”

  “I17.”

  I knew it. I stand up and unbutton my shorts. I hold them on my lap tightly as Jack tries to grab them from me.

  “Quit it.” I slap his hand away.

  “I25.”

  Now, this is going too far!

  “Bingo!”

  Please don’t let that be a false alarm.

  I sit there nervously while Jill checks the card of the woman who yelled “bingo.”

  “We have a winner!” The room erupts in applause. “Now we’re going to turn out the lights, and everyone has to try to find their clothes!”

  I give Jack a dirty look. He smiles at me reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll find our stuff. Stay here.”

  He walks quickly down the stairs and is back in a moment clutching our clothes. I slip into my shorts and top while Jack does the same next to me.

  “This kind of blows, right?” he says.

  “I wish we’d left earlier.”

  “Let’s leave now.”

  “But they said we couldn’t.”

  He grins. “Gullibility becomes you. Follow me.”

  We walk up the dark stairs to the edge of the canvas. Jack pulls it back, revealing an emergency staircase.

  “How did you know this was here?”

  He taps the side of his head. “I have an enormous brain.”

  “Blythe and Company left that off your description.”

  “I’ll have to talk to them about that.”

  We walk down the stairs and away from the amphitheater. We can hear shrieks coming from inside.

  “I feel like such a chicken,” I say.

  “You married a stranger yesterday. You’re definitely not a chicken.”

  “Yeah, good point. What now?”

  “Walk on the beach?”

  The beach. The scene of the crime. What the hell.

  We kick off our shoes and stroll toward a distant patch of lights at the other end of the bay. Jack wades into the water. Every few minutes a large wave rolls in, and he leaps up, trying to avoid it.


  “You know they had to suck all this sand off the ocean bottom after the last hurricane?” he says.

  “I heard that.”

  “They used these big suction machines because the beaches were down to bare rock.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I read.”

  “Sorry, am I boring you?”

  “Not at all. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Do you feel like today is kind of anticlimactic?”

  “How can you call any day where we saw a shark and played strip bingo anticlimactic?”

  He smiles. “That was a big fucking shark.”

  “It starred in Jaws, for sure.”

  “Seriously, though . . .”

  “You mean because we did this huge, life-changing thing yesterday, and nothing’s that different today?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you expect to be different?”

  “I’m not sure. Forget I said anything.”

  “Do you want anything to be different? I mean, do you want me to be different?”

  He turns toward me. “No, Anne. You’re great. I think it’s just post-anticipation syndrome. You know when you’re anxious for some big event and then it comes, you always feel sort of let down afterward. Not that I feel let down . . .”

  “It’s okay. I know what you mean. We’ve done the big part, and now comes the hard part: living the rest of our lives.”

  “I hope it’s not too hard.”

  “Me too. Besides, didn’t we agree not to think about this kind of stuff anymore?”

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  The lights at the end of the beach turn out to be two giant pirate ships docked at a marina, ready to take passengers on a night tour of the bay.

  “What do you suppose they do on those boats?” I ask.

  “They go out into the middle of the bay and have a mock battle.”

  “I should’ve known.”

  He looks sheepish. “I read all the brochures to kill time when I got here.”

  “You weren’t skulking around, trying to figure out who I was?”

  “That too,” he says, one corner of his mouth turning up.

  “How did you manage?”

  “I picked right.”

  “You picked me out of all the women here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Swear to God.”

  “How?”

  “I told you before, I have an enormous brain.”

  “Yes, yes. Come on, tell me how you really did it.”