Anne's Collection #1: Five Stories

by Anne Eton

  “Thank you,” Laurence said as she accepted her margarita. Condensation had appeared on the outside of the icy glass. The French girl’s tongue darted out, tasting the crushed salt on the rim. She sipped. “Very nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Peggy sat on a teak chair between the pool and hot tub. Laurence did the same.

  “So I have to ask,” Peggy said. “What were you smiling about just now? Since none of my jokes ever seem to work.”

  “I was thinking, finally, California.” The French girl looked out at the ocean. “This is what I imagined California would be.”

  “Didn’t live up to your expectations, huh?”

  “No.”

  They talked. Laurence had finished business school in France, but could not find a job there. The economy, she explained. So, she had decided to travel. She had always wanted to visit California, and had found a long-term youth hostel for a three-month stay.

  “So you’ve been here a month?”

  Laurence nodded. “And then, my money… pouf.” She made a gesture with her fingertips, showing it blowing away. “So I registered with the temp agency for part-time work.”

  “On a tourist visa?”

  “They arranged it, somehow.”

  “I feel terrible. Taking up your vacation. You should be enjoying yourself…”

  “It is all right. I have already seen most of the sights. And I do not have money anyway to travel far from Los Angeles.”

  “How did you get from your hostel to here?”

  “The bus.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “It is not far. The hostel is in Malibu.”

  “Oh.”

  The conversation paused. Laurence closed her eyes. The wind ruffled her hair again. She smiled.

  “You like the sun, huh?” Peggy said.

  “Yes, and this is so nice.”

  “I love it too. I love it here.” The older woman stood up. “Mind if I sunbathe?”

  “What?”

  Peggy’s kimono dropped to the tiles underfoot. The hourglass woman stood in what was clearly a custom-made bikini. Settling back in her chair, she smiled. “I do this every day. If the sun’s too high, it hurts your skin.”

  Laurence stared. Peggy’s body was as toned as a twenty-year-old’s. She looked spectacular. Her chest was even larger than it had appeared when she was wearing her clothes. No wonder the bikini was custom.

  The older woman caught her guest staring. “Really something, huh?” she joked, shaking her breasts.

  The French girl turned away, embarrassed.

  “I almost got reduction surgery, years ago.” Peggy closed her eyes.

  After a pause, Laurence asked: “Why did you not?”

  “My dad. He wouldn’t hear of it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s my body and if I had really wanted to do it, I would have. But he kept saying, ‘Why don’t you like yourself? You’re perfect.’”

  “I see.”

  “And, you know, now? I think he was right. These things never gave me back pain, or anything. They’re part of me. I like them.” She smiled down at her cleavage, adjusting the fabric’s hem with her finger.

  “I should go.” Laurence rose. “Thank you for the drink.”

  “Welcome. So, nine A.M. Monday?”

  “I will be here.”

  “Wonderful. And it’s up to you, but if you like, bring your swimsuit.” Peggy gestured around her. “If this is the California you wanted, you had might as well enjoy it while you can.”

  After a moment, Laurence smiled. The women said their goodbyes.

  Laurence returned Monday morning. She and her employer worked together, opening shipping boxes and creating stacks of papers. In the afternoon Peggy glanced at her watch. “Five o’clock already.”

  “That was fast.” Laurence and Peggy’s desks were both covered in papers, folders, binders, labels and more.

  “Yeah. Hey. I know I asked you to just handle the French stuff. But you’re so good at organization, what would you think about helping me with this whole thing? I think if we both tackle it, together, we can get all the papers into the files soon. Then you can get back to working on the French stuff.”

  “That is fine. I was thinking actually that this would be the best idea.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because you are the boss.” She said it with her lilting French accent: busssss.

  “Well, stop thinking of me as the boss. Ready for a drink?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. I’ll change and meet you down there.”

  When Peggy walked into the pool area in her kimono, she saw Laurence looking away. The French girl turned to her. “This is new?”

  A new bar with a Tiki design stood near the pool. It sported a thatched roof with leather stools. Mini-fridges and coolers hummed inside.

  “Oh, yeah. I had it built over the weekend.” Peggy walked over to it and stepped behind the counter. “Isn’t it great!”

  “You… said, ‘I will build a bar?’”

  “Well, have it built. I know a contractor.” Peggy scooped ice into a blender. Its din paused the conversation for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about doing it for a while, and decided, what the hell.”

  “And… this house does not belong to you?”

  “Nope.” Peggy frowned, looking under the counter. “I told them specifically to put the salt and margarita mix in here… Ah! Here we go.”

  “What will the owner say?”

  “I called him Friday after you left. I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  Laurence said nothing. She accepted the margarita that Peggy slid across the counter to her.

  “I said,” the host continued, “‘How about I build you a bar. For free. I’ll take pictures of the patio before it goes up. You don’t like it, I’ll have it put back exactly the way it was when my lease is done.’ He said, ‘Deal.’” The older woman smiled, made her own drink, and they walked to the chairs by the pool.

  “It is a very nice bar,” the French girl said.

  “Thanks. It doesn’t really go with the rest of this place. Early modern, I think this house’s style is called. But screw it, I wanted a Tiki bar. Anyway, if the owner or, more likely, his wife decides that they don’t like it, I’ll just rip it up and take it with me wherever I’m going next. Cheers!”

  They toasted. After a sip, Peggy removed her kimono. Her figure threw a curvy shadow. She glanced at the girl. “No swimsuit for you, huh?”

  In response, Laurence stood up. Expressionless as always, she removed her T-shirt and shorts, revealing a pretty blue bikini underneath. The French girl’s body was slim and athletic, a runner’s build, with small breasts. Her freckled peachy-white skin was so pale it almost reflected the sun.

  “Aha,” Peggy said.

  Laurence sat back down. She gazed out at the sand. It was empty. “I have seen a few beaches here, but none as nice as this one.” She turned to Peggy. “Why are there no people?”

  “It’s private. No access to the public.”

  “Aha.”

  Over the next few days, a ritual developed. Peggy and Laurence would work all day, with a short break for lunch (provided by YuLing), and at five they would repair to the pool area. Gradually, Peggy began talking more and more about her father.

  “He and I would talk on the phone every day. Every day,” she repeated. They were sitting in their usual teak chairs by the hot tub.

  “That is wonderful, to be so close.”

  “He tried getting me to come back to Canada. I said, ‘Dummy, you should be in Los Angeles!’ I called him dummy. He called me idiot.”

  Laurence’s eyebrows rose.

  “It’s tough, you know.” The older woman looked down at her drink. She touched the rim with her finger. “I’m still, like, thinking to myself that I need to tell my dad something when I call him later in the day. And—”

  Peggy sobbed suddenly. She dropped her glass; it shattered on the tiles
.

  Laurence leapt to her feet. She took two steps, careful of the broken shards, and put her hand on her employer’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” Peggy gasped.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “This just happens sometimes.” Peggy took a paper napkin and blew her nose. “Ever since he died. I just… sometimes it will all hit me, and I can’t control anything. The other night, I started crying in the kitchen, and my legs just gave out. I spent twenty minutes on the floor, weeping like a little girl.”

  “Perhaps we should not speak of him?”

  “No.” The older woman wiped her eyes with her hand. “It’s healthy to talk about him. I’m just sorry I’m boring you with it.”

  “You’re not boring me. I think he sounds wonderful. Really.”

  Peggy looked up at Laurence, smiled, and squeezed the girl’s hand.

  When Laurence stood up to go, Peggy rose also. She walked her to the front door. “So this is… Thursday, right?”

  “Yes,” the French girl said.

  “Only one more day till the weekend.”

  “You have plans?”

  “No. But I need a break from all this crap.” She pointed at the upstairs. “You too, probably.”

  “It is fine.”

  “Such poise. Are all French girls as classy as you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good thing you’re all over in France, then. Otherwise, chicks like me wouldn’t have a chance. Hey. Seriously. Thank you.”

  Peggy kissed Laurence on both cheeks. Then, on impulse, she hugged the girl. After a moment, Laurence hugged her back.

  Finally, they pulled apart. “So, tomorrow, right?” the older woman said.

  ”Comme d’habitude.” Laurence smiled—a rare occasion, but becoming less rare—and opened the door. Peggy closed it after her.

  The next day, at five o’clock, the women congratulated themselves. Almost all of the papers had been completely filed in Laurence’s system. The HON cabinets bulged with documents.

  “I do believe it’s time for a drink. Or two,” Peggy said.

  Laurence rose from her desk, looking tired. “Today, two perhaps, yes.”

  As they prepared to leave, the French girl paused. She pointed. “I have been meaning to ask. What is that?”

  Peggy looked. From their high vantage point they could see through the office’s window a small platform in the ocean, bobbing gently. It appeared to be between one hundred and two hundred yards out from the shore, just large enough to set a small car upon.

  The older woman shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a raft of some kind. I guess it’s anchored to the bottom. It’s been there ever since I rented this place, last year.”

  “You have never seen anyone on it?”

  “No. Why?”

  Laurence stared at the raft. “This is a mysterious thing. Why is it there?”

  “I can ask around, if you like.”

  The girl shrugged.

  “Ready for that drink?”

  “Very much.”

  Out by the pool, after Peggy had prepared their Manhattans and margaritas, she and Laurence settled into their chairs as usual. YuLing arrived to say good-bye, then departed.

  “She’s leaving early today,” Peggy remarked. “Her son is getting married.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You are attending the wedding?”

  “No way. I hate weddings. I even hated my own, when it happened. But I gave the newlyweds a nice wedding present. I’m sure they won’t mind that I won’t be there. They don’t know me, anyway.”

  The French girl considered her employer. “You say: you hated your wedding?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Why?” Laurence began applying tanning lotion to her skin. Her peau had begun to brown from days in the afternoon sun.

  “My wedding…” Peggy said. She paused. “My dad gave great advice. He was the sharpest, shrewdest man I’ve ever known. But do you know what the best advice he ever gave me was?”

  “‘Don’t get married?’”

  Peggy laughed loud and long. “No. He was over the moon about that. But he insisted that I make Jeremy—my fiancé—sign a prenup.” She ran a finger down the outside of her drink. Condensation dripped onto the tiled patio. “I almost hated my dad for doing that. Can you imagine how awkward that conversation was that I had with Jeremy? ‘Honey, I love you so much, we’re going to be so happy together, now please just sign on the dotted line.’”

  Laurence made a face. “Could you have said no?”

  “Yeah. And I came close. Really close. But something in the back of my mind told me that my dad was right. As it turned out, he was. I don’t think Jeremy was actually after my money when we were married, but our divorce… it was the most vicious, brutal thing I’ve ever experienced. The venom was unbelievable. I had caught him cheating on me, and the first thing I did was send an email to his mother and father and all of his family, telling them exactly who he had been cheating with and the means by which he deceived me—his lies, his phony phone calls, everything.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “I was hurt. And you know what? I’m still not sorry.” She waited a beat, then: “He screamed about how I was going to BE sorry, that he was going to take everything I had.” Peggy gave Laurence a slow shrewd grin. “No he did-ennnnt,” she sang in a singsong voice. Laughing, she toasted the sky. “Thank you, daddy!”

  Laurence smiled, then offered her glass. Peggy clinked it with her own.

  “I think,” the French girl began, “if I said to my fiancé, ‘Sign a prenuptial agreement please,’ his signature would be on the paper before I had even finished speaking. He is rich, and I have nothing. So!” Laurence made a gesture and flipped her head; but she winced, setting her drink down abruptly upon the table between them.

  Peggy sat up. “Are you all right?”

  “I have a, thing, here.” Laurence raised her left hand up and across her body to massage where her neck and shoulder met.

  “No wonder. You were bent over your desk all day. All week. Here.” Peggy rose from her chair and walked around. Laying gentle hands on Laurence’s shoulders, she began to rub.

  The French girl dropped her own hand. “Thank you,” she sighed.

  “Holy crimoley. Your shoulders feel like rocks. Especially the right one.”

  “Yes.” The girl closed her eyes, tilting her head. “I feel stress easily. I have had two ulcers, and I am not yet twenty-five.”

  Peggy gaped at the back of the girl’s head as she massaged. “Listen. Don’t stress about this job. I’m going to be fine. And you are doing perfect. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Laurence did not answer. She seemed to be lost in a zone.

  After kneading the girl’s shoulders and neck for a long time, the older woman finally released her. “There! I think I got most of that knot out.”

  It took Laurence a few seconds to reply. “That was so nice,” she murmured. Her eyes opened. She slid a finger under her bikini top’s strap and stared at Peggy. “Are you… have you been, professional?”

  The older woman smiled. “I’ve had training. I’ll tell you about it some time. But didn’t you say you needed to leave by seven?”

  “Oh. Yes.” She glanced up. The sky had grown dark.

  “It’s already five past.”

  “The hostel closes the doors at eight.” Laurence rose. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  At the door, Laurence leaned in and gave Peggy a two-cheek kiss.

  “You beat me to it,” the older woman said. She laughed.

  “I must run to the bus. But I will see you, Monday, early.”

  “Better.”

  They traded a long smile. Then the girl left.

  At the end of their working day on Monday, Peggy and Laurence assessed what they had accomplished: all of the papers were neatly filed away, and the French girl had indexed important information in
a spreadsheet that she, much to the older woman’s amazement, found a way to share between their computers.

  “It is called Google documents,” Laurence said. “Log in and you will see everything. You can change everything as well.”

  After following the girl’s instructions, the older woman shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe it. I think I’m actually going to be ready.”

  “As long as no more boxes arrive from Ottawa.”

  “Let’s hope.” Peggy glanced at an empty DHL Shipping box on the floor. “The last one came four days ago, so hopefully that’s it.” She yawned. “It’s just after five. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  As the bikini-clad women settled into their chairs holding drinks, Laurence shot Peggy a quizzical glance. “You said, last time, you have training? For the massage?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Peggy adjusted her custom bikini’s top, flipped her hair over her shoulders, and settled back. She took a big sip of her drink, draining half of it. She looked prosperous and sexy, a magazine cover waiting for a photographer. “When I was younger, I had some romantic ideas about work.” Peggy explained that she had followed an ambition to become a great masseuse. She had spent years training in Japan and Sweden.

  “And… then?” The French girl regarded her with wide eyes, as if more impressed by this than by anything else she had seen or heard at Peggy’s home.

  “Then I got a job in Los Angeles at a spa.” Peggy took another gulp of her drink, draining it. “I lasted two weeks.”

  “What happened?”

  “Rich old crabby ladies. And dirty old men who stared at my chest. That’s what happened.” Peggy looked down, touching her stomach absently. “I realized I really liked massage, I loved it even, but I didn’t enjoy doing it for strangers. Especially rude and creepy people.”

  Laurence nodded. Then she smiled, offering Peggy a coquettish glance. “You give me one, again?”

  Peggy rolled her eyes.

  “I have been working so hard,” Laurence whined. “Bent over the desk. Working on your documents.” She looked under her eyebrows at her employer, making a sad face.

  “Sure, guilt me out,” Peggy muttered. She was unable to suppress a smile. “You found the weakness of Jewish princesses.”