Anne's Collection #1: Five Stories

by Anne Eton

  Laurence beamed. She rose and moved her chair so that it was just in front of Peggy’s, facing away. The girl sat lightly upon it once more, pulling her hair away and over to offer her neck and shoulders.

  “I can see this is going to be a thing,” Peggy said. She laid her hands upon the girl’s skin and her fingertips pressed, searched for tightness.

  “Wait,” Laurence said. Peggy lifted her palms. Laurence bent forward, undid her bikini top with a quick movement, and tossed it onto the table. She leaned back again.

  After a pause, the French girl looked over her shoulder at Peggy. “Problem?”

  “Sure you want to go topless?” the older woman asked.

  “It does not bother me. In Europe…”

  “Yeah, I know. In Europe everybody does it. But here, you can get arrested.”

  Laurence stared. “By who?”

  “Well, the cops, if they catch you…”

  “But this is a private beach. I have seen no cops here.”

  “There’s also the neighbors. You want them looking?”

  Laurence glanced to her right. “Who lives there?” She pointed at a large dark adjacent structure that looked like the ultimate ‘70s beach house. The window blinds were drawn, shutting out the sun.

  “An elderly couple. I don’t know their names.”

  The girl looked to her left. Another large dwelling, styled like a Mediterranean villa. “And there?”

  “No one. I think. The owner’s absent.”

  Laurence looked back over her shoulder at Peggy. “I think no one will notice, and if they do I do not care. But if YOU care…” She reached for her top.

  “Whoa!” Peggy held up her palms. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. Just giving you the heads-up.”

  “The what?”

  “A cultural context.”

  “Ah.” The girl smiled, leaning back again. Her top remained on the table. “Thank you for this context.”

  Peggy resumed massaging. The girl’s shoulders were tight, though not as bad as on the past Friday. Her eyes closed again. She exhaled, a sound of pleasure.

  “I can see this is going to be a thing,” the older woman repeated.

  Laurence’s eyelids opened, slowly. She looked drowsy. “Did you buy that in Japan?” She nodded at the kimono that Peggy always wore to the pool. It lay in a heap on the tiles where she had let it drop.

  “Yep.” The brunette shifted slightly in her seat, giving herself more leverage. “Like it?”

  Laurence did not reply. Peggy glanced. The girl’s eyes were closed again, savoring her masseuse’s expert kneading. A tiny moan escaped her lips.

  Peggy looked at the small strips of white flesh on the shoulders where Laurence’s bikini straps had rested. Peggy’s gaze wandered further. The French girl’s breasts pointed straight at the late-afternoon sun like spears. They shone almost porcelain-white, speckled with freckles and capped with delicate pink nipples.

  After staring at them for a few minutes, Peggy started, catching herself. “Your boobs are gonna burn,” she said. “We’re facing into the sun.”

  Laurence groaned. Like a petulant child, she grabbed a tube of suntan lotion off the table and squirted goo into a palm. The blonde rubbed her hands together and slapped lotion onto her breasts with an impatient roughness before settling back into her chair.

  As Peggy continued to work the shoulder and neck muscles through Laurence’s damp skin, the older woman looked down once more. A glob of white lotion rested on the girl’s breast. After a while, it began to slowly slide down. Peggy watched it finally drop off. It landed on the girl’s bare thigh.

  At length, Peggy gave Laurence’s shoulders one last squeeze and lifted her hands. “All right, French girl. How do you say ‘That’s it?’”

  Laurence pouted and protested, but Peggy held firm.

  The next day, as Laurence walked up to the bar, she pulled off her tight T-shirt with a fluid movement. “The ocean is so beautiful today,” she called back to Peggy. Gazing at the water, the French girl reached with both hands and unclipped her bra. She set it on the barstool where she had already deposited her shirt.

  “Yeah,” her employer replied. She passed Laurence and walked around behind the bar to make the drinks as usual, trying not to glance. Laurence unzipped her jeans and removed them. She sat her bikini-covered bottom on a free barstool.

  ”C’est magnifique,” the girl murmured. A storm during the previous night had removed the usual layer of smog upon the horizon, creating a golden glow all over the ocean’s water. Laurence kept her eyes upon it, not even glancing as Peggy slid her customary margarita across the bar counter to her.

  “It’s nice, that’s for sure,” the older woman said. She seemed preoccupied. “I think I may need a third drink today, so I’m going to make it right now, okay? Here in the states, we call that ‘triple fisting.’”

  Laurence finally gave her employer her full attention. “What is wrong?”

  “I dunno, just a little stressed. It’s fine.” Peggy crushed three times her usual amount of ice in the blender.

  “Do you want me to help you again with the files?” This had been the first day that Laurence had returned full-time to working on only the French documents.

  “No, I’m fine. Just distracted. Say,” the brunette said, changing the subject. She twisted suddenly to point at the waves, making her heavy breasts wobble in their bikini top. “Do you surf?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I was going to say, there is a surfboard in the garage.”

  “I love to swim. I love the ocean.”

  Peggy lifted her drinks, and they walked to their usual chairs. “Well, feel free,” the older woman said. “But there is no lifeguard, and you can’t depend on me to save you. Even if I do have these life preservers built in.” She shook her bosom playfully. Then she shivered. “The ocean scares me to death.”

  “Why?” They sat.

  “I saw Jaws when I was a kid.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m terrified of the ocean. I won’t even dip my toes in.”

  “Pfff.”

  “Seriously. But, if you want to take a dip, be my guest.”

  Laurence looked out at the water. “Have you ever swam in the dark?” she asked in her soft, lilting French accent.

  “Night swimming?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the ocean?” Peggy looked at the waves disbelievingly.

  “Yes.”

  “It sounds like a good way to die. And die screaming. I don’t even know what kind of currents are out there.”

  “You have these… how do you call them?” The girl pointed far down the beach. At a distant point, only just visible, was an outcropping of boulders that stuck into the sea like a giant finger.

  “Breakwaters.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m still not jumping into the sea. And I don’t think you should, either. Swimming at night? You could get lost.”

  Laurence closed her eyes. She tilted her head, letting the sun warm it. “You can know from the noise of the waves where the beach is. And here there are many high buildings with lights. In moonlight, I think it is absolutely no problem.”

  Peggy just shook her head.

  Soon, the French girl requested what she called “the daily massage.” After token resistance, Peggy nodded. The smiling blonde moved her chair in front of Peggy as before. Once she was situated, the older woman pulled her own chair up slightly so that her splayed knees touched the back of the girl’s chair. Peggy placed her hands on Laurence’s shoulders and began rubbing.

  “So tell me about this guy, back in France. Your to-be husband.”

  “His name is Phillipe.”

  “Whoa.”

  “What?”

  “You just felt… you got tense, all of a sudden. Relax.”

  “I am fine.”

  The older woman slowly worked her hands from the outside of Laurence’s shoulders up, ending at her ears. She rubbed the earl
obes gently. The girl sighed, and her eyes closed.

  “That’s better. You’re loosening up,” Peggy said.

  “You are… you have amazing skill.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Flatterer. You’re just trying to get more massages.”

  “Even if I was, that would be also a compliment, no?” The girl moaned softly.

  “So, Phillipe. What does he do?”

  “He owns a business in Paris. He repossesses airplanes. Small ones. People buy them, and when they cannot pay the bank…”

  “Right. You’re getting tense again. Stop it.”

  “Sorry.” She sighed.

  “Do you not want to talk about him?”

  “No, I mean yes, I like talking about him. We have been apart for a long time, perhaps this is why I am tense.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “He is very successful.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “After I finished my business degree, I interviewed for a job at his company. At the end he said, ‘I cannot offer you employment, but I can offer you dinner.’”

  Peggy made a repulsed face. “Wow.”

  “What?” The girl’s eyes opened. She looked at Peggy over her shoulder.

  “That’s kind of sexual harassment, or something, in this country.”

  “Even if the man has not employed you?”

  “It’s sort of out of bounds.”

  “I see.” Laurence turned forward again and craned her head to give Peggy better access to the base of her neck. “I think, and I do not mean to be rude, but things are different in France.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” Peggy laughed. “So… you haven’t known him very long?”

  “No,” the French girl said sharply. “I mean no,” she added in a gentler voice. “It has been, I think you say, a ‘whirlwind romance.’”

  Laurence had again tensed visibly. Peggy asked no more questions. The older woman worked to loosen the girl’s upper-body muscles once more. After a while, she succeeded. Eyes closed, Laurence sighed and smiled.

  After many minutes, the girl’s eyelids opened slightly. Glancing over her shoulder she watched a moment, then smiled. “They cannot compare.”

  “What?” Peggy asked, startled. Laurence had caught her staring at her breasts.

  “These.” The blonde shook her chest playfully; her small breasts wobbled only a little. “They cannot compare to yours.”

  “I think you’ve had your massage ration for the day,” the older woman said, pretending to be stern. She lifted her hands.

  Once again Laurence pouted and protested, and once again Peggy held firm. Finally, the girl shrugged. She looked out at the ocean again. “What time is it?”

  Glancing at her phone, Peggy answered: “About six-thirty.”

  “I would like to swim.” The girl rose. She looked at her host. “Will you come with me?”

  “I can watch you from here.”

  “Okay.”

  Laurence turned and walked toward steps that led to the sand.

  “Remember,” Peggy warned, “you don’t want to get caught topless.”

  The French girl smiled back at her, not breaking stride. Taking the stairs two at a time, she hit the beach running. Peggy watched her grow smaller as she sprinted toward the ocean. As she reached the water the foam from a large wave rushed and eddied around her feet; she dashed forward, pulling her knees high with every step. A wave arrived to greet her and she jackknifed into it.

  Peggy stood up. She shielded her brow against the remains of the dying sun shining in her eyes. As seconds passed, she appeared more anxious. Finally, she turned and followed Laurence’s path down onto the sand and toward the water.

  At the edge of the surf, Peggy stopped. She looked around uneasily. After a short time, she appeared like she was ready to start shouting for help.

  Laurence’s head popped out of the churning ocean’s surface, silhouetted by the setting sun. Peggy exhaled. The girl approached, rising slowly out of the water.

  “Aren’t you cold?” The older woman asked when she had finally arrived.

  Laurence laughed and said no. She flicked her head from side to side, ejecting water from her ears. She seemed vibrant, happy, alive. “After you enter, for two seconds you are cold, then it leaves you.”

  “You were in there forever.” They began walking back to the house.

  “Yes?” Laurence appeared puzzled. “I thought I swam only a short time. I’m sorry. I did not want to worry you.”

  Peggy entered the house to find a towel. When she returned, she saw the French girl rinsing off in the outside shower. Her bikini bottoms lay in a soggy heap next to the shower’s drain. The French girl’s body showed very little fat, yet boasted tight curves. A thin blonde bush created a small triangle between her legs.

  Peggy placed the folded towel on the chair nearest to the girl. Laurence opened her eyes and smiled. “Hello!”

  “Hello.”

  Laurence turned to shut off the water. Peggy’s eyes glanced at the girl’s pert butt, round and tanlined.

  After a quick dry-off, Laurence pulled on her jeans, commando. “A wonderful day.”

  Peggy smiled. “I haven’t seen you this happy since we opened those first boxes of documents.”

  The girl laughed. “This is a joke, right?”

  Peggy nodded.

  “It is so good to swim in the ocean. Even if it is not quite dark.” Laurence walked to the barstools. “There’s nothing else that makes you feel so alive.” She donned her bra, fastening it behind her. “You feel free.”

  “Uh-huh,” Peggy said, watching.

  “I cannot explain it.” The blonde put on her T-shirt, pulling her wet hair out and tying it into a knot behind her head. “You must experience it to understand. Will you come with me, next time?”

  “Hell no.”

  Laurence laughed again. Nothing could sour her mood. She twisted water out of her bikini bottoms and shoved them into her jeans pocket.

  At the door, Laurence grew serious. “You do not mind, the massage?”

  “Of course not. I’ll just take it out of your paycheck.”

  “This is another joke, I hope.”

  “Sure. Although you wouldn’t believe what my rate was, for those two weeks I worked at the spa. But really, don’t worry. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  A dreamy look came over the girl’s face. “I have always loved massage, the receiving. If I was wealthy, I would not spend money on food, or even wine. Only massage. Every day, all day.”

  “Yeah, well. I have a feeling the poor girl or dude might get tired.”

  Laurence laughed again. She looked very pretty.

  “I’m really glad you had such a great time,” Peggy continued. “You need to relax more. You always seem kind of serious and stressed.”

  “Ah yes. Massage plus swimming always gives me the perfect day.” She kissed Peggy slowly on both cheeks. “Have a good weekend.”

  Peggy flushed. “Okay, uh. So, today’s Thursday. The weekend’s not quite here yet.”

  Laurence slapped her forehead. “I forgot!”

  “That’s okay.” Peggy considered a wet spot on the girl’s jeans where her pocket held the bikini bottom. “You want a bag or something for that?”

  “This? No, it is not necessary. I will see you tomorrow.”

  “Bright and early,” Peggy said, beaming as she opened the door. Laurence’s happiness was infectious.

  “Bright and early,” the girl repeated. She bounded out, waving to Peggy over her shoulder.

  Later that night, in bed, Peggy glanced up from a book. Her phone on her bedside table was buzzing. She set the book down and picked up the phone. The caller ID said, “UNKNOWN.” She waited. Shortly after it stopped ringing, the voicemail light appeared. She called her voicemail and entered her security code.

  “Hello Peggy.” It was Laurence. She sounded as clinical and detached as she had been the first day they had met. “This is the number I have f
or you from the temp agency paperwork. I hope you receive this message. I am sorry to say that I have sad news from home. My father has died.”

  Peggy’s jaw dropped. “So,” Laurence continued, “I will not be arriving for work tomorrow. I’m very sorry. I will give you information about when I may return, if you still want me, later. Please accept my apologies. Due to the nature of this emergency, I cannot anticipate when I will have more firm information to tell you. Bye.”

  Peggy dialed the number. She received a recording saying that that number did not receive incoming calls.

  As she was finishing dressing, her phone rang again. “UNKNOWN.”

  Peggy answered immediately. “Laurence?”

  “Hello.” The girl’s voice sounded as flat as before.

  “Jesus, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. I will be at work tomorrow, after all.”

  “What?”

  “That is why I’m calling. Before, I called you too soon. I cannot return in time for the funeral. So I will remain here in California.”

  “You can’t… wait a minute. Where are you?”

  “At the hostel.”

  “Do you have any other phone, besides the one you’re calling on?”

  “No. It is the house phone. It does not accept incoming calls, that is why I did not leave the number…”

  “Yeah,” Peggy interrupted. “I found that out. Just tell me, from the beginning, what happened.”

  Laurence’s father had journeyed to Marseille on business. The girl had not known that, but then she knew very little about his life. Soon after he arrived in that city, he came down with pneumonia and entered the hospital. After ten days, he succumbed. His passing had happened almost a week ago. Her stepmother had not bothered to inform Laurence. Laurence had only discovered what had happened from an email sent from a hospital administration person, who when filing the necessary paperwork had noticed her name and email address on the hospital form her father had filled out on admission. He had listed Laurence as his number-two next of kin, following his wife.

  “Oh my God,” Peggy said.

  “After I called you, I called Michelle—his wife. She told me the funeral is scheduled for tomorrow. So I cannot return in time.”

  A long pause followed. “Peggy?”