Isle of Palms

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  It was him. I cleared my throat. “Nope.” I giggled. “I just got out of the shower.”

  “Oh. Good! Showers are good!”

  God. He was as much of a dork as I was. “Yeah, well, I was working in the yard.”

  “Ah! So. Um, what time are we getting together tonight?”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Six.”

  How about 6:01? “What are we doing?” A leading question . . .

  “I dunno. I was thinking dinner, a good wine, some moonlight, and then we’d see. How about I pick you up around seven-thirty? We can watch the sunset.”

  “Sounds great,” I said. “Dress code?”

  “Something comfortable—I’m making dinner for us.”

  “Fabulous!” I said, and we hung up.

  I was at war with my closet when Emily came in. She was covered in sand and I could smell beer. Needless to say, she was sunburned.

  “Good Lord, Emily! What happened to you?”

  “Volleyball in front of the One-Eyed Parrot, lots of laughs, and too much sun. Uhh. I need to lie down. David wants to go to some party tonight, but I’m too tired.”

  “Get a shower, take two aspirin, and lie down for a while.” Somehow aspirin could ward off the nausea and headache that came with overexposure to the sun. Not to mention beer.

  “Yeah. I’ll do that right now. You going out?”

  “Just over to Arthur’s—he’s making dinner for us.”

  “Have fun. I’m dead. Where’s Dad?”

  “I think he’s out with some friends—he’ll be in at some point.”

  “Okay.” The bathroom door closed and I heard her start the shower.

  I pulled out a pair of black silk tapered pants that looked pretty good despite their age and tried them on with a slinky horizontal black and beige pin-striped, double V-neck pullover with three-quarter sleeves. It was one of those knitted tops that felt good to touch—the first and most essential consideration. But it looked innocent and at the same time, could slip from one shoulder to reveal the lacy strap of an—at best—marginally concealed weapon. Ooh. I was so bad. I blew my hair out straight, applied very natural looking makeup, except for my eyes. I knew we’d be back out on that dock again and unless I did something a little dramatic with my eye makeup, he wouldn’t be able to see me hypnotizing him. You’re feeling very relaxed. Your guard is down. You want to fall in love with me. You want to lionize me. . . . I decided then that the courtship, or the pursuit, or whatever they called it these days, would be as much fun as the capture. I hadn’t felt so ripe for a hunt in, well, forever. This time I wore flat sandals.

  It was seven-fifteen. Emily was already snoozing. David had called and she told him to call her back at nine and if she was alive, maybe they’d go out for ice cream or something. That sounded reasonable and I had tucked her in, closing the blinds. I heard Arthur’s car and went to the door to meet him so we wouldn’t wake Emily up.

  “Hey!” I whispered, “Emily’s sleeping—too much sun.”

  “Hey, yourself. Let’s go.”

  He looked me up and down and seemed a little self-conscious and nervous. This was a good sign. We drove to his house, making small talk, him looking over at me and when I’d catch his eye, he’d look away.

  “I set up dinner on the dock,” he said.

  How romantic! “Sounds like fun,” I said.

  We walked through the house to the porch and I could see that he had gone to considerable trouble to set a stage. There was a small metal round table at the end of the dock and two chairs. On it was a silver ice bucket with a bottle of something. A little hibachi, resting on the dock’s edge, was sending out smoke signals from its smoldering coals, next to a cooler that I guessed held dinner, protecting the food from bugs and us from salmonella. There was nothing like the smell of lighter fluid to remind me of a more nostalgic time, when everyone used briquettes and didn’t worry about cancer every two minutes. Beside the ice bucket was a small cutting board covered with a clean dish towel over some snacks.

  And, there was a boat at the dock.

  “This is one very groovy picnic,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, while he poured two glasses of wine, handing me one.

  “Thanks. Whose boat?”

  “Oh, the neighbor’s boy I told you about.”

  It was a pretty decent boat—brand-new fiberglass with a fore and aft deck and what appeared to be an area below to sleep. There was a serious fishing chair on the back.

  “Look at the sky,” he said and looped his arm around my waist.

  The western sky held radiating streams of light, coming from the sun through the clouds. Streaks of indigo and gold were spread across the sky where, by the second, the blistering sun was slipping away. The summer sun didn’t disappear into the horizon, but in the lower half of the sky, there seemed to be a fiery line that would open in every shade of heat. The white sun was surrounded by huge stains of red and deep fuchsia—like some great artist had brushed the sky with a paint of opaque jewels. The hotter the day, the more extravagant the sunset.

  I stood there with Arthur and stared, the same way I had when I’d climbed to Lucy’s lookout so many nights, filled with awe to take it all in.

  “Fabulous,” I said. “You know, it makes you wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” he said.

  “About everything.”

  “Are we about to get heavy?”

  “No. It’s too early for philosophy. Besides, you promised to feed me and I am ravenous.”

  “I like my women hungry.”

  “Then you should adore me,” I said, without thinking.

  “That’s exactly what I worry about,” he said.

  I ignored that and said, “I could eat like a man. And, of course you should adore me,” I said, “I’m the perfect woman.” That was pretty outrageous to say so I punched him lightly in the side to show him he needed to lighten up.

  He smiled and so did I.

  “You are?”

  “Yes! I am!”

  “I can’t wait to hear what qualifies you as perfect.”

  “Well, you have to consider the market of what’s available. First, I’m old enough that you don’t have to put me through college.”

  “Which implies . . .”

  “That too many men your age are chasing skirts young enough to be their dependants.”

  “Oh, dear! Can that be true? Butta-bing.”

  “Butta-boom. You know it’s true. They don’t know your music and they heard about your childhood from their parents. Okay?”

  “Ouch!”

  “So much for dating girls instead of women. Secondly, I don’t want anything from you.”

  “You don’t?”

  He pulled me to his chest, held my arms behind my back, and licked my neck, giving me goose bumps and weak knees.

  “Well, besides the obvious.”

  We exchanged knowing smirks and then he let me go.

  “I’m gonna cook our veal chops before it gets too dark. Medium?”

  “Whatever you think,” I said. “See? That’s another thing. I’m agreeable. Most women are always giving orders and nagging. Not me.”

  “Well, if there’s one thing I truly hate, it’s somebody getting in my face and telling me what’s wrong with me. That’s the fastest way to get rid of me.”

  “Me too. Growing up I had nuns for teachers and a grandmother who didn’t like one single thing about me. Mainly because I look like my mother, who she hated.”

  “Ah! Here’s comes the flaw! Emotional baggage!”

  “Negative! I keep my baggage to myself, thanks. I’m old enough that I’m over it.”

  “Really? Nothing bothers you about your past?”

  (For the rest of this date, the role of the Seductress will be played by the Liar.)

  “Nope.”

  “Wow.”

  “And, I don’t want to get involved either. I mean, I’d like to have a guy friend, maybe with privilege
s.”

  “Privileges?”

  “You know. . . .”

  Even in the fading light, I could see him smiling, thinking he had just struck pay dirt.

  “Well, that seems completely reasonable. After all, we’re two adults, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  I took the plastic container of salad from the cooler and mixed it with the dressing, refilled our wineglasses, and watched him cook as the day disappeared. Over dinner, which was so good I couldn’t believe it, we talked about him. If there was one thing I had learned, it was that men liked to talk about themselves.

  “Really? You came to Charleston for the summer because it’s boring in New York? That’s a new one.”

  “Well,” he said, “the regular restaurantgoers leave for the Hamptons on Thursday or Friday so the city is left to the tourists. And August is almost completely dead. Anyway, I always wanted to see what Charleston was like and it was a good time to do it.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think Charleston is the best-kept secret in America. I mean, everybody’s heard of it but they don’t know how cool it really is. If I didn’t have my son in New York, I might stay forever. Who knows? And, the people are nice.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Dinner was finished and I stood up to take his plate, thinking I would just put everything in the cooler and help him carry it back up to the house. I thought we’d probably do the dishes and then sit on the porch. Maybe I could get him in the hammock with me. He had other plans. When I reached for his plate he put his hand around my wrist.

  “Not so fast,” he said, “it’s too nice out here.” He pulled me to his lap and I put my plate back on the table.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “You.”

  Well, that was it. We picked up right where we had left off the last Sunday. Next thing I know, he throws a beach towel on the dock and we’re lying on it. Thank God it had become dark. Next thing I know after that, we’re both naked and about to get it on, right there on the damn dock for all the world to see. I couldn’t continue. It was too bohemian.

  “Arthur!”

  “What?”

  “We can’t do this on the dock!”

  “Why not?”

  When I didn’t answer, he got up and pulled me to my feet.

  “Get on board.”

  It was the perfect solution. Without a word and without a stitch of clothes, we climbed on the boat. Sure enough, there was a small cabin below with a couch that converted to a bed. We pulled the back cushions away and resumed. For the next two hours, there was a whole lot of moaning and gymnastics and you name it.

  “Arthur!”

  “Anna.”

  Not a lot of chitchat. But he said my name and I loved hearing it the way he said it. It sounded like he was saying, Finally. At last. It was enough. I didn’t need a running commentary. You know the old actions speak louder than words? Arthur was amazing. The fact that we were in such a tight space and the boat rocked with the incoming tide only added to the wildest—well, let’s just say it was amazing and be done with the details. Except for this—at one point, my heart was beating so hard, I thought I might die. And, if there had been an Olympic medal for endurance, Arthur would’ve taken the gold.

  Alright, that was more than I intended to say.

  We were lulled by the water’s movement. The cabin smelled like us and I loved the smell. He looked so innocent! Who knew? Occasionally, I would hear the sounds of gulls and then the water lapping against the hull finally put me into the deepest sleep. It had to have been after two in the morning.

  I was dreaming one minute and the next minute I heard something like a horn. Arthur got up.

  “You folks alright?”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I peeked out the tiny window. There was a Coast Guard boat with two men right next to us and it appeared that we had floated down from our dock on the Isle of Palms to the Ben Sawyer Bridge on Sullivan’s Island. It was morning. I was naked. Arthur was naked. The sun was up. We were in the worst sort of compromised position. There wasn’t a beach towel or a T-shirt anywhere to cover ourselves. Were we going to be arrested? I panicked and covered myself with a cushion, hoping they wouldn’t come on our boat. No such luck.

  “Want to put on some pants, sir?”

  The voice came from just a few feet away. He was on our boat.

  “It seems I left them at our dock and it appears that we floated quite a ways and, um . . . my wife’s in there, sir, and she’s, um, in the same situation. Wedding anniversary.”

  Wife? Wedding anniversary? PLEASE DON’T LOOK IN HERE!

  “I see,” said the official who could and probably would ruin my at life any second. “Can you start the boat?”

  “Um, it actually belongs to my neighbor. I don’t know the first thing about boats.”

  I wanted to die. There were no curtains. Nothing. A seat cushion. Now I find out that I am with the King of the Screws and he can’t start a freaking boat. Great. I was already visualizing our pictures in the paper with some sensational headline. LOVE BOAT COUPLE FOUND NAKED AND ARRESTED.

  “Lower the engine and turn the key!” I shouted. “Anybody got a T-shirt or something?”

  “Harry! Gimme my windbreaker,” I heard the man say and then saw a windbreaker fly through the opening, landing not far from my foot. “Well, if this ain’t the goddamndest thaing I seen in a long time. Why don’t I follow you folks home and let’s just verify a few facts.”

  I stuck my leg out and pulled the jacket toward me with my toes. We were going to be arrested for stealing a boat, public nudity, and who knew what else? I contemplated suicide. I put on the windbreaker and at that same second, I spotted a yellow box of garbage bags, the big black kind. I pulled the windbreaker around myself and grabbed one. I tore a hole in the top for my head and two more in the sides for my arms. Stepping aside from the opening, I took off the windbreaker and put the bag on over my head. Nice dress. Jim should see me now, I thought. I fixed another bag for Arthur and handed it out through the opening.

  “Pull this over your head, nature boy.”

  “Thanks.”

  I caught the eye of the Coast Guard officer and saw that he was snickering. Well, if he thought this was funny, maybe we wouldn’t get in trouble. I decided to play along, thinking that if we entertained them, things would go easier when we got back to the dock. I went on deck in all my black plastic splendor. My hair was all in knots and I could feel my lips were swollen. I must have been some sight.

  “Can you start this boat, ma’am?”

  “Of course I can! I’m from here, unlike my Yankee husband!” I turned the key and lowered the engine into the water, then revved it up. “Pull in the bumpers, okay, honey? And the rope?”

  I watched Arthur pull the white bumpers and the soggy rope over the side and into the boat.

  “Honey? When we get home, I’m gonna kill you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Arthur said, “I should’ve checked the knots.”

  “Well, darling, this sure was the most unforgettable anniversary we ever had.”

  “How many years you two been married?”

  “Ten,” I said, at the same time Arthur said, “Twelve.”

  “What’s your name, Officer?” I said, pretending there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m Chief Bill Benton. Happy anniversary.”

  “Thanks, Chief Benton. Nothing but bliss for all these years.”

  As the boat sped up the Intracoastal Waterway, all I could do was hope to God I could remember where the dock was. Arthur stood next to me and elbowed me when it was time to slow down and make the turn. Chief Benton helped me dock the boat. When he saw our clothes and the table and all our things on the dock, he smiled and shook his head. We climbed out and shook hands with him.

  “The boat belongs to the son of our neighbor over there,” Arthur said and
pointed to the house. “What time is it?”

  “Five-thirty. I don’t want to wake them up. Boat looks okay. You know, I shoulda done this with my Patsy thirty years ago. She woulda loved it.”

  “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Arthur said.

  “Maybe it’s not too late!” I said, pretending to be his new friend.

  The chief winked at me and said, “No harm done, I suppose. You folks stay happy, okay?” He flagged his partner to approach the dock and in a minute he was pulling away, laughing at us.

  Arthur turned to me and we just started laughing, laughing so hard that tears ran down our faces. I was pulling my underwear on under the bag like a contortionist. Then, I had one leg in my pants and then the other. Finally, I put on my top and ran my hands through my hair.

  “I wish I’d had a camera,” I said. “Oh, my God! You shoulda seen your face!”

  “And yours! When you came out in that bag, I lost it!”

  “I thought I looked pretty darn good! Some anniversary!”

  “Want a divorce?” he asked.

  “Are you crazy? I want to know what we’re gonna do for an encore!”

  I went home and sneaked inside. Emily and Jim were sleeping and I thanked heaven for that small favor. I took a shower and since it was too early to get up, I decided to lie down on the couch with a quilt. All I could think about was Arthur and what had gone on between us. Coast Guard rescue aside, I knew I would never get him out of my system. I had fallen in love and in lust and I don’t even know in what order. Not get involved? Yeah, good luck.

  Twenty-eight

  Incredible Odds

  I DRAGGED myself into the salon by nine, grateful that no one knew what had happened last night. But on a curious note, I wanted to tell somebody about my “cruise” because without question, it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to me. It was even more insane than a Lucy story, and those were my benchmarks for the outrageous. Nonetheless, I said nothing, thinking maybe I would tell Jim and Frannie. It was too fabulous to file away and repress.

  “Here’s your schedule for today,” Lucy said, handing me the list. “You look worn out, girl. What’d you do last night?”

  “Hot date with the Cheese Whiz.”

  “Isn’t it always about men?”