Point Dume

by Katie Arnoldi

  The ocean was very alive back then. Otters still lived in the area and you could see them lying on their backs in the kelp beds, banging on sea urchins with rocks they brought up from the ocean floor. There were abalone on the big reefs, baby octopus hiding in the tide pools and the beach was littered with beautiful shells. You could go skin diving with a Hawaiian sling and, nine times out of ten, come back with a nice sized halibut for dinner. But the otters were gone now and the clams not safe to eat due to all the pollution in the bay. Ellis hadn’t seen a halibut in years and the beach was often littered with Styrofoam and bits of plastic instead of shells.

  She hadn’t been to the old clamming spot in a long time. When you’re a child, distances seem so great. Walking there now Ellis realized that it just wasn’t that far away, maybe a mile at the most. The day was overcast and damp, again. The surf was flat and it looked like it might rain. Ellis pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt. There were a bunch of kids up ahead gathered around a fire that was producing a cloud of black smoke. As she got closer, Ellis could see that they were burning a surfboard. It made her smile. She and her friends used to sacrifice their broken boards to the surf gods as a bribe for waves. If no one had broken a board, they’d just steal one out of someone’s garage or backyard. In fact, they preferred stealing the surfboards because it raised the stakes; the bigger the sacrifice, the bigger the waves. Once they had secured a board, they collected driftwood from up along the cliffs, then dug a deep hole in the sand. Ellis would build a teepee from the wood and balance the surfboard on top then organized the boys around the pit in a semi-circle. She doused the board with the gasoline, which Kirby or Bud had siphoned out of one of cars parked up on the road, then lit a match and tossed it into the pit. There was always a huge explosion and a couple of times there’d been a problem with singed hair but no one was ever seriously hurt, a miracle now that Ellis thought about it. The explosion was an important part of the ritual; bigger flames equaled a bigger swell. The thing was, it worked. A swell always hit within a week of the sacrifice. Was that possible? That’s how Ellis remembered it.

  A couple of the boys shouted and waved. She’d been surfing with these kids since they could paddle out but as they got older their differences began to disappear. They all had long and uncombed white-blond surf-rat hair. They were all tan, strong and lean. They wore trunks and sweat-shirts like it was a uniform. No, Ellis couldn’t tell one grom from the other.

  “Ellis, I love you.” One little grom raised his hand to the sky.

  “Ellis, will you have my baby?” Another dropped to his knees and prayed.

  “We worship you Ellis,” shouted a third.

  Ellis laughed and kept walking.

  “Ellis, will you suck my dick?” This was a deeper voice, devoid of fun and innocence. At least one of them had crossed over from childhood but she didn’t bother to turn around and check the face. She just kept walking.

  FRANK CLIMBS OVER

  THE GATE WAS LOCKED. OF COURSE IT WAS. ELLIS WOULD never give him a key. He’d asked, repeatedly. She didn’t have a bell or any kind of intercom and there wasn’t cell phone reception in this area, so if he showed up at her house, and she forgot to open the padlock, Frank was stuck. You couldn’t see the house from the road, no way to signal. You’d have to drive a couple miles back to the highway, where phones worked, and call to tell her to walk up and unlock the gate. Why couldn’t she just give him the damn key? That little fuck Pablo had a key. From what he could tell, most of her friends had keys. It’s not like he wanted access to her house, just her driveway.

  Frank was angry. It had been building for days. Ellis wouldn’t take his calls, didn’t respond to his messages. He was barely in control. Couldn’t concentrate, his kids were avoiding him and his poor wife was walking around like a dog who’d been kicked one too many times.

  Nothing with this goddamn woman was easy. Well, fuck it. Frank turned off the ignition, got out of his car, took off his suit jacket and tie, folded them and lay them on the backseat, then locked the car. He’d been in town, meeting with his banker, and hadn’t bothered to go home and change. Fuck it. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the fence, stuck the toes of his leather shoes into the chain-link—this would probably leave permanent scratches—and hoisted himself up. It was an old fence and he could feel the wire sag with his weight. He pulled himself up, careful not to snag his pants on the twisted-off jagged top, then lowered himself on the other side. There were rust marks on the front of his shirt. Did rust wash out?

  He walked down the driveway, watching his step through the thick slippery carpet of eucalyptus leaves and fallen branches. She really should keep this swept; it was dangerous.

  The little house was covered by some kind of creeping vine. A couple of the windows were completely overgrown and Frank couldn’t even see the roof shingles. Not good. Left unchecked, a vine like that would undermine the integrity of the entire cottage. It was a wonder that she did-n’t have leaks. Maybe she did. Plus, that kind of density of foliage provided an ideal home for rodents. And what about the fireplace? Had it ever been cleaned? That could be a real hazard. Frank thought he might send his best gardener Benicio, maybe he wouldn’t even tell her—just do it. Or he could send Quico who was an absolute genius. The two of them together could straighten the place up in no time. It was a cute house, built in the twenties, kind of Cape Codish. Must be worth a fortune. Coat of paint, clean windows, he could send over a whole crew. She’d appreciate it. Wouldn’t she?

  Her truck was in the driveway and suddenly Frank felt nervous. He didn’t have a plan. She’d been a total bitch the last few times he’d seen her, flat out told him to go away. Why should this time be different?

  The front door was closed. He opened the screen and tried the handle. Locked. Frank knocked and peered into the window. There were some dirty dishes in the sink, Ellis was no housekeeper, and the newspaper was spread out on the table. He knocked again and called out then walked around the deck to her bedroom window and looked in. The bed was unmade but Ellis wasn’t in it, nor was anybody else—thank God. He pounded on the window, just in case she was in the bathroom. Nothing. She was probably somewhere down on the beach, or driving around with Pablo. Hell, she could be out of town.

  So, what were his choices? He could make himself comfortable on the deck and wait for her return. He could break into her house, wait there. He could trash the place, teach her a lesson. Frank pulled one of the teak chairs over to the corner of the porch and sat down to wait.

  ELLIS FINALLY GETS WHAT SHE WANTS

  FRANK HELD HER WRISTS BEHIND HER BACK WHILE HE kissed her hard. Ellis didn’t struggle; she knew she could free her hands but she liked the illusion of submission. There was anger in Frank’s grip, he was hurting her a little bit, and it was thrilling. He pushed her up against the wall and ground his body against her.

  “This what you’re looking for?” He kissed her again then bit her neck. “What you’ve been after all along, huh?”

  Ellis smiled. It would certainly break the mood if she answered, “Yes, as a matter of fact this is exactly what I’ve been waiting for. It’s about time you grew some balls.” Instead she moaned as he kissed her and ran his hands over her breasts.

  He was rough, not at all his usual careful self. He released her wrists, grabbed the neck of her t-shirt with both hands and ripped it straight down the middle. Ellis wasn’t wearing a bra and she could feel her nipples tighten with excitement. No one had ever treated her this way. Ellis had spent her life dominating people, everyone around her, but not today. There was actually something a little scary about Frank’s rage. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her body close to him. With his right hand he grabbed her breast and pinched her nipple between his thumb and index finger then squeezed while he glared into her eyes. The pain shot straight through her body and lodged, sharp and hard, right between her legs. This was new, something she couldn’t control. She was completely present, mind and body, feeling the pain
, not thinking ahead to what was next, not drifting away from the moment. For the first time, Frank had her.

  And then he let her go. He walked towards the door, picked up his keys off the table and stepped out onto the porch. He was leaving.

  Ellis stood for a moment and watched him walk away. Let him go, she thought. He’ll be back. But then she rushed outside, not bothering to cover her bare breasts, not caring who saw her. She grabbed him by the arm but he didn’t turn.

  “Wait.”

  He turned and she saw his anger. He looked like a different person, harder, almost mean and all business-like in his fancy clothes. “Stay,” she said.

  Frank grabbed Ellis above the elbow and led her back into the house. His grip was too strong, his pull too forceful, and Ellis knew there would be a bruise but she felt peaceful and calm. He kicked the door, hard, so it slammed shut. Then he released her arm.

  “Take off your pants.”

  Ellis didn’t question him. She unzipped her jeans and let them drop to the ground. Who knew that surrendering control could be so damn exciting? She started to take off her white lace thong but Frank shook his head.

  “Bend over.” His voice was harsh as he pointed at the dining table.

  Ellis practically swooned at the command. She moved the chair aside and leaned over the table. A giggle, like an itch, was working toward the surface but she held her breath. She braced herself on the table and waited. She could feel Frank standing there behind her, looking at her. She could feel his heat and the extreme reaction from her body. She thought he’d touch her soon, maybe caress her ass; he loved her ass. But nothing happened. She just stood there for what seemed like minutes. She longed to turn around, to kiss him, to bring him back to her, but she dared not. This was Frank’s game now, Frank’s rules. Somehow he’d taken the wheel and she liked it, she loved it. Why did she want to cry?

  He cupped her ass with both hands then ran his fingers lightly along the center, down to where the panties hugged her pussy. He touched her through the fabric, pushing gently along the ridge of her clit, a tease that made her throb. Then he went back to rubbing her ass. Round and round his hands went over the smooth skin of her cheeks. It felt sexy and somehow nurturing. Ellis found herself relaxing into the massage; nothing had ever felt so good. She pushed back into his hands and found herself moaning with pleasure. No man had ever taken her here.

  And then he hauled off and slapped her. It wasn’t like the playful spankings that she sometimes gave Pablo, little swats to let him know she was in charge. No. This was meant to hurt. And it did. It knocked her sideways and she almost fell. She braced herself on the table and waited for what came next, hypnotized by the violence of it. One, two, three times he slapped her ass. The sear and sting of his hand was exhilarating. She could feel her pussy ignite. So why was she crying, long racking sobs?

  WHAT PABLO THINKS

  GROWING UP WITHOUT A FATHER WAS ROUGH BUT AT LEAST my mother paid attention to me. Maybe a little too much attention at times, especially through the teen years when she’d show up at the high school unannounced to bring me lunch or a sweater if the weather changed. She’d drop by the beach to watch me surf a little too often; but I felt loved. That’s the thing about her, she loves everything and everybody. And it’s real, I’m telling you.

  Ellis’ father, on the other hand, was a real dick. I think he was actually kind of crazy but she made a point of keeping her friends away from him. Didn’t seem like he was around that much. My mother knew, all the parents did. They whispered about him when they didn’t think we were listening. And I know my mother really wanted to help, act as some kind of surrogate, show Ellis some love. She was always saving stray animals and worrying about other people’s problems. She cared. But she and Ellis just never clicked.

  The first time Ellis came over to my house was a wet, foggy morning in June. The surf was flat and none of the other kids had shown up at the beach except us two. I got a mini-bike for my birthday and asked her if she wanted to try it. She’d never been to my house. We walked in the front gate and there was my hippie mother, working in the succulent garden, topless as usual, her very large breasts hanging down, singing at the top of her lungs: “Really love your peaches, want to shake your tree…” I was used to this, she never put on a shirt if she didn’t have to and never, ever wore a bra. She was the ultimate earth mama, soft and pillowy, welcoming. But it embarrassed Ellis. I saw it right away. So did my mother and to her credit, she went right inside and got one of her gauzy Indian tunics. She tried to start over by welcoming Ellis with a hug and asking if she’d like something to eat. But the tunic was extremely sheer and my mother’s saucer-like nipples were just about eye level with that eight-year-old girl. Ellis backed away in horror.

  We went to the garage and got the bike started then took turns riding up and down the street. Ellis was a natural rider, of course, and she seemed to have a good time. My mother brought us sandwiches with her homemade peanut butter and strawberry jam on brown bread but Ellis wouldn’t touch them. She went home early and didn’t come over for a long time after that. On the rare occasions when she would visit, my mother always made an effort, tried for a connection. But Ellis was never interested in talking about cosmic energy and the importance of tapping into the life source through chanting and guided meditation. She didn’t want to string necklaces out of glass beads and bits of shells that my mother collected. Nor did she want to hear the latest Ravi Shankar record or learn any of my mother’s Ethiopian dances. She certainly did not want to be touched. Nope, the two of them just couldn’t find common ground.

  As far as I know, my mother was the only woman who made an effort. As we got older, Ellis got tougher, and my guess is she scared the other mothers away. Or maybe they were just busy with their own lives. Anyway, there was no maternal figure, no warm affectionate guiding light, no village for Ellis Gardner. I don’t know who taught her about the female stuff. I guess she just figured it out on her own.

  FELIX GETS PICKED UP AT THE SAFE HOUSE

  WHEN RAMON WALKED IN, FELIX HOPED THAT THIS WAS-N’Tthe guy. Tangible evil, like a smell, filled the air. Ramon wore his cowboy hat and bushy mustache with a sneer of pure arrogance. Meanness radiated off him like heat waves in the desert. He was a brutish man dressed in a fancy black silk shirt, with intricate flowers embroidered along the shoulders and cuffs, tucked into too tight black jeans and a silver belt buckle the size of a small dinner plate with the letter “M” for Michoacan. It was almost the identical outfit that had Julio worn. Was this the official narcotraficante uniform? Ramon displayed his jutting stomach the way some women present their breasts, like an attribute, a source of pride. That enormous gut reflected his wealth and privileged lifestyle. It set him apart from the poor migrants who huddled in the corners of that over-crowded safe house. He was an asshole, no question.

  But Felix was more than ready to leave when Ramon showed up. The desperation in that group was thick and suffocating. Felix was one of them, a brother to their misery, but still he couldn’t wait to distance himself. All of them had been through hell. Their collective sadness and anxiety was overwhelming. Felix could barely carry his own burden; he had nothing left over to offer to anyone in this room.

  Ramon cleared his throat. “Felix Duarte?”

  Felix stood. Ramon looked him up and down as if he were a rotten cabbage, garbage. He turned and walked out the door giving a slight nod of the head that indicated he wanted to be followed.

  Felix picked up his duffle bag that held his clothes and few personal items, waved goodbye to the people in the room, and followed Ramon out into the bright California sunshine. He would never see any of these people again.

  Ramon kept a toothpick working at all times. When he wasn’t using it to probe between his teeth, he’d let it rest in the right corner of his mouth. He was constantly sucking on it or pulling the thing out and examining it to see what he might have dislodged. He hadn’t spoken since they got in the truck about an hour a
go but that was fine. Surely Felix was being taken to the boss and the boss would be more forthcoming.

  Felix rode in the passenger seat, looking out the side window, away from Ramon. He’d never seen anything like this big freeway. Ten lanes filled with cars speeding in both directions, so many cars and trucks. The buildings and the block walls, asphalt and chain link fences. No green, no reference to nature whatsoever.

  Ramon was eating pork rinds. The bag showed an ecstatically fat piglet in a chef’s hat and said simply, “Pork Skins—salt added”. When Ramon had almost finished the bag, he offered it. Felix ate what was there, licked the bag for the salt, and somehow felt even hungrier when he finished. He didn’t have much of an appetite at the safe house but now he was starving. Ramon gave him his own bottle of water when they got in the truck and Felix was rationing it. He wished he’d brought some food.

  “Had a guy last summer. Marcos something.” Ramon looked over at Felix and smiled for the first time, toothpick still sitting in the corner of his mouth. His teeth were uniformly yellow. “Seemed like a good kid. Conscientious. Job just isn’t that hard. Nursery’s already planted, water lines been there for a few years. Once the plants get a few inches high you transplant them in neat little rows, just follow the drip lines. Monitor the water, fertilize, and protect the plants—just about every animal on this earth love to eat pot. You like weed?”