Эд Макбейн - Last Summer

Rhoda wasn’t as white as she’d been that first day on the beach, but neither was she as tanned as the rest of us. She was, in fact, an angry red color that combined with her dark hair and eyes to give her a distinctly Indian look. She seemed, too, to be more dressed than the rest of us, wearing her usual one-piece bathing suit, a blue one this time, the kind of suit you’d expect a grandmother or a visiting aunt from Kansas to wear. She seemed thoroughly ill at ease aboard a boat, ducking in panic each time the boom swung across the deck, even though it came nowhere close to her. She finally relaxed enough to sit on deck alongside the cockpit. David tuned in his transistor to ABC, and then broke out the beer.

“I don’t drink,” Rhoda said.

“Beer isn’t drinking,” I said, and extended an open bottle to her.

“No, thank you. Really.”

“We’re not boozers, if that’s what you’re thinking,” David said.

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Well, suit yourself,” I said, and carried the bottle back to Sandy in the stern. I handed David another bottle and then opened one for myself. The beer was icy cold and sharp. It sent tingling little needles up into my nose.

“What does it taste like?” Rhoda asked.

“Like truth serum,” David said, and laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“Private joke.”

“Could I taste some?”

“Sure,” I said, and handed her my bottle, wiping off the lip for her.

She tilted it to her mouth, took a sip, pulled a face, and spit a mouthful of beer into the wind. “It’s awful, ” she said.

“Hey, who’s spitting?” Sandy yelled from the stern.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rhoda said, turning toward her. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t think...”

“That’s all right,” Sandy shouted. “David, why don’t you get her a beer?”

“She doesn’t want one!” David shouted.

“What?”

“I don’t want one!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like the taste of it!” Rhoda yelled.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” David said. He brought his bottle to his lips, took a long swallow, said, “Ahhhhhh,” and then belched. “Beg your pardon,” he said, and grinned, and drank some more.

“It looks good, but it tastes awful,” Rhoda said.

“It tastes wonderful,” David said, and drained his bottle. “Ahhhh,” he said again, and then threw the empty over the side.

“Doesn’t that mess up the ocean?”

“It’s a mighty big ocean.”

“I wish I had a nickel for every beer bottle on the bottom.”

“Who wants the tiller?”

“I’ll take it,” David said, and went back.

Sandy stood up and stretched. “Mmmm,” she said, “what a day. Where’d you put my bag, David?”

“In the cockpit,” he said, and she went below, out of sight.

“How far is the island?” Rhoda asked.

“Oh, five or six miles, that’s all,” I said.

“Is the water calm there?”

“Very calm. Nice little cove, no waves.”

“Shallow?”

“Yes. Don’t worry.”

“I was thinking maybe we should have gone over to the bay.”

“Too many little kids there.”

“You want to learn to swim with a lot of little kids around?” David yelled from the stern.

“No, but...”

“You’ll like the island, don’t worry,” I said.

“It won’t work, anyway,” Rhoda said. “You’ll see. I’ll sink straight to the bottom. You’ll have to rescue me,” she said, and giggled.

“It’s unnatural not to stay afloat,” I said. “Isn’t that right, David?”

“Absolutely,” he yelled. “If you just relax, you can’t possibly sink.”

Sandy came out of the cockpit, carrying her beach bag. She took a towel from it, spread it on the deck, sat, and opened a tube of suntan lotion. She greased her face and her arms and her chest and the front of her legs, and then she handed the tube to me, rolled over on the towel and said, “Would you do my back, please, Peter?”

“You’re so tan,” Rhoda said. “Do you still need that?”

“Keeps the skin from drying out,” Sandy said. “Wait a minute, Peter.” She reached behind her and undid the bikini top, lying flat on the towel, dropping the ties on either side of her body. “Okay,” she said.

I squeezed some of the lotion out onto the palm of my hand and began spreading it on her back.

“Do you all know each other from the city?” Rhoda asked.

“No, we met out here,” Sandy said.

“You seem like such close friends.”

“We are .”

“Actually,” I said, “David and I have known each other a long time.”

“Where do you go to school?” Rhoda asked.

“Me?”

She nodded.

“The Mercer School. That’s on Sixty-first.”

“Yes, I know where it is. I live in Manhattan.”

“Really? Where?”

“Peter, please pay attention to what you’re doing,” Sandy said.

“Sorry.”

“On Eightieth and West End,” Rhoda said.

“Would you do the backs of my legs too, please?” Sandy said.

“May I use some of that?”

“Sure,” I said, and squeezed some onto Rhoda’s palm.

“Thank you. Where do you go to school, Sandy?”

“Hunter College High.”

“She’s a genius,” I said.

“Oh, sure.”

“You are.” I paused. “She has an IQ of 157,” I said to Rhoda.

“Hey, I wonder whatever happened to that thing,” Sandy said, raising herself on one elbow, clutching the loose bikini top to her breasts.

“What thing?”

“The questionnaire.”

“Did you mail it in?”

“What questionnaire?” Rhoda said.

“Sure, I did. We should have heard by now, don’t you think?”

“Sure.”

“What are you talking about up there?” David shouted.

“The questionnaire!” Sandy shouted back.

“Cost us three dollars and thirty-five cents each,” I said to Rhoda.

“For what?” Rhoda asked.

“A dating service.”

“They’re going to supply me with a man,” Sandy said, and rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t understand,” Rhoda said.

“It’s one of those computer things,” I said.

“Oh. They’re silly,” Rhoda said.

“If you’re finished, Peter, please put the cap back on,” Sandy said, and then stretched out flat on the towel again, turning her head away from us.

“You want some more of this?” I asked Rhoda.

“Just a little,” she said, and held out her hand. I squeezed a blob of it onto her palm, and she spread it on her face, leaving a wide orange streak near her cheekbone. I reached out and smoothed it flat with my fingers.

“Thank you,” she said, and blushed.

“Where do you go to school?”

“What are you talking about now?” David yelled from the stern.

“Rhoda’s school.”

“Yeah, man, she’s cool,” David said, and grinned and snapped his fingers.

Sandy chuckled softly into the towel, her eyes closed.

“I go to Bailey,” Rhoda said.

“I know a girl from there. Adele Pierce, do you know her?”

“Is she a junior?”

“I think so.”

“She doesn’t sound familiar. Is she on the newspaper or anything?”

“Are you? ”

“Yes, I write a weekly column.”

“What about?”

“Oh, mostly think pieces.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I just try to express my thoughts on various things, that’s all.”

“What’s it called?”

“‘Feelings,’” Rhoda said.

“Sounds sexy,” Sandy said.

“Oh, no.”

“No?”

“No, it isn’t, really,” Rhoda said.

“Well, I don’t think Adele Pierce is on the newspaper,” I said.