Part 30 (2/2)

”You can still do it,” she said, and laughed.

”I'm a little rusty,” I said.

”No. Not rusty at all.”

There was an awkward pause, where you feel you should say something just to fill the silence. She did it for me.

”I'm so glad you came. I wanted it so bad it hurt.”

”You haven't changed at all,” I said huskily. ”Time has pa.s.sed you by.”

”You always say the perfect thing, you always did.” Another pause, then, ”I didn't even hear you. I was lost for a minute.”

”I can't think of a better place to be lost.”

She eased toward me, a s.h.i.+mmering vision, still moving slightly with the music.

”Remember the night party? Dewey Simpson got drunk and tried to swim to the channel marker in his tuxedo . . . ”

I remembered it and said so.

” . . . and you kept egging him on . . . ”

The moon silhouetted her, trim legs etched behind a white cotton skirt.

” . . . and we kept playing that song, over and over, while Teddy swam out to pull him in . . . ”

The brief triangle of her bikini panties, the swell of one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tinted by a moonbeam.

”And my eighteenth birthday, when we took the dune buggy and left Teddy and that girl on the beach . . . ”

Her blond hair was swirling in the wind, whipping the shadow of her face.

”We were at the very end, remember? Down at the point . . . the breakers were running so high.”

She whisked her fingertips down her neck.

”It was so hot that night. Remember how hot it was?”

I began to feel the same heat, rising round my neck. She was some piece of work, make no mistake.

”It was just like tonight . . . the moon was full . . . ”

She was close enough to smell.

” . . . that was the first time I ever saw you naked . . . ”

And now she was close enough to feel my heat.

”We were lying there in the dunes and you let the buggy roll down the hill . . . ”

”Oh yes, I remember . . . ”

”You were gorgeous . . . ”

”You still are,” I heard myself say. My voice was as shaky as a spinster's dream.

”I feel the same way now, Jake. I feel like I'm on fire inside . . . ”

She moved against me, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s exploring my chest as tentatively as a b.u.t.terfly exploring a blossom.

But it was not 1963 and we were not on the beach; it was now and here and she stepped back from me, her dress already unb.u.t.toned, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pus.h.i.+ng out past the white bodice, and she lifted her shoulders so gracefully that she hardly moved, and the dress slipped away, hovering down to the dock at her feet, and she leaned forward, her hands sweeping swiftly down her thighs, and suddenly she was naked before me again.

If anything, time had improved her body.

She moved against me and I ran my hands slowly across the swell of her b.u.t.tocks, pressing her hard against me. She began to rock back and forth, urging me to rise to her. I let the flat of my hand slip down along her thigh and then back up, and she urged herself against it. She was warm and moist and she clamped her legs together, trapping my hand, and began to rock harder. Her fingers moved nimbly to my belt, unfastening it, and then she slid her hand down and began to caress me and then we were moving together.

”Oh, G.o.d, Jake,” she moaned, ”where have you been?”

I lowered her slowly to the cus.h.i.+ons in the boat and she stretched out before me, her hands over her head as I teased her, my hand barely touching her soft down, until suddenly she thrust up against my hand. She began to tremble under my touch, took my hand and pressed it harder, and began to move my hand with hers, showing me where to touch, what to explore, orchestrating her pleasure. Her hands groped for something to hang on to, found the edge of the seat and clutched it. Every muscle in her body seemed to be responding. She was moving back and forth as my fingers sought all her secret places.

She started to whimper and the whimper became a growl, deep in her throat, and she stiffened suddenly, wrapped her arms around me, buried her head in my shoulder, and her cries were m.u.f.fled against my flesh. She reached down, searching with desperate fingers, and turning slightly, guided me into her. Then there was only the feel of her, her soft muscles engulfing me, urging me to come with her, and the rush of her mouth against mine.

There was nothing else.

No Ciscos, no Taglianis, no hooligans, no wounds or screams of grief. There were only our own cries of joy and relief, whisked to sea on the wind.

34.

LATE CALL.

The tape recorder had run its course and turned itself off and I had pulled my Windbreaker over us, although I didn't need it. Her warm body lay across mine like a blanket. We didn't say much, we just lay there holding each other. Half an hour crept by and then my beeper broke the spell, like a phone that's been left off the hook too long.

I s.h.i.+fted under her enough to reach up onto the dock and riffle through my clothes until I found it and turned it off. My watch said eleven fifteen.

She twisted back against me and sighed. ”What was that?” she asked.

I was wondering who would be beeping me at this time of night.

”The beeper,” I whispered. ”I gotta call the office.”

<script>