The boat was half- filled, and more cars were driving up all the time. Gloria and Laura left the car in the expensive parking lot, minding wordlessly the rise in prices that marked every vacation. The car would wait there until they returned.
Gloria walked the plank and dropped onto the deck of the boat. She had a small weekend case in her hand that held pajamas, shorts, matador pants, two shirts, a bra, panties, and a bathing suit. That was enough for a week.
She felt the boat rocking under her feet – an exhilarating sensation. The New York pavement shook every nerve in your body, and the gentle sea reminded her that there were some experiences that Man had not created, could not tamper with. Just an old nature girl at heart, she scoffed, knowing that within a week she would be hungry for a badly- lit bar or even a bus ride. I wonder, she thought, if the rapist likes the water. Was he always there in her head, sharing and damaging every moment?
She walked to the top deck of the boat and sat on the bench that circled the railing. She turned backwards on the bench and stuck her feet through the bottom railing. She leaned her arms on the top bar and watched the silver- specked chopping of the bay. She flicked her cigarette overboard and could see it, a pale ghost sinking through the water. Laura sat down next to her and seemed to loose her tension as she breathed deeply. Maybe I could tell her now. Maybe she' d accept that I never tasted her precious husband' s prick.
Laura twisted in her seat and faced the water with Gloria.
" It is wonderful. It' s embarrassing to say it every week, but it is wonderful, isn' t it?"
" It makes you realize," Gloria helped, " that we live in an awfully small world, knocking our heads against television antennas over one paltry little man."
Laura laughed. " Paltry is hardly the word. But maybe we have paltry heads. Maybe that' s why they knock so easily."
" I never thought of that," Gloria reflected. " I' m glad I never thought of that. It' s rather depressing."
" I' m stupid to say this," Laura relinquished her firm selfcontrol, " but often, when I come someplace very lovely, and enjoy it, like here and now, I hate Christopher' s not being with me. It' s as though I' m enjoying it half as much as I could. And knowing about the other half really makes it worse than nothing. I' m sorry to say this," she quickly added. " I don' t mean to punish you with my marital problems," and her voice was sarcastic, " all week."
Don' t try so hard, Gloria wanted to say. Don' t think for a minute that just because you' re not screaming like a madwoman you don' t know you' re suffering. Instead she said, " Laura, please don' t be too brave with me. That' s the only thing that really horrifies me – your bravery."
" But you never tell me what you' re thinking or going through," Laura admonished. " I know something' s terribly wrong with you now, but you never say a word about it."
" Believe me," Gloria hastily interposed, " there' s nothing I could say. I' m going through something, but I' ll never be able to discuss it. No one – and here I go being original – would understand."
Laura sat looking at her until a fortunate interruption rescued the moment. A very energetic man sat down next to them. He was one of the island " regulars." Both women knew him from last year, and the year before, and the year before that.
" Hey, girls," he greeted them, and wasting no time, " are you going to Leon' s party?"
He wrote the gags for a leading TV comedian, but he was disastrously unfunny in his life. Probably the comedian was unfunny as well, but nobody ever listened to him once he was off the set.
" Yes, Gregory," Laura answered. " We' ll be at Leon' s."
He was a bit disappointed. He would have liked, for once, to be invited to a party that didn' t include everyone he knew. He would have liked to feign naive dismay if Laura had said, " What party?" But he reconciled to their being invited and decided to treat them as one of the accepted. " He' s going to have a terrific band there."
Laura continued the conversation, but Gloria stared at the water as the boat started to move, arching into the bay.
There was still an hour of sun when they pulled to shore. Along the small wooden docks, a handful of women who spent their week on the island were waving to the boat and calling out names. A redhead named Peggy had a lei around her neck, and she was swaying to unheard Hawaiian chants. She had a few empty glasses and a pitcher of martinis in her hands, ready to serve the weary travelers.
Laura and Gloria walked the wooden boards to Laura' s small cottage. It was a pleasant, simple structure. They quickly stripped off their shoes and stockings, skirts and shirts, and stepped into brief, winter- packed bathing suits. They threw thin cotton jackets over their shoulders and rushed to the sea.
Gloria almost wanted to cry when she saw the vital waves breaking on the shore. She wanted to weep at the beauty she could not live with; or swim far out beyond the waves and stay there until she knew she would live without ever forgetting them.
The water was chilling to her naked back and stomach. She swam hard, but the waves knocked her back to the shore. Her mind emptied for the activity of her limbs as she forced her body against a toostrong mother. No, the sea would nurse no one. The two women left the water together and stretched out on the sand. Gloria' s fingers wet the cigarette that she freed from the pack, but the match ignited the tobacco. The salt water dripped from her hair across her face and down into the channel between her breasts. The cold, bracing water had made her nipples hard and round under her suit, and she could feel them abrasive against the cloth.
" Come on," Laura urged. " We' ll be late for the party."
" Oh boy," Gloria mocked. " Imagine being late for one of Leon' s parties. I don' t think I could live through it."
" I just want to have a few drinks and be in a room with lots of people," Laura explained.
" Of course," Gloria agreed. " Of course. Let' s go."
They had a few bottles of cold beer and changed into long, tight, dark pants and sleeveless sweaters. Their faces already sparkled with artificial health. The sky was darkening when they reached the door of Leon' s cottage.
The room was filled with casually dressed drinkers. This was a very casual island, Gloria remembered with contempt. A boy in a corner of the room was playing an uneven beat on a set of drums. His shirtsleeves were rolled above thick muscular arms, and his face had a passive Mexican sensuality. He had a thick Zapata mustache and looked like an untouched peon, not a commercial artist, which of course, he was. In another corner of the room, a chorus of girls was singing a nameless rock song, and one of the girls was trying to work up a tear, or at least a crack in her voice. An accompanying musician was running his hand up and down her ass.
Gloria accepted a drink and sat down to talk with some of last year' s friends. A few of them had been divorced, and a few had been married. Next year, roles would be reversed. Nothing had really happened, but they were all filled with the false importance of the winter' s events. She took another drink.
The evening went on, and Gloria got drunker and drunker until she thought it might be a good idea to pick up a big fat book and break all the glasses in all the hands in the room. She was searching for the right book when a young man walked over to her and said, " I think your glass is empty."
" Isn' t that a tragedy."
" Would you like another drink?" he asked.