“Ledbetter’s right,” Trip said. “And no offense to Joska, but he’s an old fogey.” He waited a moment before he added, “So, we’re agreed? We’re getting a new computer for the company?”
I nodded.
He polled the girls as well.
“Whatever you think,” Wren said.
“Absolutely,” Christy said with enough enthusiasm for both of us. “It’s the wave of the future. I’ll convince Mr. Stick-in-the-mud.”
Trip grinned. “My partner in crime.”
“Uh-uh, not so fast,” Wren joked. “She’s mine, remember? Besides, we still need to run to town.”
“That’s fine,” Trip said. “Paul and I can work out the rest of the schedule, now that we have a plan for the next week or so.” He thought for a moment. “I think I left the car keys in my shorts pocket.”
“Stop doing that,” Wren said flatly. “It’s fine when you do your own laundry, but I don’t remember to check the pockets like you do. One of these days, I’m going to wash your wallet or something you care about.”
“Yes, dear,” he said facetiously.
“Stop that too. It works for Christy and Paul because they mean it.”
“What? I mean it too.”
She wasn’t buying it.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. “Sorry, babe.”
“Better,” she said.
“And I’ll try to do better about emptying my pockets.”
“My father has a nice bowl,” Christy suggested. “My mother bought it for him. It’s more like a dish, but you know what I mean.”
“We’ll look for one in town,” Wren agreed. Then she asked Trip, “Anything you want from the liquor store?”
“Jack Daniel’s. Belle of Lincoln if you can get it. Tribute or anything special if you can’t.” He glanced at Christy. “What’s a good Irish whiskey? Doesn’t Jameson have an 18-year-old?”
“They do,” she said in surprise. “It’s really good.”
“A bottle of that too,” he said to Wren, who nodded. “Anything special for you, Paul?”
“Dude, I’m not exactly a connoisseur. That’s Christy’s department.”
“Well, you picked her,” he said, “so you clearly have good taste.”
“Oh, boy, it’s getting deep in here,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he laughed. “But I’m trying to avoid past mistakes. I may not be a New Age guy, but I can change.”
“See why I love him?” Wren said. “You’re on your own for lunch,” she added. “But I’ll make something special for dinner. To celebrate.”
“Sounds good, babe,” he said. “Grab some cash from my wallet. I… um… might’ve left it in my shorts.”
She rolled her eyes but gave him a kiss. Christy did the same to me, and with less eye-rolling.
“All right,” Trip said after they’d gone, “let’s talk about the rest of the summer…”
* * *
Our days fell into a routine pretty quickly. Trip and Wren worked on the bungalows. I felt guilty that I couldn’t help, especially since it was my own fault, but they didn’t say anything. In fact, Wren seemed to enjoy herself. She was still in a state of post-engagement bliss, and she went out of her way to spend time with Trip.
Christy and I spent most of our time in the main camp. She was a little self-conscious at first, especially when people noticed that she was shaved, but no one made a big deal about it. Besides, every woman in camp shaved some part of her body. Most of them just legs and underarms, but a small number trimmed their pubic hair as well. And Susan had been waging a subtle but highly effective “love it or leave” campaign for the better part of a year.
People’s reactions to me were more extreme. No one said anything, but the vibe from some was clear—“real men” only shaved their faces. I scoffed at the idea, and I wasn’t afraid to return the stares of anyone who questioned my manhood.
The other reactions were more interesting. Several women and even a couple of men were intrigued more than shocked. None of them said anything either, but I made a mental note of the ones who were interested, especially an attractive couple with a small son.
The stares and silent exchanges mostly happened in the background. I had a job to do, after all, and it wasn’t to scope out prospective swingers. So I sketched the current buildings and played with ideas for new ones, while Christy did the same with the landscaping. She knew far more about trees, shrubs, and flowers than I realized.
“My nana has a beautiful English garden,” she said. “The same things won’t grow here, but I can see what does. Azaleas and laurels, of course, but hydrangeas, viburnum, and ferns too. Oh, and clematis and phlox by the clubhouse.”
“Don’t forget the pine trees,” I said flippantly.
“Paul, dear, there are a lot more than just pine trees. There are dogwoods, redbuds, magnolias, lindens, and even live oak. I don’t know what some of the others are, but I’m sure I can find a book.”
“Sounds like Trip picked the right person for the job.”
“And don’t you forget it, Mr. Doubting Thomas.”
“Not me,” I said. “I never doubted for a minute.”
“What? That Trip would pick me? Or that I’d know what I’m doing.”
“Either? Both. He’s really good at finding talent.”
“I still think you’re teasing me. I’m not sure how, but I know you.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I’m teasing you, but only a little. You’re really cute. I like watching you work.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced.
“I do. Here, I’ll prove it.” I flipped to a new page in my sketchbook. I studied her for a moment and started drawing. She was sitting on a rock with her own sketchbook on her knees. She wore her hair up, held in place with a blue ribbon. She looked like the Sunbeam bread girl, so I drew her as a nude, grown-up version.
I still couldn’t draw faces very well, so her eyes were too large and her mouth too small, but she was at least recognizable. I added a bit of shading to give her some depth before I turned the book and showed her.
“Wow! That’s really good,” she said. “You’ve improved. Like, a lot.”
“I’ve been practicing. But… I think about you so much that I can draw you with my eyes closed.”
“Thank you.”
“Hold on, something’s missing.” I set the book on my knees again. I drew an outline of a man’s legs and butt. Mine, obviously. Then I sketched an exaggerated hard-on, aimed right at Christy’s face. “I can’t draw these as well as you do, but you’ll get the gist.”
“Oh my gosh,” she laughed when I showed her. “Paul, it’s huge!”
“Mmm, I know.”
She rolled her eyes.
“But wait, there’s more.” I added a massive jet of semen, complete with a huge splash as it hit her face. She squawked when I showed her.
“Are you trying to drown me?” Her mock outrage softened to amusement and then affection. “Do you need some attention? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Well, now that you mention it…”
“I think you missed your calling,” she said as she gathered her pens and pencils.
“Stud architect?”
“No,” she laughed, “naughty manga artist.”
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds fun.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. We need to find someplace private if you want to indulge your fantasies.”
“Our fantasies,” I corrected.
“I suppose. Only, yours are pretty vanilla. Mine are much more perverted.”
“Ha! You might be right.”
“I know I am. Coming, dear?”
* * *
Our evenings fell into a routine as well. Since Trip and Wren were working on the bungalows, Christy and I fixed dinner. We didn’t make anything special, but Wren still found something to compliment. Afterward, we took our party outside.