Transition: Chapter 26 (The Longwharf)

“Don’t go, Jill.”

She’s already opened the door when the thin voice somehow cuts through the din. She looks back over her shoulder. Carla Kwan sits alone in the spa, still propped up in the corner. Her eyes appear to be closed, and Jillian wonders if she really heard anything at all. But then Carla speaks again: “Come sit with me, Jill. Keep me company.”

“Where’s Scott?” Jillian scans the room; the thought of sharing the spa with a drunken – and possibly unclad – Scott Marcus is less than appealing.

“Scott’s not here.” Carla speaks softly, dreamily. “He left.”

Jillian walks around to the far side of the spa, pulls a can of beer from the cooler, shakes off the loose bits of ice, pops the top, and sucks down a long gulp. Then she walks back around to the front of the spa, where a few steps and an aluminum railing lead down into the steamy, gurgling water.

Grasping the railing, she tests the water tentatively with one foot, which she withdraws quickly. “Too hot,” she pronounces, shaking her foot.

“It’s not bad, once you get used to it.” Carla opens her eyes, and smiles. “I wish it was hotter,” she adds, wistfully.

“Well...” Jillian bravely sticks her entire foot on the first submerged step and lets the water swirl around her ankle. After a few seconds, she gamely decides that the temperature may be tolerable after all. She gingerly tiptoes down the steps into the waist-deep water and walks over to where Carla sits sprawled in the corner. Slowly, carefully, she sinks down beside Carla on an underwater ledge.

Once her body gets past the shock of the dramatic temperature change, Jillian discovers that the swirling wet heat is incredibly relaxing. She sets down her drink and slouches on the ledge so that only her head sticks out of the water. “That does feel good,” she admits. “I didn’t realize how sore I was.”

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, eyes closed. Jillian feels totally enervated. She feels as though she could slip under the surface of the water and sink quietly to the bottom of the spa. I’d better not stay in here too long, she thinks; and then – I wonder how long Carla’s been in? She opens her eyes, turns her head, and looks at the young woman who sits next to her, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

“How can you just sit there with no clothes on, Carla?” Jillian is genuinely curious. “Don’t you feel like all the guys are staring at your boobs?”

“They’re just tits, Jill,” Carla says, as if that explains everything. “What’s the big deal?” She opens her eyes and takes a sip of beer. “Besides, nobody’s staring at me.”

Jillian looks around. There’s a huge splash, someone must have just barreled into the pool. Scott Marcus –wearing his Speedo, after all – is throwing a shiny football – no, it’s a can of beer, of course – to yet another guy with an athletic build, she thinks it might be Allen Lovegrove, but the steam from the spa is clouding her vision. Some people are dancing, some people are singing along with the iPod, some people are doing both. Lots of people are doing everything other than staring at Carla’s breasts.

“Well, I sure couldn’t do it,” Jillian says, as she sits up and retrieves her beer. She tries to imagine how she would feel if she pulled off her T-shirt; just thinking about it causes waves of embarrassment to wash over her, accompanied by visions of leering men. She shudders. “Don’t you feel like you’re just encouraging these guys to hit on you?”

“Jill, none of these guys are going to hit on me.” Carla laughs softly. “They all know that I’m gay. You didn’t know that?” she adds, as shock registers on Jillian’s face. “I thought everybody knew,” Carla says with an indifferent shrug. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Well isn’t this a kick in the head, Jillian thinks. I figure that it’s safe to come into the spa because that animal Marcus is gone, and now I’m sitting here talking about boobs with a lesbo.

“Relax, Kendal,” Carla says, amusedly. “I’m not going to attack you.” She grins. “Although, I must say, you do look good enough to eat.”

Jillian turns her gaze downward. The soaked shirt clings to her breasts provocatively. She feels uncomfortable, vulnerable. “Maybe I better go,” she says. But at that very instant, with a loud whoop, Scott Marcus leaps into the spa, sending hot water splashing in every direction, and sets himself down next to her. She notes, thankfully, that he’s still wearing his Speedo.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he asks lecherously, shifting his gaze back and forth between Jillian’s eyes and her breasts. “That’s a ravishing outfit you have on, Miss Kendal. Most fetching.” He wiggles his eyebrows and widens his eyes. Jillian laughs, in spite of herself.

“I was just leaving, Scott,” she says, as she starts to rise.

“Sit down, Kendal.” He grabs her arm and pulls her back down into the spa. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna attack you. I happen to be a perfect gentleman. And so is Carla,” he adds, with a grin. “You’re perfectly safe. Have another brewski.”

The three athletes sit and talk and drink and laugh for what seems like a long time, maybe an hour. At some point, Jillian notices that they no longer have the spa to themselves. In fact, it seems to have become quite popular. It’s taken on the familiar aspect of a cocktail party – everyone has a beer in hand, everyone is relaxed, everyone is talking, everyone is laughing...

At some point, Scott and Carla get into an animated discussion about race strategy, and Jillian loses interest in the conversation. She slides down again, so that only her head is exposed. Her neck rests on the rounded, concrete lip of the spa. The warmth and the noise drift over her, envelop her. She starts to slip off into a pleasant reverie...

“Jill?” Carla whispers gently, as if she’s reluctant to intrude.

“Hmmmm?”

“Jill, why don’t you take your shirt off? The water feels so good on your skin. It’s delicious.”

Jillian turns her head to the side, toward Carla, who is also slouched down, almost totally immersed in the bubbling water. “Promise you won’t make a pass at me?”

“Well...” Carla laughs. “Okay. I may look, but I won’t touch.”

Jillian glances around; as earlier, no one is paying any attention to Carla’s semi-nudity. Scott Marcus is busily engaged in a conversation with... with one of the twins, perhaps? Jillian can’t quite see who it is.

She thinks about what it would be like to pull off her T-shirt, to expose herself in public. She’s surprised that she’s even considering it – she’s not a prude, just prudently modest. But somehow, this is different. She’s in the company of friends. She’s surrounded by people she knows and, for the most part, trusts. She realizes that if she thinks about it for too long she won’t do it. And so with a nervous giggle, a mental shrug, and a whispered, “What the hell,” she pulls her T-shirt over her head and throws it behind her. Somewhat sheepishly, she surveys the scene around her once more, and she’s relieved to find that nothing has changed. The commotion continues to eddy around her, oblivious to the momentous event that has just taken place.

She closes her eyes and relaxes, feeling brave and self-satisfied. And Carla was right; the sensation of hot water on bare skin is – what had Carla said? – delicious. The water swirls around her breasts, circles her nipples, caresses her flesh. It’s only mildly erotic – more soothing than sexual. It feels comfortable, natural, as if this is the way it’s meant to be, experiencing the elements without the contrived intercession of garments. Why has she never done this before? She’s never even been skinny-dipping, not even as a little girl.

She smiles dreamily at Carla, who returns the smile knowingly, the secret shared.

For a time, she drifts in and out, perhaps sleeping for a few minutes here and there, perhaps only switching her conscious awareness on and off.

At some point, Scott Marcus begins to make occasional lewd suggestions, which strike Jillian as unfailingly amusing. “Hey, babe,” he says, in a throaty voice that’s supposed to be sexy, “what say we slip up to my room. I’ll show you what being a world-class endurance athlete is all about. And the key word, babe, is endurance.”

And at some point, Carla begins to whisper in her other ear. “Jill,” she says, with languorous indecency, “come upstairs with me. I can make you so happy. I’ll show you things that only another woman would know.”

At one point, they’re both leaning over her, one from each side. Each has a hand on one of her legs. Each is whispering a lascivious invitation into one of her ears.

“I’m in the prime of my life, babe,” Scott is saying. “I’m at the top of my form. I can take you places that you’ve never even dreamed about. You may never have a chance like this again, lady.”

“I know you’re ready for me,” Carla whispers huskily. “Don’t deny yourself the ultimate pleasure. I can do wonderful things for you, things that no man can do. You’ll never be the same.”

And Jillian keeps grabbing their hands, plucking them off her legs, throwing them back where they belong, laughing the whole time, it’s all so funny. At one point, a hand begins to creep up her side, and Jillian shoots a hurt look at Carla that says, cut it out, you promised. And Carla, chastised, murmurs that she’s sorry and unhands Jillian.

But then someone is shouting, someone is very angry about something, but the music is blaring so loudly, the shouts just echo muddily around the room, and nobody seems to care anyway, nobody’s paying even the slightest bit of attention...

And then, suddenly, the music stops.