DAY THREE
The sunrise slept in as beach fog obscured the world as far as I could see. My mind was clear, knowing brief gratification would have ruined a life of friendship. I came back into the house, the darkness telling me Maria was still slumbering. No coffee to be found I boiled water for tea, careful not to wake her. The house appeared to be in hibernation, with empty shelves and nothing other than condiments in the fridge. Two pan fried frozen corn dogs and a mustard packet improvised breakfast.
I then sat and waited anxiously for the verdict. Would she fly out of the room in anger for allowing us to go too far? There were times when I felt ghosted after one of us would break an unwritten rule. The longest had been six months. Felt more like a lifetime, I had almost given up when she reemerged.
Late in the morning the creak of the door hinge alerted me that Maria was up. She stood there with a sheepish look, afraid to cross the threshold. With her eyes averted to the carpet "I said some things last night, did some things, no regrets but you know this doesn't change anything. Call me heartbreaker if you must."
"Seriously, you apologize for giving me the best time of my life? Last night was like being in one of your tales, we were alive inside your creative vision. You drove me to the edge but pulled back. I know who you want, and he is waiting at home. We both would been sorry if things went too far," a sneezing attack belied my good intentions.
My involuntary outbreak broke the ice. "You slick-tongued devil," Mary laughed. "I bet you wondered if I locked the door. Keep wondering, it's my secret."
"Now you are being a cock-tease," I jested with my usual dry humor.
"Don't forget your promise to take me to Blacks Beach where I can watch the boys play. I'm going to step into the shower, clothes and all to destroy the evidence" she tiptoed to the bathroom, arms at her side, "toss me the white halter-top bathing suit."
Maria made a grand entrance while combing out her hair, an individual cascaded lock drew attention to her eyes, the rays of the sun reflecting obsidian mirrors. The Comicon T was dripping wet, so I squeezed it over the sink. "You can wear my white dress shirt over your suit. You'll look sexy, and the shirt will provide cover in case we make it to the nude beach," I hope my reply didn't sound too suggestive.
"And what about you?' Mary cross-examined me.
"I'll take off the shorts there if needed. You got a pretty good look at me last night and I could care less whether anyone else in San Diego County sees my privates. I don't even live in this county and haven't worked here for years. No one would recognize me. Speaking of travel, you should pack before we leave. The plane leaves at seven. Have you heard from Eva or Jim?"
"Nope and they are not my worry. I don't think we will hear from Eva. She had her own agenda. If we only have a day, let's not miss a minute. I'm not going back to the convention. After the beach trip I want you to show me your favorite places. Now get over here," Maria pulled me into a rewarding kiss.
We wouldn't be returning to the beach house so the back seat was pulled down to make more room for our belongings. I hung up her summer dress on the hanger for my work cloths, laying the T shirt flat dry. Spare beachwear was bagged and slipped under neatly folded clothes that had never been worn. Setting out as Maria looked out over the ocean, breeze blowing her curls, Jackson Brown's 'Running on Empty' rang out over the stereo, as we drove to La Jolla to find an off-road private place to park below UCSD where we wouldn't get towed.
When the song ended Maria silenced the music, rolled up the window, and recounted her part of the previous night. "Waking at midnight, I was disoriented laying in a strange bed. For a moment I thought I was home. The stiff as a board T shirt plastered to my body brought me back to the present."
"I opened the bedroom door slightly to see the room quiet and dark except for the faint crackling of a few coals in the fireplace. Your stuff was gone and there was no sight of you. I hummed the Beatles 'Norwegian Wood,' and remembered the last stanza: 'And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown,' frowning with the last lyric. My body went limp as I sat dejected, my mind told me it couldn't end this way, we had too much history"
"With the realization you wouldn't leave me behind I stepped outside and did a perp walk by a few homes up the street, the soiled top illuminated by the porchlight. I then saw your car down a ways towards the beach. The fogged windows gave you away. I crept back inside, closed the bedroom door behind, without locking it and fell back to sleep. The rest is history."
"Of course, I'd never leave you and we're almost there," were my comments. 'So, the door was unlocked after all ... I would have resisted, right? were my deep thoughts. I would replay a different scenario in the shower, a gratifying night of lovemaking.
Before I knew it, we had arrived at the secret parking space in the dirt. Walking separately down a steep incline to keep our balance we struck sand in less than 100 yards. Carrying a backpack for towels and clothing, we set out across the hot sand toward the water. Maria found it difficult to step even wearing Sketchers, but the wet sand was more agreeable. Strolling past the 'Blacks Beach. Nudity Prohibited' sign we saw people cavorting ahead sans clothes.
As we drew closer, we could see that this was a college group, men and women with firm bodies and full tans. Some threw and caught Frisbees, others played beach volleyball, but most sunbathed. They took little notice and we proceeded up the beach. She tried to run ahead but I kept pace.
After crossing a little stream, we entered the local's community, a few couples but mostly men. "We need to lose our clothes if we want to continue to the secret cove," I coached. Maria shed her suit under the shirt. "Walk ahead and I'll follow. We'll go a lot further with a 'Hot Chica' leading the way. Keep walking until I say stop. You will know when we're there." I stuffed our suits in the bag.
"You should pose for postcards," I called ahead as the white Oxford sailed in the sea breeze, sometimes giving a quick view of her sweet ass or sneak peek inside the top.
"In your dreams," she retorted.
"Careful what you ask for," the light banter masking the more serious vibe we were receiving.
