My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.
Robert Louis Stevenson, "At the Sea-Side"
"Lucy! What's the news, darlin'?"
"Gas is up another dime and I've hardly sold a book all day. That kind of news?"
"That'll work. What's your evening looking like?"
"I was gonna bake some brownies, unless you have a better plan."
"Here's one. How about dinner at Kelsey's, and then...it'll be warm, the moon is full and the beach looks really good right now."
"Oh—I was wondering when you were gonna invite me out to your little lair. Breaking it in?"
"Just finished it. We can christen it tonight if you're game."
"Blanket in the moonlight? I'm in favor of that. I can bring wine."
"Super. When shall I pick you up?"
"Make it six. Come here, and we'll swing by the house. I'll want to freshen up before dinner."
"See you then."
This thing of Lucy's and mine was uncomplicated and we liked it that way. We had both grown tired of dealing with other people's baggage and far-reaching expectations. What we asked of each other was simple: good sex, good companionship, compatible tastes in music and movies, and no talk of five-year plans or biological clocks. Interesting dinner conversation counted extra. Once we discovered that we thought alike and had a mutual attraction, it was a done thing.
I pulled my Jeep onto the main road at a quarter to six and drove east. There is only one through road from Topsail Beach to Surf City, and the view from it is the same nearly all the seven miles of it. Once I left behind the group of houses on half-bare lawns and low-slung civic buildings that was the town center, there was little for miles but condos and beach houses, set well back from the road by wide expanses of concrete driveway. Now and then a wooden bridge to my right—the ocean side—would arch over the scrub to provide public beach access. As I approached Surf City, more roadside restaurants, bait shops and outfitters began to appear.
You might not think at first mention that a bookstore could survive here, but many a vacationer fails to pack her beach reading. Lucy's store carries a full range of fiction and non-fiction, but her sales are highest in the kinds of titles that many women like to read in a seaside setting: potboiler novels and romances, the sexier the better. She has a special shelf up high where children can't reach, discreetly labeled "Erotic Romance", where the really juicy reads are kept.
I have have had occasion to observe some of the readers of these books. I do maintenance work for a condo management company, keeping their rental units in some semblance of repair. It keeps me in one of those bare-lawn houses in Topsail Beach—one of the smaller ones. I have a knack for plumbing, electrical work, and minor structural repair. Doing that kind of work suits me. It also has brought me into contact with women tenants who had paperbacks that could have come from Lucy's special shelf. My observations have told me that while many have perfectly happy lives and read sexy novels and stories for spice and to give their libidos a boost, there are some who are missing proper attention from their dull or distracted husbands.
I will admit to having helped out a few of these latter women who were about the condo when I was working, while their husbands were out golfing on the mainland and their children were at the beach or otherwise away and occupied. In all cases they clearly needed it and either seduced me outright or were on the verge of doing so but needed just a small tug to overcome their shyness. I keep in shape and don't dress like a slob, so I've had my share of opportunities, of which I took advantage when I was single and it seemed safe.
I never claimed to be virtuous.
But that was all in the past now. I was not about to risk messing up my good thing with Lucy. Although we were officially not possessive, I felt I ought to be always available to her, if not always underfoot. That was enough to keep me from my former caddish ways. And her company in and out of bed was so satisfying that I felt no desire to stray, in any case. If I were completely honest with myself, my feelings for her...but I put that aside for the moment.
Such were my musings moments before I pulled into the tiny parking lot outside "The Beach Read". I felt the warm, humid air of June, scented with the ocean, and the beating of the still high sun on my skin as I walked to the door.
She was just finishing up closing the store for the day. I had a moment to take her in before she looked up from her work. She was only a couple of inches shorter than my six feet. Long dark hair cascaded around a face with features that most would not find remarkable until they took a second look and registered the sensuality that lived there in her bright brown eyes and wide mouth. She wore a wrap dress in a floral print, light and breezy as the image she cultivated for her customers, and a little daring in the plunging neckline that drew the eye to the swell of her bust.
She put down her pen, looked up and smiled.
"Hello, stranger. Where've you been all week? About time."
She walked from behind the counter toward me as I moved toward her to meet her in the middle. She leaned in to me for a quick kiss, her lips a promise for later.
"Here and there," I said. "Work. And working on the shack."
"Of course. And are you going to show it to me tonight?"
"Hmm. That could go in many directions. So I'll just say 'yes'."
"Good answer," she said.
The shack was more of a shed, a tiny structure that my friend John allowed me to put up and use on his private section of beach. Since he and his family only occupy the house a few weeks out of the year and don't rent it out with any regularity, he reasoned that any time I spent there would also be time when someone was watching the property.
The site of the shack was originally a changing and shower house dating from the time when this section of beach was public. I kept the facility as an outdoor shower and built onto it, creating a space large enough for a couple of chairs and a bed, for those nights when the weather was good for sleeping under the stars, which were visible through a large skylight. I installed a solar panel and batteries, providing enough power for some lighting and a portable music system. Facing the ocean was a deck with a fire ring built in. I was looking forward to spending many nights there over the summer, as many as I could with Lucy.
Thinking of the prospect, I slipped my arm around her yielding waist and pulled her to me. Our second kiss was more passionate, wanting and lingering.
"Oh, Billy, that's nice," she breathed. "You're not usually like this."
"I've missed you."
"Good to hear it. I've missed you too."
"Well, let me make it up to you by taking you to dinner, then I'll show you my little beach place."
_______________
Kelsey's is on the waterfront and features outdoor seating on a deck the size of a tennis court, overlooking the beach. The rough plank floor and wooden railings give it the rustic look that is popular now. Here the scent and sound of the ocean were even more powerful, and the coming sunset behind us promised to be spectacular.
We had ordered—she the shrimp and grits, I the jambalaya—and were sipping margaritas in the slowly diminishing, reddening sunlight.
"So, did you eventually sell any books today?" I asked.
