Chapter 6
"WELL, I GUESS WE'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE THIS AFTERNOON, AFTER ALL. Our trip to the fetish shop will have to wait. Tell me, Birdy dear, how do you intend to spend your afternoon?" Beatrice was blushing a little as she dared to use his nickname. "Another run to the gay beach?"
"Am I free to do that?" It was too late to ask Javert. He had already puttered away in his tiny Citroen.
"Well, Doctor Warren, Nestor, may I call you that, you are most welcome to spend the afternoon with us." That, along with an enticing smile from Marissa, was enough to set Beatrice on edge. Flirting, she was flirting! The gall! If Beatrice wanted to share Nestor with her
amica
that was one thing. And maybe he expected it, if he had watched all the videos of the two of them and Rocco. But Marissa could wait politely.
"We can offer you some modest entertainment," Marissa added. "The apartment complex has a swimming pool, and tennis courts. You do play tennis?"
"I used to play a lot when I was young teen. Fourteen and fifteen. Not so much after that. And a few years ago I stopped completely. That and basketball. Too many injuries. It was interfering with my running."
"In Italy fourteen is the age of consent. We were a doubles team, but our tennis coach decided to teach us more than tennis." Marissa gave a little giggle. She was definitely flirting. It was annoying Rocco also. "Is that what distracted you from tennis?"
"I wish. Tennis was a spring sport, which I did when I was a sophomore. That was the first year of high school. But then in the fall I switched to running. I never got back to tennis." He saw the blank looks on their faces. "In the States the sports are school activities and they're seasonal."
"We've been playing again some since we moved here, the two of us against Rocco. But it would be fun to play two against two. What do you think, Bea, us against the guys? Or mixed doubles?"
"Mixed doubles, for sure. It would too easy for us to beat them. Those running shoes should be adequate?" She was looking at Nestor's feet. "There's a changing area next to the pool. We have a locker there where we keep our rackets and balls. You can leave your clothes other than the shoes and socks there."
"I'll go up and get my phone and an extra racket," Rocco said.
The girls led Nestor through a gate at the side of the building, down a walkway flanked by hedges, to the pool area. There were a couple of women sitting together talking, their children splashing away in the shallow end, all naked. Well, of course, the apartments were in the nudist area. There was a little building, cinder block painted glossy white, that had the showers, toilets and lockers. Marissa went to a large locker with an old fashioned combination lock, just like the one he'd had in high school, opening it to have rackets, shoes and tennis balls tumble out. "Put your stuff in here."
That involved taking the stuff off, which seemed strangely awkward with the two girls staring at him. Why? By now his body couldn't have any secrets from Beatrice, and Marissa had shared a naked lunch, or breakfast with him. But their giggles were unnerving as he tried to get his briefs off past his running shoes, finally giving up, sitting on the little wooden bench and taking the shoes off.
"So graceful," Marissa said. She raised herself up
en pointe
then lifted her right leg up over her head. So close he could smell her arousal, almost taste it. He was leaning forward to give her a polite little kiss of appreciation, but Beatrice stopped him.
"This is a family area for naturists. Nude but not lewd, isn't that the saying? Uptight nudists. The worst of all worlds."
"Except over there?" Marissa gestured at a curtained off area. But Rocco returned with a fourth racket. There were three courts to the side of the pool, a volleyball net, and a backboard and hoop for basketball. Only one of the tennis courts was in use.
"So who will pair with who?" Marissa said. "Spin for it? Label up I pay with Rocco."
"Then Rocco will get see your butt and my boobs. The best part of each of us." The racket landed label down. "Well, Birdy, you are the lucky one. Although I am by far the better player."
Was she? Her lovely breasts were something of a disadvantage, flopping around as she chased the ball. Rocco too had a lot jiggling around, including the hints of a spare tire he was starting to develop. How much older was he than the girls? Five years, maybe six. Marissa was built to move in the nude, not a trace of fat on her body, and firm little breasts. She was gliding around the court very gracefully. However, when it came to making contact with the tennis ball, the two on the other side, awkward as they seemed, were a lot better.
They had just started to volley the ball around to warm up when Rocco's phone rang. He had left it on the bench at the side of the court. "It's Javert. He wants us to come down to the morgue."
"To the morgue? Why? We have already identified Andre. Oh no! Do you think it's Anna?"
"He didn't say. Excuse us, we need to get some clothes, and the key to the car. You can rinse off here?"
With that, they ushered Nestor back to changing area, opening the locker to dump his clothes on the bench, put the tennis gear back in, and left him. Without a towel. He was already dripping with sweat from the little bit of tennis. Might as well rinse off, he thought, and try to air dry. Which still had not happened by the time they got back. He had to tug his clothes back on over wet skin.
Marissa had a sundress on, Beatrice a halter top to keep her boobs in place and a tiny skirt. Did they have anything on underneath? Why did he even want to know?
To the Batmobile then - well to Rocco's little Fiat, which technically had a back seat, and that worked okay maybe with one of the girls in the passenger seat and that seat pulled up all the way and the other girl behind her. But now both girls were in the back and Nestor needed more leg room. So they were sitting with knees pulled up to their chins, making the lack of panties quite obvious.
"You're going to get us arrested," Rocco said. "Put your legs down."
"There's no place to put them. You should be paying attention to your driving, not looking in the mirror. It's you who's so cheap he won't get a decent size car."
"There's no place to park a big car. At least keep your knees together."
Nestor could see the point about parking. Once they left the nudist area the streets were packed with cars, the sidewalks packed with people, nobody going anywhere quickly.
"Why are they all here?" he thought out loud.
"Because it's the place to be," Beatrice said, as if it was so obvious. "To see and to be seen."
The sidewalks were lined with bars and cafes, full of people sitting, gazing at the throngs passing by them. But even with their beauty, their fame, their lack of attire, the girls passed by without causing a ripple in the torrent of humanity,
Eventually they came to a wall of great gray stones, with a huge wrought iron gate topped with spikes. Rocco sounded the car's comical little horn, and the gate opened, mysteriously, on its own. Beyond that there was a tiny parking lot, with barely space to squeeze the car in. A flight of ancient steps, well worn, led up to a wooden door that seemed equally old.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Beatrice was shivering in the summer heat. "It's like something out of a horror movie. The vampire castle."
"According to the phone." And it seemed the phone was correct. Javert was waiting for them inside the door, in a hallway that was drab but contemporary in its decor, or lack of it. There was a young woman with him, dressed in a little black skirt suit with some sort of official looking label on the breast pocket. Her arms were loaded with items she passed out. "You will want to put on these." She handed them hooded robes. "And these." Surgical gloves. "And keep these handy." A barf bag for each of them.
Without further explanation Javert ushered them through something like an oversize refrigerator door, thick with insulation, into a room with white shiny white walls just like the inside of a fridge. But what was lying in the middle of that room, on a stainless steel table, had Beatrice desperately trying to use the barf bag, producing only dry heaves instead.
It was, of course, Andre. Andre without clothing, although they could have covered him with a sheet, at least to start. Andre lying on his back. With every square centimeter of his body glowing with color. Except for his face, he was covered with tattoos, so numerous, so intricate, it was impossible to tell what they were supposed to represent. And in the middle of all, a massive pillar of flesh, free of decoration, almost a half meter in height and thick in proportion.
"Is that real?" One thing you could say about Marissa, she wasn't squeamish. She actually reached out and touched the monstrosity, giving it a little tap so that it was vibrating. "Is that normal? Like rigor mortis?
