Chapter 07
The flea market yields unexpected delights, sex, and further complications for Beth and Ann.
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Author's note:
Chapter 7, like the others, is not really a self-contained short story. Rather, it is one part of a fairly complicated long story. For absolute best results, begin
New England Triad
at Chapter 1 and read the chapters in sequence.
If you'd like to do it differently, the plot-summary, below, should get you off to a good start.
The story so far:
Everybody here is a well-educated thirty-something professional. Stephen and Ann Lancome have been married for 10 years. Ann had a brief affair with a married man, Paul, five years ago. Then this July, Stephen stumbled into a loving and ongoing affair with fellow bicyclist Beth Gordon (Chapter 1). At the same time, Beth became Ann's colleague at the office (Chapter 2). How's that for awkward? Ann knows about the affair and has been putting up with it, hoping it will all blow over soon. Ann and Beth actually like each other. One night in August they had lesbian sex together and then a threesome with Stephen (Chapter 3).
On a business trip to Pittsburgh right after Labor Day, Ann had a one-night stand with an old boyfriend from college, Justin Abernathy (Chapter 5). Ann tells Beth about it briefly in this chapter (7). The action in this chapter takes place on Sunday, October 10.
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Hitting the Sunday flea market in Loomisville--three days after her lunchtime
rendezvous
with Stephen--was Beth's idea. It would be something different and also cheap recreation. And who knows? she might even find something there she liked. Or, almost as good, something so atrociously, irredeemably awful it would make a great conversation piece or a fun ironic gift.
An excursion like this demanded company. Alas, Dev wasn't free this Sunday, and Beth's friend Kathy was out of town with the kids. Beth realized again that she didn't have altogether that many friends.
Stephen was a possibility, she thought, and the two of them could even bicycle to Loomisville if they wanted. But most of the distance would have to be on fairly crowded, fast two-lanes--highway 44 or else state route 66. That was do-able but not especially enjoyable. And somehow Stephen just didn't seem like the flea-market type. Not the Loomisville flea market type, anyway. Or maybe, Beth realized, she was just in the mood for some female company. She dialed Ann's number.
The outing sounded like fun to Ann. They decided that, unless it rained, Beth would pick her up Sunday about 9:30. They'd spend an hour or two at the flea market, then have lunch somewhere.
Sunday morning, before Beth arrived, Ann had just one question for Stephen. "Did you tell her about Justin?"
"No, not a word."
"Thank you."
He waited for the second question: Did you and Beth have sex when she came over for lunch Thursday? The third question would be, In our bed? But the second and third questions never came. The questions that didn't get asked, Stephen mused--like the dog that didn't bark in that Sherlock Holmes story. Is that silence an important clue? To what?
At last he resolved to stop worrying about it and nearly succeeded.
What he felt mostly was relief that he didn't have to go back to that flea market. He tried to remember some of the junk he saw there the first time. Used percolators, both stovetop and electric. LPs of Christian devotional music by dozens of obscure male quartets. Used clothing that even Goodwill would hesitate to accept. A pile of random nuts, bolts, screws, angle brackets, turnbuckles, and other hardware. Wooden trays made in 7th-grade shop class. Bootleg and even home-copied cassette tapes of country/western hits. His memory had mercifully suppressed the rest. Perhaps a female eye could find objects of beauty and value that he had managed to overlook. Best of luck.
He and Ann each greeted Beth warmly when she arrived. A couple minutes later the ladies were off, looking like they were starting out on a fun adventure. Stephen grabbed the last of the coffee and returned to the stack of quizzes he was grading.
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The Loomisville outdoor flea market was not as bad as Stephen remembered, though Ann and Beth did walk quickly past many of the tables. But a display of costume jewelry was fun. Beth browsed a board of national-flag pins and bought one with a design she liked: three horizontal bars and an intriguing seal in the center. It turned out to be a version of Ethiopia's flag, obsolete since 1987.
On the same table Ann found a cameo pin of Lenin, his profile red on a goldtone wavy-flag background. It looked cute as heck and wonderfully transgressive, and there must be
someplace
she could wear it to. If not, Stephen might enjoy wearing it to class just to alarm the business majors. Not that most young people would recognize Lenin if they tripped over him.
Another display caught their interest: racks and piles of newly manufactured clothes and accessories that looked straight out of the late 1960s. "Stephen's dad would have loved this stuff," Ann explained. "Actually, Stephen and I kind of like the look too."
Beth was glad to take a look, so the two of them began sorting through the tie-died T-shirts and halter tops, sweatshirts with Zen mandalas and legends like "Be. Here. Now." Not to mention bead headbands, necklaces, bracelets, and anklets; sew-on patches featuring The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers and Mr. Natural; lovely long skirts and dresses in Indian fabrics; fringed, buckskin-looking skirts and jackets; denim miniskirts and shirts; beautifully woven guitar straps; inexpensive hookahs; cigarette rolling machines; silver jewelry; roach clips; and lapel pins with slogans including "Make Love Not War" and "Anarchists Unite!"
Who knew there was still a market for all this late-1960s nostalgia? Or maybe there wasn't--which is why it was here and priced low at the Loomisville flea market.
Ann and Beth each found a handful of jewelry they wanted plus a few tops, skirts, and, for Ann, an Indian-print dress. A dressing room was even available: an old tent, maybe nine or ten feet square and more than tall enough to stand in. Flaps were in place covering the main screen-windows, but there was some ventilation at the bottom and the top. The open door faced a patch of woods, so there was reasonably good privacy. Certainly more privacy than anybody felt they needed at Woodstock, to judge from the photos and movie! The two women left the jewelry with the cashier and carried the clothes into the tent.
The mirror inside was too small, but Ann and Beth could give each other feedback on the fit and the look. Some of their selections didn't fit or simply wouldn't work; others looked good on them. Both women were glad there was a fitting room, primitive though it was.
To be sure, it felt a little odd in there, rather sexy too. There the two of them were, partially undressed yet surrounded on three sides by other people. Ann and Beth could not be seen, yet through the thin tent material they could clearly hear the private conversations of dozens of people, all fairly close-by. Close your eyes, and you could easily feel that you--half-naked, or more than half--were exposed in public. It was a little creepy and maybe more than a little erotic. Like those old Maidenform Bra ads. To say nothing of the fact that the half-naked person sharing the tent with you had recently been, for a few hours anyway, your lover.
They were just about finished with the clothes when Beth inhaled sharply. Ann turned to look.
Beth was embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just..."
Ann raised her eyebrows. At that moment she was standing, wearing only her socks and panties. Beth was in her shirt and panties.
Beth tried again. "I mean, obviously I've seen you with your clothes off before, but it's just... I don't know... the light..."
Ann moved closer to Beth, facing her, her lips a little pursed, silently inviting her to speak more.
"The light was just catching your breasts in this lovely way, and I guess I was just kind of suddenly struck by... uh..."
Ann reached her hand up and touched Beth's upper arm.
"By how beautiful you looked."
Ann saw that she had to get in touch with her feelings quickly and think quickly. The moment was very, very charged. The sensible thing would be for her to respond casually and quickly change the subject.
And the sensible thing would have been not to have sex with Justin. Or Paul. The sensible thing would have been to tell Stephen and Beth to keep their pants zipped and their goddam hands off each other. The sensible thing would have been not to initiate lesbian sex when Beth came over for dinner. Or now. I've got quite a track record when it comes to being sensible, don't I? she thought
She also thought, how can you have very nice sex with someone just once and then just back off and leave her stranded and act like it never happened? Someone you cared for enough to have sex with in the first place.
And did that apply to Justin too?
Last, she realized that she had nowhere near enough time to think all this through, so she might as well act on instinct. As usual. Maybe as always. She gave Beth a quick kiss on the lips.
"You are beautiful too, Beth."
They kissed again, and this kiss lingered, though it stayed more tender than passionate. Beth touched and then caressed Ann's right breast, and both of Ann's nipples stiffened. The strength of her own response surprised Ann. She moved a hand to Beth's panty-clad bottom.
A minute later it was Beth who uttered the first sensible words. "We need to get dressed."
They did and left the tent. They placed the unwanted garments on a table, brought the wanted ones to the register, retrieved the jewelry, paid, and walked on. Neither of them really felt like browsing any more.
After a minute, Beth made a suggestion, rather hesitantly. "I could make us lunch."
Ann thought, if I want to change direction I need to say, "Let's go to that restaurant we passed." Do I want to change direction? Then she thought, again, don't try to think this through. It will take hours to think this through. Just do whatever feels right. That usually works well enough.
"That would be nice," Ann said.
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This was the first time Ann had seen Beth's house. Beth gave her a tour and, like Stephen, Ann found the house charming. They had it all to themselves today. Dev was off at one of the labs again--there was one at the main campus and another at the medical school, and Dev did something or other at each. Ph.D.-level biochemistry was pretty much beyond Beth's comprehension, and Ann's too.
Beth had a pound of bay scallops in the freezer. They would thaw quickly in water. Ann chopped the fresh parsley and some salad ingredients while Beth prepared the rest of the meal: scallops and a bit of
prosciutto
poached in a white-wine sauce over toast points, plus a quick green salad. The nearly-full bottle of Rhine wine in the fridge would serve for both sauce and beverage.
They ate at the kitchen table. Ann enjoyed both the meal and Beth's company. The wine, complex and fairly dry for a Rhine, went well with the scallops. Ann allowed herself a second glass. Beth, who had to drive Ann home, decided to stop at one.
Beth made coffee and found some cream and sugar for Ann. They carried their cups into the living room and sat and chatted some more. After a bit, Ann surprised Beth by bringing up the evening in August the three of them had spent together. The evening Ann and Beth had made love to each other and then all three had made love.
"Speaking of the '60s, I don't suppose you have any more of that lovely
Cannabis
