Chapter 6

The beach episode was one bout of exposure after the other. Carla wore a thin top that consisted of the proverbial tiny twin triangles doing their best to conceal her pendulous breasts. The bottom consisted of a tiny-string that her puffy bald pudenda bulged out in a cute triangular-shaped package. She was a sight. Men and women alike ogled her. Some lusted after her, some admired her tan, and some probably couldn't believe she could be that audacious in the company of her boyfriend and younger friend.

Tommy and I were no exceptions to the ogling rule. We gaped at Carla's brazen antics, whether she was lying on a beach towel, sauntering along the surf, going for a long walk or simply bending over and reaching into the cooler for another brew disguised as a soda.

The condo was spacious. The bedroom held a king-sized bed. Tommy was assigned the massive L-shaped living room couch as his bed. No complaints from him, since it could easily accommodate half a dozen weightlifters with room to spare.

The show didn't stop at night. I paced my liquor intake to keep tabs on Carla's antics, but my gorgeous girlfriend didn't hold back. She put away one wine cooler after the next on the first night, switched to Merlot on the second and stuck with wine for our third and final night at the condo.

We ate some great meals and drank and watched movies on cable. And we drank and joked with each other, played some Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit (that rage of the '80s) and Carla drank some more and a little more. Inhibitions Gone with the sea breeze and the smoke trailing off her endless supply of lit cigarettes.

It was on the third night that trouble ensued. Or maybe it wasn't trouble, but merely the inevitable. I awoke to darkness. The radio-alarm on the nightstand read 2:30. Carla was missing from her side of the bed. I waited for a flushing sound from the bathroom, a faucet signaling running water. None came.

Two-thirty became three and three became quarter of four.

Carla returned to the bedroom at 4:15. She was completely naked.

I was sitting up against the headboard. There was enough moonlight filtering in for her to spot me immediately. She jumped on the bed. I opened my mouth to speak but she pressed a finger to my lips and shushed me. Her fingers smelled of tobacco and her breath, of wine.

"SSSSSHHHHH! Don't ask, please. I'll behave from now on."

"What does that mean?"

Her answer was a sloppy kiss. I tasted Merlot on her lips and tongue. A few minutes later and she was sleeping softly beside me, leaving me to ponder the mystery of her absence.

Carla refused to speak of the incident the next morning. She only said, "Tommy's happy he came with us. He likes me. When I'm ready to say more, I will, okay? But I just can't talk about it right now, I'm feeling strange. I'm sorry, baby. Please don't push me about this thing. Please."

I was no dummy. It was pretty clear what had happened, especially after reading Tommy's look that day, a look that screamed guilt, embarrassment and eager-to-please puppy all rolled into one.

I was genuinely worried about Carla, about Tommy, about myself. I tried to talk to her about it but she grew irritated and avoided me. A few nights later, my girlfriend promised that she was my girl and my girl exclusively, period.

Tommy didn't visit our apartment the week of our return from the beach. Carla said that he must've found a girlfriend. The following week, we ran into his uncle by the mailboxes. I noted the look of apprehension on Carla's face, but then the guy waved to us. He explained that Tommy's visit was over and that he had returned home. The man thanked us for showing his nephew such a fine time during his visit. Carla told him it was our pleasure and be sure to say hi when he spoke to Tommy again.