Chapter 5

Barb’s turn:

It wasn’t a party. Lots of adults, ages running from Gramma and Grampa at seventy, down to a couple of college-age newlyweds. Also a smattering of youngsters down to age five or six.

I saw a dude within my age range eying me. Wasn’t bad looking, I guess, but I was not in a ‘looking’ mood. I angled towards Paul. Dude moved on.

Works the other way, too, you know. Paul’s pretty good looking himself and I saw a woman giving him a look over the top of a can of lite beer. I know a little bit about her. Seen her in a bikini. Tramp stamp. Also two kids under six. I beat her to Paul’s side, acted just a little bit clingy. She took the hint.

“What was that for?”

“That’s Taney Standhope. One divorce. Two kids. They have ADD – All Different Daddies. Shift supervisor at a Dollar General. Not what you’re looking for.”

“How do you know what I’m looking for?”

“I have an idea and I don’t want my best friend acting like a stupid crab, getting led into a trap by a piece of rotten chicken neck.”

“I love it when you’re poetic. I’m a big boy, though. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not YOU taking care of YOURself that bothers me. It’s Taney taking care of yourself.” Oops! One statement, blurted out in careless conversation, and I’d just admitted possessiveness and jealousy. I think I’ll shut up now.

I bounced off, came back and gave him a deviled egg. “To make up for missing out on Taney.”

Got a wry smile.

Standard fare for a seafood boil was there, starting with both boiled crabs (stupid ones) and boiled shrimp, the customary corn and little potatoes boiled in the same savory brine that cooked the shrimp and crabs. Potato salad. Cole slaw. Gramma’s couple of dozen deviled eggs which disappeared amazingly fast.

I had a couple of them myself. And some shrimp. And a big blue crab. Well, by the time I got to ‘im, he was brilliant red. And tasty. Eating boiled crabs is not for the fastidious.

After eating plenty of delicious food, the gathering started shifting to party mode. I didn’t think that Gramma and Grampa would hang around late. I knew I wouldn’t.

I tugged Paul’s hand. He’s engrossed in a conversation on offshore hydrocarbon recovery. That’s an obvious topic because from where we’re standing on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico I can count a dozen offshore platforms. The guys Paul is talking with are involved, and Paul, well, he knows a lot about a variety of subjects.

Me tugging his hand caused him to graciously duck away.

“I’m done with parties for the day,” I told him. “And all that salty seafood ... I’m gonna go home and shower. You should go home too, and ... Well, your hygiene is your business, but...”

“Okay, Barb.”

Maybe people noticed us leaving together. Maybe not. If they were watching, they saw us peel apart as we headed to our separate destinations. I showered, shampooed my hair to get the strong smell of seafood boil out, dried off, donned T-shirt, shorts, slipped on my shoes and headed out.

I’m a girl. I KNOW it takes me longer to shower than Paul does so I head right over. When I knock at his door, he yells for me to enter, so in I go.

“Dammit, Barb! I thought I TOLD you about that T-shirt.”

It’s an OLD T-shirt. I like the baby elephant on the front. But the cotton is kind of thin with so many washings.

“Oops!” and my best charming, demure smile. “I can go change...”

“No. But if you catch me looking...”

“I didn’t catch you looking at Taney’s rack. I think I’m safe.” Taney, for a twenty-something mother of two, had some impressive boobage. Even *I* noticed, and I’m a girl.

“Apples and oranges, Barb,” he stated.

Okay, I can work with that. “More like plums and casaba melons,” I countered with a snicker.

“Stop that!” he snapped. “Tits is not a subject I want to discuss with you. And hers? Not impressed. Not at all.”

Mine do stick out a little. Upper range of ‘A Cup’. Sports bras do me well if I’m practicing nipple control, which I do from time to time, and it gives me some small satisfaction that Paul tries to NOT pay attention.

“Okay,” I grinned. “Change of topic. What’s on TV?”

“I need to write.”

“Do it tomorrow. Find something good on TV.”

“You’re my muse. You’re supposed to encourage my writing.”

“I am. You’ll do better tomorrow. Relax this evening. Comedy? Action? Adventure? Romance?”

“Chick flick?”

“You wanna chick flick?”

“Putting a little interpersonal relationship into the story line. Looking for ideas.”

“Does the relationship involve bottle blondes with large tatas?” I gave him a smile.

“Don’t be catty.”

I guess I’m thinking a lot about stuff lately. The varieties of stuff I think about, well, the positions on the list changed when I saw Taney eyeballing Paul.

What’s that saying? “Possession is nine tenths of the law”? Me. Paul.

The movie starts. He’s in his big ol’ comfy recliner and I’m stretched out on the sofa.

Opening scene of the movie. He meets her. Friction.

“Neither of them know,” I said.

“You’ve seen this HOW many times?”

“A few. It’s funny. A little drama. Mindless.” I sighed. “Neither of them have any idea. The fun part is that she figures it out before he’s willing to admit it. There’s your story line.”

“Thank you.”

I chuckled. “It’s been done.”

“Not with a genetically modified interstellar pilot.”

“Why does interstellar travel need a pilot? With advances in technology we almost have hands-off flight from takeoff to landing. You’d think that by the time we got to that interstellar thing we wouldn’t need pilots.”

“Hush and watch the stupid movie.”

“You know I’m right.”

He paused the movie. “You have an interesting point. I choose to ignore it.”

I lowered my voice. “You noticed Taney’s rack.”

“What’s with you and Taney’s tits, kitten?”

“Kitten?”

“Nickname. Brain not working.”

“I talk about Taney’s tits and your brain shuts down?”

“Barbbbb...”

“Don’t whine. I’ll be good.” As I settled back into the sofa I pulled my T-shirt taut across my chest. Entirely by ack accident, right? And yes, I watched his eyes when I did it. And I tell myself that I have only the best of motives.

We finished the movie, marking the time for me to go home. I know he’s going to walk out the door with me and watch me walk home from his upstairs balcony, so before the door opened I ambushed him. He was less surprised by the kiss this time and I only giggled a little when we stopped.

Paul’s turn:

I’m liking the increasingly friendly, more touchy-feely version of my Muse, Barbara of the Marshes.

After some serious mistakes and near misses with romance, physical love, and the terrifying misinterpretation of the juncture of the two, I’ve been celibate.

The social yesterday was a reminder. I’d already seen the signs in the eyes of Taney BEFORE Barb stepped in to shield me. Might’ve exchanged pleasantries, but I’d definitely decided that there would be no physical contact, not past a perfunctory hug, under any circumstances.

And I tried telling myself that the decision had nothing to do with my association with Barb. That Barb took on the responsibility of protecting me from baser instincts, both Taney’s and mine, that’s another point of data on a chart that’s beginning to solidify into a definite trend.

Later in the week there’s another batch of bread in the kitchen. Mixed the flour, yeast, salt and water, watched the expected reaction.

“Doubled,” she said. “Twice the mass.”

“Wrong. Mass is matter. Short of fusion or fission, can’t be created or lost.”

“But why is mass not the same as weight?”

Okay, I actually AM performing my task in schooling her. “Weight is what we measure in a gravitational field, or under acceleration. Barb, we’re going to get into some Newtonian mechanics here.”

One light red eyebrow raised. She’s into the game amazingly fast. “Newtonian? You mean, like that Newton guy? Apple on his head and all that?”

I noted the eyebrow and the direction of the question... “Same guy, and being smart didn’t save him from getting bonked on the head.”

Barb plays Calvinball. The rules are very loose and subject to random change. “But you said something about exhilaration. What does being happy have to do with mass?”

Now I’m playing defense. “Acceleration is NOT the same as exhilaration. And now I think you’re playing with me.”

Giggle. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

I notice too much. No bra. Not a good thing to notice when your best friend is a week past fourteen.

Don’t get flustered, Paul. You know the game. “And if we were to get all sciencey, we’d find that the weight, the mass, is essentially the same. The volume, however...”

“Gotcha. Volume doubles. Density cut in half. Entrapped carbon dioxide from yeast metabolism. Gluten forms a gas-tight barrier, holds bubbles in. The lump expands.”

“Correct. That’s a hundred twenty-five percent right, judged against high school level biology.”

Cute smile, shake of head to get stray strand of hair off her face. Impossible to contemplate.

Oh, there was that standing kiss before she left for the night. Contemplation occurs.

By the end of October the Gulf waters were starting to take a noticeable drop in temperature. That, coupled with the lowering heat from the sun, started playing into the now twice a week, “Hey! Put on your swim trunks. I wanna go swimming.”

I can use the exercise. I’m also getting up earlier in the morning and making a run up the beach, a mile out, a mile back.

But the swimming – Barb’s desire to enter the water with a splash means I get to pick her up, have her stand on my shoulders, and let her jump off. Lots of physical contact involved in that evolution and Barb doesn’t seem bashful about any of it.

As we’re wading back ashore with the sun low in the sky, she’s smiling. “You’re not the only one who needs the exercise, Paul.”

“Yeah, there’s that. Exercising my resolve as well.”

“What? Because you touch me?” Smirk and a sideways glance with mirthful eyes. “I’m not complaining, am I? Protesting? Who calls YOU to go swimming?”

“You’re entirely too tempting, Barb, and it bothers me that you know it.”

“I don’t know it.”

“You are.”

“I’m gonna go home and shower and change clothes. That way we don’t have to do that downstairs shower. It’s getting too cold for that water.”