Chapter 3: Party Time

After getting out of Linda's office, I'd had to deal with a few other issues outside of Barracuda Beach, including the usual morning victualling run.

The afternoon saw me still out on the town, this time filling a massive last-minute order from Chef Jacques. He had been taking reservations all morning and realized this was going to be an unseasonably busy four days.

So there I was, still dressed in the jean shorts and tee-shirt I'd been wearing since something like four in the morning, unloading a pickup loaded with foodstuffs from the wholesaler's. Beside me, completely unselfconscious about wearing nothing more than a pair of sandals, a pretty dark-haired teen about 15 years old was on the cellphone apparently chatting with her mother. I knew the girl wasn't a regular: she had the cottontail tan of someone who usually wore a modest bikini. Besides, I know the regulars by name.

"The buses haven't been able to move yet. The parking lot is just jammed, I think every parent from Willow Lane is here to join their kid for the open house. You might want to pick me up."

I craned my neck to take a look around the front of the buses. Yep, I'd need parking control, and rather quickly at that. I whipped out my cellphone and dialled Sheriff Fernandez.

"Hi, Sheriff, it's Paul over at Barracuda Beach. Have you got an off-duty deputy I can borrow for a bit? I need some professional vehicle wrangling done in my parking lot." He readily agreed, especially as I'd be paying for the overtime.

Within ten minutes, the Sheriff's daughter, Deputy Alicia Fernandez, showed up complete with florescent vest and traffic wand. Waving at me, she joked, "So, Paul, what's my dress code?"

I glanced at her trim form in the chocolate-brown pants and shirt. "That looks hot. Feel free to wear just the vest and hat."

The young girl who had been chatting with her mother looked in astonishment as the trim twenty-something police officer shucked her usual uniform and put on a pair of leather sandals, oiled herself down with suntan lotion, placed her badge and name tag on her florescent mesh safety vest, plopped her Mountie-style hat back on her head and shielded her corneas with Ray-Bans. Alicia still looked like a cop on traffic duty – only now, like a very naked cop on traffic duty.

"Um," stuttered the startled student, unable to tear her eyes away from the officer's crotch, "she's shaved..."

I glanced back, even though I really didn't need to. "Yep. You can ask her about it when she's off duty. By the way," I added conspiratorially, "she's also a close personal friend of mine, so please don't stare."

The youngster shook herself back into the real world. I went into the grounds with my load of beef and Brussels sprouts to assuage the hunger pangs of my guests, and soothe the terror my chef had of running out of stock.

The open house turned out to be an inspired idea. The restaurant staff set up a mixed hot and cold buffet that included Swedish meatballs on noodles, chicken breast in a cream sauce and for the vegans a vegetarian lasagna. (Actually, despite being quite carnivorous, I do enjoy Chef Jacques' vegetarian lasagna. Just call me Garfield, I guess.) They also included trays of finger-food on the side tables. The bar served gallons of free sodas and did a brisk business in non-free alcoholic beverages of all types – apparently some of the adults were choosing to get over their inhibitions with some liquid courage. I made a mental note to have Alicia screen the departing drivers for intoxicants.

Anyone from the textile community who decided to show up could wear clothes, although we let them know we encouraged them to give the lifestyle a try for the evening. Only the pool areas were strictly clothing-free. The adult visitors had their tours of the place but stayed mostly in the clubhouse, the elementary-school kids stuck to the swimming pool and playground. The teens, mostly from the afternoon swim classes, played enthusiastic pick-up games of volleyball, tennis, badminton and basketball.

I noted with satisfaction that most of the teens, and almost all of the visiting Willow Creek students, stayed nude.

I was talking to a parent I hadn't met before, and discovered he wasn't a Willow Lane parent, but rather was there to pick up his high-school aged daughter after her swim lesson, and stayed for the free food. His daughter was standing beside him, still naked from her afternoon swim lesson. "If I'd have known you had all THIS stuff going on here, I'd have come inside sooner! My wife LOVES to play tennis, and you've got probably the best court in the county!"

The daughter giggled and asked, "What do we have to do to get the high school to start a tennis club? We could play here."

I glanced over at the high school's phys ed instructor, Coach Wendy Lefebvre, who was chatting with Yet Another Parent, one I happened to know who had a kid in Willow Lane – and who I happened to know had NEVER shown up at Barracuda Beach before, ever, let alone nude. Both of them were quite nude, and appeared to be completely comfortable with that fact. The two ladies were having a quite animated but low-volume discussion. Wendy had been here every day over the last six weeks, often enough to be completely unselfconscious about her nudity and to almost get rid of her tan lines, but from Marcia Fernandez' tan lines I'd say she rarely went without at least a maillot. Marcia's hair was still wet from swimming.

"Coach Lefebre's the person to ask," I suggested. "If she's OK with it, the Board and I can talk turkey about adding a tennis club."

"Cool. We used to live in King County when I was in middle school, and I was in the tennis club at my old school. I wonder if we can get any meets between a King County high school and Manatee Bay?"

As she went over to talk to the Coach, I turned to the girl's father, and tried to visualize the permission form a King County child would bring home to their parents. "'Dear Mr. (slash) Mrs. Jones, the King County Board of Education would like you to sign the attached permission slip so your son (slash) daughter can attend in the nude an Intercounty Invitational Tennis Tournament, to be held at Barracuda Beach Naturist Resort next Wednesday.' Yes, I can see that raising a few eyebrows among the Home and School set."

The father snickered. "It's almost as bad as having your kid come home and announce they were going to be having swimming lessons in the buff, on the orders of the State Educational Oversight Committee."

"Tell me, what was your reaction?" I was curious.

"At first? Fury, then frustration. I mean, I can see why all the kids SHOULD learn how to swim, but to discover that there are no proper swimming pools in the entire community outside this resort ... Plus, the concept of my daughter running around buck-naked being leered at by a crowd of horny teenage boys kind of scared me."

"Ah, but she WASN'T running around buck-naked!" I exclaimed. "She's a girl, so she was running around doe-naked!"

"Oh, deer," he punned back at me, and added, "but after the first couple of weeks, she reported it was like a normal swimming class, just without having a slimy bathing suit clinging uncomfortably and sliding into embarrassing body parts. And her mother liked that she didn't have to rinse out a chlorine-impregnated bathing suit at the end of the day." He looked over at his daughter. "She's been trying to talk us into coming here on the weekend, and I think I'll have a chat tonight with my wife. Maybe the both of us can convince her."