Chapter 4: Liquid Courage

After the crowds had dispersed, I returned to the clubhouse. I noted that Marcia Fernandez had switched from the Coach to my wife, and from white wine to what appeared to be whiskey. I snared one of my waitresses on the way, and bid her go expeditiously and advise the pretty young gendarme in the parking lot to beware of impaired motor vehicle operators. Rose has been raised naturist and has the all-over tan to prove it, which was even more of a contrast to Marcia's tan pattern than that of the Coach, a much more recent convert to naturism. Throwing caution to the four winds, or deciding my beloved deserved at least some backup, I came over to the two ladies and joined their conversation.

It was quite apparently not Marcia's second glass of the evening.

"Ah, MISTER Jackman. MISTER Paul Jackman. That horrid, HORRID man who wants to strip my innocent daughters nude."

It was quite apparently not Marcia's third glass of the evening.

"Well, let me tell you, MISTER Paul Jackman, you'll not get THEM nude, nor shall you get ME nude."

It was quite apparently not Marcia's fourth glass of the evening. I looked down rather pointedly at her utterly bare torso. The closest thing she had to clothing was her purse.

"Yes, Mrs. Fernandez, I can see that. No way will I be getting you nude." Impossible to get someone nude when they are already. Behind her, I could see Rose frantically gesturing the 'cutoff' signal to the waitstaff.

She turned her attention to Rose, as my wife desperately composed herself. She, I could tell, was in pain as she tried to prevent herself from laughing out loud at the dipsomaniac. "How can you STAND to be MARRIED to a pervert like this?"

I held up a hand with four fingers raised, aiming at the nearest waitress. She raised both hands, all four fingers extended. Eight drinks? ... and one thumb. Nine? Egad, no wonder she was so unsteady on her pseudopods.

Shelly, my main waitress, came up that moment with another drink. "Cocktail?" she offered. To me, she whispered, "Mocktail." Good. The sot needed some time to sober up, and preferably without any caffeine. Last thing I wanted was a wide-awake drunk. At one hour per drink, she'd be here for front gate opening tomorrow morning. Heck, at this rate she'd still be here as her kids were opening their presents on Christmas morning.

"Where are her children?" I whispered back to Shelly. She nodded her head at the corner, where we had set up a bit of a nursery. My youngest daughter Tori was entertaining a young Latino miss, both dressed 'appropriately' for a naturist resort. A teen girl, about 14 years of age, was engaged in a spirited game of darts with Debra, both quite sky-clad.

Marcia turned her alcohol-addled attention at me, again. "Anyway, you just TRY getting ME to take off my clothes in PUBLIC. No way." She turned in the vague direction of China, some 90 degrees from where her children were enjoying themselves, and announced, "Sofia, Isabel, we're going HOME."

I held on to her hand, gently. "I don't think it's a good idea to drive." I pointed to the setting sun. "Maybe you should sleep here tonight, Mrs. Fernandez. We have a motel room available."

She squinted at me through the alcoholic haze. "You're not trying to take advantage of me?"

"No, ma'am, just trying to keep you from making a mistake you'll regret later."

She huffed and sped off. I spun at Shelly. "Quick, call Alicia. Warn her that the most rip-roaring drunk I've ever had is on her way over to the parking lot right now."

Shelly nodded at the bartender, who picked up the bar phone and dialled like the Devil was after her.

"Debra, you and Sofia keep Isabel here, whatever you do."

"Mother's drunk again, isn't she?" asked Sofia shrewdly. I cocked an eyebrow at her – again? How often did she over-serve herself anyway?

I had an inspired idea. "Hey, Isabel, you want to go swimming again?"

"Yes, can I?"

Rose hustled the four of them out for a sunset skinny-dip.

Shelly and I got to the parking lot in time to see Alicia stopping a very outraged and intoxicated Marcia from getting anywhere near her SUV. Marcia had, if anything, even less blood in her alcohol stream than she did ten minutes ago.

"She's my aunt," Alicia explained in an embarrassed fashion. "I don't want to run her in if I don't have to."

That explained the same last name. "Your cousins are by the outdoor pool. Shelly, escort the nice police officer and her aunt to motel unit 6, please, and pour said aunt into bed. Place her in the recovery position, and place a nice large fluffy bath towel under her hips, in case she has an accident. I'm off to tell my daughters they're having a couple of guests for an unplanned sleepover tonight."

After bearing two delightful children, one now fourteen years of age, my wife was no longer the sprightly young thing that caught my eye back when we were both our eldest daughter's age, but she still was able to hold her own in the company of any group of ladies. I may be a bit biased, of course. Rose is the woman I'm looking forward to spending the rest of my life with, and the feeling is very much mutual. We display our affection for each other often, much to the occasional distaste of Debra. I was the same way at that age whenever my parents became affectionate – what is it with teens and their parents on this issue? Of course I get to laugh at Debra when a particularly attractive male near her age attracts her eye.

So there Rose and I were, enjoying a little afterglow late that night after putting the ankle biters to bed, when a stark-naked ten-year-old Isabel opened the door to our bedroom.

"Yes, Isabel?" Rose asked quietly.

"Washroom?"

Rose got up and led her young charge to the lavatory, supervised her visit with the porcelain throne and led her back to my youngest daughter's bedroom, tucking her in with a glass of water.