She came back all smiles and put my check in the register. We asked for a jewelry store, and she directed us to one.
But then annoyance set in. Sonya picked out two rings, one for our engagement, a diamond solitaire, and a wedding ring, platinum with chasing cut in it. The tab was a bit over $1,000, but the jeweler shook his head. “Sir,” he said, “your card entitles you to five hundred dollars’ credit, but beyond that it’s Saturday and I have no way to check — the amount is too large for me to take a chance on. Monday, if you’ll come in, I’m sure we can work something out.”
I drew breath to explode, but Sonya said: “Please, please, forget it — they have jewelry stores in Rockville, and we can pick up my rings there.”
As we went trudging back to the motel, I was growling like a bear, and she joined in in her own way: “He’s a bastard, a creep, and a crumb, but let’s not let him ruin our day.” Pretty soon, not wanting to, I had to laugh, and we were happy again. When we arrived once more in our suite, I opened the box full of things, and we went in the bedroom to dress.
She made it touch, of course, parading around with no clothes on, and laughing at me when I turned my back to put on my trunks. Still, she got into her bikini, hat, and shoes, and I got into my trunks, shoes, and hat, and both of us put on our robes. Then I picked up our beach bag and blanket, and we went downstairs. Beach clothes are allowed in Ocean City lobbies, not in Atlantic City or Rehoboth. We left our key at the desk and went out to the beach. It was filling with people and the guards were coming on duty, as it was after twelve o’clock. We had forgotten a beach umbrella, but the boardwalk cast a shadow and we sat in it awhile, first spreading the beach blanket. Then she wanted to sunbathe, so we moved out in the glare.
“Now,” she said, “you have to rub me with lotion, and then of course I’ll rub you.” She had taken a bottle from the beach bag and handed it to me. So with her, if it wasn’t one thing it was something else, and with her pointing to all sorts of intimate places, and saying: “No, not up and down, circular.” And the thoroughness with which she rubbed me was really a thing to remember.
Pretty soon I said: “I think it’s time we went in.”
“Back? To the room? So soon?”
“To the ocean. For a swim.”
“Oh! Then okay.”
We kicked off our beach shoes, and I tossed my hat on the blanket. Then we went hand-in-hand to the surf, which was just the least bit high, as a sea breeze was coming in. But she was expert at going through it. First, she waited until a wave smashed down at her feet, then waded out in the wash to brace for the next one, standing sidewise, her arms in the air. But she was just a bit further out than the spot where it would crest, so when it came it rocked her, but didn’t smash her down. As soon as it passed she leveled out and started to swim. By the time the next one came, she was out past the whitecaps. I did exactly as she did, not too successfully, alas. One comber knocked me down, and I was a minute or two getting out to where she was swimming. She grabbed my hand and gave it a shake. Then she started swimming with me, side by side.
First we swam with trudgen strokes, then on our backs, floating. It gives you a funny sensation, as all you can feel is the lift of the swells, as they raise you and lower you down, and all you can see is the sky.
She looked up, pointed, and asked: “See that?”
“...That cloud?”
“Cloud nine — where we’ll be Tuesday night.”
“It’s quite a handsome cloud.”
“Mr. Kirby, I could be happy with you.”
“...Tuesday will tell the tale.”
“Could you be happy with me?”
“We can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I’m’n do my best to make you.”
That’s what she said, I’m’n, meaning, I suppose, “I’m going to.”
I told her: “All’s fair in love or war.”
“That’s it, I’m’n try.”
We began swimming again, still on our backs, but headed out to sea, and the further we went, the longer the swells got, and the smoother they were. It was us and the sea and the sky, as though she and I were suspended in wet eternity. I thought about God, the second time I had, around her. Then cutting the air came a whistle. She cocked her head up, waved, and blew a kiss. I turned in time to see the lifeguard blowing a kiss, and waving at her to come in. I asked: “Since when did you get so chummy with him?”
“Oh he’s cute.”
“And when did this intimacy start?”
“He was watching, while you were smearing me up.”
“Observant little cuss.”
We swam in, and at a certain point she looked behind her. Then she stretched out flat, and she rode it as though on a surfboard. It carried her in to the sand, where she dug in with her hands and then pulled her feet up. Then she was staggering clear.
I tried to copycat, and got washed a few feet toward shore. I stood up only to be smashed down on my face, in a mix of gravel and water, as a wave flattened me. I stood up and it happened again. Next thing I knew, she had me by the hand and was pulling me out.
“You’re fighting it — you mustn’t do that. You have to go along with it.”
“I’ll remember that, next time.”
“We better shower, before the salt cakes on.”
She put on her shoes, put mine on me, and rolled up the beach blanket. When we climbed up on the boardwalk, the guard was disagreeable to her. “Hey, smart guy,” he called, “There’s sharks out there, you know.”
“Oh, they’re nothing but fish.”
She tossed it off very saucy, and if there was any trace of the twenty-five-year-old woman, with slightly graying hair, that she had been the night before, I couldn’t see it myself. In her red cap and yellow-and-red bikini, she looked like what she was, a sixteen-year-old brat with a shape to write home about.
“That’s right,” the lifeguard said, “but they’re hungry fish, and the thing they’re fondest of is a good-looking chick, all white meat.”
“Oh my, you’re making me nervous.”
“I hope I’m getting through.”
“Okay, now I know.”
“Dad, can I date her up?”
“...Well, that would be up to her.”
“ What do you mean, up to me?” She ripped it, in a kind of a scream. And then, to him: “He’s not inny Dad, he’s my husband!”
“You got to be putting me on!”
“You heard me, my husband!”
We put on our beach robes, and I heard him mumble, “Is that a lucky son of a bitch.” We went in the lobby, picked up our key at the desk, and went on up to the suite. We were hardly inside when she yelled: “Is that all I mean to you? That it’s up to me if I date?”
“That’s all — date any time you please.”
“Well thanks. I’ll remember that.”
“Date and stay dated, for good!”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means that guy didn’t ask for a date, all on his own think-up — he got encouragement, plenty.”
“Says who?”
“Goddam it, I saw you blow him a kiss!”
“You call that encouragement?”
“What do you call it, for instance?”
I guess there was more, anyway till she had the beach robe off, and slipped out of her bathing suit. I fired one at her bottom that went off like a pistol shot. She laughed, wrapped me in her arms and kissed me. When we went in the bedroom it was all done up, and my five dollars, that I’d left for the maid, was gone. “Okay,” I said, “let’s wash off the salt — then get dressed. In separate rooms.”
Her answer was to unbuckle the belt of my trunks, strip them off, and pull off my shoes. That left us with nothing on, except that she still wore her cap. She laughed and sicked her finger at me, especially my male anatomy. She had told me quite a few times “we had it in sex education,” and yet it seemed to excite her, partly I think from plain adolescent curiosity.