Trouble in Paradise

Eighteen

They sat on the open deck of Marcy’s small weathered shingle cottage on Strawberry Point in the east end of town, past the narrow harbor mouth, just above the buttress of rust-colored rocks against which the open Atlantic moved without respite. Jesse was drinking beer from the bottle. Marcy had a glass of white wine.

“I thought you drank scotch,” Marcy said.

“I do, but beer’s nice,” Jesse said. “I thought you drank martinis.”

“I do,” Marcy said and smiled. “But wine is nice.”

There were no lights on the deck, but there was a small moon and some starlight, and, as their eyes adjusted, they could see each other and the white spray of the breaking swells below them.

“You know why we were drinking differently at the yacht club?” Marcy said.

“Because we knew we couldn’t drink many, so we were trying to get the most bang for the buck.”

“I’ll be damned,” Marcy said. “You did know.”

Jesse smiled. “I know a lot,” he said.

“And so modest,” Marcy said.

Jesse had his suit jacket off and it hung from the back of the chair to his left. Marcy could see the butt of his gun showing just in front of his right hip.

“You’re carrying a gun,” she said.

“I’m a cop.”

“Do you always carry one?”

Jesse nodded.

“I’m always a cop,” he said.

“What are you now?” she said.

Jesse drank from the bottle.

“Interested,” he said.

They both laughed.

“First you,” Marcy said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I was a cop in Los Angeles. I’m thirty-five and divorced.”

“I’m older than you,” Marcy said. “Always a cop?”

“No, I was a baseball player, before I got hurt.”

“Did you play professionally?”

“Yes.”

“Were you any good?”

“I was very good,” Jesse said.

“How’d you get hurt?”

“On a double play at second, runner took me out, and I came down on my shoulder.”

“What about the divorce?”

“I was married to a starlet,” Jesse said. “She wanted to be a star, so she slept with producers.”

“That start you drinking?”

“I used to tell myself it did,” Jesse said. “But it didn’t. I always liked to drink.”

“But you have it under control now.”

“Most of the time,” Jesse said.

“You over the first wife?”

“No.”

“You still love her?”

“Maybe.”

“That must make it hard to commit to other women.”

Jesse smiled. “Not for the short term.”

Marcy smiled with him in the pale darkness.

“I’ve never met a man who couldn’t commit for the short term,” she said.

She sipped her wine. He drank some beer. Below them the ceaseless ocean moved hypnotically against the begrudging rocks.

“And I’ve met a lot,” she said.

Jesse waited. It was her turn.

“You’re honest,” Marcy said. “Most men wouldn’t have told me about the ex-wife and would have sworn they’d love me forever.”

“So they could get you into bed,” Jesse said.

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want that,” Jesse said.

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t,” Marcy said. “But if I were husband hunting, and using my bed as bait, you’d have just blown the lay.”

“Instead of vice versa,” Jesse said.

Marcy laughed. And Jesse liked the way she laughed and joined in, and they both laughed as much for the pleasure of laughing together as for the bite of Jesse’s wit.

“We’ll see about vice versa,” Marcy said.

“You looking for a husband?” Jesse said.

“No. I was married,” she said. “At eighteen. I got two kids in college. Girl at Colby. Boy at Wesleyan.”

“Lot of money,” Jesse said.

“Their father can afford it.”

“He supports them?”

“As always. I raised them. He paid for it. He’s always been good that way.”

“What way wasn’t he good?”

“He was, is, a doctor. Very successful. A neurosurgeon. And he fucked every nurse that would hold still for twenty seconds.”

“Like all the jokes,” Jesse said.

“Like all the jokes,” Marcy said. “He’s not a bad man. He’s generous, and he’s a good father in his way. But where his penis leads, he follows.”

“When’d you get divorced?”

“Ten years ago.”

“You over it?”

“Yes.”

“Want to get married again?”

“No.”

Jesse finished the last of his beer and set it on the table beside him.

“Well,” he said. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

They both laughed again. Marcy drank some wine.

“Here’s the deal,” she said. “I like men. I like wine. I like sex. Right now I’m having a nice time and I hope to have an even nicer one. I am not going to fall in love with you, and I don’t think you’ll fall in love with me. And, assuming you’re interested, we can have some nice uncomplicated sex with nothing at stake. And we can be each other’s friend.”

Jesse leaned back in his chair and looked at her and said, “Works for me.”

He kept looking at her in the semi-lucent darkness. She was quiet for a while as he did so, and then she said, “Assessing the goods?”

“No, well, maybe. I was just thinking how clear you are.”

“I had a good shrink,” Marcy said.

“The shrink had a good patient,” Jesse said.

“Also true,” Marcy said.

She stood and walked to the railing of her deck and placed her hips against it and sipped her drink.

“The trouble with being clear is that it makes the transitions a little awkward,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower. Would you care to join me?”

“Sure,” Jesse said.