"Billy? How are you? You and Jean OK?" It was Mom.
Damn, I should have called to let her know. "I'm sorry, Mom
. . ." I began but she cut me off.
"Don't worry about it. That's OK. Gladys already told me
that everything's fine; I just wanted to hear your voice. Or
Jean's."
"We're fine." And then searching for something to say, I
asked, "Remember Margi, the Dive Master from last year?"
"Oh, yes. I remember Margi. I'm sure *you* do!"
It amazed me how my mother could put so much suggestive
meaning into her voice.
Before I could frame an answer, she went on, "Gladys said
that the three of you had gone to listen to CD's after dinner.
Having fun?"
Cripes. Half a world away. Did we have any privacy? I
looked at Gladys and she smiled a conspiratorial, almost wolfish
grin.
"Uh . . . yes. We were . . ." and I didn't know just what
to say. "We were . . . uh, playing a game."
"Truth or Dare?" Mom asked.
What the hell is this, I wondered?
"How'd you know?" I asked, perplexed once again by my
mother's seeming omniscience.
"I didn't, but it's what came to mind. Probably because
that's what I'd do in the same situation." She paused and then
went on, "You and Jean explore 'your situation' anymore?"
Our 'situation.' I was embarrassed. Even though we'd had an
open, heart-to-heart conversation about sex, Mom and me, I still
found it difficult to be comfortably candid.
"Uh . . . nothing new, Mom. We're OK, honest."
"Baby, I'm not checking up on you two. I love you both and
have confidence that whatever you do, it'll be all right. Now
get back to your party, tell Jean I love her and say hello to
Margi. And oh yes. Tell Margi not to do anything I wouldn't do .
. . and that leaves her a lot of latitude. Bye." she ended up
laughing.
"Bye, Mom."
I turned to leave and Gladys said, "Tell Margi to relax."
"What?"
"Just relax, have a good time . . . that's all."
Once again I had the feeling that I wasn't completely in the
know about what was going on. Were we that transparent?
I was mulling that over in my mind as I walked the darkened
path back to our room. I noticed that the blinds were drawn and
the room apparently dark as I let myself in. There was a yellow,
dim light, a candle flickering on the night stand. One of
Margi's CDs was playing, a soft, melodic sound that I didn't
recognize, but I liked.
"Hi, Billy," two voices intoned, almost in unison. "Welcome
back," added Jean.
"Margi, Gladys says, 'relax'."
"What?"
"Relax. She says to relax. That's all. You know what
that's a about?"
"Uh, I'm not quite sure. But she thinks I'm too tense."
As I dark adapted, I saw Jean was sitting on the floor, legs
outstretched, her back against the foot of the bed and Margi was
leaning back against Jean in turn, between her legs. Jean was
holding Margi loosely, one hand over a full breast. Both were
naked as best I could see in the flickering light.
"We've been talking," Jean added, in response to the
question unasked. "Margi's been telling me about her sex life."
Margi squirmed, I thought uncomfortably, and looked down,
not saying anything.
"Isn't that so, Margi?" Jean asked, nudging her breast.
"Oh, Jean . . . don't," she murmured so softly I almost
missed it.
"Oh, Jean, yes. Billy would be pleased to hear what you've
been telling me." And then turning to me, she added, "Our little
Margi's really quite experienced, Billy. Shy, but experienced.
Right, Margi?"