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My Sister Jean - Chapter 20
(preview)
BillyG (hayden@mindles.com)
Little Cayman
A sudden knock on the loose-fitting screen door sounded like
a gun shot, loud and jarringly unexpected.
With a faintly British accent, a young man's voice called
out, "There's a phone call for Billy or Jean." And in another
moment, "Anyone there?"
Jean and I looked at each other. I lifted an eyebrow that
asked, 'Do you know?' She shrugged her shoulders as if to say,
'Beat's me.'
A naked Margi had slumped to her knees, one hand thrust
between her thighs and the other unsuccessfully trying to cover
her breasts. We were all uncomfortably aware that whoever it was
had only to step off the walk to look through the unshuttered
screens to see the three of us, mostly naked. We remained
frozen.
"Anyone home?" the disembodied voice asked again, and again
knocked.
Suddenly jarred from my inaction, I called out, "OK. Be
right there." Turning to my sister and our friend, Margi, I held
my hands out, palms up and whispered, "Stay here. I'll be right
back."
Jean placed her hand on my arm and asked in a surprisingly
loud voice, "Where'd you think we were going to go?"
"Shit, I don't know . . . but wait anyway, OK?"
Jean smiled and nodded. "Hurry back."
I slipped into some sailing shorts and a fresh T-shirt. As
I was leaving, I glanced back to see Jean kneeling beside the
cowering Margi. It occurred to me that if Margi wasn't concerned
about her nudity, she might understandably be concerned about her
job at this remote and high-priced dive resort.
Whoever had brought the message was gone when I went
outside. Threading the darkened paths that connected our
octagonal beach house with the larger central building, I
reflected that only our Mom knew where we were. Entering the main
structure, I walked into the bar where our hostess, Gladys,
glanced up and nodded her head toward a phone receiver off the
hook. "Your mom," she offered.
"Hello?"
"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?"
She murmured something. I couldn't hear her, so I kneeled
between her splayed legs and said, "What was that, sweet girl?
What'd you say?"
"She'll tell you, Billy, but first she's got to be relaxed.
That phone call scared her. Is everything all right?"
I nodded and offered no further explanation.
"Tell you what, Billy. Pull up the ottoman there behind you
and sit facing us. Put your legs over Billy's, Margi so he can
move in and be close. OK?".
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