Backcast (10 page)

Page Archer was now out on the end of the dock, standing with her arms akimbo. The wooden platform beneath her feet rocked up and down, smacking the water with increasing volatility, but the innkeeper stood bolted in place. Darien thought she resembled one of the galvanized iron dock cleats—with a temperament to match.

Inside the restaurant, all eyes were glued to the spectacle. Diners
at every table were spewing dire warnings about how this comedy of errors was certain to end.

“It's comin' in
hot
.”

“They're toast.”

“That guy driving must be drunk—or stupid.”

“Did you see how close they were to that Hunter? I don't know how the hell they missed it.”

“What the fuck's the matter with that asshole?”

“I hope he's got insurance.”

“Page Archer will have his ass on a cracker.”

“It'll have to be a big goddamn cracker.”

“Could I have another double Oban, please?”

That last comment got Darien's attention. She looked around. Cricket MacBean was still seated at her table near the fireplace. She was attempting to flag down a server by rattling the ice in her water glass.

Darien rolled her eyes.
To each his own.

There was a collective gasp, and the room fell silent. The only sound came from a dozen overhead speakers playing soft music. It sounded like Enya.
Sail Away
.

Darien turned back toward the window. V. Jay-Jay was shaking her head.

“What happened?”

V. Jay-Jay gestured toward the water. “It looks like she stuck the landing.”

Sure enough, the pontoon was perfectly snugged up against the side of the swim dock, just like it belonged there. Quinn was standing on the side of the boat holding her bright blue dock line, looking for a place to tie up. It was clear that the stationary ladder would have to do. She bent over and began tying her clumsy knots.

People out on the lawn were shaking their heads. A couple of them bumped fists and raised their pint glasses toward the miracle of maritime maneuvering they'd just witnessed.

Page Archer, however, did not appear to share in the combined relief that a near disaster had been averted. She stormed back up the length of the dock like a thundercloud. Darien was pretty sure
this didn't bode well for Quinn, who now stood on the stern of the pontoon waiting for Montana to return with a rowboat to fetch her.

Other diners appeared to agree with her assessment of the situation.

“Page is gonna open a can of whoop-ass on that guy.”

“He deserves it. What an idiot, coming in hot like that.”

“How come Doug didn't go out there with her?”

“He's too busy pouring drinks for that mouthy redhead by the fireplace.”

“It looks like that woman who dove off is going out with the rowboat to get her.”

“Why doesn't she just swim in?”

Vivien K. O'Reilly stepped into the void on that one. “Because that idiot can't swim any better than she can drive a damn boat.”

Darien turned to face Viv. “That might be true. But you have to admit she's got a lot of heart.”

“Heart?” Vivien threw an arm out to encompass the scene on the lawn. “You call that
heart?
I call that a spinal cord that doesn't touch her
brain
.”

There was a titter of laughter. People reclaimed their seats and returned to their unfinished meals.

“I had no idea that coming up here would be so dramatic.”

Darien looked back at V. Jay-Jay with amusement. “It didn't occur to you that you were going to be stuck on an island for two weeks with your cellmates from the CLIT-Con fiasco?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“But you came anyway.”

V. Jay-Jay shrugged.

“Admit it. The riot that ended that conference made great fodder for a lot of books.”

“It certainly put the ‘creative' into last year's Creative Literary Insights and Trends Conference.”

“I didn't hear a lot of complaints coming from the organizers. They made a fortune on all that post-riot tchotchke.”

V. Jay-Jay didn't reply. Darien continued to study her.

“What?”

Darien shook her head. “It's nothing.”

“It didn't look like nothing.”

Darien gave a little head toss. “I was just wondering.”

“About?”

“About you and that special skill of yours.”

“My special skill?” V. Jay-Jay raised an eyebrow.

“Well. Yeah. You have to admit that it's pretty uncommon.”

“Not really.”

“Oh. So now you're going to tell me it's another Presbyterian thing?”

“Hardly. It's an ability that many women acquire after successful treatment for SUI.”

“What the hell is SUI?”

“Stress Urinary Incontinence.”

Darien's eyes grew wide.

“Don't look at me like that. I don't
have
it—I just understand the prevalence of the condition, and am familiar with some of its less conventional treatments.”

“And you know this because?”

“Let's just say I've had some firsthand experience.”

Darien sat back against her chair. “I'm totally confused. What does treatment for incontinence have to do with being able to open beer bottles with your hooha?”

V. Jay-Jay sighed. “It's not rocket science. You
are
familiar with your Kegel muscles, aren't you?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“After pregnancy, or as a natural part of the ageing process, many women lose elasticity in these muscles. Often, specific exercise regimens are enough to strengthen them. In other cases, workouts with vaginal weights prove efficacious.”

“Vaginal weights?”

V. Jay-Jay nodded.

“You're kidding me, right?”

“Not so much.”

“So, you work out with—what did you call them? Vaginal weights?”

“Occasionally. But only to maintain my stamina.”

Darien shook her head. “Kettle bells for the hooha.” She looked at V. Jay-Jay. “Are there classes for this at the local Y?”

“Doubtful.”

“Pity.”

V. Jay-Jay was looking at her strangely.

Darien held up her pint glass of Backcast ale. “I'm just thinking about how useful that particular skill can be when you find yourself in a jam.”

“Why? Are you planning on getting arrested?”

“You never know.”

“Save yourself the trouble and get a good attorney.”

Darien gave her a shy smile. “Or I could just make sure that you're on hand any time I plan to get into a bind.”

V. Jay-Jay didn't say anything right away. Darien thought her expression was hard to read. She worried that maybe she'd gone too far. Then she saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

“That could work, too,” V. Jay-Jay said.

Across the room, from her seat by the fireplace, Shawn was studying a group of people standing next to the bar. She'd been watching them for some time.

“Earth to Shawn? Hello?”

Shawn gave Kate a guilty look. She had no idea what they'd been talking about.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

Kate rolled her eyes. “What in the hell has you so fascinated over there?”

Shawn shrugged. “I don't know.”

Gwen chuckled. “Well, I know what
I
find fascinating. That woman in the red sundress has about the nicest ass I've ever seen in captivity.”

“Really?” Cricket followed her gaze. “Where?”

Gwen tipped her head toward the bar. “Over there, standing beside the gangly man who looks like Mr. Green Jeans.”

“Who is Mr. Green Jeans?” Shawn asked.

“Oh, come on.” Kate nudged her. “You never watched
Captain Kangaroo
?”

“It was a little before my time. Yours, too, come to think of it. So how come you know who he is?”

“I guess I have more esoteric tastes than you do.”

“Or a better cable package,” Cricket quipped.

Shawn didn't disagree. “She gets, like, nine million channels in New York City.”

“An enviable situation, to be sure.” Gwen took a healthy swig from her beer glass. “So, apart from the awesome display of assets, what
do
you find so intriguing about the group at the bar?”

“I don't know. They all kind of remind me of something.”

“What?” Cricket asked. “A remake of
The Stepford Wives
?”

Gwen snorted.

“Maybe.” Shawn decided to change the subject. “Anyone notice how chummy Darien and V. Jay-Jay are looking over there?” All three of her companions' heads swung toward the tables that lined the windows of the restaurants. “Don't look
now
,” Shawn hissed. “Jeez, you all.”

Kate elbowed her. “Will you lighten up? This place is like an IHOP on a Sunday morning after church. No one is paying any attention to us.”

“Ain't that the truth?” Cricket rattled the ice cubes in her empty tumbler. Again. “What does it take to get that damn server's attention? Flares?”

“They might be doing you a favor, Crix.”

“Favor?” Cricket gave Gwen a dubious look. “What kind of favor?”

“Think about it.” Gwen held her nearly empty pint glass aloft. “They could all be participating in the annual ‘Save the Liver' campaign.”

“
Save the Liver
?” Cricket slammed her tumbler back to the table. “You are so full of shit. I've never heard of that.”

“Sure you have,” Kate added. “Wasn't Julia Child a big proponent of that one?”

Gwen was nodding enthusiastically. “It's right up there with the Walk to Cure Nail Fungus.”

Shawn snickered.

“Why did I ever consent to sit with you three?” Cricket was staring across the room again. “You know, those two do look kind of chummy.”

“Told you.”

Cricket looked back at Shawn. “Don't act so smug.”

“Come on.” Shawn waved a hand. “I told you this morning there was some kind of something going on there.”

Kate looked at her. “Some kind of something? Wow. With an ability to turn a phrase like that, you should think about becoming a writer.”

“Hey, hey.” Shawn tapped her chest. “Let's not forget about my Simon & Schuster contract, okay?”

“How can we? You won't let us.”

“Oh, like you're suffering.” Shawn glowered at Gwen. “Feel free to shovel that fifteen percent right back my way if it ever gets to be too much of a burden for you.”

“Ooh. Catfight.
Great.”
Cricket turned in her seat. “I really need another drink for this.”

Gwen was chuckling, but Shawn was still offended.

“Really, baby cakes.” Kate patted her hand. “You need to lighten up.”

Shawn sighed and pushed her plate away.

“Are you on the rag?”

Shawn rolled her eyes at Cricket.

“Well?” Cricket suggested. “It seems like a reasonable explanation.”

“And they say our memories are the first things to go.”

“Fuck you, Gwen.” Cricket finally succeeded in flagging down a busser, who was hurrying by with a tray full of dirty dishes. “Could you please ask our server to activate her GPS and find her way back to our table?”

The busser looked at her with confusion.

“We need another round of drinks,” Gwen explained.

The busser nodded politely and continued on toward the kitchen.

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

All eyes at the table shifted toward Shawn.

“I have been on edge today.” She looked across the table at Cricket. “And, no, I'm not having my period.”

“I gave that shit up for Lent.”

Cricket looked at Gwen. “I know I haven't been a practicing nurse for more than a decade, but I'm pretty confident that it doesn't work that way.”

“It does when you tell your doctor that you want all that apparatus left behind in a surgical dish when they wheel you out of the OR.”

“What-
ever
.” Cricket appeared to notice something over Gwen's shoulder. “Red light! Our bogie is on the move.”

“Where?” Gwen swiveled around on her chair.

“Over there.” Cricket pointed a stubby finger at the magnificent, red-draped ass winding its way between the crowded tables. “My god. That woman is
hot.
”

“Really girls?” Kate looked back and forth between the two older women. “Do we need to behave like dogs in heat?”

Gwen nodded enthusiastically. “You cannot refuse to dance when so much beauty is before you.”

“Dance?” Cricket looked confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“She's quoting
Pride and Prejudice
,” Kate clarified.

Gwen looked at her with surprise.

Kate shrugged. “I have nine million cable channels, remember?”

“You should be an agent.” Gwen looked back to admire the view. The owner of the world's-most-remarkable ass had reached her table, and the red-robed object of desire was now hidden from view. “Shit. She sat down.”