Full Frontal: To Make a Long Story Short (2 page)

Bobby had talked Tim into taking a few days off from his caddying job at the Long Shore Country Club to drive up to the Cape for a summer fling before they would have to return to Fairfield Prep for their sophomore year. Bobby’s mom offered to let him take her Chevy convertible, and Tim’s mom agreed to let him go. She liked Bobby and thought he was a responsible young man.

Tim had met Bobby the year before, when the two were awarded the only scholarships offered to Fairfield Prep students. Out of over three hundred applicants, they had scored highest on the entrance exams. There had been a reception at the Shore Point Beach Club sponsored by the ladies of the Bellarmine Guild, an organization of students’ mothers and alumni from Prep. It was kind of like a ladies’ garden club. Because the Guild funded the scholarships, Bobby and Tim had to attend a reception to accept their awards. Their pictures were in the
Norwalk Hour
newspaper; in them, they were holding envelopes handed out by the matronly president of the organization. The boys formed an instant bond, having suffered that ordeal together. They would become best friends throughout their four years at Prep, although they were very different. Bobby was the captain and quarterback of the football team. Tim was head cheerleader, and every time Bobby would take a hit or get injured, Tim would cringe, trying not to show his pain to fans in the bleachers.

Their trip to the Cape was planned for the week after Fourth of July. Bobby picked Tim up early Wednesday with the top down on the Chevrolet. Tim’s mom had packed a lunch of her famous bologna sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade, and a package of Pepperidge Farm chocolate chip cookies. That would at least get the boys to the Cape. They pulled off at a rest stop outside Providence, Rhode Island, and dug hungrily into the lunch bag Tim’s mom had prepared. For some reason food tasted better out of doors.

“It’s probably a little more than an hour to Woods Hole, depending on traffic,” Bobby calculated.

“Great, then we’re on the Cape.”

“We’ll have to find a place to stay, but it will still be early and midweek. I’m sure it will work out. I just hope we can find a place on the beach. After this drive I’ll be ready for a swim.”

The boys folded the brown bag and wax paper that the bologna sandwiches had been wrapped in, took another swig of lemonade, chewed a chocolate chip cookie, and were back on the throughway, heading for the Cape. Tim was feeling good, riding with the top down next to his friend, just the two of them. Unconsciously a broad smile broke out across Tim’s face.

It took a little longer than Bobby had estimated, but eventually the boys were crossing the bridge at Woods Hole and on the Cape. Traffic was light, so the ride was pleasant. Bobby pulled off at the South Yarmouth exit.

“I think I remember some motels along South Shore Drive right on Nantucket Sound. Let’s take a look.”

“Great,” Tim said, happy to have Bobby in control.

After a few wrong turns, the boys ended up on South Shore Drive. Bobby was right. There were a lot of motels—most of them posting No Vacancy signs.

“Hey, there’s one,” Bobby pointed out. “The Surfcomber on the Ocean, and it’s AAA approved.” The sign looked promising.

“Looks great,” Tim agreed.

Bobby pulled the convertible up to the front of the motel. “Let’s see if there’s room at the inn.” Tim followed obligingly through the door to the small front office. There was no one behind the desk, but there was a small bell with a handwritten note reading “Please ring for service.” Bobby tapped the bell a few times, and eventually a heavyset woman smoking a cigarette emerged from the room behind the office, out of which could be heard the monotone of a television.

“Hi, boys,” she said, stopping to cough and then taking a long puff on her cigarette. “How can I help you?” She was friendly, if a bit unsteady.

The woman looked at Bobby and then Tim suspiciously.

“Do you have any room?” Bobby asked.

“You’re in luck, boys. I’ve had an early checkout, and there is a room, but only for tonight and tomorrow. We’re all booked for the weekend. It’s a double, water view, sixty-nine dollars a night, payable in advance.”

“Is that all right with you, Tim?”

“Yeah … sounds great.”

Bobby pulled out a wad of cash and paid for two nights. At the beginning of the trip they’d agreed that Bobby would be in charge of finances, and then later on divide the costs once they got home.

“You boys can park anywhere out front. I see that fancy convertible you’re driving. There’s a pool, but no lifeguard on duty, so be careful. Don’t use the room towels to go to the beach or the pool. There are plenty of towels in a bin by the pool.” She pulled out a little Xerox copy map of the property and circled their room’s location with a pencil.

“You boys are here, in room 106. The pool is there, and the beach is just down the wooden stairs. You’re lucky: you have a waterfront room. At this time of year, they’re usually sold out. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” Bobby said. “Are there any good places to eat nearby?”

“There’s the Clam Shack down the road, a three-block walk. The food is good, but not fancy. If you tell them you’re staying here, they’ll give you a ten percent discount. It’s family-style, and the prices are cheap compared to a lot of other places around.”

“We’ll check it out later.” Bobby smiled.

“Here’s your key,” she coughed again. “Behave yourselves, boys!”

They dragged their duffel bags out of the convertible, and Bobby put the ragtop up. They followed the map the woman had given them to room 106. It was on the first floor and faced the pool and was only a short distance to the wooden stairs leading to the beach. The room was fine, though it did smell of cigarette smoke. There were two double beds, and if the door was left open, the smell of the ocean made the room more pleasant.

“How about a swim?” Bobby tossed his duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

They changed into swim trunks, careful not to look at each other. For best friends, they were still very shy.

Although the motel was supposed to be full, there was no one at the pool where the boys sprawled out on lounge chairs. Bobby dove into the pool first, doing breaststrokes back and forth several times. He was a true athlete, and Tim enjoyed watching him in the water. Tim lowered himself gradually into the pool for a swim but climbed back up the metal ladder after a few minutes to stretch out on the lounge chair and bask in the afternoon sun. He dozed off while Bobby was still doing laps. He must have been sleeping over an hour when he felt Bobby’s hand on his shoulder.

“Going to sleep all afternoon?” Bobby joked, a towel wrapped around his taut body, fresh from doing laps in the pool.

“No, I just dozed off after the long ride.”

Tim looked up at Bobby standing over him in the late afternoon sun.

“Why don’t we take a shower and check out this Clam Shack? I’m kind of hungry.”

“Fine,” Tim agreed.

The boys showered, taking turns, and then put on shorts and fresh T-shirts, as though going out on a Saturday night date.

“She said it was down the road, about three blocks. Let’s walk.”

The boys started down South Shore Drive. The Clam Shack was exactly as the woman had described: a family-style restaurant with picnic tables and benches. People would order at the counter, wait for their order number to be called, and then pick up their food. Bobby and Tim ordered the fried clams (full bellies, not the strips) and sat down to wait for their food.

“Hi, I’m Penny,” a young waitress with honey hair and freckles said. “I can take your drink order,” she smiled. “Anything you want.”

“Well …” Bobby paused.

“I know. You guys are underage, but I can bring you beer in a plastic cup,” she winked. “The owners don’t care.”

“Okay,” Bobby said.

“This is a neat place,” Tim observed. “Fried clams and beer … what more could you want?”

Penny brought the beer and full platters of fried clams, along with fries and coleslaw.

“Hey, guys … enjoy. And let me know if I can get you anything else.” This was a flirtation not lost on the boys. They didn’t even have to pick up their food.

“You think she wants to do something?” Bobby asked, plopping a tartar-sauce-covered clam in his mouth.

“Probably. Do you want to?”

“Maybe. Not tonight,” Bobby backed down a little.

“Me either.”

The boys finished their dinner and beer, paid Penny, and said goodnight. The walk back to the Surfcomber was slow and stumbling.

“I think that beer got to me,” Bobby said as he put an arm around Tim’s shoulder. “What do you say we go for a swim in the ocean?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Tim smiled, still feeling the warmth of Bobby’s arm across his back.

They returned to the motel room and, not looking at each other, changed into their swim trunks. There was a partial moon out—just enough to light up the beach. They went down the wooden steps to the sand and tested their toes in the surf.

“The water’s really warm,” Bobby said.

“Yeah. I can’t believe it.”

The water emitted phosphorous images as the boys waded out into the surf. “Look at that,” Bobby said, amazed at the luminescent bubbles they were seeing in the warm salty water. “It’s amazing.”

They waded until the water was up to their waists and then dove in. Bobby was first to splash Tim, taking his head in his hands and pushing him underwater.

“You shit,” Tim said, laughing, trying to get his breath back. “You trying to drown me?”

“Yeah, that’s the game,” Bobby answered playfully. The boys swam in the warm salty water under the summer half-moon. Bobby became more aggressive, pushing Tim’s head underwater. At first it was fun, but Tim was starting to choke. Bobby was a much more accomplished swimmer than he was. Tim came up to the surface, breathing heavily, a bit nervous that the game had become so physical. That’s when Bobby pulled on Tim’s swim trunks, forcing them below his knees. Tim did not resist: he did not believe what was happening. Tim’s swim trunks floated to the surface of the water, and Bobby, laughing, hurled them to shore.

“Is that more comfortable?” Bobby joked.

“Yeah … fine,” Tim said as Bobby held him in a tight embrace. Tim’s legs wrapped around Bobby. “Yeah … fine.” He smiled and fell into his friend’s body. With that Tim had his hands down Bobby’s swim trunks, pulling them down, and the two were naked in the warm saltwater.

“That’s only fair.” Tim looked Bobby directly in the eyes, his legs wrapped around Bobby’s waist. The two floated in the water a few minutes, and then, without saying anything, Bobby kissed Tim on the lips. Tim kept pressing against Bobby’s tight body.

“Let’s go in and get rid of the salt,” Bobby suggested, brushing at Tim’s hair as Tim released his legs from around him. The boys floated to shore, picked up their bathing trunks and walked up to the pool area, naked. There was no one around and only a few lights on in the rooms facing the pool. Inside the motel room, Bobby turned on the hot water in the shower.

“Get in,” Bobby motioned. The two lathered up and washed each other all over. Bobby turned Tim around and gently probed his white cheeks. Without saying a word the two boys wrapped themselves together and then got out of the shower and fell onto Bobby’s bed.

Sometime during the night, Tim slipped back into the other bed. Bobby was snoring softly, and the rhythm of the waves unfolding onto the sandy beach a few yards away lulled Tim into a gentle sleep.

The sound of the shower running woke Tim up. Bobby was getting ready for the day.

“You going to sleep all day?” Bobby emerged from the steamy bathroom and threw a wet towel onto Tim.

“I really slept,” Tim said, wiping his eyes. “Must be the salt air.”

“Yeah, sure!” Bobby laughed, letting the thought linger.

“I’ll hop in the shower.”

“Hurry up so we can go have some of those blueberry pancakes. Breakfast comes with the room.”

Tim was out in a few minutes; he pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. “Okay. Blueberry pancakes.”

The boys had breakfast in the small kitchen off the lobby; the woman who’d checked them in poured their coffee. Oddly, there were no other guests having breakfast, although the motel was supposed to be fully occupied.

“You boys have a good night?”

“Yeah,” Tim chirped up quickly. “I really slept. Must be the sound of the surf.”

“Must be,” the matronly woman smirked, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. From her smug attitude, Tim wondered if the woman had seen them coming back from the beach last night.

“What’s say we rent some bikes and take a ride along the beach?” Bobby suggested.

“I’d really like that.”

“I’ll ask Momma if there’s a bike rental place nearby.”

There was. The boys got bikes and headed off to the dunes, leaving the sexy Chevy convertible in the parking lot. It was a spectacular day, the Nantucket Sound a beautiful cobalt blue. They pedaled for miles, exploring coves and deserted beaches. It may have been the height of the season, but this part of the Cape was remarkably empty. The boys stretched out on dunes on towels from the room—towels they were not supposed to take. What the hell! They would probably never come back to the Surfcomber. As the sun began going down, the boys pedaled back to the bike rental shop, turned in the bikes and headed back to the motel.

“You up for the Clam Shack again?” Bobby winked.

“Sure, why not?”

“Penny will probably be waiting,” Bobby joked.

“Just what we need.”

The boys showered separately, put on jeans and fresh T-shirts, and headed out to the Clam Shack.

“I want lobster tonight,” Tim said, looking over the menu. “Can’t come all the way to the Cape and not have lobster. I know it’s expensive.”

“What the fuck,” Bobby agreed. “We can cover it.” They both got the bibs, melted butter, and corn on the cob. Penny brought cups of beer.

“You guys behaving?” she flirted.

“We rented bikes today and rode along the dunes,” Bobby explained.

“Romantic!” Penny teased. “You guys queer for each other?”