The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2) (16 page)

Did we enter a time warp? It’s like I’m watching one of those half-naked girls in the old 80’s hair-band music videos. All this chick needs is a car hood to roll around on.

It’s obvious she’s trying to get Ben’s attention. Ben continues goofing around with a giggling Emma, lifting her up in the air and throwing her into the ocean. He’s completely oblivious to the Beach Bimbo standing next to him.

The Bimbo takes a step to her side, pretending she lost her balance and bumps into Ben. She grabs on to his arm. He looks at her and smiles, her blinding white teeth beaming back at him, fluttering her lashes. He turns his attention back to Emma while this girl continues to hold on to his arm.

Get your fucking mitts off my man, you tangerine hussy.

I’m about to walk into the water and commit murder when my sister Isabelle grabs my arm.

“No, wait,” she says.

“Wait for what? That bitch is trying to pick up my boyfriend,” I growl.

“Just wait one more minute.”

We watch as Ben looks down at her hand on his arm then back at her, raising his brow. He says something to her. She releases her grip immediately, saying something back to him then turns around and walks away. She looks majorly pissed off.

“Well, well, well… look at that… he didn’t even give Miss Tits a second look. Congratulations Julia, your boy’s in love.”

~o0o~

I walk back to my beach chair, satisfied with the scene just played out in front of me. How the hell I ever doubted him when he was in Cleveland is beyond me.

After a while, Ben and Emma rejoin our group.

“Was the water cold?” I ask.

“Freezing,” he answers as he sits down and dries himself off with a towel. “We saw a small pod of dolphins swim by. Did you see them?”

“No, I missed the dolphins. I did happen to catch the piranha,” I say matter-of-factly.

“There are no piranhas here.”

“This one walks on land.” I lift a brow.

He frowns.

“The blonde attaching herself to you,” I clarify. “I was about to walk over and drown little Miss Tits, but you took care of things before I got there.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Not my type.”

“What exactly is your type?”

“Italian/American, sparkling green eyes, long black hair, goes by the name Julia Conti.”

“That’s a very specific type.”

“Yes, it is. There’s only one in existence. It took me twenty-eight years to find her.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“So am I.”

~o0o~

“Move together,” Sophie orders, waving her hand, gesturing for me to lean into Ben. “I want a picture.”

“Take a picture of someone else. I have beach hair, I’m a mess,” I complain.

“One picture and I’ll leave you alone,” she promises.

I turn to Ben. “Don’t believe her, she’s the family photographer. You give her one picture and she’ll follow you around the rest of the day.”

“Let’s just take the picture. It’s fine.” Ben wraps his arm around me, pulling me close.

“Say cheese,” she says, pointing the lens of her cell phone at us.

“I’d like another shower with you,” Ben whispers suggestively in my ear, then grins wickedly.

I smile wide, just as Sophie snaps the picture.

“Thanks. I’ll forward a copy to you,” she says as she moves on to accost my parents.

“You are so bad,” I whisper back to Ben, failing miserably at pretending I’m angry.

He laughs and kisses my cheek.

~o0o~

My brothers, Mark and Dominic, are huddled together on a blanket whispering to each other. This can’t be good. They look too happy. They’re up to something. Something evil. I just know it. The question is… who is their victim?

Please don’t be me.

I peek over the latest issue of Hollywood Stars Magazine and watch them scheme. For as immature as my brothers are, I have to admit—they do provide endless entertainment. Even Ben seems intrigued by their adolescent antics. It’s nice to see him forget about the pressures in his life for a little while and have some fun.

I twist my neck from side to side looking to see who they’re plotting against when I see it—their unsuspecting victim.

My brother Mark’s wife, Joanne, made the mistake of falling asleep on a beach towel a short distance away from the big group. She’s a light sleeper and usually has to separate from us to sneak in a little naptime.

My brothers tiptoe through the sand and stand on either side of a sleeping Joanne. She’s lying on her stomach, out cold. They’re holding their stomachs, silently giggling. I swear they’re still thirteen-years-old.

Mark mouths a countdown. When he gets to three, they drop giant handfuls of goldfish crackers around the perimeter of Joanne’s beach towel. They quickly run back to the big group and sit down on the blankets. Then they watch.

Oh God, this has disaster written all over it.

Within seconds, ten seagulls swarm Joanne, fighting over the food. Her head jerks up and her eyes widen in terror.

It’s like a scene out of a Hitchcock movie.

“Ahhhhh,” she screams, jumping up, grabbing the towel and swinging it wildly at the birds. By this time, there are about twenty birds feasting around her. The men are in absolute hysterics, rolling on their backs, belly laughing in the sand.

“You are fucking dead!” Joanne yells, flailing her arms to make a passage through the swarm.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” my sister-in-law Beth asks Mark, doing a terrible job at hiding her smile.

He waves his hand dismissively at her and strolls over to Joanne to help her through the wall of seagulls. Once he meets her, she smacks him on the side of his head. He grabs her by the waist and twirls her around, her feet swinging the seagulls away. Once they’re far enough away from the bird action, he scoops her up in his arms and kisses her.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, laughing along with him.

~o0o~

After a few hours of sun and fun, my family packs up their stuff and heads back to my parents’ house. We split our showers between the two in the house and the two outdoor showers in the side yard.

Ben and I meet up in the backyard with everyone for a barbecue.

“Did the shower in my parents’ bathroom have enough pressure? The water pressure gets pretty weak when all the showers are going at the same time,” I ask.

“It was fine.”

“Did you notice the three photos hung in a group on their bedroom wall?”

“I did. That was an interesting mix of people.”

I laugh. “My sisters and I used to call the pictures ‘The Holy Trinity’: The Pope, John F. Kennedy, and Sinatra—all grouped together. It’s so random.”

He laughs. “It had me scratching my head… I couldn’t figure out the correlation.”

“That’s because there is none. Let’s sit down before we’re fighting over chairs.”

My dad is doing what he does best… grilling burgers. My father cooks his burgers to just one temperature: dead. The smell of blackened ground beef, burning charcoal, and lighter fluid are wafting in the air. It's a strangely comforting scent... bringing me back to my childhood. My dad refuses to buy a gas grill. He's an old school barbecue enthusiast, no gas grill for him... charcoal and lighter fluid only.

My mom brings out what seems like an endless supply of salads… potato salad, coleslaw, green salad, three bean salad, and a tomato salad with fresh mozzarella balls and basil. I’m grabbing that one first before my brothers spot it and it’s a distant memory. My sisters and sister-in-laws help with the paper plates, plastic utensils and a pot filled with steaming hot corn on the cob.

I sit down at one of the two resin tables on the patio with Ben on one side of me and Emma on the other. She certainly has embraced our “dating arrangement” as we’re now a trio, with Emma rarely more than a few inches away from Ben. The kid even had the nerve to give me the evil eye when she caught Ben give me a quick peck on my lips.

Emma and I are busying ourselves decorating clam shells she collected on the beach with watercolor paints while Ben is shooting the breeze with my brothers and brother-in-laws. The last time Ben and my brothers were together, they initiated him into their disgusting holiday ritual of “the man walk”, otherwise known as the “fart walk”. My goal is to keep Ben as far away from their caveman activities as possible. I like him the way he is, a gentleman to the outside world and sexy as fuck in the bedroom.

“Ben, you must come over for Sunday dinner sometime. I’ll make you a nice pasta dinner. My meatballs and sauce are the best in the tri-state area. Frank drives to a bakery a few miles away to buy the bread. It’s genuine New York Italian bread… imported all the way from Staten Island,” my mother says.

Imported from Staten Island? Like that’s a foreign land? It’s an hour car ride away… it’s practically a straight line down the Garden State Parkway.

“Sounds great, Rose,” he says.

I think my mother is trying to win Ben’s affection for me through her cooking. She’s not going to rest until she succeeds.

The guys are well into their second beers when the conversation makes an expected turn for the worse. I’m so used to this turn of events, I usually zone out, but since Ben is an active member of it, I listen in. It’s not that difficult; the speaking volume always increases as the men try to one-up each other with their caveman tales.

“Aunt Julia, you made that shell into a lady bug. Can you make one with me?” Emma interrupts my eavesdropping.

“Sure Emma,” I say, grabbing an unpainted shell, half-listening to her and half to the men.

Once I set Emma up with red and black paint, I divert my full attention back to the boys.

“I took a massive, painful shit,” my brother Dominic states proudly. I close my eyes tight and cringe. Is it possible for my family to have one civilized conversation at the dinner table without embarrassing me? Stupid question. Of course, it’s not. Dominic continues, “It was immense. Immense, I tell you. Imagine the biggest pile of shit you ever crapped out… then add six more dumps to it… that’s my shit. This fucker was so big it had its own gravitational pull… small planets were orbiting around it. Fucking awesome.” He laughs.

This perks up my dad’s ears. He turns from the grill and joins the boys in their conversation. Ben grins, clearly amused by this topic.

Waving the spatula he’s flipping burgers with in the air, my dad adds to the conversation. “I once took a crap so big,” he begins, “I couldn’t flush the son-of-a-bitch down the toilet. I had to grab a spatula and break it up into pieces to get it to flush.”

The boys laugh as Ben’s eyes widen in horror. I catch him staring at the spatula in my dad’s hand.

“Different spatula,” I whisper.

“Thank God,” he mumbles under his breath in relief.

“You don’t know what a huge shit is until you prep for a colonoscopy,” my brother-in-law Bruce chimes in.

Years of experience has taught me that I don’t want to hear Bruce’s colonoscopy story. I redirect my attention back to Emma and try my best not to listen.

The table erupts into laughter with the men one-upping each other with their bathroom humor.

Ben’s eyes light up and I cringe. I know what he’s about to do. There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that to happen. As his mouth opens to speak, I squeeze his arm gently before a word escapes. He looks at me with a puzzled expression.

“I know my brothers bring out the Neanderthal in you, but please… I think you’re a
very
sexy man. My sisters think you’re a
very
sexy man. Don’t ruin the illusion.”

He cocks his head and closes one eye, contemplating my request then grabs his beer and takes a swig. Smart man.

“You’re going to get sooo lucky,” I whisper.

“How is he going to get lucky, Aunt Julia?” Emma asks. Loudly.

Damn this kid. She has better hearing than a dog. I feel the bright red flush across my face. Everyone at the table turns their attention toward me and Ben. Smirking. Oh God, even my father is looking at us.

“On the crane games tonight when we go to the boardwalk,” Ben explains.

Nice save. I like a man who thinks quick on his feet. Now he’s
really
going to get lucky. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. “Thanks,” I mouth, relieved. He smiles and squeezes my hand back.

~o0o~

Once we arrive at the Seaside Heights boardwalk, my family breaks off into small groups. A few go to the amusement pier to take the younger kids on rides; some are casually walking along the boardwalk. Ben had one and only one place in mind. The Arcade. He’s a man on a mission. Somehow we’ve managed to shake free of Emma. It’s just the two of us.

I forgot how deafening an arcade is. There’s music, buzzes, and beeps from video games. There’s the loud thud of wooden skeeballs rolling up the game’s alley, the sounds from joker poker and slot machines, and loud voices shouting over all the electronics.

“What do you want me to win?” he asks, staring at a row of crane games.

“Nothing.”

“Julia, pick something or I’ll pick it.”

“I don’t think there’s anything here you’d want. I haven’t seen many crane games with sex toys or thongs,” I tease.

“Very funny. Pick something.”

“Oh, fine.” I walk up and down the wall of various crane games full of crap I don’t want or need.

“How about those?” he asks, pointing at a game full tiny foam footballs. Each has a different team logo imprinted on it.

“No, thanks. My father has a thousand of those Jets footballs in a bag somewhere in the house.” I point to a small stuffed Dalmatian. “That’s cute.”

Ben grins. “You want it. You got it.” He takes a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and feeds it to the change machine for quarters then walks over to the crane game. “Start looking for your next prize, Julia,” he says confidently.

I roll my eyes. The crane game gods are surely going to knock him down a few pegs.

“Fifty cents? When I was a kid these games were a quarter,” he complains.

“Inflation’s a bitch,” I deadpan.

Ben studies the pile of stuffed dogs inside the crane game. “Ah, that’s the one. This will be a piece of cake.”