There were beatings, bruises, broken bones, black eyes, hospital stays, and funerals. So depressing, all of it, and she was baffled that so many of the women went back to the men that harmed them. Fear kept them imprisoned.
How did it start? When and why?
Had the genesis of so many horrible stories been nothing more than a stern grasp like the one Alex had given her?
You’re overreacting. Just a little more fun and then you’re gone. You won’t be around long enough to find out. He’ll be done with you by the time the weekend is over.
PART TWO
By the time Alex and Jenn had exchanged some more stilted conversation—it wasn’t their familiar, friendly banter—and made their way back up to the top deck, the others had arrived, all eight of them at once. They stood near the stern in a haphazard circle, chatting, ogling the yacht, and shielding their eyes from the sun. Dressed in all manners of bright, summer clothing, they looked like a bunch of confused tourists waiting for someone to tell them what to do next.
Wade wore a ridiculous looking, wide-brimmed hat that nearly provided as much cover as a beach umbrella. Terri and Mark had adorned themselves in shorts and long-sleeved swim shirts, along with thick, ivory white sunscreen covering their noses.
Jenn chuckled as she looked at their outdated fanny packs and Mark’s white tube socks. Socks and sandals—inappropriate accessorizing that should’ve embarrassed anyone who dared to leave the house that way. Either he didn’t care, or he didn’t have enough backbone to tell Terri no. Jenn suspected it was the latter. For as long as Jenn had known them, Terri hovered over Mark like a helicopter with her commandments. Eat this, don’t do that, your feet will get sunburned, and nobody wants to listen to you whine. Terri knew best—always—yet her own life was totally out of control. Unruly children. Deep, suffocating debt. And the godawful hoarding.
Jenn hadn’t been to their house in months, mostly because it was difficult to navigate the small, three-bedroom bungalow, stepping over stacks of magazines and newspapers and piles of clothes that no longer fit anyone in the house. There were empty moving boxes reaching up to the ceiling, because, you never know, maybe one day they’ll be needed. The weirdest aspect of Terri’s obsession was the once-empty third bedroom that had now been filled with row after row of spent wine bottles. The floor had been completely covered with them, except for a walkway down the middle. The last time Jenn had visited, Terri had placed a sheet of plywood on top of the bottles to start another layer. Neither of them exhibited the classic signs of alcoholism, so Jenn wondered just how long it’d taken the collection to accumulate.
Terri and Mark. Jenn and Alex.
Erica and her perfect body, home for two weeks after a photo shoot in Milan, and then she was off to Hawaii for yet another stint on the beach, looking gorgeous for the camera. Jenn had lost count of how many magazine covers Erica had graced over the past couple of years. She’d always been envious of her childhood friend—even as far back as first grade when all the boys pulled Erica’s pigtails instead of hers. But, those were old, faded scars, and Jenn had finally come to terms with being in second place.
Wade, the building contractor that she’d met while he was working on her parents’ home. All around good guy, lots of fun, easy to get along with. Evidently he’d come solo, because there was no sign of his wife. He was often dressed in lumberjack flannel and was the manliest man Jenn had ever met.
Next were Chet and Karen, childless, both former lawyers who’d grown tired of the never ending hours and left their joint practice to start a bakery and work even longer days. They didn’t mind, or so they said, because it was what they loved doing. Up before dawn, home after the sun went down. Everything was made from scratch and just as delicious as a professional, classically trained chef. It was a miracle that they’d loosened their grip on the store long enough to make it for the weekend trip. Only recently had they begun trusting their employees to handle the workload without constant supervision. And kids? Forget about it. Who had the time?
Sharon and Laura came together, and like Wade, they’d left their spouses behind. Jenn had suspected for some time that they were secretly involved. It was the way they looked at each other. Discrete touches; subtle, lighthearted flirting. A playfully tweaked nipple here, a pat on the bottom there when they thought no one was looking. Lingering gazes over the rim of their coffee mugs. It wouldn’t surprise Jenn if it was the truth, but she wasn’t sure either. They were two highly traditional, church-going, die-hard-hand-on-the-Bible conservatives who often had no trouble expressing their opinions over issues like gun rights and abortion. But, all the signs were there.
Jenn stepped up to the group and passed hugs around to everyone, while Alex kept a slight distance. He was familiar enough with them all to shake hands, except for Terri and Mark, who received a curt nod and a simple, “Terri. Mark.”
Jenn said, “Everybody left their cell phones at home, right?”
Each muttered their agreement.
“Good, because like I said, we’re here to have fun. No work, no worrying about the kids—they’re in good hands, and you know it, Terri—and we’re not sitting around on my birthday weekend with our noses buried in little screens, talking about who had what for lunch. We’re going to have fun, and we’re going to enjoy the company of someone five feet away from us. No tweets, no posts, no surveys about what Friends character you are. That’s my birthday present. Got it?”
They mockingly whined, but agreed, and Wade saluted, offering a hearty, “Yes, ma’am!”
“Then let’s go!” Alex opened his arms wide, and twisting at the hip, he welcomed everyone aboard The Harlot with a sweeping gesture.
Wade pulled his hat a little lower over his eyes, whistled, and said, “She’s an amazing piece of work, dude. How much she set you back?”
Alex shrugged, saying, “Twenty-five million,” like it was no big deal. “Let me show you guys around.”
A half an hour later, after they’d been shown to their rooms, oohing and aahing over how beautiful the yacht was and whistling at all the expensive additions that had been installed, they were on their way, out into the open water, with Alex up in the cockpit and drinks in their hands.
Terri asked Jenn, “Where’s he taking us?”
Jenn winked. “I told him to take us out to where our phones wouldn’t work, just in case any of you cheated.”
They all knew each other fairly well, except for Erica, who was the rare unicorn and only graced everyone’s presence occasionally, which inevitably led to discussions about her life as a model. They wanted to know if she had met anyone famous recently. They wanted to know which of the exotic locations she’d been to was her favorite—India, believe it or not—and how uncomfortable it must be to take her clothes off in front of strangers.
“You get used to it,” Erica said. “Mostly I’m in a bikini in front of the guys, and the only ones who ever see me naked are the wardrobe girls.”
Jenn laughed and pointed at Erica with her beer bottle. “Get a couple of drinks in her and it won’t matter what kind of inhibitions she has.”
“Being naked is liberating. There’s something about the freedom that gives you room to accept yourself.”
“I’m perfectly fine with keeping my parts to myself.”
Erica snickered. “Yeah, but the mirror is about the only thing that gets to see you naked. I’m fine with showing off what I’ve got.”
Jenn stuck up her middle finger, grinning.
Laura leaned forward on the edge of her chair. “With a body like yours, who wouldn’t be fine with it?”