“Joel and I have known each other since we were kids.” Becky was attempting to give Matt an answer for every question in a way that would make sense to him. “Our entire lives. Our fathers have been partners for longer than we’ve been alive. His mom is like a substitute for the one I lost. You must know what that’s like.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything. It’s obvious you two are boyfriend and girlfriend. You never even mentioned Joel to me and we’ve been together every day for almost the entire summer.” Matt was making every effort to concentrate on what Becky was saying, not what she was wearing. Or not wearing.
“It wasn’t important. If it was, I’d have told you. It had no direct bearing on our relationship this summer.” Becky was making no sense.
“No bearing?” Matt asked.
The Rocket Runabout was bobbing up and down gently in the water.
“I was going to mention Joel to you at one point, but the opportunity was never right. And it never really mattered. Then he and his family came back home early from their trip overseas.” Becky reached over and grabbed Matt’s hand and wrapped hers around it. “It didn’t leave me any time. He’s been back for a few days now. It’s made it hard for me to see you.”
“How long have you been in a relationship with him?” Matt asked.
“Like I said. We’ve known each other all our lives. We go way back.” Matt looked at her, wanting a straight answer. “We’ve been in our current relationship for about a year and a half.”
“How many times have the two of you done what the two of us have done?” Matt seemed to want to ask questions that he knew the answers to would probably hurt.
“None.”
Matt looked at her with disbelief. He didn’t want to call her a liar, but the look on his face betrayed his intent.
“You’ll just have to believe me,” she said.
The words of Matt’s reply were stuck at the back of his throat. Soon, so was Becky’s tongue.
Matt broke free long enough to hold her hand to keep her steady as she stepped over the back of the front seat and into the rear seat of the cabin. She left the top of her swimsuit in the front of the Chris-Craft. The bottoms ended up on the floor of the back seat. As did Matt’s.
The mahogany planks of the rear deck covering the engine provided the platform for the delicate dance that followed. Matt’s thoughts of inadequacy vanished on the deck as quickly as the sun did on the horizon, Becky’s vocal affirmations echoing off the water all the way to the shoreline in muted strains of pleasure let him know he shouldn’t have doubted his abilities, though he looked forward to improving his technique.
All 17 feet of the Rocket Runabout were bobbing up and down in the water in violent wakes while the rest of the lake remained as smooth as glass.
By the time the afterglow had worn off it was completely dark on the lake, only the moon providing any light. The two shimmied into the back seat and sorted out what little clothing there was to put back on. Once in the driver’s seat, Becky turned the key and the engine chugged to life. The spotlight in the middle of the front deck of the boat helped guide them back to the dock from which they’d left earlier when it was still light.
As they got closer to shore, a pair of headlights appeared and made their way down the bumpy dirt road to the dock in the distance. The light illuminated Becky’s Skylark and then came to a full stop right next to it.
From the cockpit of the boat, Matt had no idea who it might be. The police were the first thing that came to mind. It was obvious what they’d just done was immoral, but he had no idea if it was illegal. He thought it might be one of his parents, but the silhouette of the car didn’t look anything like that of a ’53 Ford Ranch Wagon. He wondered if perhaps someone who lived nearby and heard the noises Becky had made during their episode of polishing the deck of the Chris-Craft had made them rush to the shore to check and be sure she was alright.
As often happens, the reality was nothing like any of the possibilities he’d imagined. Nor was the car.
As the Chris-Craft pulled up to the dock and Matt tied the boat up to one of the old cypress posts anchored in the water, Becky shined the chrome light on a brand new Nash-Healey Roadster. Matt had seen an article about one when he was in the library back in Bakersfield, but had never seen one in person. Not surprising since only 162 were made for 1953 and cost $6,000, about half what Matt’s parents paid for their new home in RoadRunner Estates. Matt couldn’t tell if the roadster was grey or green at first, but as Becky shined the light fully on the low slung convertible, the metallic green paint made itself obvious.
As did Joel, sitting comfortably with a smile on his face inside the brown leather cockpit, his hands twitching on the three-spoke banjo-style steering wheel.
12 responses to “SUMMER ’53, PART V: Partnerships”
I’m struggling with the reason behind Becky not driving Matt to the lake. Only ideas that come to mind are nefarious, really hoping that is not the case.
Good catch, db. This could be a very dark final episode.
You know women. Sometimes they make you earn it, to prove you really are worthy. Besides, she knew she’d have to get home to her daddy after taking the boat out. She probably didn’t want to cut it too close by having to take Matt home afterwards.
But, then again, who knows?
Assuming the Captain accurately informed us in last Sunday’s Back of the Bermuda that Matt’s Summer of ‘53 would be concluded this week with tomorrow’s 6th episode, there is no doubt in my mind that the faithful readership is being served up a major league knuckleball. This thing is just slowly dancing like a butterfly towards the plate with a minimum of rotation, daring the batter (reader) to outguess where the xp£~gn…*#% ball will end up. There doesn’t seem to be time for much else in the way of significant plot developments or misdirections: Joel isn’t being portrayed as a potential threatening antagonist and we haven’t met any other characters in this story who might supply a surprise twist.
This is the late summer of 1953 in Fort Stockton. Just a couple months prior, Perry Silverman’s senior class at Jim Bowie High (Home of the Fightin’ Knives) graduated and Mrs. Silverman hosted her son’s elaborate graduation/going away party at the estate. The first thing I thought of when I saw the title of this story arc was that somehow there would be a tie-in to the earlier one. No hints so far that there will be any such connection made.
Taking Motcat’s observation into consideration, the most likely mover of the action has to be Becky. This is a portrait of a young girl’s initial steps towards becoming a mature manipulator using physical and social attractiveness and sex as tools for advancement, pleasure or simple aggrandizement. Sorry, Matt. Your heart may be broken, but at least you got in towards the beginning of the line while the goods were still juicy and fresh. Consider this my flailing swipe at the fluttering knuckleball. The only thing that doesn’t track here is the subtitle of this episode: Partnerships.
The only thing more dangerous than “a young girl’s initial steps towards becoming a mature manipulator using physical and social attractiveness and sex as tools for advancement” is someone who has had time to fine tune those skills.
Sticking with the baseball analogy, which is more dangerous, a power hitting rookie at the plate, or a seasoned pitcher on the mound?
The power-hitting rookie, of course. Facing a rookie, pitchers have yet to develop a “book” on the pitch preferences/weaknesses of a rookie batter. So it’s an unpredictable process of trial and error even for a seasoned pitcher until they do. If unpredictability equals danger, there’s your answer.
If it’s a seasoned veteran pitcher against an established elite batter, it’s a whole different ballgame. Just ask Kirk Gibson or Dennis Eckersley
CMC normally replies to comments by this rung on the ladder of speculation, but he has been uncharacteristically incognito today. Despite some very well crafted comments and hypotheses by all thus far, he hasn’t taken the bait. But its late, and. while I prefer to let a sleeping dog lie, (he has curled a lip occasionally, when I tossed out unhelpful hints), but maybe, he’ll get off the porch for a few WAGs and unfounded conspiracies, and an unnecessarily run-on sentence with, a, bunch, of, extra, commas. Risking banishment from the GFD corner booth, here are a handful:
1. Becky is Joel’s beard and Matt is her bestie with oh-such-fringe-benefits;
2. Becky’s mother didn’t die, she went to Hollywood becoming a star, aka Kim Novak;
3. Becky’s dad originally made his oil money from wells in Los Angeles purchased by Kim’s movie money and her guilty conscience;
4. Kim Novak is Lucinda’s twin sister;
5. Eileen is back.
Last night if I had known the Captain was typing while I was, I wouldn’t have been. Off to see how the story goes…
No matter how you slice it or dice it, even using a Ron Popeil Veg-O-Matic, in the simplest form, men are nothing more than animals succumbing to their primal, nearly uncontrollable need to polish the deck. (Although I think those perfect little cheeks did a little more squeaking than polishing.) It doesn’t matter how angry a man is, as soon as the top comes off and shortly there after, the bottoms, the primal instinct overcomes all other thinking. And dammit, women have that figured out.
All the way back to Adam and Eve.
I suspect that any gentleman driving a Nash-Healy Roadster (green, of course) would be interested in a menage a trois.
***tap tap***
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Is this thing on?