This Cake is for the Party (19 page)

Richard announced, It's not a corkscrew, it's a cork extractor!

It even has a little lever that releases the cork for you, said Pima. See?

I have one like it at home, Franny said. I love it.

Oh, of course! Pima laughed. You're a
Food and Wine
girl now.

How do you like it there? Richard asked Franny.

I'm learning a lot, she said. About the whole scene. The Island Chefs Collaborative, all of the wineries up-island. She faltered, not knowing what else she could say about copy editing. I didn't know that Steve had a sister, she added.

She's in Bangladesh now, Pima said. Working in spices.

She's not in spices, she's doing textiles, Richard corrected her.

Sor-
ry
, Pima said.

Through the open kitchen window, Franny saw a black and white cat hop out of one of the boats that was docked at the harbour. It had a tiny bell around its neck that made a soft tinkling sound when it jumped. She was utterly captivated by both Pima and Richard in that exact instant, and it was like the sound of the bell announced it to her.

Steve came into the kitchen and said, Two Newfies are sitting in a cabin in the middle of winter, drinking beer and playing twenty questions. You know this one?

Before you embarrass yourself any further, said Richard, you should know that my father is a Newfoundlander.

Even better, said Steve. So they're playing twenty questions and the one guy thinks of something, right? He thinks of moosecock.

Moosecock, Franny repeated, and started to laugh. Before the joke even started. She couldn't help it. She'd never had a refined sense of humour.

Pima poured a glass of wine, handed it to Franny, and topped up her own glass. She didn't look at Steve as he told the joke, but played with the ring of Cellophane that came off the bottle when they opened it. Franny pushed her lips together and stopped laughing long enough to open them again and take a gulp of wine.

So the guy thinks of moosecock, and he says, Okay, I've thought of something. And the other guy says, Okay, first question. Can you eat it?

The corkscrew was still splayed open with the cork stuck on it. Franny reached over and untwisted the cork and pushed the arms back together so it was closed.

So this makes the first guy think for a minute. He closes his eyes and thinks about it, and then he says, Yeah. Yeah, I guess you can eat it, if you wanted to. So the second guy gets excited. He goes, right away he goes,
Is it
moosecock?

Richard looked right at Franny when he laughed. The angle of his jaw in laughter was a direct line. It hit her in the chest. She laughed so hard she spilled some wine on the kitchen floor. Pima found a cloth under the sink and bent down to wipe it up for her. The tip of the hairpin that held her hair back. One small blue bead nestled in a twist of dark hair.

Later that night, she found Pima in the tiny houseboat bathroom, curved in front of the mirror, her head held up close, her hands near her face. A flash of silver metal in her hand. Franny stood behind her, watching. It was a spoon.

Sorry to disturb, Franny finally said.

Pima dropped her hands and looked at her in the mirror, surprised.

I just have to ask you, Franny said. What are you doing with the spoon?

It's for curling my eyelashes, Pima told her. My mother's Chilean. She taught me how when I was little. All the girls do this in Chile. She tucked the spoon in a little black zippered purse that hung on a string across her shoulder.

I'm so glad that I met you, Franny said. I mean, you two are so great. She had polished off a fair amount of Pinot by this time, as well as some excellent Madeira that Steve had brought out for the guests who wouldn't leave.

We should have you over, Pima said. What are you doing on the fifteenth?

Franny had no idea what she was doing on the fifteenth. That's perfect, she said.

Oh, wait, said Pima. We've got a yoga workshop that weekend. Let's make it the weekend after.

Yoga workshop, Franny said, feeling the wine spin in her head. How long have you been doing yoga?

I've been practising for years. Richard just started. He still thinks it's kind of flaky. When we're lying in Shivasana, our instructor goes around to everyone in the class and whispers in our ears,
You are so healthy!

You know, Franny said grandly, her hand wavering somewhere above her head, I'm trying to focus more on personal growth myself these days. I spend a lot of time thinking about how to be a more enlightened human being.

Me too, said Pima. Have you read
The Power of Now
?

Richard was in the doorway watching them. Franny felt instantly ridiculous and realized that she was drunk.

I haven't read that, she said. Is it like
The Tao of Pooh
? I loved that.

Pima was kind enough to smile at her. Yes, she said, he writes about some of the same principles.

I've read
The Power of Now
, Richard said.

Pima rolled her eyes. Don't listen to him, she said.

See, the thing about now, Richard said, and he held his hands parallel, showing a small space between them, it's that the now is so
thin
. There's just not much now to go around, is there? As soon as you grasp it, it's gone.

Franny nodded her head. Exactly, she said. That's it exactly.

He continued, So I've been working on the power of
then
. Now there's a concept to wrap your head around. I find it much more satisfying.

Pima walked past Franny and stood in front of Richard, who was now leaning against the doorway. She wrapped her long arms around his chest and looked up into his eyes and told him, You think you're funny, but you're really infuriating.

What? he said, holding his hands up. What did I say?

This morning, before Franny left for lunch at Ogden Point, Richard said, I feel more comfortable in your bed than I ever have with Pima. Even after four years. They were curled together, Franny in the front, one of Richard's arms loosely folded over her waist. As he spoke, she played a game with the skin on his elbow. You can pinch the skin there. It's so tough, there aren't many nerves. You can squeeze someone's elbow skin as hard as you can and they might not even feel it at all. She focused on the bit of skin she held between her fingers and he said, I loved Pima, it's true. But we were never able to look after each other. It was never like this.

Franny wanted to bite the skin to see how far she could go before he would feel it. She told him, Pima invited me to lunch today. I'm going to go meet her right now and see what she has to say. Franny thought it would be better if she said that Pima was the one who extended the invitation. It was only a twist on the truth, and he didn't need to know absolutely every detail about everything she did. Isn't a healthy relationship based on autonomy, and respect for each other's privacy?

Richard said, Franny, I have to tell you something.

Franny took a breath. Okay, tell me, she said.

I think I washed something of yours I shouldn't have.

Franny turned around to face him, rotating her hips as she twisted herself under the sheets. Did he even hear what she'd said? She put her hand on his shoulder. His grey T-shirt felt coarse against the palm of her hand. Richard never used dryer sheets. When he did the laundry, the clothes crackled with static and hard edges. What was it? she asked.

A shirt, he said. A really pretty shirt.

Let me see it, she said. Did it shrink?

He pulled out a small, puckered piece of turquoise silk from under his pillow. It had been a beautiful blouse, cut on the bias so it flared slightly at the waist. Olive green lace around the deep neckline. A friend brought it back from Milan for her birthday last year. It was the size of a napkin now.

Oh no, Franny sighed. That one.

I thought it was in the pile, he said. I just took the pile.

It's okay, she said.

Let me make it up to you. He dropped it onto the floor and pulled her into his chest. His shirt smelled hot and clean and it was rough against her skin.

You should learn to use fabric softener, she told him.

He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her. I'm a man, he said. Men don't soften things. He sat up and straddled her in the bed. He pulled the sheet sideways over her chest so she wouldn't be cold. Good morning, he said.

I have to get ready, Franny said. I slept too long. You have to let me out of this bed.

Am I holding you here against your will? His hands raised in surrender.

She saw a dark spray of underarm hair through his open sleeve. His chest pressed tight against the fabric of his T-shirt. Pinned underneath Richard's thighs, Franny relaxed. It was just a blouse, after all.

You make me feel like a complete person, she said. It's hard to leave you.

Then don't, he said. He brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it. With a purposeful look, like he was about to rub a stain out, he slipped his thumb between her legs. He moved it slowly inside. She could tell by the way he was watching her that he knew he had her. His eyes were thick and bright.

That's it, he said. That's right. Yes. He took out his thumb and bent down and pushed his head under the sheet and began to lick her in broad strokes. She thought of Pima. She shouldn't have thought of Pima, but she couldn't help it. She thought, He has licked Pima in this very same way. He has said to Pima, That's it, yes, and he's felt her move her thin brown hips in bed against his face and mouth until her whole body started to shake and she made sounds just like she's making now. That morning, it felt like Richard had his head between her legs. It felt like a tongue and two fingers. It was like the thought of Pima could turn Richard from a lover into a man who is just licking.

The breeze becomes a gust of wind and the cold air brings goosebumps to Franny's skin, a rash of cold pinpricks. Since this morning with Richard, her skin has become hypersensitive. She can sense the slightest change in temperature and humidity from the way the hairs on top of her wrist react to a breeze. She feels the atmosphere flicker electrically within her. It is not unlike fear.

Pima watches the divers on the point. She wants something from Franny.

I dare you, Fran.

Franny looks at Pima's profile in the sun. Her pink head scarf has tightened her features like a tourniquet, the edge of her nose sharp. Shadows make little pools under her eyes. She looks tired, or ill. Another wave flips in Franny's stomach and she recognizes the feeling as something primeval, but she doesn't want to name it. Pima's hand rests on the table, the cigarette a single straight line rising out between two fingers like a smokestack.

Come on. I've always wanted to get my diver's certificate, Pima says. I dare you to do it with me.

Franny shakes her head. No, she says.

Come on.

Franny's not good in the water, and Pima knows this. Franny snorkelled once in Hawaii last year. She was there writing a piece on a raw food restaurant on the Big Island. After one lunch, she wrote in her notebook:
Luscious
lasagna, tomatoes tender and cool, basil so fresh the flavour
startles you.
She wrote,
Strawberry and mango pie, sweet pink,
makes your tongue sensitive and hesitant, celebratory.
She wrote,
This is what it is like to swallow life.
That afternoon, she tried snorkelling. She was buzzing from all the living nutrients in her system. She rented the mask and fins from a girl with orange lipstick who worked the front desk at the hotel. It was all she could do to keep her face in the water. The fish were fluorescent, darting, frightened. Her heart shouted in her ears and throat. Each time she lifted her head, she was farther from shore and would paddle to get in closer. There were yellow striped fish and white-looking ones with long pointed noses, their whole body in line with their nose. She inhaled ocean at one point. Came back to shore spluttering, feeling transparent.

There's that thing where you can go crazy if you go too deep, Franny says.

We won't go too deep.

The bends. I think it's called the bends. I'm terrified of the water anyway.

I can get us a great deal on the gear. I know a girl. She could loan you her suit.

You aren't listening to me, Franny says. Why would you even ask me this?

This is how we grow as humans, Pima says. We face our fears.

The waitress skips out to the van. She fiddles with the door handle, tugging at it until it opens. She pushes against the German shepherd to make room for herself. Franny watches the man with the dreadlocks to see if he will kiss her. Is he in love with the waitress? Do they have a satisfying, stimulating sex life? Does she ever think of someone else when he's making love to her? The dog is in the way, wagging his tail in front of his face, so Franny can't see anything.

Pima balances the cigarette between her long fingers. She flicks her thumb, sending ashes into the air. Franny fishes out the slice of lemon from the bottom of her cup and puts it in her mouth, sucks the tea out of it.

You tell Richard, Pima begins.

The tip of her cigarette disintegrates into ash. Franny flattens the lemon pulp with her tongue and chews it, rolls bits of bitter rind around the back of her mouth.

Then Pima says, Oh, I don't know. Maybe I asked for this.

The breakwater is now empty save for a twisted black cloth, or maybe a shoe—it's hard to tell from where they're sitting. The van pulls out of the parking lot with a ripping sound, gravel under the tires.

It's late, Pima says. I have to do some things. She slides her handbag off the back of her chair and hooks it onto her shoulder, a brown lozenge of leather fastened with a pewter buckle. Good luck with Richard.

Franny tells her, We never meant to do anything that would hurt you.

Pima points a finger at her. That's so sweet, she says. You're saying
we
already.