with me?”
“That all depends,” I say. “What shore?”
“LBI,” Joe answers. That’s Jersey-speak for Long Beach Island.
I haven’t been to LBI since I was in high school. We spent our annual family vacations there. At the end of August, Dad closed the restaurant and rented a house for a week. Mom preferred the more urbane town of Margate, but my father loved rustic LBI.
No man is an island, he’d say, except the Isle of Man.
“I’d love to go with you,” I tell Joe.
“I’m driving to Hunter Farm and Joe is driving to the shore from there,” I tell Madeline over the phone.
“What about Aaron?”
“I haven’t made a commitment to Aaron. Joe asked me out and there’s nothing wrong with going.”
Madeline says, “Get your sexual energy out with Joe so you can take things slowly with Aaron.”
“Maddie, I’m not sleeping with Joe.”
“Fine. But your sexuality is a precious thing. Maybe it’s time to rouse your diva.”
I am not going to sleep with Joe. But I decide to go for a WASAP. “I need a waxing as soon as possible,” I beg the receptionist at The Make-Up Bar.
“Weren’t you just here?” Lisa smiles as she whisks hair from my upper lip.
“I have a date. Of sorts. I want to look good for him.”
“You should look good for yourself,” Lisa said.
“Can you give me a bikini wax? Just in case.”
Later that afternoon, standing in the shower, looking down at my body, I think about the diva. I miss her.
I rummage through Olga the Suitcase looking for CDs I haven’t yet unpacked. Aha! There she is. The diva’s diva. Madonna. The Immaculate Collection.
In the living room, I put the CD in Mom’s player. As Madonna sings, I dance around the living room in my bra and panties. My damp hair showers droplets of water as I dance to three songs. Then I run my hands through my hair and smile.
I’m back, the diva says.
The Diva Smiles
“Hello?” Nobody answers my call into the Hunter house. “Mrs. Hunter? Joe?” Walking through the house toward the back door, I look for signs of life. Nobody’s home, but a wet towel hanging on a line in the backyard tells me that someone has recently showered. Joe? Here’s hoping.
A trail of droplets turning to mud leads me to one of the barns. “Joe?”
“In here,” he says in hushed tones. Following his voice, I enter the barn and pause to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. In the slanted light, I see Joe lying on his belly, peering under a barrel that sits on two other stacks. Joe is wearing jeans but no shirt. His back is quite pale, his arms tan, and everything is long and muscular. “Hi,” Joe whispers. “Come here.”
I approach slowly. Joe points under the barrel. “Look,” he says. I can’t see what he’s pointing at, so I crouch to a squat. Still, I can’t see under the barrel. So I lie down on my stomach on the wooden floor. Leaning on my elbows, I follow Joe’s gaze.
Several feet away, nestled on an old blanket, lies a dog. Five newborn puppies squirm at her belly. The dog’s eyes are half shut, as if she’s exhausted and happy.
“She gave birth yesterday,” Joe whispers.
“She’s your dog?”
“She wandered onto the farm without a collar. I gave her a home.”
The dog mamma opens her eyes and starts to lick one of the puppies while another pup sucks at her teats. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Joe smiles at me. His hair is damp and I can smell his minty shampoo.
“You showered,” I say.
“I do that from time to time.” Joe moves his head, and I see the lines around his brown eyes. He sits up and I see brown hair on his chest. The hair forms a single, darker line as it marches down his belly and into his jeans.
When I return my eyes to Joe’s face, his eyebrows are raised. “What are you looking at?” he asks.
“Nothing.” Embarrassed, I put my hands on the floor and sit, preparing to stand.
“Wait.” In a quick movement, Joe swings around his legs and sits facing me. My head comes to his armpit and I see dark brown hair there. It has been quite a while since I’ve seen a male body. I miss it.
“Mimi, can I kiss you?”
I nod.
Joe leans forward, closes his eyes, and touches his lips to mine. His mouth is firm, but not hard. He starts lightly, then presses more purposefully. I feel one of Joe’s chapped hands on my