me a file to catalog for the 365 Selfies site. The subject line of the e-mail read: “Reverse Suicide Selfie.” It was a video of her walking out of the ocean, and it began with a shot of the waves. October was completely submerged under the water, so much so that I didn’t expect to see her. A second later she was there, heading toward the camera. I’m not even sure how she managed it, because she was wearing a long dress, similar in shape to the one she’d had on the night of the dinner party, but the one in the video was belted, and the belt had big leather pockets with fringe hanging down on each side.
The pockets were filled with rocks, and as October emerged from the water, she lifted the rocks from her pockets. One at a time she dropped the rocks into the sea and then, once she reached the beach, onto the sand.
The water in Big Sur is frigid, even in summer. October was trembling, and her skin was translucent. And it wasn’t just her skin. Her dress was light, gauzy, drenched, and it became diaphanous as it clung to her body. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and I could see her nipples, the outline of her waist, the curve of her hips, everything. The night we’d slept together, I’d only gotten glimpses of her body. She’d been either lying down, on top of me, or under the sheets, and it was fairly dark once I’d turned off the lights.
I didn’t know if she meant for the clip to be so erotic, but it was impossible for me to see it any other way.
After I uploaded and cataloged the video, I tried to read a book on edible plants of Marin County, but every time I got to the end of a page, I realized I hadn’t absorbed a word; I put the book down. I kept thinking about the night October and I had spent together, remembering how soft she was; the way she whispered into my ear, telling me what she was going to do and how she was going to do it; and how she tasted like tangerines and mint and fit so perfectly in my arms.
I went back to my computer, watched the video again, and wondered if Cal had been manning the camera. Then I started to imagine what might have happened after he turned it off. No way he didn’t have the same reaction I had to seeing October like that. No way he hadn’t wanted her.
I tried to stop thinking about it, but that backfired, and things took a darker turn. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was Cal fucking October on the beach in that dress. In my fantasy, Cal was rough and violent, ripping the dress apart, forcing himself on her as she screamed and fought.
October once told me that no one should be ashamed of their fantasies, but jacking off thinking about my best friend hate-fucking the woman I was pretty sure I was in love with did not make me feel like I was dealing with the situation in a healthy or constructive way.
October and Cal didn’t come home until Thursday night. I was standing in my kitchen eating takeout from Sol Food when I saw her SUV pull up the driveway. Rae came outside with Diego, and the dog went crazy when he saw October, running and bouncing around in big, clumsy circles, almost knocking her over.
I stood in the window and tried to will either October or Cal to look in my direction, to wave and invite me down, but neither did.
October, Rae, and Cal stood in the front yard talking for a few minutes. After Rae got in her car and drove away, Cal put his arm around October; they walked into the house with Diego loafing behind.
I went to the studio early the next morning to do more work on the birdcage before October saw it. She came in around nine o’clock carrying two cappuccinos.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” She handed me one of the mugs. “Disclaimer. I don’t make them as well as you do.”
I tried to assess her reaction to being back, tried to measure how things were between us, but I didn’t have her gift, and from my point of view she seemed unfazed and unattached, not all torn up inside like I was. Reluctantly, I asked how her trip to Big Sur had been.