Keely, wrapped in sweatpants and a flannel shirt, had settled on the sofa where she could enjoy the lights of their Christmas tree while she started one of the five books her mother had given her for Christmas.
Her cell buzzed. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but with Isabelle gone, Janine was her closest friend.
“Merry Christmas! Guess what, I got you a fabulous present!”
“Merry Christmas, Janine. When do I get my present?”
“On New Year’s Eve. We’re going to the Nantucket Hotel party. Champagne, dinner, and a live band!”
“Thanks, Janine, but I might babysit New Year’s Eve.”
“That is not allowed. I don’t care how much money you’ll make. If you keep working and hiding away in your house, you’ll turn into one of those eccentric old women with facial hair who hoards cat food!”
Keely laughed. “I’m not that bad.”
“Not yet. That’s why you’ve got to come to the party with me.”
“Who else is going?”
“Sarah B. and Sarah N. for sure. The usual suspects. Hey, think about it this way. You’ll get more material for your books.”
“Okay, I’ll go. And thank you.”
“You want to know what your present is to me?”
Keely laughed again. “Tell me.”
“There’s a sexy little black dress at Hepburn. I tried it on. I told them to hold it. Because it costs exactly as much as a ticket to the New Year’s Eve party. You can buy it for me.”
“Janine, you should run the town.”
“Hang on, Keely, that might happen one day.”
The ballroom was packed. Colorful helium balloons floated above the crowd. Waiters bustled about removing dishes and glasses. Dinner was over. The band was setting up. Women hurried to refresh their makeup. Men—and some women—stepped out on the deck to enjoy a cigarette. Waiters skimmed through the room setting champagne flutes on the tables.
“I’m so glad you invited me,” Keely yelled at Janine.
“Me, too!” Janine yelled back.
Their gang had a round table for eight, all girlfriends of Keely, all looking smashing in bright silks and extravagant jewelry, and all of them, including Keely, with rosy cheeks from the champagne they’d already enjoyed.
Keely wore a figure-hugging sleeveless velvet dress. Janine had come over earlier that day to put Keely’s brown hair up in a curly mass at the back of her head, with slender red and gold ribbons wound through here and there. With Janine at her side to egg her on, Keely layered her eyes with smoky shadow and black liner. She wore scarlet lipstick—she’d never worn such a bright color before. She felt a bit like a 1950s doxy and when she told Janine that, Janine said, “You feel like a dachshund?”
“No, no, ‘doxy’ means a mistress, maybe for a gangster.” For a moment, Keely was pierced with longing for Isabelle, who would know exactly what a doxy was, and what books and films it had been in.
But Isabelle was with Gordon Whitehead, skiing in Vermont.
The band started with “Love Shack” and slid into “Little Red Corvette.” By the time they played “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” the dance floor was packed. Keely and Janine danced with each other at first. After only a moment, Janine’s eyes went wide. Keely felt a tap on her shoulder.
Turning, she looked into Tommy’s black eyes.
“You’re back from Vegas!” Keely yelled.
He only smiled at her—no one could hear anything but the music. He pulled her into the center of the dance floor. The music continued, fast and loud and manic.
Tommy was an excellent dancer, catching the beat and making it belong to him, slowing the music down as he silkily moved his shoulders, his back, his hips. He sauntered through the music. Gradually, Keely changed her movements from frantic screaming hopping waving madness to catch Tommy’s more languid style. It was amazing. She felt like her body was a dam, filled to bursting with desire, and the fast dancing splashed the desire all over the place but the slow dancing kept everything inside, so her yearning was contained and pressing against her skin.
Tommy knew how to make her want him. He brought his mouth closer to hers. Closer. She couldn’t get her breath, but she had enough pride—or maybe it was an instinctive primitive understanding—that she didn’t move her face toward him to kiss him. Another grin. He moved his mouth slowly and touched her lips. Her eyes were still open, but Tommy’s eyes were closed, and she closed her eyes, and all the world existed right there, in the silk of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath, the wetness of his tongue.
He put both arms around her, pressing his hands against her buttocks, pulling her against him, pulling her to fit him, and she put her arms up around his neck and bravely ran her hands up into his thick black hair. She kissed him back. She pressed her breasts against his chest. She felt his erection against her pelvis and nearly melted into the floor.
For the rest of the night, whether the music was fast or slow, Keely and Tommy danced slowly, locked together, kissing or smiling at each other, and then kissing again. When the night ended, Tommy kept his arm around her waist and waved to his gang of friends, and escorted Keely out of the hotel to his car. When they got there, Tommy leaned her against the door and leaned himself against her. He smiled down at her, and put a strand of hair behind her ear, and kissed that ear, and her cheek, and slowly, teasingly, moved to her mouth. She knew what was happening now. She knew she was caught in a current of sensation, like the current off the south shore of the island. You couldn’t fight it. You had to go with it, and sooner or later you’d be free and could swim to shore. If you wanted to.
Right now all she wanted to do was to ride the current.
“Do you know what I’m going to do now?” Tommy asked.
Her lips were so swollen she could scarcely speak. “What?”
“I’m taking you to my house.”
“What about your parents?”
Tommy laughed. “I’ve got my own entrance through the back door right into my room on the first floor. My parents sleep upstairs at the front.”
“Oh…” Should she stop to think about what she was going to do?
Could she stop to think?
Tommy took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a long, slow, honey-sweet kiss, and when he was through, he smiled at Keely, and she saw such emotion in his eyes that she trembled.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Okay.”
She’d never been in Tommy’s house before. A light burned at the back porch. They stepped inside, into darkness. Tommy led her to his room. He didn’t turn on a light, but she could see him and his room in shades of shadow. He tugged her coat off and laid it on a chair. He took off his coat.
He kissed her mouth gently and trailed kisses down her neck and onto her shoulders as he slowly tugged on her dress. She pulled away from him to unzip her dress and undo her bra. He touched her breasts, staring at them as if memorizing them, and then his breath came quicker, and he peeled off his clothes and kicked away his shoes. He moved her to his bed. She was frightened and excited and nervous about all of it, and then he raised himself above her. She wrapped her arms around him, she ran her hand down his back and touched the hollow of his spine. She marveled at such beauty, at the powerful muscles in his back, at the way his breath hitched and how he moaned, and she was so glad to make him happy, to give him pleasure. And for the first time, she enjoyed the experience herself.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Tommy said afterward, panting next to her on the blanket.
Keely smiled and ran her hand over his chest. It was thick with dark hair and a silver chain lay in the tangled black.
“What is this?” she asked, picking up the small round medallion at the end of the chain.
“It’s St. Peter. The patron saint of fishermen.”
“Why are you wearing it?”
“I told you. That’s what I want to do with my life. I was born next to the sea, and I want to be out on the sea as often as I can.”
“I understand that. It’s like I want to write novels for a living.”
“You and Isabelle, what is it with you two? You live in a fantasy land.”
Keely started to object, then paused. “I suppose we do live in a fantasy land when we’re writing. But cleaning houses is the reality of my life.”
“Yeah, like me working in Dad’s office.”
Keely laughed. “Maybe not exactly like that. I don’t think you have to clean any toilets.”
Tommy growled and roughly rolled Keely over to face him. “I refuse to discuss toilets when I’ve got you in my bed.”
And he kissed her again and again, slowly, from head to toe.