The Beach Girls Read Online Free PDF

she whispered. I turned it out.
    We were there together possibly two hours. I tried. God knows I tried. And she did too. I am sure of that. But when she shuddered in my arms I knew it was neither excitement nor passion, but rather the reflexive tremor of the sacrificial animal. Though she tried to pretend, I could sense the regret, the remorse, the quiet despair—and the consciousness of shame. And when her breathing was rapid, it was merely the result of effort. Her rhythms had that erratic imbalance of contrivance rather than need. And when finally, in an admission of defeat, I went on to my own completion, it was but a sour spasm, lonely, meaningless and unshared. We lay deadened in the empty darknessuntil she gave a great sigh and climbed over me and found her robe and put it on. I got up and pulled my Bermuda Walking Shorts on, and turned on the light. Even muted, it was far too bright. We avoided each others’ eyes.
    We walked aft to the dark cockpit. With a special irony the skies showed twice as many stars as usual.
    She touched my arm and whispered, “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m terribly sorry.” And she didn’t have to explain what she was sorry about.
    “If at first,” I said, “you don’t—”
    “No, Joe. That’s no good. I learned something about myself. And found another dead end.”
    With an effort of character, I avoided the obvious pun. “A cruise is great for the inhibitions, Annie.”
    “It would be the same,” she said hopelessly. “I guess, for me, there has to be love. And if there was, that would make it meaningful, and that isn’t what I want.” Her whispery voice tightened. “I wish to God I could be trivial.”
    She stepped on the transom and up onto the dock. We whispered good-night. I watched her walk along the dock, disappearing into shadows and then reappearing briefly under the pale dock light on its high gooseneck stanchion fifty feet away, walking in a weary way, her head slightly bowed, a night wind touching her fair hair.
    And my heart burst. The tired old Rykler heart. Burst and sprayed acid into my eyes, misting the stars. I wanted to spend the next thousand years with her. So I tried to cope with the unexpected, unwanted invasion of Cupid. The little winged bastard had given up his bow and arrow and snuck up on me with a bazooka.
    So I opened a beer and lit a cigarette and sat in my rickety fighting chair under the stars and talked sense to myself. You are a very cynical fellow, Rykler. You bear the wounds of two horrible marriages. That is a nice leggy blondie and you had the acquisitive urge to roll her over in the clover, and you did. Mission accomplished. End of incident. Love is a word on greeting cards. Love is not for you, Joseph. Eternity is a dirty word. She probably leaves hair in the sink, burns the toast and has a loose filling.
    She is glorious. She is what it is all about.
    She doesn’t want an involvement any more than you do,boy. And tonight proved you are not her plate of crumpets. She did everything but yawn.
    I sat there. Sleep was impossible. After a while, I don’t know how long, the eastern sky began to look as though Bimini was on fire. A red sun came up and turned from rose to gold. I went below. Fragrances of her were caught in my pillow, and I buried my silly nose in the pillow and felt a great sad joy.
    I was hooked again, this time worse than ever before.
    This time made the other times seem like the difference between a full orchestra and a penny whistle. I was on the edge of both tears and laughter.
    I heard the gutsy blast of heavy marine engines and knew it was Lew Burgoyne going out on charter in the
Amberjack III
. He likes to rev them up for a long sleep-shattering minute before taking off. Crazy, black-bearded pirate. But if he is anything he is a …

THREE
Captain Lew Burgoyne
     … damn good fisherman, even if I say so myself. But too stupid to be fishing commercial the way I should be. It’s dull hard work. No laughs in it.
    I