Posted by PK on June 10, 2002 at 18:41:17:
"I know how to get you really brown."
Jacqui looked up, shading her eyes against the sun. Some guy was standing over her,
blocking the rays from her legs. "Get lost, creep," she said automatically.
"All over brown," the creep said. "No more bikini lines, know what I'm saying?" He ran his
gaze all over Jacqui's body, she could almost feel it, undressing her with his eyes. It wasn't a
major effort, she had to admit, she wasn't wearing anything beyond the absolute minimum
required by law. Two pieces of string and a couple of postage stamps would have done as
well.
"Okay, you're selling tanning beds. Heard it before. Get lost." She closed her eyes. "And get
out of my light." She was a purist at heart, tanning involved lounging around on a beach
where everyone could see her. Advances were part of the price she paid. Well, not exactly
the price, more like the whole point. Rejecting them was part of it too, she was in a seller's
market. She had the goods.
"Nope. Nothing like that."
Jacqui opened her eyes again and sighed, vexation in every nuance. "What part of 'get lost'
don't you understand?"
The creep had the nerve to smile. "The part where you mean it? Come on, you want to know,
admit it."
This time the sigh was just a tad theatrical. "Okay," she said with overstated irony, "Amaze
me. What are you selling? You've got..." she glanced at her bare left wrist, "Two minutes. No,
make that twenty seconds."
"I'm not selling anything. Give me ten minutes and I'll show you. If you don't go for it.." the
creep shrugged, "No problem. No charge either way."
Jacqui knew she should just blow the creep off, but somehow she couldn't. She didn't want to
close the door, but she had to let him know she wasn't buying blind. "Show me....?"
"Just a short walk down the beach. Legs like yours, you can make it. Come on, what you got
to lose? Chicken?"
Jacqui took a closer look at the creep. Not really bad looking, she had to admit. Not another
boringly brainless beach himbo either, he was wearing cutoff Levi shorts and a flowered shirt
so hideous it was almost hilarious. A smile threatened to surface, she bit it back. What else
had she got to do? Lie here for another forty minutes until her sunscreen expired? She
couldn't decide what the cool thing to do might be.
While her brain was on reboot, the creep (?) shrugged.
"Suit yourself. I guess you'll never find out," he said offhandedly and turned to go.
Jacqui glanced around, confused. He was going! This wasn't any reaction she was prepared
for. Before she could help herself, her mouth said, "...uh?.."
The stranger waited just a beat before pausing and half-turning back. He raised an eyebrow
just high enough to clear his (non-mirror) shades. "Coming?"
This was a classic approach-avoidance conflict and Jacqui had no road map for it. If she
followed, she'd be a sucker, easy meat. If she didn't, he'd blown HER off. The 'chicken' jibe
was childish, but she couldn't quite ignore it. For maybe three seconds she considered "Fuck
you, cocksucker," but in the present context that might have seemed petulant and definitely
lacking in class "Where?" It sounded lame the minute she heard herself say it.
Another minimal shrug. "Over there. Just round the head. Private beach."
Nude sunbathing? Some kind of weird sex thing? A party? Jacqui almost frowned. Almost
She didn't want wrinkles and ultraviolet took no prisoners.
Fortunately, the stranger wasn't obtuse. "Oh, don't worry," he said, his tone light and only
slightly mocking. "We don't sacrifice goats to Satan."
Jacqui stood up with an easy grace born of endless aerobics and yoga classes. She kept in
shape and was proud of it. "Or bite the heads off chickens?" she essayed. The stranger
smiled, acknowledging the repartee. After a shaky start she was holding her own.
"Waste of a perfectly good chicken," he countered. Jacqui smiled, not quite knowing why. It
just seemed like the thing to do. Who was this guy anyway?
"Eric," the guy said. "You?"
"Jacqui. With a 'Q'." And all the other letters, she thought, furiously. Muppet!
Eric just nodded.
And within minutes, still not quite knowing why, she had picked up her towel and beach bag
and was walking along beside a perfect stranger - well, not bad looking and he had a name -
headed for what exactly? A self-tanning lotion sales party? A nudist club luau? Her attempts
to find out were hampered by her not wanting to seem too - what? - needy? [Chicken?. Ugh]
Uncool?
For the next quarter hour, or fifteen minutes decimal, or possibly a dozen sexagesimal
seconds give or take a candlemark, she walked along the beach with the Walrus. Or Eric, as
he called himself, who kept up an inconsequential banter that baffled inquiry. The long and
the short of it is, it wasn't that far.
'Round the head' involved skirting a coastal outcrop, ducking under a rope fence decorated
with signs hinting at a terrible fate for trespassers and arriving in a whole new world.
Another beach, anyway.
The first thing Jacqui noticed was that it was inhabited. A fairly large number of people came
into focus as they approached. She tried to make out, as one does, what sort of people they
were and what they were doing, and whether she really wanted to approach them.
There were both men and women present. Some of them were naked, most were at least
scantily dressed. Not a formal party (no need to worry about her minimal costume, then) but
it looked like they were having an event of some kind, there was that air about it. As they
drew nearer yet, a man turned and came towards them, called a greeting.
"Eric! You got one?" The unknown man glanced at Jacqui. "Nice. Tasty, even." His eyes did
the usual undressing thing, Jacqui noticed and affected not to as she was accustomed to
doing. All women who wear bikinis either learn how to do this, resign themselves to feminist
outrage (SO passé) or just head back home for the raincoat and yashmak.
"Shut up, Neal."
Jacqui noticed the snap in Eric's voice but didn't understand it.
Neal spread his hands in mock defensiveness. Ritual submission, baring the belly. With, of
course, aggressive irony. "Whoah! Just being friendly." He winked at Jacqui, who returned a
frigid smile. First level female defense, automatic.
Eric turned to Jacqui and, with a courtly gesture, said "Jacqui, meet Neal the resident cretin."
"King of cretins," Neal interposed, quoting the sacred Buffy texts, "Lesser cretins bow down
before me."
It was so obviously intended to be disarming that it worked anyway. Almost. A little bit. Jacqui
couldn't decide.
"Neal, meet Jacqui. She's a guest. Mine."
There was something in that message that Jacqui didn't entirely understand, but she grokked
that it carried an overtone of warning. Eric wasn't disarmed at all. And an undertone of
something else. The nearest scent to it was jealousy but it wasn't quite that. One of those
incomprehensible male rivalry things? Competition?
Obvious conclusion: Man (Neal) sees friend (Eric) with good looking woman (me, modesty
aside), wants her to be his instead of (other) his. Standard. Occam's razor, simplest
hypothesis that fits observation is probably right explanation. So far, so good.
Jacqui didn't know Occam from a hole in the wall and wouldn't be sure she could spell
'hypothesis' but it's part of the neural net anyway, we get it with the milk. It's just common
sense formalised. She knew she was probably right. But. There's always that 'but'.
Einstein said that common sense is the bullshit we're spoon fed with after birth. Or something
like that, Jacqui didn't know that either. The bits of her psyche not totally numbed by MTV
(possibly not situated in her brain) were trying to tell her that something was a bit off.
Overall, there was a smell of cooking. Luau, then. Or Barbecue. Naked people, mostly
young. Postgrad college reunion?
"Pleased to meet you, Jacqui," Neal said. He offered his hand and when Jacqui took it he
bowed and kissed her knuckles.
Something about a poem she'd read flickered across her mind. Or a song. Her father was a
Beatles fan. Try to sort it out. McCartney and what? Lewis Carroll?
["The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking down the beach..."
No, not right.
"The Walrus was Paul." White album. Something about oysters.]
"Cut it out," Eric said.
"Love to," said Neal. He actually smirked.
Eric glared at him and he did the mock turtle thing again. Jacqui wondered how long it would
be before Neal pushed too hard and the bucks locked antlers. She was betting on Eric. She
moved on...
While she was debating this with herself (still walking), the crowd parted before them and she
saw something she'd only heard about before. It took a while for the sight to register, the
brain tends to dismiss messages that don't fit with its working model of reality. The usual
reactions to the discrepancy are disorientation and panic. She thought she saw a woman
playing some kind of game. Gymnastics? What sort of gymnastics involved hugging a pole?
There was a fire under her, she was naked. The solution was obvious but it had to batter
down some fences in her grip on reality. This wasn't happening to her. She couldn't possibly
be seeing what she was seeing. Time slipped.
"Rosemary," Eric said.
Jacqui awoke as if from a dream. Out of time. "What?"
"That's Rosemary," Eric said patiently.
Jaqui glanced around again. Neal had gone. No help there. No way out.
It took all the courage she had to look at Eric. Just to look.
"This isn't.."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Happening?"
"You're...."
"Cooking her? Oh, yes, we are. We're cooking her and we're going to eat her. The problem
is.."
Eric was saying something, but she couldn't hear it. There was a rushing sound in her ears.
Her vision seemed to have dimmed and brightened at the same time. She blinked. It didn't
help. She inhaled through the nose, her mouth tightly shut. That didn't help either. She could
smell cooking meat even more strongly, laced with the faintly acrid but oddly pleasant smoke
- charcoal, wood and a soupcon of some accelerant - that brought to mind parties in the back
yard as a kid. Barbecues, bonfires. Burnt baked potatoes, charred sausages.
Not a sausage.
Not hugging a pole.
The woman had been skewered through and through. Somebody had shoved a pole right
through her and turned her into a piggy. In one end, out the other. Arse to tip. It was obscene.
Sausage rock and rolls. Pigs in blankets. No blanket. No blanket. Jacqui shuddered.
"....she thought rosemary - the cooking herb - would go well, but I don't think she knows..."
Eric glanced aside, taking in the spit roast, presumably noting that the woman wasn't moving
any more...."...knew anything about cookery. I'd have thought sage.."
"Piggy," Jacqui said. Off track.
"Exactly. Not lamb........"
"Doctrine of signatures notwithstanding..."
Jacqui glanced at him blankly. She didn't have to say 'what the fuck are you talking about?'
so she didn't.
Eric looked back, not quite blankly, but at that point the music started.
It was 'Good Vibrations' by the Beach Boys. Of course. Somebody had set up a sound
system she hadn't noticed and ambushed her. It went right in through her feet, it must have
been planned that way.
Jacqui wasn't sure she was right. Maybe Rosemary WAS a lamb. Lean, for a piggy. But
then...inspiration.
"Mint sauce," she said. And thought: I'm getting out of here RIGHT NOW.
"Drink?"
It was Neal. Holding out a polystyrene cup, an ecological obscenity. "You shouldn't use these
things," she said, drinking it anyway. It tasted like stale chicken with fizz, probably CocaCola.
"Going to join the crowd?" Neal asked.
Jacqui stared at him and noticed a thief's look steal across his face.
"Mingle? Socialise? Eat?" Neal prompted.
"Fuck off, Neal," Eric said.
"Lose the cheaters?" Neal pressed on. His eyes flicked between the roast and her. They took
in her bikini. Suddenly, Jacqui got it. He was telling her that she was overdressed.
"I hate to resort to cliche," Eric said. "But what part of 'fuck off, Neal" don't you understand?"
Jacqui noticed two things. Eric's accent had changed. Now he sounded more cultured, faintly
British. Harvard? Blue blood slumming as Beach Bum?
She also noticed that her mimimal bikini was uncomfortable. She felt overdressed. She
wanted a drink.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking down the beach
They taught the little Oysters,
They teached them each to each,
They told them how to fry themselves,
They taught them how to boil,
"Take it off if it itches," Eric said helpfully.
"And beat him if he sneezes," Neal said.
"Last warning," Eric said.
"Do you know who she is?" Neal addressed this to Jacqui. "She's..." He looked at Eric who
was glaring at him. "Okay. Not, I guess..." He melted into the crowd.
"One day..." Eric muttered. Careful with that axe, Eugene.
Not that either of them said that, it was the bootleg from the BBC tapes of an old Pink Floyd
concert. It just seemed to spark one of those contact telepathy trips. Mass psychosis. Team
spirit. Whatever. Was the mood turning edgy? What was in that stale cola anyway?
While Jacqui was trying to work that out a young red-haired woman, totally naked, appeared
and greeted Eric, tugged at the collar of his hideous shirt and pecked him on the cheek..
"Who's your friend?" She glanced amicably at Jacqui.
Jaqui's bikini still itched. It hadn't before. Or had it? Had she just accepted it as part of the
price of being on the beach? What did she need it for, anyway?
"Jacqui, meet Jill. Jill, meet Jacqui," Eric said.
Jill held out her hand and Jacqui tried not to stare. It was stupid, and she didn't want to look
stupid. Every woman who wears a bikini covers 5% of her anatomy for conventional reasons.
Jill's 5% was visible. Perky, too.
"Pleased to meet you," Jill said.
Jacqui could see her nipples. Like puckered little plums. Her breasts were smaller than those
of the piggy/lamb on the spit. Smaller than her own.
She reviewed her options.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!! These people eat other people. Women,
on present evidence. Me.
Oh, but Jill looked so comfortable with her clothes off. Her own costume was an
embarrassment.
"Me too," Jacqui managed, taking Jill's hand.
We're food, she thought. Me, Jill, Rosemary. We're food. Listen to the penguin. The penguin
in the wardrobe.
She wasn't sure where that one came from.
[No fucking way. Hey, it's me, common sense. let me out!]
"Staying for the party, or just visiting?" Jill inquired.
"Party?"
Jill made a deprecatory gesture. "I know, it hasn't really warmed up. Trust me, once Rosie
gets served......" she paused. "You haven't done this before, have you?"
"No."
"You don't know Rosie...?"
"No," Jacqui said. She took a deep breath. The cup of warm cola was still in her hand. "Is
there a bin anywhere?" She didn't want to drop it on the sand, there to lie decomposing for a
thousand years.
"Sure, I'll show you. Drink?"
"Uh..."
"Real one?"
"Okay."
On the way to the waste bin and the source of the drinks, Jill did comment on Jacqui's attire.
Tactfully, of course.
"May as well take it all off. Nobody will notice. Get a tan."
"All over brown?"
"It's one way."
Jacqui considered that. She was undereducated in any formal sense, the product of the five
minute attention span media culture and a failing school system, but she wasn't entirely,
innately stupid. One way? Nude sunbathing. The other?
It didn't take a rocket scientist to work that one out: "I know how to get you really brown," Eric
had said. The question was: which option had he in mind?
"One way?" Jacqui temporised, working it out while pretending to be dumber than she was.
Okay, Eric had brought her here. To cook her? In that case, she should leave. Where was
he, anyway?
[Get OUT of here RIGHT NOW! You've seen the movies, don't be the schmuck who stays in
the haunted house and searches the basement at night in her underwear with a guttering
candle.]
Jill smiled. Was she fooled? "Well, there's always tanning lotion. I'm a redhead, it took me
time and effort to get this shade of off-white...."
In fact, she was a sort of old-gold ivory colour. Burnished bronze? Looks better than it
sounds. Just a sprinkle of freckles over the nose and breasts.
"...anyway, suit yourself. Or not. Want that drink?"
She didn't look or sound like a maniac. Looks deceive, but they usually work anyway.
"Yes, please." Jacqui's mind raced, skipping tracks. Okay, suppose he did bring me here to
put me on the menu. What happens if I try to leave? If they're going to do it whether I like it
or not, they won't LET me leave. I run, they'll catch me. Kapow, boom, gone, that's all she
wrote. She glanced around as Jill led her to where the refreshments were. Blend in, she
thought. Choose the moment. Know the score...
Pump Jill for all she'd give. Be subtle.
"Beer or wine? Punch? Fruit juice?"
Jacqui was not a heavy drinker and getting shit faced probably wasn't a good idea. Still, she
needed something to take the edge off her nerves, being wired wouldn't help either. A
cooler?
"Punch? Not too heavy?"
"I know what you need," Jill said, "White wine, dry, still lemonade and ice. Sprig of mint.
There's probably a name for it." She mixed the drink and handed it out, the perfect hostess.
It came in a real glass. Jacqui took it gratefully and gulped the first mouthful. It was incredibly
good. Just what she needed. "Thanks," she said. "Um, Jill?"
"There's a bin over here," Jill said, reminding her of the paper cola cup, now crushed, in her
left hand.
"Right...uh...Jill...?" What the fuck is going on here? What are my chances of getting out
alive? Where do I start? Be subtle. She took a second, more moderate sip.
"You probably want to ask me what the fuck's going on," Jill said. Her smile was ironic,
quirky, but not unfriendly.
Jacqui nearly choked. For a second, she couldn't get her breath. She could feel the
capillaries in her face flushing.
"Swallow, without breathing," Jill said calmly. "Then inhale slowly through the nose. Relax."
Jacqui did that, as best she could.
"Better?" Jill asked after a long minute.
Jacqui nodded wordlessly.
"Okay, ask. What do you need to know?"
I need to know if you maniacs are going to kill me. Would that work? Jacqui rarely
considered the concepts of tact and diplomacy in the abstract, but she had the general idea
in the same way all animals do, don't offend someone who might kill you if you do. She
couldn't think of a nice way to put it.
"You want to know if we're going to roast you too," Jill suggested.
Jacqui stared at her for just a beat. Telepathy? Don't be silly, she was just smart.
Jill nodded slightly as if she'd answered. "So would I, in your place. Don't be embarrassed
about it."
Embarrassed? That didn't quite cover it, but it wasn't untrue either. "Are you?" Jacqui felt
better having said it.
Jill's smile returned. "That's not a yes or no question. Feel like undressing yet?"
What the fuck did she mean by that? Jacqui stared at her again. There was something feline
in Jill's green eyes. Or was she imagining it?
"Who ARE you people?" was what came out of her mouth.
"Oh, you could just say we're a bunch of party animals." The smile quirked again, an ironic
twist indicating a private joke.
Jacqui was not amused. This is the part where it turns out they're all werewolves, she
thought. Rosemary was a mere human, like me, she wandered by and got caught and they
quite naturally decided to have her for dinner. Since they're in human form they had to cook
her. It all makes sense now. "Oh, right, that explains everything," she said. It sounded snippy.
"Like a pack of wolves?"
Jill laughed. Jacqui watched in amazement, the woman seemed genuinely amused. "I'm glad
you think it's funny," she said, emboldened by her growing anger. And I thought you were
nice, she implied.
"Sorry," Jill said, still in thrall to hilarity but recovering well. "No, not like that. Humans are so
much more protean, don't you think?"
Jacqui didn't know what 'protean' meant. "Humans?" Like, you're not?
That almost cracked Jill up again. Straight-faced, she said, "We're all animals, Jacqui. You
can be any animal you like."
Jill looked like a big cat, Jacqui realised. Lean and lithe, fast and furious. Cats hunt. She
imagined Jill hunting her down and tearing the raw flesh from her bones with her teeth. She
didn't find the idea at all implausible. She'd seen the piggy. Anything was possible. Jill, she
would bet, could outrun her. The redhead wasn't really big but she exuded vitality, her lean
muscles looked useful. Gymnast? Dancer? Athlete?
"Which answers your question, I think," Jill continued.
Jacqui considered throwing her drink in Jill's face and running. "You didn't answer anything,"
she snapped.
"Perhaps I can help," Neal said. Jacqui jumped.
"That would be a first," Jill said. She didn't look angry, as Eric had, she just looked amused .
"Explicate, Beta Male. Give with the spoilers. Exegesis. Whatever." Her accent shifted to
valleyspeak and Jacqui realised for the first time that her normal accent was like Eric's.
Neal looked nonplussed for about a split second, then he turned a look on Jill that would
have curdled milk. Jill looked back, indifferently, smiling with with a soupcon of contempt.
"Oh, very funny." He turned back to Jacqui, his expression reverting to the urbane, self-
deprecating mask she had seen before. "We're just like the local branch of the Hellfire Club.
Not so staid, maybe. We like our parties a little...wild. I suppose Eric thought you might enjoy
it. Either that, or..."
Either that or he brought me here to...
"Neal..."
Neal looked at Jill. Jill looked at Neal. Neal looked back. "I know, 'fuck off?'"
"Got it in one."
Neal turned back to Jacqui. "Listen to the penguin," he said. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Hey," Jacqui called as he turned away, deja vu running down her synapses. If your whole life
passes before your eyes when you die, what happens just before it? Flash-forwards? "Who
was Rosemary? One of you?"
Neal and Jill locked eyes again. Jacqui had the odd impression that Neal was afraid of her.
He looked down, aside and up again. He smiled at Jacqui, something odd in his expression.
"Depends who you ask," he said. And, poof! disappeared. Melted into the crowd. Whatever.
"Hellfire Club?" Jacqui wondered aloud, clutching at straws. "You're Devil worshippers?"
Anxiety struck. Was 'Satanists' a more politically correct address?
Jill smirked again. "Hardly. The Hellfire club was..." she paused. "You know, I really LIKE that
bikini." She appraised it. "Think it would look good on me?"
Jacqui couldn't imagine Jill with clothes on.
"Can I try it on?"
That would leave her naked. Prey. Food. Wait a minute.....
If all the naked girls at the party were fast food and the clothed ones (okay, minimally
clothed) were the werewolves, why was Jill naked and why didn't she look scared?
"If I take it off, will you..." Oh, fuck. Pathetic. If I'm going to get eaten I'm not going to go out
whining, Jacqui decided. "You wear clothes?"
"Just in the office. Most big corporations frown on nudity at work."
Jacqui had the lower half of her bikini halfway down her shaved legs when Eric returned.
"Oh, good," he said. "I hope Jill's been taking good care of you?"
The sound system burped. Jacqui realised she hadn't been listening. Wild Honey came on
full force.
"Girl talk," Jill said. "Is Rosemary ready yet? I'm hungry."
Jacqui didn't want to be ignored when she was stripping. She slipped out of her bikini bottom,
noticing that it was a little damp and not caring. Defiantly, she tossed it at Jill and removed
the top half of her outfit.
That worked. Jill leaned towards her and ran a finger down the neat tuft of pubic hair framing
Jacqui's tasty bits. Shaved to a narrow strip and trimmed. "Cute," she said.