The knock came just as she was serving dessert.
Actually, the knock came after she had navigated the one step down to the dining room from the Vrbo’s kitchen, a tray of warm crème brûlées balanced in her hands. She had just cleared the table— two large dinner plates awash with steak drippings, stained red globs of uneaten mashed potatoes— and had given them a quick rinse before moving on to the final course. Tony had remained at the table, leaning back and scratching his belly. He had even let out a soft belch, which made her smile. She pulled the tray out of the refrigerator, but not before checking the freezer for her emergency stash, her “just in case” stores. Then she had gotten to work torching the custard with her little portable blow torch. When she finished, she paused for just a second to admire the crusty layer of toasted sugar, then hoisted the tray and headed for the dining room. She went deliberately, putting one foot in front of the other. When she reached the table she set the ramekins down at their places, and that’s when the rapping had started.
Sitting, she craned her neck to see who was knocking, but in the gloom of the February night it was way too dark to see anyone through the little front door porthole window, only a shadow cutting off the glow from the anemic porch light. Over dinner the wind had picked up, and she had noticed the increasing intensity of the crashing waves from the beach across the street. She had tried to ignore it, but she knew what it meant. The rapping sealed it. Judy sighed.
“I should see who that is,” Tony said, placing his napkin to the side of his dessert.
“Really? Can’t we just ignore it?”
“Come on, Judy, you know it doesn’t work that way.”
“You’re not on call. Can’t someone else deal with it?”
“You don’t even know what it’s about,” he said, hoisting his bulk out of the chair and shuffling into his slippers. He really was handsome, she thought, despite the extra pounds. At the door, he rose up to his full height and sucked in his gut. Judy smiled.
The candle flickered and went out as the door opened. Tony spoke into the shadows, then moved aside to let the shambling creature in. A sentry, she knew from the cloak and badge that hung loosely over its soggy, sea weed covered body. A whiff of stagnant tide pool entered the room. She slid her dessert away.
The sentry bowed slightly to Judy, then resumed its conversation with Tony. All that clicking and clacking, she often wondered if it were truly a language at all. She watched her husband, head bowed, listening to the sentry; he was getting taller, broader as they spoke. Judy sipped her wine as Tony finally strode back to his chair, clicks and clacks emanating from his mouth.
When he reseated himself, the sentry bowed and slogged back to the doorway. It took up its post, standing silently at attention, a trail of brine in its wake on the floor.
“Let me guess,” she said swirling the dregs of her wine, “We have an uninvited guest.”
Tony eyed his own glass but kept his hands still on the table. “Yes. Just blew in.”
“Is it our friend?”
“Yes,” he said, after a pause, eyes downcast. The dripping of the sentry was the only noise punctuating the silence. “Hey, where did you pack my trident?”
“Jesus, Tony,” she said, her wine glass thunking a little too hard against the table. “Again?”
Tony sighed. “Yes, my love.”
“Fuck this. Why are you always the one? Why can’t someone else take care of it?”
“Judy,” he said, taking a swig from his wine glass, “It’s my jurisdiction. The sea is my territory.”
“Well then maybe just once we could go to the mountains for vacation. A mountain lake would be nice. You could frolic with the snapping turtles.”
“I’m not the god of mountain lakes, Judy. That’s somebody else’s gig.”
“Well, good, then maybe if we went there we’d get a little you and me time. Let whoever they are handle the heavy lifting for a change. Did you ever think of that, mister big shot?”
“Here we go,” he said, rolling his eyes and folding his hands in his lap.
She poured out the rest of the wine into her glass and let the silence settle around them. “You know, there’s no reason for any of this. It’s always when we’re on vacation. It’s like that thing has some kind of radar, or a man crush, or a sixth sense that lets it hone in on you.”
“Judy, please. You’re being ridiculous. It’s just a creature with needs of its own.”
“Needs? Wow. That thing is more needy than any desperate woman or nymph I know of. Christ!”
“You don’t know any nymphs. And this is a coincidence.” He paused, letting the words hang there like a shield from her arched eyebrow. “And,” he added, “it’s my job.”
“Job? Coincidence? It’s bullshit, that’s what it is. Why can’t we ever just get away? In thirty-three years we haven’t been to the beach once without some kind of marine catastrophe rearing its ugly head that you had to take care of. Haven’t you ever heard of delegating?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
“Remember Puerto Rico? Or the Dominican? How about New Orleans? I’ll show you the French Quarter, he says. Good food, good wine, he says. Then old tentacles shows up. Christ, you two whipped up a hell of a storm that time. Katrina, my ass. More like Hurricane Krak-tony. And what do I get? Two months in a bayou waiting for you to come back. Those fucking alligators were not conversationalists, Tony.”
“I know, I know, and, like I’ve said a million times, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? So how do you show me you’re sorry, eh, Mister Sea God? Let’s go on vacation. New England in February. It’ll be romantic. Yeah, so romantic. Just about the coldest fucking place we could go, but ok, I say. Give him a shot. So I book us this place with an awesome view. I cook you a really nice steak dinner. Always beef, by the way. And what do I get for all of that? You bolt off before dessert to take care of that slimy ass creature that apparently has a hard on for you. Nice.”
Tony sighed and unbuttoned his shirt.
“You’re sorry? Really? Are you sorry that I have to sit here and clean up and finish the wine while you go out and play footsies with your little fish friend? I bet you get your rocks off doing it; all that homoerotic energy.”
“Judy, stop,” he said, unbuttoning his cuffs. “The Kraken isn’t a man.”
“Even worse. Man-Sea Creature love. Great.” She paused as he removed his shirt. “You know,” she started, watching him fold the shirt, “maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if you actually went out wearing the fucking bathing suit I bought you, instead of butt naked like some pervy grandfather.”
Tony ran a hand across his beard, which had grown white and long in the time it had taken to replay this exchange with his wife. “The expression is buck naked. It’s traditional. And the bathing suit has flamingos and alligators on it. Not really regal. I’m not being pervy, either, it’s just how I work,” he said, removing and folding his pants. He placed them on top of his shirt. He then slid off his underwear and placed them on his pants.
She paused, eyeing him as he stood naked in front of her. “You know, we have yet to have a good seafood meal when we’re away. Would it kill you if we just once had a lobster roll?”
Tony gripped the back of his chair, his biceps bulging. Little snapping sounds punctuated the air. “They’re my subjects, Judy. Eating your subjects is not a good look for a king.”
“King Schwing,” she said pointing at his flaccid penis and smirking, “Don’t worry, I can get my own food if I want to. I’m capable. You know, when you go off on one of your sprees. Before you come back smelling like low tide and all hyped up on testosterone, it’d be so easy for me to sneak out and get some shrimp cocktail.”
“You wouldn’t.” Again, the chair back snapped.
“I haven’t. But maybe I will tonight. I hear they’re delicious.”
Tony’s face turned ashen as he threw the chair away from the table. “I don’t have time for this shit. Where is my trident?”
They locked eyes, he clenching and unclenching his fists, she twirling her foot as she sat back and swirled her wine. In the corner, the sentry coughed and swayed uncertainly from foot to foot.
After a too long pause, she sipped her wine and looked out the window. “Fine, if you must go, your trident is in the closet right there,” she said, pointing, “next to our suitcase.”
“Thank you,” he said, each word emerging clipped and spat out. As he threw open the closet door she noted the muscles in his back, his ass, defined and growing in the dim light. Finding his trident, which had miraculously grown in length and girth, he slammed the closet door and turned to her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She sighed. “If you’re going to go, at least tuck that thing away. It’s too freaking cold out there and I don’t want old fish grips getting any ideas.”
Tony stopped and slumped his shoulders. “Fine,” he said, his penis retracting up into his torso, leaving him as smooth and blank as a toy action figure.
“God, that always gives me the willies,” she said, grinning. “Pun intended.” She caught the twitch of a smirk from her husband. “Oh, and once this is all over you better keep that thing put away, mister,” she said, rising and sidling up to her husband. She ran a finger down the newly chiseled cleft that had grown between his pecs. “No victory laps with the mermaids. Freaks me out. And you end up smelling all fishy.”
“Right,” he said, hugging her, “I bring you no crabs.”
She looked up at his smirking face and laughed. “Ha! You’re getting the hang of it, Tone. Nice!”
He smiled and tilted his trident at the sentry. “Shall I leave this soldier to guard you?”
Judy returned his smile. “Jesus, no. Nothing I fear ever walks on land, you know that. I can take care of myself.”
“OK, then,” he said, sliding through the door into the dark and wind. The sentry bowed once and also left, shutting the door behind him.
Judy shook her head and finished her wine. Clearing the table, she washed the dishes and then mopped up the trail of salt water the sentry had left behind. When she was finished, she relit the candle and placed it on the coffee table in the living room and opened the curtains. Across the street, the ocean roiled and slammed itself against the sea wall. The rain was pelting the street, the gale pushing it sideways up against the windows. A particularly bright streak of lightning lit up the sky.
“Whoa,” she said.
She returned to the kitchen and opened the second bottle of wine, a pinot noir with a deep cherry aroma, and poured a full glass. She checked to make sure that the wine rack was full, then reached into the back of the freezer and pulled out her “emergency store.” She ripped open the bag of frozen shrimp and plopped them into a colander and ran them under cold water. When they were thawed, she arranged them in a bowl and mixed up the cocktail sauce. She added more horseradish to the ketchup and dipped a finger in to test it. “Yum,” she said, almost sneezing with the pungency.
She glanced out of the window over the kitchen sink, making sure the Subaru was safe and secure from the storm. Satisfied, she pulled the curtain shut and shut off the kitchen lights.
She carried the shrimp and wine into the living room and arranged them on the coffee table before she settled down. Plunging a shrimp into the sauce, she closed her teeth over the cool meat and separated it from its tail in one bite. She sighed. Shadows from the flames in the gas fireplace flicked across the walls as she watched the spectacle across the street. Whitecaps could be seen all the way out of the bay into the open ocean, with bursts of sea foam spraying up onto the road. The wind howled against the windows.
A real humdinger, she thought. Sipping her wine, she eased back on the couch as thunder rumbled out to sea. “Another one in the books.” She sat for a while in silence, watching the wind play havoc with the street lights. Out in the bay, she could just make out tiny shadows grappling and scrabbling on the face of Egg Rock, the only island in sight. Over the howling wind, huge booms, like the sound of giant rollers crashing onto the beach, echoed across the bay. When the lights flickered, Judy knew she was in for the long haul. She dipped another shrimp, chomped it, and tossed the tail onto her napkin. Easing back, she wrapped a blanket from the couch around herself and smiled. She did love him. And the alligators hadn’t really been all that bad. She even learned to love gumbo.
But this place would be much better. No bayous, no cotton mouths. A gas fireplace, a cozy bed, and cable tv. There was even a lobster shack just up the road. She took a long sip of wine and jumped at another flash. “Nice, sweety,” she said, “Really nice.”
Image by Tehzeeb Kazmi from Pixabay – a creme brulet in a white dish being ‘burnt’ with a small kitchen blow torch.
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