Five Guys

Tranquil, turquoise water with slight ripples at the surface expanded across the small bay with the beach on the other side only a few hundred yards away. The low shrubbery and trees hid everything with privacy beyond the thin sliver of sand. That gave nothing much to look at except for the empty sailing ship tied to a buoy. The lowkey peacefulness was by design to relax and unwind. Stephanie lounged with her feet on the settee on the backdoor deck of the baby blue beach house, nursing the spoon in her iced tea to the cracking sound of the ice cubes while watching Jada ankle-deep in the ocean.

Jada angled her arm high into the direction of the sun to take selfie photos. With the other arm, she played with her super tight curls that puffed up her head to twice the size. Her hair was styled like for a runway show, perfectly curled, beautiful dark duo-color tone, and moistness that screamed youthful lusciousness. While she had a small body, her African American genes gave her the muscle definition of an athlete. She tugged on her purple string bikini and loosely tied, transparent blouse to get the right kind of spark in her snapshots.

Krishna, having spotted her from the beach, caught up with Jada. "I've seen your dumpster fire photographer skills of dead pigeons," Krishna referred to the one time when Jada didn't realize that she was standing next to a dead pigeon while modeling a new pair of high heel sneakers that a company had gifted her. "I'm going to make you look hotter than the sun!" exclaimed Krishna. He was always using pickup moves like negging us. He quickly grabbed her phone out of her hand before she could say anything.

Even though, he dressed nicely - a blue Hawaiian Gucci shirt with big, white flours, a brown Italian sports jacket over it, a gold watch, and gold-rimmed round glasses, there was a tint of being too status focused. Like everything seemed not picked for beauty but to convey status. That gave him a bit of a flair of a used car salesman. He unabashedly went for her butt with a low-angle shot skimming across the ocean to draw the viewer's gaze up her legs and land on her butt - perfectly round, goddess-statue-worthy, only half covered by her bikini bottoms, and glazed with rich chocolate brown skin tones and a slight covering of peach fuzz. Jada looked uncomfortable at the attention.

Benjamin quickly caught up with the two, eager to get into the action. He was wearing a Chinese knock-off t-shirt that said "No GAP" to play with the GAP logo. The material was very heavy. He was still holding the White Castle wrapper from his burger leftovers from the drive-in. His hair was one thick bush of brown hair that he cut himself every few months and left it to grow wild in between. Even though he was twenty-five, his facial features still looked very juvenile and unformed. "So sick! I want to take some photos, too!" exclaimed Benjamin.

"Show's over!" said Jada sternly, grabbed her phone, and walked to the deck at the back of the beach house. Having crossed the short stretch of sand with deep loose, sand that made her march hard, she threw herself onto the recliner next to Ryan. Ryan was an Australian lawyer, dressed very proper with a buttoned white Cuban shirt, linen pants, leather belt, and his round glasses that made him look a bit more like an engineer than a stuffy lawyer. He was afraid of many things. So he stayed out of the sun and off the sand. His quiet but cool demeanor made him a safety island. "The guys are getting too frisky. We gotta give 'em something to do," Jada complained.

"Right on," replied Ryan ambiguously but with a tone of full agreement and British elegance like he added something very elevated to the conversation. Then he continued looking straight ahead onto the ocean as he had done the whole afternoon so far. Jada eyes him because there was something very dashing about the way his chest curved - not muscular, but trim. His face looked so educated the features chiseled by debates at a fine university. Being around him felt like you were about to witness an endeavor that was going upward. That feeling also made her acutely aware of her own limitations. All she had were videos of herself, a horde of anonymous online admirers, and sponsorship deals that were mostly free merchandise. She couldn't even imagine how to make the jump into the world that her lawyer friend Ryan inhabited.

If anyone in the group still were a virgin, he would have been the most likely candidate. He was so passive! Once on a night out, a drunk girl stumbled onto his lap and looked him dead-on in the eyes with her arms around his neck. He addressed her in the most polite English of the Queen: "And who might you be?" She looked at him confused waiting for a make-out to start. Her blond hair was tussled. Her make-up melted down in streaks already. Her eyes were blurry from being drunk. After a silent standoff, she got up and walked away. He shook his head and remarked, "That was a tad odd. I had the distinct impression that she wanted to kiss me."

A quick succession of small-size sneakers thundered over the wooden deck. Neena jumped on top of Ryan's lap to recline over his chest. She had been stretching out in the sun to keep up with her gymnastics training that her small body and thunderbolt energy made her excel at. Neena unbuttoned one of Ryan's shirt buttons, adjusted his glasses, and lined up his hair better behind his ears. "He's the best-dressed gentleman on the whole beach," she exclaimed proudly. The two of them got along together well. Her down-to-earth attitude made it easy for him to follow what was going on.

Peter watched Ryan's popularity with guarded jealousy. He had worked the whole time, gently pressing on the meat to check for tenderness, brushing on a little more sauce, and moving the pieces from the simmer zone to the sear zone. Somewhere, he had hoped that being the BBQ master would have gotten him into good standing, but nobody seemed to pay attention to him. His big fat fingers were fumbling with the plastic bag of the buns. They were so big and he was so awkward that he often seemed like people appear trying to do dexterity tasks with mittens on. Overall, he was a big black man with the demeanor of a teddy bear - very soft, very friendly, and unbounded mass and strength behind it.

"Guys, ready your bellies!" he announced. He took another sniff close up from a sizzling hunk of meat, closing his eyes against the heat and smoke. He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted to be the cool, manly guy. He had labored so much to buy all the ingredients and prep while everyone else had been relaxing around the beach. It was time for his moment to come and make him shine with adoration and praise. Proudly, he toasted the inside of a bun over the sear zone for thirty seconds. Then he layered on the lettuce, tomatoes, and a cheese slice. When he put the majestic hunk of meat on it, his fumbling, fat fingers made it all fall over and roll onto the ground. "Aw," he sighed, feeling a bit relieved that nobody was paying attention to him. This happened to him all the time.

Stephanie quickly came up behind him with feline dexterity to hold him back so that she could pick up the ingredients and re-assemble them. Peter wanted to throw it out, but Stephanie was driven to hand the meat sandwich to Ryan. She knew that he was a germaphobe and derived great pleasure in secretly mistreating him. Ryan received the burger graciously and praised how excellently the food was done. And as he upheld the meat sandwich to demonstrate his appraisal, he noticed, "Why is there a piece of grass on mine?"

"Because it's grass-fed. It's a marketing thing to get the grass-fed meat with grass," explained Stephanie quickly.

"That's very clever," remarked Ryan with his Oxford accent. Jada rolled her eyes not wanting to say what was going on. Stephanie laughed mischievously with joy and satisfaction as she watched Ryan eat the burger off the floor.

Stephanie was a normal girl. Her body was neither unfit nor fit. The only thing that stood out was her big butt. She had long and full brown hair. Even though she was a hairstylist, she didn't dedicate a lot of effort to her hair. Getting a beautician degree was something that didn't take too long and wasn't too hard. So she picked it because it's a reliable job. You snip a little. You talk a little. You complain a little. And everything is fine at the end of the day. That normal life left her on occasion with boredom that came out in mischievous fits. Spiking drinks with clear-tasting spirits was her thing to bring out the fun at parties. She enjoyed watching her friends make fools of themselves when they were shit-faced drunk. Once, she had managed to get Peter so drunk that he peed himself and everyone saw his pants darkening. Her special skill was siphoning gasoline. She rarely paid for gas and was very quick with her tube to pull a couple of gallons out of a parked car here and there, including friends' cars.

Using her bare hands, she grabbed the sandwich-building ingredients. With her index finger, she mixed the mayo and ketchup on top of the steak into swirls before licking her finger. "What they don't know won't worry them," she told herself. Her fingers were flying swiftly, and her big butt backed into Peter and pushed him from the BBQ. Peter stood back big-hearted, figuring that she was helping him with the cooking. He felt a little peeved but wasn't going to say anything. Stephanie walked around the BBQ with the meat sandwiches on plates and started handing them out to garner a round of big praise, which she coyly deflected, "I'm only the server. Peter did all the mastery."

The last two plates went to Marly and Mikael. They were two sweethearts. They had spent the whole afternoon sitting in the corner in each other's arms in silence. They both had a Swedish look: almost translucent skin, blond, thin, flat hair, and skinny bodies that revealed their bones. Only, she was very small and had black eyes, and he was very tall and had glacier-blue eyes. They couldn't let go of each other. They did everything together. They had a weird code where they always agreed with each other, but when they were private, Stephanie had heard them debate issues, clearly showing that they had developed individual opinions. They simply always agreed on one thing when talking to others. Actually, they didn't talk much with other, but in moments like when they were walking behind the group and probably thought themselves out of earshot, they were talking back and forth quite lively. It's like their undead vampire attitude only came out in the group.

That's the whole group of them. They had met in different ways - at work, at a no-touch football game, and at a bar. Somehow, their group had formed like a dough ball that picks up more and more dough pieces as it rolls. They had their regular during the week getting drinks and the occasional weekend trip together. Their group didn't have a single organizing force, but people were part of the group simply because they decided to come out. When someone had stopped joining, nobody had asked what happened to them. Nobody needed to be invited, and thus nobody was uninvited. It was simply "drinks at Roger's Tavern!" And whoever showed up showed up. In a way, there wasn't that blood bond that some groups feel, but who came clearly enjoyed being in the group.

"You can't afford to get any fatter," barged Krishna in, climbing up the stairs. Then he ripped Neena's half-eaten sandwich out of her hand, bit into it, and struggled to speak with his mouth full. "I'm going to sacrifice myself for you!" Neena looked dazed at her sandwich. The rest of the group tensed up. There was Krishna going again with one of his pickup negs. "I'm kidding. You are an absolute goddess!" he said and gave Neena her sandwich back. He wiped his 80's cop mustache clean of food. Then he walked to the BBQ with a swagger in his legs like he was the big man in the house - or simply an Indian uncomfortable in his pants.

The stunned silence was broken when Stephanie burst out, "What the fuck! Benjamin!" Benjamin had managed to get the ketchup solidly around his lips but also a big smack on his forehead. "How the fuck did you get it all the way up there?" asked Stephanie. Benjamin looked startled and helpless. He started swiping with the back of his hand at his forehead. And then it became apparent. He had ketchup, mayo, and mustard on all kinds of places on his hand, wrist, and forearm. So when he wiped one spot, he covered himself in two new spots at the same time. He was simply very immature.

Once Benjamin had asked Ryan if he could borrow Ryan's underwear because Benjamin hadn't realized that he needed to pack underwear. To Benjamin, it seemed like a very normal and practical request, but Ryan was blown out of the sky by the suggestion to share his underwear with anybody. Benjamin ended up wearing the same pair the whole weekend. When Neena asked Benjamin about what he had done, it turned out that Benjamin usually wore the same briefs for a whole week. Then the group educated Benjamin that it was time to change his underwear every day. Benjamin couldn't believe how much laundry he would need to be doing. In that way, the group had gotten kind of close and understanding of each other.

Neena had taken Benjamin to the supermarket to teach him to buy laundry detergent, dryer sheets, and bleach. Neena considered Benjamin like a younger brother, who needed helping. Her career as a biologist had made her rather hands-on with delicate situations and after dissecting frogs and nursing foul bacteria, nothing phased her anymore. Whenever they met, she'd hug him and then rub his clothes' fabric between her fingers to chide him, "You didn't put any dryer sheets in again! How often do I have to tell you that you need to grow up and use dryer sheets like an adult!" He'd giggle unsure. But recently, he stepped up his laundry game and started hearing "Well done!"

Finally, Peter was done with his BBQ master duties. He turned the corner around the BBQ to join the group. The only chair left was a children's rocking chair. He barely managed to squeeze his big body between the armchairs. However, when his weight came down the legs folded out flat and dumped him on the ground. He rolled backward down the stairs, but Ryan quickly grabbed Peter's foot to keep him from falling down to the beach. "Did I break another chair?" Peter asked politely.

There had been a history. His large body had a way of being the final testing ground for chairs at establishments that had weathered on with loose legs, wobbly backrests, and other until-now less than fatal blemishes. The most dramatic episode was when they went horseback riding. "Are you sure that pony can hold 240 pounds?" had Peter asked with deep reservations. The early spring day had been very sunny and inviting. Many people had come out riding. The selection of horses and ponies left was limited.

"No worry! No worry! You be happy!" had the Mexican wrangler said.

"If you say so," had Peter replied, never ridden a pony or horse in his life. He was deeply skeptical. He looked scared that the horse might dash forward out of control. However, the horse made two awkward steps backwards, paused in deep confusion, and then fell backward onto the ground. Peter rolled onto his back and into the dust. The pony lay on one of his legs and wouldn't want to get up anymore. "Did I break it?" Peter asked concerned.

"All good," had the Mexican handler said. "It simply needs a little sleep. It's been a long day for it. I get you another one. No problem."

"No! No! No!" protested Peter. He sat the ride out and got himself a soda at a nearby cafe to watch the ducks swim back and forth on the lake.

His size had made him cautious about being in the way and being too forceful. He always double-checked himself. When there was a show, he was always looking over his back to see if he blocked anyone's view lest he get an angry finger poking into his back: "You are so big! You block everything!" When people handed around delicate objects, he was deathly afraid to break them because ordinary things crumbled in and slipped his brawns. When he accidentally, bumped his elbow into someone, they had a tendency of flying across the floor. That had developed his persona of a teddy bear: Too freakishly big for anything. He had to peddle softly in everything.

As the sugar coma intoxicated everyone like a lullaby, the group became quiet and bloated. When the last crumbs remained on the paper plates because their stomachs were too full, Marly started cleaning Mikael's face. She'd wet her finger in her mouth and use the moisture to wipe the ketchup off his upper lip. Then she found a piece of parsley stuck in his teeth. She'd use the long nails of her pinkie finger to dig into the pocket between his teeth to scratch until she got it out. He allowed her to perform the intimate cleaning act. They had a way of being very intimate with each other. The group was a bit mesmerized watching them. His facial bones were so gaunt that the skin was suspended inward from the pointy parts of his face. He really did have a look like a vampire count.

When Mikael had enough of the cleaning, he got up, grabbed Marly's hand, and took her for a digestive walk at the beach. There was something otherworldly about how he moved. His limbs were lanky. He was frail. Yet, he had an elegance to make those long bones move with a swing to them to substitute for effort. It was like the forward arm swing propelled his hips and sent his legs swinging. He reminded Stephanie a bit about those physics structures that move along the beach only pushed by the wind - artificial limbs are being pushed by sails.

Marly seemed almost half as tall as him. She was always around Mikael. When strangers addressed Mikael, she'd intercept them and speak on his behalf. When guys hit on her, she straight up told them off and that she was taking. There was something insecure about her like anything activated her to action. She usually instigated plans. Actually, it had been her idea to come out to Long Island for a beach day. She had sent links to different beach houses to the group chat. Her parents had taken her every year to a vacation house in a fjord when the ice melted in Sweden. She had wanted to recapture that memory. Perhaps, because she was European, she had different sensibilities about relationships, more refined, more intimate, and more family collectivistic.

There was something pretty about how Marly braided her hair - folkloric, artistic patterns, like only one long braid down the side of her face. She had a thing for wearing long flowing dresses with floral patterns. The fabric would be loose and float around her with every movement in some grand, beautiful swing and float. Her face had a pensive beauty to it like that of a character who captures all her emotions in poems.

With the lover's couple wandering off down the beach, everyone else was in a quiet coma, feeling the warm air, the gentle breeze, and the salt in the air. That's how summers should be turned down: relishing the beauty of it. The sun slowly drifted down to inject the bright daylight with more and more yellow tones until the first hints of orange appeared. And suddenly, the skin started feeling a bit chilly. Then one noticed that the birds had picked up on the change as well as they had thrown off the midday quiet to break into their evening frenzy.

"Oh, tiramisu! I have to do a drop. My followers have gone unfed too long!" exclaimed Jada startled. "Stephanie! You are up. We are going to do an interview. It's a great format. They are going to love it."

"Fuck! Like this?" Stephanie exclaimed.

"It's perfect like that," insisted Jada. "It's more real, more in the moment."

Jada lifted up the phone at herself and started speaking with her bubble, high-energy voice of an actress: "Hey niggaz! It's Jada! I'm at this dope-ass beach hideout with the coolest gang of Long Island. You guys wouldn't believe the awesome stuff we've been doing!" She panned the camera around to show everyone. "Peter here is the most superb, gourmet cook. He's been letting us in on the deeply kept family secrets about the best BBQ. It's off the roof. You can't buy BBQ this good in a restaurant. No! No! No!"