The Summer Wind

I approached it slowly, pivoting so that my back was the first thing that made contact. The gap between the wall was shallow, and I was soon pressed against it, the water drumming against my bare shoulders.

As advertised, I thought as the water scrubbed at the stubborn stains that were my anxiety. My mind unbuckled and drifted aimlessly in its bone cage. The brisk water cleared out the junk drawer of cluttered thoughts and redundant memories. And what was I experiencing, Joy? It had been so long, I was surprised the rusted mechanism still worked.

I sat there in a sedated daze staring out through the thin veil of water. Everything was muted, dull. There was one shape that popped out, a large white blob, Dean's robe. He was standing, moving away from the table towards the pool. I narrowed my gaze, pulling out individual details. I could see the frayed threads, the thick bulk of the natural cotton. He glided over the cobblestone until he was at the edge of the pool.

I thought again about the massage, the sight of him etched in my mind. It was at the forefront of my memory, the gentle slope of his back and the newly discovered curves. Natural?

He undid the knot of his robe and let it fall. I gasped, convinced my eyes were being deceived. How was it possible? It was as if he'd possessed a body torn from the pages of a skanky porno mag.

He wore a red string bikini. It was on the verge of malfunctioning, the thin strings straining to remain anchored to his hips as they peddled through the water. His breasts were as clear as day, hanging like fruit from a tree branch, ripe for the picking,

He slipped into the velvet water, gliding towards me like a grinning crocodile.

"Looks like you've staked out the best seat in the house, care to share?" he whispered, peering at me through his sunglasses.

Before I could reply, he swooped in, and pressed his back against me, his bare skin warm like buttered toast.

"It really is stunning isn't it?" he asked softly.

"Stunning," I replied, my eyes magnetically drawn down to his breasts. They were flawless. There were no seams, no sign of adhesives, no scars. Their weight was natural, not inflated. The colour was organic, not like a plastic blow up doll bought at a cheap novelty store.

He leaned back, and caught me gawking.

"Enjoying the natural splendor?" he asked, slyly.

My eyes darted away. Before I could protest, my hands, no longer supervised, acted on their own initiative and reached up ...

"Easy there tiger, gentle, they're still new."

"I'm sorry I ..." I blurted out, but before I could pull away, he reached up and placed his hands over mine.

"So what do you think, were they worth every penny? Be honest."

Not to brag, but I have experience, I thought. Not a ton, but enough, the exact number guarded more fiercely than my social security number, which coincidentally was also an odd number.

I wasn't an authority on the matter, but I could spot a fake ... and these, they weren't fake. They weren't cosmetics, nor bags of silicone, or rolled up socks ... they were real.

My mind reeled, unable to process the information. How, how was it possible?

"How?" I mumbled.

"They're magnificent, aren't they? It's a secret formula. It's amazing what those lab rats can cook up when they're not supervised by those pesky governments."

"Drugs?" I asked.

"Hormones ramped up to hyper speed. I'd introduce you to the cook, but I've never met them. They keep a super low profile with no fixed address or country. Looking at the tiny bottle, you'd never think something so small could pack such a punch ... well, it does."

And what a punch, I thought, as I squeezed gently.

"But why?" I asked.

"Preparation for my next roll. Do you think I went a little overboard?

"Ahh ..."

"Actually don't answer that. What can I say, when I dive into a roll, I don't look forward or back"

I was at a complete loss of words. My brain felt like old hardware scrambling to make sense of a thousand computations thrown at it all at once. It was overloading, on the verge of crashing and unable to process what I saw next.

I looked up through the thin veil of water and across the pool. I saw a man, a tall man, artificially tanned but surprisingly fit. As I stared at him, I felt like I was being advertised expensive work-out equipment. Why was he so familiar? Was he another famous actor? His face was menacing, worthy of the big screen, the perfect villain ... but no, that wasn't it. I'd seen him before ... recently.

Coffee ... oat milk ...

The coffee shop, it was the Oily Wolf in the dung beetle on four wheels and he wasn't alone. I didn't need to make the same anguishing mental journey when I saw who he was standing beside. I knew immediately who it was. Her face was seared into my memory. It was Sarah, it was my X, and she was here at the Summer Wind.

Chapter Six

"Seriously, you're packing?" Dean asked.

I didn't reply and continued to shove everything I'd brought with me back into my bag. I wasn't prepared to have a nice calm discussion. My mind was made up. I needed to leave, now.

Dean was standing in the center of our hotel room, dripping wet. He was shivering, his red bikini clinging to his bare skin.

I was still running on raw adrenaline, my memory a blur. I vaguely recalled leaping out of the pool, thankfully obscured by the waterfall and bolting down the narrow hallways with Dean trailing behind me.

I was still fuming, my body numb to the bitter cold. I was volatile, lit and ready to explode. I just needed to reach a safe distance before I detonated.

"I get it, you're mad. I'd be mad too, but can we at least talk about this?"

"Talk?" I growled. "Talk! There's nothing to talk about. I'm a certified idiot. There's no doubt about that now. She was cheating on me. For how long? I have no idea, but definitely while I was making my stupid little plans."

"How can you be certain of that?" he asked.

"That ... that goon was in the coffee shop bragging about banging some loser's girlfriend. I'm the loser!"

"You're not a loser, you're just angry."

"Angry? I'm not angry, I'm furious. She lied to me ... she ..."

I choked, unable to utter the words, the sting of the emotional wound too strong.

"Fuck her," Dean said, "And fuck him. Are you really going to allow them to ruin your whole weekend, after everything you've sacrificed?"

"Ruin my weekend? Fuck this weekend. Who gives a flying fuck about this weekend? I should have never listened to you. It was all a stupid idea. We're not kids anymore, we can't keep playing these stupid games. It's just ... it's just sad."

His shoulders collapsed and he crumbled before me.

I'd crossed a line. Should I apologize? No, I thought. I wasn't ready to wave a white flag just yet, maybe later, maybe never.

I turned and headed for the door.

"I'm broke," he whispered.

I stopped, turned and looked at him. His ruby red lips were quivering.

"It's gone. The royalties, advances and saving, all gone."

"The TV series ... the movies. How could you have possibly spent all that money?"

He smirked. "Being a household name doesn't come cheap. There are publicists, agents, and lawyers to pay. The higher you rise, the more hands are raised. Everyone wants a cut."

"You never thought to hire an accountant?"

"When you escape reality, you tend not to look down. Don't get me wrong. It was a wild ride. Once you're strapped in, it's hard to get off ... you don't want to get off. You're too busy being whipped around to think about the future. But, like all good things, it has to come to an end. Then, suddenly, it's over, and they kick you off, push you back through the turnstile and you're just another face in an endless sea."

"The movie," I whispered. "Your big comeback."

He smiled. "If there's one thing this industry has taught me, is that it loves an underdog. Don't get me wrong. I owe everything to Full Throttle Justice. I savored every last second of it. But, I have range, a voice. I don't want to fade away, only to be drudged back up for an awkward reunion, a little greyer and carrying a few extra pounds. I can be so much more than that."

As I stood there, holding my bag, I could feel the heat from the fire ignited in him. He was no longer shivering. His posture was raised, his breathing increasing in slow increments, his breasts slowly rising and falling with each deep breath.

He stepped closer.

"I'm pouring my heart and soul into this role. I'm going to blow their socks off. This trip back home, to see my hometown, to see you, was one last chance to recharge, focus and psych myself up for the battle ahead.

I sighed. They were inspiring words, but I wasn't the target audience.

"I'd love to help you, I really would, but I can't ... I just can't. I can't bare the thought of seeing her again. It would destroy me."

He stepped closer, reached out and touched my bare chest. He looked up, and grinned at me like a goblin. I could see something devilish brewing in his eyes.

"That's only if she recognizes you."

"What in the world do you mean by that?" I asked, confused.

Chapter Seven

As I was standing in front of the bed staring at the two large open suitcases, I made a mental inventory of everything I saw. Why are there so many corsets, I thought. How many do you need?

The arrangement was an engineering feat, every piece carefully folded and colour coordinated. There were also several small boxes, their contents still a mystery to me.

"See anything you like?" Dean asked from behind me.

I jumped, and spun around. He was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, draped in a long bathrobe, his hair dripping wet. The contours of his body seemed to have melted away, and he was once again the same old familiar face I recognized.

"I don't know about this. This idea is insane," I said nervously.

He laughed. "Most good ideas are, it's the ones that work out that we call brilliant."

He walked over to the bed and stood beside me.

"It's quite the collection," I said.

"It is, assembled from all over the world. It cost me a small fortune, and I have a pile of maxed out credit cards to prove it."

"And you need all this, for the film?"

"Probably not. I'm sure they'll have their own wardrobe department on hand. But I wanted to immerse myself in the world, embrace it every waking second."

The details of the role were still a bit sketchy. He was playing a faded Hollywood scarlet who was desperately trying to rise from the ashes of her burnt out career, and take her place amongst the stars. It felt strangely appropriate. I pinky swore I wouldn't leak a single detail.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"A little," I said as I continued to look down at the intimate sea of lace.

"Don't be. I'll guide you through every step of the process. First you'll need to shower and use this." He reached down, dug through the lingerie and pulled out a small plastic bottle and a pink razor.

I thought again about the small bottle of pills he had described and their shady origins.

"Don't worry, it's all on the level. Safety first. Smear it over every surface and let it work its magic. Whatever it misses, use this," he said and handed me the razor.

"All of it," I asked nervously.

"All of it. Trust me, you won't miss a single hair once it's gone. It's a real nuisance if you ask me."

I looked down at the strange objects in my hand. I still hadn't fully grasped what I was agreeing too, nor did I want to over think it. My nerve was hanging on by a single thread, the words "This is a terrible mistake, I've changed my mind," on the tip of my tongue. And yet, in my stomach there was something else, a strange sensation like that giddy feeling you get right before a rollercoaster lurks over the first big hill and rockets down the other side.

"Any questions?" he asked.

"No, I think I can handle this," I said, turned and walked into the bathroom.

"There's an extra robe in there. Don't bother with anything else," Dean shouted as I closed the door behind me.

My heart was inconsolable, thrashing against my ribs like a caged beast. I took a deep breath, inhaling the steam. It carried a faint hint of his scent. I pulled my wet bathing suit off and tossed it on the tiled floor. It landed with a loud flop. I spun the bottle in my hand and read the instructions. They seemed simple enough, apply cream, wait five minutes and remove with hot water. I slathered it on, set a timer on my phone and waited. With nothing else to do, I stared into the bathroom mirror.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked myself.

There was no reply.

I closed my eyes and replayed my conversation with Dean.

"You want me to do what?" I'd barked, shocked that he'd even proposed the idea.

"Absolutely nothing. I'll do all the work. All you have to do is sit down in that chair, and let me work my magic. Trust me, you won't feel a thing."

"I can't believe you're actually considering this. Did you bang your head off the concrete when you jumped out of the pool? Should I call an ambulance. Seriously, you're delusional."

"I'm not the one who's yelling," he said.

I didn't reply. I couldn't keep track of which emotion to follow. They'd become a knotted ball, all pulling in different directions. Snip the green wire I thought. If you want to defuse a situation, you snip the green wire.

"There's no way this will work. I'll be spotted from a mile away."

"Not so," he said, as he stepped towards me. "You're actually sitting on a fortune of untapped potential. In the right hands, it would be easy to excavate."

"Excavate? Seriously, that's how you're choosing to describe this mad plan?"

He grinned and stepped closer. I knew I was done for when I saw his polished smile. He continued to butter me up the way only he knew how.

Defused, I slumped down on the bed.

"Tell me again how good this chef of yours actually is," I asked, looking up at him.

He smiled. I'd sealed my fate and we both knew it.

The alarm on my phone went off and snapped me back into reality. I turned the shower on, stepped in and let the scolding hot water wash over me like a soothing blanket. I scrubbed the last of the goo off and glided my hand across my smooth skin. It was like butter. Maybe he's right, I thought. Maybe I won't miss it after all. Maybe it really is a nuisance. I turned the shower off, stepped out and leapt into the robe. I danced on the tips of my toes as I headed for the door.

"All set" Dean asked as I entered the room. He'd set up a chair facing away from the bed and pulled out several make-up palettes. The colours, I thought. Look at all the colours! They were vivid, like a rainbow cut up into confetti. There were also brushes of various sizes, flat compacts, slim plastic tubes and a host of other items, the purpose of which I could only fathom.

"You really went all out, didn't you?" I asked.

He smiled and patted the chair. "Have a seat. I promise I won't bite."

I stepped over to the chair, and sat down. I saw my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall across from me. I looked nervous, tepid, like I was about to bomb an important job interview.

"You're a natural, I didn't even have to remind you."

"Remind me, remind me of what?" I asked softly.

"Too cross your legs when sitting. It's the little touches that sell it. I can give you a fresh coat of paint, doll you up, but that won't turn a lemon into a peach."

"A what?" I asked, confused.

"It's not important. What is important is that you be natural, be yourself. Channel your inner feminine voice."

"Seriously?" I asked, almost laughing.

"Trust me, you'll hear it when you're ready."

I let out a snort. Channel my inner what ... for real? I chalked it up to his polished thespian banter. He was a showman, he knew how to work a room, and I was the only one in the audience. Regardless of how he sold it, a little bit of cross-dressing on the weekend wasn't a spiritual awakening.

"Alright, close your eyes and follow my instructions to the letter. This shouldn't take too long," he said as he circled me like a slab of rough marble.

"So, what's your master plan?" I asked.

"No talking," he commanded.

I obeyed and sat quietly, waiting for him to start. I could hear him rummaging through the plastic cases as he spoke softly, plotting his first move.

"The key to a good foundation is to compliment the skin tone, not conceal it. Sure, I have enough fire power here to light you up like a carnival ride, but that's not quite the look we're going for."

I squashed a laugh.

"Careful, you don't want me to accidently poke an eye out."

Was he kidding? The tip of one of the brushes would be harmless, but who knew what kind of strange instruments he'd brought with him. I remained still, the doctor's good cadaver and let him get to work. I monitored his progress by the sensation of the brushes lightly pawing at my skin. He worked methodically from one area to another, every stroke executed like a master painter. He switched instruments and started to pull at my eyelashes. Mascara, really? Was that necessary?

"This is a lot harder to do in a mirror," he said as he hovered over me. "Pucker up."

I pushed my lips out and waited.

"I think you'll like this colour," he said. I heard a loud pop then felt what I assumed was lipstick glide across my lips.

"You can press them together now."

I obeyed and rubbed them together.

"So, about your hair?"

"My Hair?" I asked, straining to keep my eyes closed. "What about my hair? What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, wet urban feral is very in this season."

"What ... exactly are you planning on doing?" I asked.

"Nothing permanent. Trust me, you're in good hands. I picked up a few tricks on set from the hair and make-up department that I've been dying to try out.

"I don't know ... " I protested.

"Trust me, I'll just take a little off the top. If I screw it up, you can always shove it under a hat until we can get back to town, then let a pro salvage what's left, my treat."

"Fine," I grumbled. I'd let my hair grow like a weed and wasn't terribly attached to it anyway. If he really screwed it up, like butchered it, I'd get a free hair cut out of the deal ... if he could afford it.

He pulled at my knotted mop and began to cut. I felt the wisps of hair brush against my cheek as they fell. Just a little bit off the top, I thought as I counted them. Yea right.

There was something oddly soothing about the sound. I relaxed, letting my thoughts slip away one by one until only one memory remained.

Sarah ...

It'd been the one memory I'd tried to ignore, but it was too stubborn, like a wad of gum stuck to the floor of a movie theatre.

I could see her as clear as day. She was standing at the pool wearing the lime green bikini we'd spent hours shopping for. It was for a vacation we'd marked on our calendar that we would never take.

I drifted back, remembering that day ...

"What about this one?" she asked, as she crept out of the change room. I was sitting on the couch, trying to find a position that didn't make me look as awkward as I felt and was failing spectacularly. I looked up, saw her standing there, her hand resting on her hip.

I'd lost count of how many swimsuits she'd tried on. She'd discarded the losers into a large pile, and losers they were, each and every last one of them. They were timid, dull, lifeless. But this ... this was a feast for the imagination.

"You look ... amazing!" I shouted, then, aware that I might alert mall security, threw my hands up in front of my mouth. "Amazing," I whispered.

"Really," she said blushing. "You don't think it's a bit much. I feel like I could pop out of this thing at any second. Isn't it a bit too ... skimpy?

"Skimpy, in that?" I replied, my eyes glued to her breasts. "You look dressed, ready to sing at a church choir."