A speedboat revved through the water, streaking up the glittery black surface of the bay. Yachts sailed past, interior decks lit golden within, silhouettes of passengers shifting inside. Distant, ghostly music played from one of the boats.

There was a cool draught being carried in from the bay, but at least it was drying the perspiration on my brow. Across from us, a couple were enjoying drinks, the drone of their relaxed voices mildly distracting. Our plates were now empty and Jen had drained the last of her wine glass, though there was still plenty more in the bottles. We’d had some time now for the food to digest.

Trying to stall for time, I tried to smooth my countenance and asked her:

“What are you thinking about?”

She shot me a look, her eyes gleaming out from the candlelit darkness, the look alone made the question seem naïve and unprepared in retrospect.

“LET’S GO FOR A WALK,” she said suddenly.

My countenance faltered in an instant.

“Uh…where?” I stuttered, “Why?”

“IF I PUT YOU DOWN ON THE BEACH,” she began with a devlish smile, “THINK YOU COULD OUTRUN THE INCOMING TIDE?” She added: “SUIT OFF, OBVIOUSLY.”

"Just wait a minute." I leant back on my hands, trying to look around without turning my head.

"WHAT?" Her expression went quizzical. Usually I liked to be the first to leave a venue.

"I just want to sit here a minute. Uh...more wine…”

She topped up my shot glass.

I pushed the glass rim to my mouth, let the rich cherry hit my nostrils and lap my lips but swallowed much less than it looked like. I didn’t need to get drunk right now. That could wait.

Over the top of the glass, my eyes darted into the restaurant’s windows, searching the dimming interior. There was sweat on my brow again, but I stopped my hand running through my hair just in time; didn’t want to mess it up.

Where did the waiter go? The sun was starting to dip below the horizon. We had to get this thing rolling now before the night time crowd swept into the barn! Plus, any moment now Jennifer could get to her feet, snatch me up off the table, leave the restaurant and stalk off into the night, following whatever fey whim snagged her attention.

Not late or early, the suited maître d was like Gandalf the wizard, just suddenly there, standing at the table holding a silver cloche. Jen didn’t look as startled as I felt; maybe she thought it was the check, sometimes they presented it to you in this way, under the silver dome like it was another course.

The man stood patiently to one side as I got to my feet, managing to avoid the temptation of leaning against my glass – or downing more of its contents – for support.

The surrounding restaurant evaporated away, the background music, chatting voices, and clinking cutlery sounds all dimmed. Or maybe everyone really had gone quiet. Either way, the moment seemed surreal and staged somehow, or my diminutive size gave it some added sense of magnitude and naked exposure.

Jen was staring at me with that puzzled look again. Squeezing my hands together, I forced myself to hold her gaze.

“The first time we met,” I began, “I fell in love with your gentleness. You were the only woman who sat down beside me, even though I was in a bad mood, and talked to me and laughed at my jokes. But I was so insecure I didn’t realize what a good thing I had right in front of me and I let you get away. The second time, I didn’t recognize you, but I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. The third time, our first date, you were even more beautiful than the second time, and it was the most sexually charged night of my life. But I am still deeply in love with the gentle woman that I met the first time, with the buoyant, playful sense of wit. I know she is always in there somewhere; I try my hardest to bring her out.”

The broad silver cloche slid down onto the table behind me, like a landing UFO. I went up to it as the maître d lifted the dome to reveal the ring box, which he tactfully opened for me, exposing the ring nestled in the pillow; a white gold band with intricate gold metalwork and prongs surrounding the domed, prismatic center diamond made it look like some miniature exotic imperial crown. Christine had helped me pick it out right after I'd gotten Jasper's approval. She had a better grasp of Jennifer's tastes; God knows I had more experience being a ring, than selecting one.

I walked over the platter and could have sat on the satin ring cushion like a seat, but chose to get down on one knee beside it, taking a deep breath to calm myself and ensure my words didn’t come out in a breathless rush.

Kneeling in front of her great looming upper body, I felt like a little cult member making some ritual offering to appease a Goddess. Not the first time I’d felt like this, but this time I actually had something to offer:

“Jennifer Sofía Tomlin, will you marry me?”

She looked startled. The night buzzed with conspiratorial silence. Out on the water, even the outboard motors' chugging seemed to have paused. There was just the gentle swish of the sea breeze, the soft lap of the tide. 

“JERRY,” she murmured, “I WOULD MARRY YOU NINE TIMES OVER.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“YES! IT’S ON! THIS IS HAPPENING!”

The tables around ours broke out with cheers and clapping. I had no idea who any of these people were, but had a funny feeling they all knew who I was, and revelled in their applause all the same; the relief coursing through my body was more potent than the sedative of wine.  

Then my body was crushed in her palm and raced upwards off the table before my face was buried beneath her lips in a long kiss that was so forceful it left my cheeks and lips aching.

Once the soles of my shoes came back down against the tabletop, I returned to the platter and, with both hands, took the ring out from the satin cushion and carried it over to her hand, the fingers spreading and straightening, hovering just above the tablecloth.

Her other fingers were in the way of the ring finger so, without hesitation, I climbed up onto the back of her hand and knelt, reaching forward to pull the ring along from the opposite side of her hand.

Her voice beat against the back of my head, thrumming with excitement:

“WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET IT? I MEAN, HOW—?” I could hear her mind working away.

“My secret,” I said, tugging the ring band firm around the proximal phalange of the ring finger. Then, with the ring secured, I slid down from her hand and onto the table again. Admiring it, casting the stone under the moonlight, she said:

“AND YOU CHECKED NO ONE’S LIVING IN HERE...?”

“Very funny.”

*

It was full dark as we returned to the car and began the drive back home. On the way, Jennifer got some rum.

The shadows ran over my head as the car rumbled down the streets, sometimes street lights curved in as the car turned, causing my eyelids to flicker open for a second. My head began to drift back until it settled against the top of her silky dress hem covered mound. She had pushed her dress hem right down between her legs to create a pocket and then tucked me right up at the base of her thighs. Now I lay inside that pocket with my back supported by her crotch because I could barely keep myself upright. My stomach was commanding all my energy to digest my meal, plus portions of hers she had playfully tried to feed me – which I now realized I should have refused – plus samples of the wine.

The dress fabric was like silk sheets and her warm thighs vibrated with car’s purring engine, massaging me to sleep. She was silent for the drive home. It was as if she was as full, placated and tired as I was. But I knew from previous experience, her silence did not mean she was full or placated or tired at all. Silence was merely the calm surface concealing waters that ran deeper and flickered with dark life below.

Her fingers kept dropping down against my head, stroking my hair, running her fingerpads around my temples, and thumbing my scalp, and with her long nails making me feel like my skull was being investigated by bird talons. Due to where I was positioned, held tight in the crevice of her thighs, the only thing separating me from being inside her was the silky curtain of her dress hem. If she’d moved her hand back and down a little more she’d have been stroking herself…

*

Back home, out of the dim, vibrating car interior and under the bright living room lights, with the TV buzzing in the background, my brain was in motion again, enjoying that the fuss was all over for the night, but still trying to take it all in.

It didn’t seem so long ago I was sauntering around the Portugal lobby, pretending to enjoy the ‘Flip’ party and, even moreso, pretending not to notice Jennifer inconveniently in attendance, in the corners of my awareness. Back then I had somehow convinced myself that it was over, we’d both moved on, and now here I was – I was going to be married to her. It was still surreal.

She was in the kitchen pouring more wine. She’d kicked off her heels and changed into her pyjamas. She seemed to be levelling down into ‘rest’ mode and I guessed it wouldn’t be long before she would come in, scoop me up, lie down on the sofa and give me a deep tissue massage that seemed to work to calm her as much as it did me. Then I would fall asleep mid-way through the massage and she would put me to bed, and I would awaken the next morning, newly a fiancé of Jennifer Tomlin. Surreal.

“YOU WANT SOMETHING TO DRINK?” she called out.

“I need a hit of whiskey – now!” I cried, hoping the alcohol would dull my racing thoughts.

“ARE YOU FEELING OKAY?” she joked. I didn’t usually drink, more specifically, I didn’t usually insist on it.

“Better than okay.”

“WELL, THEN,” she said in a quiet voice, almost inaudible, “LET ME FIX YOU UP…”

She ambled back into the living room, wearing a top and shorts covered by a fluffy robe that she didn’t bother to wrap up, and over to the sofa I was sitting on. A shot glass filled with molten orange liquid was placed onto the edge of the coffee table. Her own tumbler was neither white nor red, but black, and smelled like smoky cinnamon caramel. It was the rum.

She slid into a seat on the sofa next to me, the relaxed impact of her posterior onto the cushion bouncing me into the air.

Crawling to the edge of the seat, I made a leap at the coffee table. The wood top flew up too fast against my hands and legs, jolting me over onto my face. Evidently my body was tired, even if my mind wasn’t.

“CAREFUL.”

She put her feet up onto the other side of the coffee table, her bare crossed legs forming a natural bridge that I could have used only moments ago to cross the divide.

I walked up to the shot glass. It was salt-rimmed and the tiny crystals crunched in my mouth, not something I normally did for drinks but it made it more palatable and anyway, I appreciated the fuss. However, this time the whiskey hit the back of my nostrils like gasoline, and the burning made me cough.

“What is it mixed with?” My voice came out a ragged gasp.

“IT’S STRAIGHT,” came the idle reply. “YOU DIDN’T SAY YOU WANTED IT MIXED.”

Wiping some salt off my face, I replied:

“I never take whiskey straight.”

“WELL, YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT,” she answered. “I DON’T EVEN THINK WE HAVE ANYTHING TO MIX WITH WHISKEY. UNLESS YOU WANT SOME MILK AND LEMON IN IT OR WHATEVER YOU PUT IN – GROSS.”

“I meant cola. You don’t put milk and lemon in it. You put milk or lemon in.”

“STILL GROSS. ANYWAY, LIVE A LITTLE.”

“Living ‘little’ is pretty much what I do best,” I sighed, and was dismayed to hear my words already beginning to slur together.

Meanwhile, she hunched forward, sending the huge glass bubble of her goblet towards me and clinking it gently against the much smaller shot glass cradled between my hands.

“SALUD!”

After her goblet had withdrawn again, I tilted my shot glass, bowing my head to take another drink. Unless I was imagining it, the fumes were already making me start to feel woozy. On second thought, the salt probably wasn’t doing my hydration any favors, either, and made a mental note for my next drink to be taken straight from the kitchen faucet.

Three minutes later, once the alcohol was all gone, I forgot the water.

Abandoning the empty glass, I stood with the edge of the table pressed up into my soles, then slid one foot back, poised to make the jump to the sofa. Every time I blinked, the world seemed to disappear for an instant too long behind my eyelids, like my brain needed an extra fraction of time to catch up after each saccade.

Concentrating for what seemed long enough, I launched out. The sofa seat flew forward at me but suddenly rose sharply over my head. My arms stretched out desperately and just managed to grab the edge of the cushion and hold there, the front of my body pressed against the upper base just below the seat cushion. But now I was stuck; lacking the muscular tension in my arms to climb up, plus the couch was swaying even though I was still.

Then, my shoulders pulled tight and upwards as a giant hand took the back of my collar and lifted until I was dangling in the air, before my feet came down onto the couch again. As soon as my collar was released, my balance went with it; I dropped down to my knees.

The alcohol’s anesthesia was beginning to seep around my body, tingling my nerve endings into a pleasant numbness. I was about to get up and try wandering over to her, climb onto her thigh and press myself against her stomach, while she wrapped a hand around me and massaged me against her – this was our version of hugging – but then her legs pulled down from the coffee table, sofa frame groaning, she stood up and wandered out of the living room.

So I sat where I was, legs crossed, digging my nails into my ankles in an effort to stay awake. The living room circled around in my vision and began to fade…

—My eyes snapped open. There were rustling noises coming from another room of the house. Then padding footsteps, out of one room and into another. Then nothing.

Suddenly, it occurred to me out of nowhere: there had to be some interesting cheeses in the fridge to pair with the Zinfandel.

No, it was too late. Time for bed.

I gingerly got to my feet and the world swirled around me. Alarmed, I lowered again, crawling on hands and knees to the edge of the sofa, extending my legs out over the side, and hauling myself down. It was as if I’d forgotten how to climb; I hung off the edge, not able to figure out what to do with my feet. Impatient, I let go.

The rug flew up and the impact jumped through my spine and then I was lying on my back. Groaning, I rolled over and began to crawl across the rug towards the other side of the room. Halfway along, I pushed myself to my feet. Again the room whirled.

Suddenly the floor struck my butt and I was slumped forward with my legs out straight. Taking a deep breath, I let my eyelids droop. This was only for a few seconds, but ended up being a minute. Then two minutes. My breath relaxed …

—A sudden presence; a feeling of someone else in the room.

My eyelids opened, head jerked up and the room flickered back into view. Or, view in part.

A humungous shadow was blocking my vision, poised like some gigantic wild cat about to pounce. Giant hands pressed against the carpet some distance on either side of me, the upper body hunched down, head turned to the side, cocked to peer into my face.

Her eyes peered in at me questioningly. When I blinked and my pupils focused on hers, a slow smile spread over her lips. Her face blurred and then sharpened, and then swam out of focus again.

“HI, THERE,” the blurry silhouette said in a low, hushed tone, but weirdly thrumming in and out of my hearing. 

One huge fingertip stuck itself into my immediate visual field to prod at my shoulder, investigating my balance.

Result: not good.

I went back, and back, until my scalp bumped into the floor. And lay there, blinking stupidly against the vibrant ceiling light.

“OOPS,” she giggled, and gracefully rose back up onto her feet again until she towered over me. Her giant bare feet bordered the perimeter of my body, toes turning inward at me and pausing. Her dark silhouette stretched up at the ceiling as she surveyed me.

“A LITTLE HEAVY ON THE SAUCE THERE, DON’T YOU THINK? THAT’S OKAY. I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU…”

She was still giggling, shaking her head faintly as her feet then padded away over the carpet until it seemed it was just me in the room again.

I strained to sit up but the moment I moved, the walls rotated around like I was inside a giant hamster wheel. In defeat, my back went down against the carpet again as if it weighed a ton.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Horrible déjà vu. Like a waking bad dream.

Cold sweat on my face, on the back of my neck, my palms, down my sides. The ceiling light was too bright, snapping at my eyes, forcing them closed.

Don’t fall asleep, Jerry…Come on, man! Keep it together!

Last time I’d woken up after feeling like this, I’d been treated to my head being rammed up her rear like a suppository.

But this time was different; I got her the ring and took her out and I proposed to her—

—what have I done wrong here?!

I took a deep breath.

It was nothing. Just paranoia creeping in…

Lethargy was closing in, too, the world receding further into mist with every passing second…

—Thudding over the carpet. A shadow stretched over my body, blocking the ceiling light again. It made it easier for my pained eyes to see but I didn’t want to look.

Something clasped around my ankle and the floor started sliding along, bumping beneath my spine as I was dragged on my back by one leg. Then the floor dropped away entirely as I was lifted upside down into the air by one leg. The blood ran down my torso and started filling up my head, making me feel heavier than ever, like a ball on the end of a chain.

The living room rug was swaying far below my head, my arms limply stretched down as if reaching for it. The rug turned to polished tiles.

More soft feminine laughter, the floor went dark and the world disappeared into fuzzy white oblivion…