The Land of Mango Sunsets

  “There’s a Gap three miles from everywhere.”

  “Truly. I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

  In my bathroom I was washing the airport/airplane/airport film of unknown bacteria and germs from my face and hands. I heard a car pull up and then another. I looked down through my bedroom window to see Harrison and Manny. Harrison had flowers, probably for Mother. Manny had flowers. Manny the Man had flowers for me? Well, that was pretty sweet.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, pulled off my sweater set, threw on a white T-shirt, an oversize blue chambray shirt, those tight jeans of unknown origin from my last visit that my sweet mother had laundered, and my loafers. Here’s a news flash: the jeans were looser. All praise the mighty treadmill!

  I swiped a pink-tinted gloss across my lips and applied some mascara. No blush was necessary, as Mother Nature stepped in to help with a power surge and my cheeks were as rosy as could be. Look out. The lusty Daughter of the Dunes was back in town. I couldn’t get downstairs fast enough.

  “Well, look who’s here!” I said.

  They were all gathered around the island in the kitchen, getting to know Liz.

  “Hey, girl! Welcome home!” Harrison said, and opened his arms for a hug.

  I was so happy to see him that I thought, Oh, what the heck, and I hugged him in a sisterly way.

  “What about me?” Manny said. “I brought you flowers!”

  “So you did! Thank you!”

  I hugged him, too, unexpectedly close, and he looked at me with a look of intent. Although I hadn’t seen it in eons, I knew exactly what that kind of expression meant. I returned his look with the boldest one I could muster. In other words, if you had to put the pheromones flying around between us in big sacks, it would have taken a couple of musclemen to carry them down to the edge of the marsh to release them back into the wild. It was utterly ridiculous and even trashy to entertain lusty thoughts about him, because I really had only marginal feelings for him in any other area, except for the fact that he could cook.

  “So, you’re looking pretty good, Mr. Sinkler. What’s happening around here?”

  Before Manny could answer, Harrison did.

  “We are all invited to an oyster roast down at Woody and Elizabeth Wood’s house,” Harrison said.

  “Oh! Sounds fabulous! I haven’t had oysters all year,” I said. “Liz? Do you eat oysters?”

  “As fast as I can get them in my mouth, which might be a little bit of a problem with this sling. Yikes! What a nuisance this thing is!”

  “Ma’am,” Harrison said, “you are in the company of two of the south’s finest oyster shuckers and it would be an honor to shuck for you.”

  Honestly. Harrison was so adorable, even if he was shacking up with my mother. Why couldn’t Manny be that quick on the uptake?

  “It’s going down to the forties tonight,” Mother said, “so we’d better wear a jacket and some gloves.”

  Harrison took charge again. “Liz? You come with Miss Josie and me. And Mellie? You go with Manly.”

  “Manly,” Manny said. “Do you know how many variations on the theme I have endured in my life? Get your coat on and let’s get going before they eat them all!”

  A few minutes later we were bundled against the night air, I had on my oyster-roast sneakers, and we were on our way down the island.

  “So, how have you been?” Manny asked. “Harrison told me about Liz’s attack. That must have been pretty scary.”

  “It was unbelievable. Especially since I knew the man who attacked her.”

  “No kidding. Wow. That’s intense. But she looks okay, except for that scar, but you can hardly see it. But that sling must be a drag. At least her arm’s not broken. Who was the guy?”

  “Husband of an old friend of mine who was seeing Liz on the side.”

  “Oops!”

  He actually snickered, as though it were humorous.

  “Yeah, big oops! The wife found out, went crazy with him, he whaled on Liz and gave himself a heart attack in the middle of it. He didn’t die, though, which was sort of a pity. The skunk. What a night!”

  “Truth? The guy had a heart attack?”

  Even in the darkness of the car, Manny turned white. Odd, I thought. “Truth. So what else is new around here?”

  “Jeez. Sullivans Island pales next to the Naked City. Gas went down ten cents a gallon. There’s no smoking allowed on the island anymore. Spring’s coming. But you sure look good. Did you cut your hair or something?”

  “Yes. Just had it shaped up a little. But thanks! You look good, too.”

  I had not cut my hair. I had lost a small amount of weight, and evidently, it showed. My inner slut reminded me that all it took was a small compliment and my next thought was about what he would be like in the sack. I knew he was thinking about it, too. Fortunately, for the sake of propriety, we arrived at the party before we could make a run for a No Tell motel.

  There had to have been a hundred people at the Woods’ house, and everyone was in fine spirits, slapping one another on the back and telling stories. We said hello to Woody and Elizabeth and thanked them for having us. Their daughter, Caroline, had on the cutest hat and I could have taken it right off her head. Woody immediately led Harrison off to the side to tell him about his latest fishing tournament and a new boat he was considering.

  Elizabeth said, “Come on! Let’s get y’all a place at the table and a pile of oysters! They’re from right around Bluffton.”

  “Fabulous!” Manny said.

  Everyone knew Bluffton oysters were the Lowcountry’s version of Russia’s beluga caviar—plump, tender, and just the right combination of sweet and saline. They didn’t need cocktail sauce or lemon juice. Just a freezing beer or a glass of cold sauvignon blanc to wash them down and you’d think you’d died and gone to heaven. If you liked oysters, that is.

  Their yard was strung with lights and huge sheets of plywood on sawhorses. People were standing all around them, shucking and eating as fast as they could. We were doing our part, too, all of us opening them for Liz. Harrison reappeared a few minutes later.

  “That Woody is a great guy,” he said. “He and his friends Mike and Linda Rumph do this for their friends once a year, and I think that’s pretty nice. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, it is,” Liz said, tossing her blond hair away from her face. “What a perfect night.”

  “If Kevin could see this, he would pass out cold on the ground,” I said, and we laughed.

  “No, he’d be wearing Burberry from head to toe and he’d be fussing about getting his gloves dirty,” Liz said.

  “That was an extremely accurate insight, Liz!”

  Sometimes she wasn’t as dumb as I thought.

  I had eaten all I could and decided to walk down to Woody and Elizabeth’s dock to look across the water.

  The night was beautiful and clear, and from the edge of the Woods’ property you could see the softly lit silhouette of the new bridge that connected Mount Pleasant to Charleston. I stood there at the rail for a few minutes and then I heard footsteps. Someone else was coming. It was Manny. He had followed me. A good sign. He came down the ramp to the floating dock and stood beside me. I knew he was there to stir the estrogen pot.

  “Some gorgeous night, huh?” he said.

  Look, I never tried to promote this man to anyone as Shakespeare’s replacement, did I?

  “Yes. It’s perfect. The temperature, the damp air.”

  As sure as I knew anything, I knew that this was a seminal moment, not just in my renewal as a woman of this Island, but in who I was and who I hoped to ever become. I had never slept with a man unless I had some desire for a relationship with him. Did I want a relationship with this man and was I going to sleep with him before I knew the answer to that question? No and maybe.

  He was going to kiss me and how was I going to handle that? With surprise? Welcome? Passion? No. My lips were, for the first time in my entire life, going to speak for my libido. So as he
lowered his mouth to mine I thought to myself about him, you damn fool, you have no idea who you are kissing. You have no idea who I am. I am not angry. And, I am not sold on you.

  But he sure could kiss, bubba, and that’s not worth nothing. So I’ll admit, I let it continue for a few minutes, and sure enough, my temperature rose. But my temperature rose if a store clerk disagreed with me over a coupon expiration date or if I saw a television ad regarding something emotional that had no chance of happening to me. I was desperately lonely and I knew it. No one had kissed me in so long. And so I kissed him back and didn’t much care where it might lead, thinking he didn’t seem dangerous and so why shouldn’t I have some intimacy in my life? Why shouldn’t I have arms around me that seemed like they cared, even if it was only for the moment? I hated that thought and pushed it away as fast as I could because this was no time to grow a conscience.

  Rats. Couldn’t help it. Kissing him seemed cheap. But here came the denial. Why should I be any different from everyone else? Hadn’t life become tawdry and tasteless in every sector—just look at anything on television, as though that was some moral guide for living. The world applauded, rewarded, and idolized cheap, easy, and fast.

  So let’s be perfectly carnal here. This little make-out session we were having felt pretty darn good and I felt the telltale twinge gaining strength. I wasn’t going to be happy until this entire episode ended on a mattress with torn-apart sweaty sheets. I might not have been twenty years old, but at that moment, that fact didn’t mean diddly-squat. I was satisfied with my rationalization.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I have a crazy idea,” he said.

  “You must if you’re taking me out of here on an impulse like this,” I said, and laughed.

  “We’ll see y’all later,” I said to Liz and Mother as I passed them on Manny’s arm.

  They exchanged knowing looks and waved.

  Manny opened the passenger door of his SUV and I hopped in. He went around to his side, opened the door, and all but leaped in, too. We were just a couple of postpeak track stars still going for the gold.

  He started the engine and we rolled along up the island toward Breech Inlet. On the radio, James Taylor was singing a song I loved from his early career, and between the oysters and the little wine I had consumed, I was feeling pretty mellow.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Manny turned right on Station Twenty-six and then left on Bayonne. He parked along the side of the road, turned off the engine, got out, and came back with a small cooler. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of tequila, opened it and took a swig, and then bit into a wedge of lime that he had presliced and brought in a plastic bag. There was no end to his talents.

  “Here,” he said, handing me the bottle and a fresh wedge of lime. It appeared that I was to have my own wedge. It could not have been for sanitary purposes. It must have been a decorous touch from Manny the Gourmand.

  Not quite understanding if he thought this was the elixir of love or if I was taking step one on the road to hell, I took a large sip. Unaccustomed as I was to tequila, my throat ignited the whole way to my navel. I bit into the lime. The flames subsided.

  “Do this often, do you? Is this a new style of seduction?”

  He took another sip, bit his lime, and laughed. “No, no.”

  “Then what in your wildest imagination would make you think that sitting on the side…”

  He handed the bottle back to me and I took another swallow and chomped the lime.

  “You swig like a man,” he said.

  “Oh, shut up.” I handed the bottle back to him. “As I was saying, why would I want to spend the evening on the side of the road drinking tequila from a bottle?”

  “I have this fantasy,” he said.

  Holy moly, I thought. The last time someone said that to me I wound up in a nurse’s uniform.

  “Okay,” I said, and drank two giant gulps, “let’s hear it.”

  “I want to make love on the beach.”

  Was that all?

  “Isn’t it kind of chilly?’

  “I’ve got a double sleeping bag and some other stuff in the back…back there.”

  He motioned to the rear of the SUV and I thought, Holy crap. If I tell him no, this relationship is over before it gets started. If I tell him yes…what? I had never had sex on the beach either and had always thought it might have been romantic, like something out of The Days of Wine and Roses. Or whatever that movie was where they are rolling around the edge of the surf. Maybe it was From Here to Eternity? Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster? In any case, it was still winter and I wasn’t going near the water under any circumstances, but another swallow or two or three of tequila could fortify me for at least a little fooling around.

  “So, let me get this straight. We went to one church dinner, you never called me, then we went to this oyster roast for all of an hour, and now you want to do it? On the beach? Just like that?”

  “Yeah. Shoot! We’re grown-ups. Why should teenagers get to do all the fun and crazy stuff?”

  At this point, my judgment was just a little fuzzy.

  “Right!” I said, thinking his words sounded perfectly logical. “We’re not dead yet!”

  So we stumbled down to the beach, arm in arm. Manny carried a huge tote bag and I had the half-empty bottle and the baggie of limes tucked under my arm. The beach was very dark and windy. I could hardly see where we were walking. The tide was coming in, so he picked a place in the soft white sand above the waterline.

  “This feels very wicked,” I said.

  I stood there while he unfolded and unzipped the biggest sleeping bag I had ever seen. From there on in, I was one giant head case of confusion. I couldn’t decide how to proceed. Should I get undressed in the night air and just stand there like a naked freezing idiot until he gave me some come-hither sign or the secret handshake? Did he intend to undress me? Maybe, I should just kick off my smelly shoes and leave them in the sand and see what happened? I took a bold first step. I undid the toggles on my Talbot’s pea coat, put my gloves in my pocket.

  “You next,” I said. I unscrewed the cap of the tequila bottle and threw a healthy measure down my throat.

  He laughed and took the bottle from me.

  “You know what I think?” Manny said.

  “Darlin’? There just ain’t no telling what you’re thinking, so tell me.” I was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol.

  “I think let’s take off our shoes and coats, crawl in this big old cocoon, and just see what happens.”

  Good thing he mentioned the shoes because my veterans of a zillion oyster roasts and fish fries would most assuredly have left an unpleasant calling card.

  “Perfect!”

  And so we did. With the removal of each other’s clothing—piece by piece, I might add—we would fling the garments outside the sleeping bag, farther and farther away, as far as we could throw. We giggled, knowing that retrieving our things would be more reason to stay warm and snuggled together in the down-filled, wind-and waterproofed L.L. Bean sack of debauchery.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I said.

  “Well, we’re here and we’re already naked, so we may as well…”

  It was a pragmatic plan from this non-Romeo I had next to me. Besides, it was a little late in the game to change course.

  When things got going, I was surprised by his aggressiveness. It was as though he had to catch a train. In the short history of my experience in these matters, slow and steady wins the day, but he was so manic that I was having a hard time concentrating on what you’re supposed to be concentrating on at a time like that. His crazy gymnastics were causing the sleeping bag to creep toward either the water or the dunes and it was turning all around. I couldn’t see a thing, as I was pretty well buried under a down flap and pinned by a fighter pilot continuously landing on an aircraft carrier. It was the crazies
t sex I had ever had or heard of, and I thought, well, you know, it might not be what you’d hope for with the love of your life, but Manny Sinkler was not the love of my life. And, as insane as it was, it was insane fun. Then his aria arrived on the crest of high tide. It was as though a deep grunt came from some operatic animal inside of him and we were completely drenched from head to toe. I started laughing and tried to escape from being dragged out to sea, but Manny was not cooperating.

  “Come on, Manny! Get off of me! We’re gonna drown if we don’t get out of this thing and I’m freezing.”

  “Was it good for you?”

  He was kidding, right? Somebody please tell me he was kidding.

  “Come on! Move!”

  “Is there any more tequila?”

  “Focus, Manny, focus! Brrrr! Did you bring a towel by any chance? Where’s the tote bag?”

  I finally made it to my feet and spotted the tote bag. There was no towel in it, only, of all the things in the world, two rolled-up sombreros. It was so blasted dark, I couldn’t see a stitch of our clothes anywhere.

  “Manny Sinkler? Have you gone mad? What in the world are the sombreros for?”

  “Well, it was part of my fantasy. I wanted to get drunk on tequila, make love on the beach, and then dance naked in the moonlight…”

  “In sombreros?”

  “Yeah. You think I’m nuts, right?”

  I really deserved better than this wack-job excuse for a lover, I thought. But then the new Miriam, the Mellie in me, took the other side of the argument under consideration. We had come that far, fulfilling two-thirds of his crazy dream, so why not go the distance? I handed him a sombrero and put the other one on my head.

  “I will do this for you, Manny, for one minute only. But then you have to help me find my clothes before I get pneumonia. Deal?”

  He placed his sombrero on his head and said, “Deal.”

  We danced a waltz, sort of, and then, because everything was beyond ridiculous, we broke into the Mexican hat dance—crossed arms, extended heels, and the whole choreography to the best of our abilities—stopping only when the flashlights hit our faces. There, on top of the dunes, holding an armful of our clothes and two very strong flashlights, stood two una-mused police officers of approximately twenty-five years of age.