Let's just pause and reflect upon the place where we live. These six wonderful states and all the variety they offer.
Last week, we traveled the coastal wine trail from Newport, RI, up into the South Coast of Mass. It's a good time, and we'd recommend it. We find ourselves fascinated by the concept of terroir. Grapes from this soil. Wine from these grapes. It's all so rooted in place, and in such an immediately appreciable way. Also, supporting local agriculture helps preserve open space and our unique landscapes (Oh, we're getting preachy).
Anyway, onto this week's story.
This week, Ericka Tavares shares with us her story "I Know". Ericka's short story "Easy Money" appeared in Cool Plums, an online magazine, and she has published two short stories—"The Bold Blues of Newport" and "The Accident"—in Balancing The Tides, a literary and arts journal from Newport, R.I., that is a finalist for ForeWord magazine's Book of the Year, anthology category. Grub Street, the Boston writing community, included "The Bold Blues of Newport" in HACKS, an anthology published in May. A former journalist, Ericka is lead copywriter and public relations director for an ad agency and a freelance writer and editor. She lives with her husband and children in Rhode Island.
Read on!
I Know
I was shuffling through abstracts, deciding which images warranted another look, when Barry called.
Ray wants us to meet his new girlfriend. Says she could be the one.
Oh yeah?
C’mon, Aud. You never know.
Ray requested our presence every few months. We had to meet the wannabe model who spritzed perfume on unsuspecting shoppers, the trust fund baby sporting expensive implants, and other women with whom I had nothing in common.
—
With her unknown ethnicity and trendy attire, Jasmine could have been a Bratz doll. She stroked Ray’s arm like he was a cat.
Audrey, Ray says you run the Artists Collaborative. The barbed wire tattoo on her upper arm shifted as her muscle flexed. Sounds frigging amazing.
It is. But it’s very non-profit. I’m grateful to Barry for making the real money.
My husband clinked his pilsner against my martini glass.
Glad to help.
So you bring in the bucks, Jasmine said. That’s fucking crackalackin.
Barry, Ray, and I exchanged glances.
It’s good, Jasmine explained. People from your generation would say cool.
Oh Christ, our generation, Ray grumbled.
I noticed gray around your temples, Barry pointed at Ray. Did you get that Viagra prescription?
Oh fuck. You know what I mean, Jasmine stammered, light glinting off her hair before she looked at me. How old are you anyway?
I touched my hair, which only shined when it was enhanced with henna.
We graduated together. I picked at salmon with wasabi mayo. I’m the same age as Ray.
Really? She giggled and the fine lines around my mouth deepened. You’re older than my mom.
I was a mom. After work, I’d raced home, helped the twins with homework, shuttled Amy to soccer, and made mac and cheese before Barry whisked me to this trendy club with its promising menu and lackluster food. I replied in language Jasmine would understand.
Well, fuck me.
No, you’re hot. And you’ve had a shitload of rugrats. Mom only had me, and she’s a mess. Women hit their forties and get dumpy, you know?
—
The Talking Heads screamed from the speakers.
This song! I squealed.
Yeah, it’s retro night. Jasmine scooped tofu onto her fork.
Ray stretched his arm across the table and winked at me.
I know you can move to this one.
We flittered among the forty-somethings under flashing lights. He slipped his hand around my waist.
You always were the best dancer.
Thanks, I said. I miss dancing.
I miss college.
Good point.
Okay. You’re always honest. What do you think of her?
You could do better.
He pulled me closer and stared at me the way he did in those rare moments when we were alone.
Better’s taken.
—
I decided to grant funding to an artist who painted dancing women. Although I’d had her portraits for a while, they still smelled acidic. They felt wet. I was wiping my hands when Barry called. Ray wanted us to meet his newest girlfriend.
She could be the one, Barry said. You never know.
