Ficlet: "Seawater and Sunshine"
For the schmoop_bingo prompt "Sunscreen," set in the M:FI universe, though you can probably follow it without reading the other ficlets or main story. An afternoon on Lindsay Dunne's yacht:
"Seawater and Sunshine"
Being asked to socialize with Lindsay Dunne and his wife on their yacht: a good thing.
Not having any idea exactly what people do when they hang out on yachts: a weird thing.
Having your boyfriend admit that, while he has, in fact, been on yachts, he cannot give advice because he mostly spent his time drinking beer and picking up chicks in bikinis: an unsurprising thing.
Discovering, once there, that it’s really the same as a backyard barbecue, just swankier, and with swimming: a welcome thing.
Watching from the deck as Daniel swims in the ocean, long lean body moving in smooth strokes: an extremely hot thing.
Watching Annunziata Faber-Goldsmith plunge into the water to swim with him: an extremely annoying thing.
“Marvelous day, isn’t it?” Dunne said. He sat in a deck chair with a sunhat and a martini, looking for all the world like a character out of some Agatha Christie novel set in the 1920s. “The sea’s usually too cold for bathing, but the August sun and some currents from Spain - ahh.”
“It looks fabulous out there,” Betty said, slightly dreamy. Daniel surfaced, water slicking his hair back, broad shoulders just above the dark sea. They were still such new lovers that the sight of him like that could make her belly turn over.
Then Annunziata surfaced beside him. The water turned her pre-Raphaelite curls into ringlets that were way more becoming than wet hair ought to ever be. Although Annunziata didn’t seem to be flirting with Daniel, she was out there swimming with him when Betty wasn’t.
“Why don’t you take a dip?” Dunne said. “You needn’t nursemaid me, you know. Tilda was supposed to tell you to bring a suit - ”
“She did tell me. I’ve got one. I’ll - I’ll get in soon. I’m sure.”
Betty wasn’t sure whether she’d be getting in soon or not, because - embarrassing as it was to admit, even to herself - she was shy about wearing her swimsuit.
Not in front of Daniel; never in front of him. The luxurious attention he gave her body in bed was all she needed to tell her that he adored her just as she was.
But Daniel was in love with her. The rest of the world wasn’t. Annunziata definitely wasn’t. As confident and strong as Betty had become in so many ways, she didn’t know if she was up to seeing a professional rival’s contempt for her bare body, or finding out that jokes had been made about it back at her office. She was modest by nature, and the few times she’d been so exposed in public -
--she flashed back to that awful day of the Fabia photo shoot when she’d first started at Mode-
--well, it hadn’t generally gone well.
Maybe she’d just stay up here with Dunne and his wife. This was mostly about networking, right? It was pleasant enough being on the deck, in the sunshine. She was having a lovely time. Really.
Once again she looked longingly at Daniel in the water. Daniel had set her up for that stunt at the Fabia photo shoot, and yet he had learned to see her as someone to desire and to love. She felt the summer warmth on her skin and longed to swim.
Finally, she asked herself whose gaze mattered more: Daniel’s or Annunziata’s?
That settled it.
“Excuse me,” she said to Dunne. “I’m going to change into my swimsuit.”
Down below, Betty ditched her sundress and put on the swimsuit she’d bought: brilliant red with white stripes - a vintage look, with wide straps, a gathered bust, and a little bit of a skirt, but one that looked less matronly, more Bettie Page. At least, in theory. She fluffed her hair, touched up her lip gloss, and whispered, “You can do this.” Then she padded up the steps to the deck.
To her dismay, she walked out to see Annunziata sitting there, all 100 pounds of her, in that purple string bikini that left nothing to the imagination. She relaxed in the chair next to Dunne, purring some compliment or other, with her slim legs stretched out and tiny feet on the railing. Betty felt conspicuous, obvious, huge -
Until Daniel climbed up the ladder, dripping wet, and saw her. His eyes lit up with unmistakable pleasure - even desire. “Hi,” he said. “Are you about to get in?”
“Not if you just got out.” She stepped toward him as he did toward her, and she laid her hands on his cool, wet shoulders. He smelled like seawater and sunshine.
“I’m going back in. Just wanted some water - and to see you.” Daniel brought his lips to hers, only for a moment - they were in sight of her boss, after all. His kiss tasted of salt, and her mind flickered back to the night before, when they’d been together in her bed.
Okay, enough of that; she didn’t want to get carried away here and now. Later. They’d get carried away later. Betty went to the pitcher and poured Daniel a glass of icewater, which he gulped down gratefully. His eyes never left her. As soon as his mouth left the glass, he said, “You’re going to burn.”
“I tan better than you, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t get burned.” In a lower voice, he added, “We don’t want you to get too sensitive to be touched.” Daniel lifted a tube of sunscreen, and Betty turned, showing him her back while drawing her long hair over one shoulder.
As he worked, slathering the lotion over her shoulders, arms, back and legs, Betty couldn’t help remembering other times he’d touched her. Whatever shyness she felt about her body evaporated in the warm light, and when Daniel was done, they plunged into the water together. Others joined them - Annunziata, and more besides - but Betty wasn’t paying attention any longer. She swam with the playful abandon of a child, giggling, splashing Daniel when he came close, and having the time of her life.
Only at the end of the long day, when Betty was changing back into her sundress, did she hear a word from Annunziata. As she did her best to tie her unruly hair into a ponytail, Annunziata emerged, somehow already sleek and perfect in a minidress. They stood side by side at the mirror, Betty grimacing as she pulled the elastic through, Annunziata pursing her lips as she reapplied lipstick.
“About time,” Annunziata said.
“About time that … what?” Betty braced herself for any possible answer.
“About time you locked down Mr. Meade as your own. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, making him wait like that. Risky strategy. He might have tired of the chase.” Annunziata’s gaze never left her own reflection in the mirror, as she fluffed her gorgeous curls. “As it is, I must admit - well-played.”
I didn’t play this, Betty wanted to say. Not everybody looks at every single human interaction as a battle to be lost or won.
Then she wondered what kind of life Annunziata had led, that she did look at human interactions that way. How lonely that had to be for her. No wonder she fought Betty constantly at FM; she didn’t know any other path to take.
Instead of contradicting her, or agreeing with her, Betty said simply, “Daniel’s wonderful.”
Annunziata didn’t reply, simply smiled at her own reflection before going back up on deck.
When Betty rejoined Daniel, the yacht had neared the dock. She slipped her arms around his waist and said, “We’re almost home.”
“You still smell like coconut,” he said, and it was true; the sunscreen he’d applied clung to her after hours in the water. In her ear, Daniel murmured, “Bet your skin is still soft. Slippery.”
“We’ll check at home.” She couldn’t resist a grin. “If not - you can reapply. All over.”
**
"Seawater and Sunshine"
Being asked to socialize with Lindsay Dunne and his wife on their yacht: a good thing.
Not having any idea exactly what people do when they hang out on yachts: a weird thing.
Having your boyfriend admit that, while he has, in fact, been on yachts, he cannot give advice because he mostly spent his time drinking beer and picking up chicks in bikinis: an unsurprising thing.
Discovering, once there, that it’s really the same as a backyard barbecue, just swankier, and with swimming: a welcome thing.
Watching from the deck as Daniel swims in the ocean, long lean body moving in smooth strokes: an extremely hot thing.
Watching Annunziata Faber-Goldsmith plunge into the water to swim with him: an extremely annoying thing.
“Marvelous day, isn’t it?” Dunne said. He sat in a deck chair with a sunhat and a martini, looking for all the world like a character out of some Agatha Christie novel set in the 1920s. “The sea’s usually too cold for bathing, but the August sun and some currents from Spain - ahh.”
“It looks fabulous out there,” Betty said, slightly dreamy. Daniel surfaced, water slicking his hair back, broad shoulders just above the dark sea. They were still such new lovers that the sight of him like that could make her belly turn over.
Then Annunziata surfaced beside him. The water turned her pre-Raphaelite curls into ringlets that were way more becoming than wet hair ought to ever be. Although Annunziata didn’t seem to be flirting with Daniel, she was out there swimming with him when Betty wasn’t.
“Why don’t you take a dip?” Dunne said. “You needn’t nursemaid me, you know. Tilda was supposed to tell you to bring a suit - ”
“She did tell me. I’ve got one. I’ll - I’ll get in soon. I’m sure.”
Betty wasn’t sure whether she’d be getting in soon or not, because - embarrassing as it was to admit, even to herself - she was shy about wearing her swimsuit.
Not in front of Daniel; never in front of him. The luxurious attention he gave her body in bed was all she needed to tell her that he adored her just as she was.
But Daniel was in love with her. The rest of the world wasn’t. Annunziata definitely wasn’t. As confident and strong as Betty had become in so many ways, she didn’t know if she was up to seeing a professional rival’s contempt for her bare body, or finding out that jokes had been made about it back at her office. She was modest by nature, and the few times she’d been so exposed in public -
--she flashed back to that awful day of the Fabia photo shoot when she’d first started at Mode-
--well, it hadn’t generally gone well.
Maybe she’d just stay up here with Dunne and his wife. This was mostly about networking, right? It was pleasant enough being on the deck, in the sunshine. She was having a lovely time. Really.
Once again she looked longingly at Daniel in the water. Daniel had set her up for that stunt at the Fabia photo shoot, and yet he had learned to see her as someone to desire and to love. She felt the summer warmth on her skin and longed to swim.
Finally, she asked herself whose gaze mattered more: Daniel’s or Annunziata’s?
That settled it.
“Excuse me,” she said to Dunne. “I’m going to change into my swimsuit.”
Down below, Betty ditched her sundress and put on the swimsuit she’d bought: brilliant red with white stripes - a vintage look, with wide straps, a gathered bust, and a little bit of a skirt, but one that looked less matronly, more Bettie Page. At least, in theory. She fluffed her hair, touched up her lip gloss, and whispered, “You can do this.” Then she padded up the steps to the deck.
To her dismay, she walked out to see Annunziata sitting there, all 100 pounds of her, in that purple string bikini that left nothing to the imagination. She relaxed in the chair next to Dunne, purring some compliment or other, with her slim legs stretched out and tiny feet on the railing. Betty felt conspicuous, obvious, huge -
Until Daniel climbed up the ladder, dripping wet, and saw her. His eyes lit up with unmistakable pleasure - even desire. “Hi,” he said. “Are you about to get in?”
“Not if you just got out.” She stepped toward him as he did toward her, and she laid her hands on his cool, wet shoulders. He smelled like seawater and sunshine.
“I’m going back in. Just wanted some water - and to see you.” Daniel brought his lips to hers, only for a moment - they were in sight of her boss, after all. His kiss tasted of salt, and her mind flickered back to the night before, when they’d been together in her bed.
Okay, enough of that; she didn’t want to get carried away here and now. Later. They’d get carried away later. Betty went to the pitcher and poured Daniel a glass of icewater, which he gulped down gratefully. His eyes never left her. As soon as his mouth left the glass, he said, “You’re going to burn.”
“I tan better than you, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t get burned.” In a lower voice, he added, “We don’t want you to get too sensitive to be touched.” Daniel lifted a tube of sunscreen, and Betty turned, showing him her back while drawing her long hair over one shoulder.
As he worked, slathering the lotion over her shoulders, arms, back and legs, Betty couldn’t help remembering other times he’d touched her. Whatever shyness she felt about her body evaporated in the warm light, and when Daniel was done, they plunged into the water together. Others joined them - Annunziata, and more besides - but Betty wasn’t paying attention any longer. She swam with the playful abandon of a child, giggling, splashing Daniel when he came close, and having the time of her life.
Only at the end of the long day, when Betty was changing back into her sundress, did she hear a word from Annunziata. As she did her best to tie her unruly hair into a ponytail, Annunziata emerged, somehow already sleek and perfect in a minidress. They stood side by side at the mirror, Betty grimacing as she pulled the elastic through, Annunziata pursing her lips as she reapplied lipstick.
“About time,” Annunziata said.
“About time that … what?” Betty braced herself for any possible answer.
“About time you locked down Mr. Meade as your own. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, making him wait like that. Risky strategy. He might have tired of the chase.” Annunziata’s gaze never left her own reflection in the mirror, as she fluffed her gorgeous curls. “As it is, I must admit - well-played.”
I didn’t play this, Betty wanted to say. Not everybody looks at every single human interaction as a battle to be lost or won.
Then she wondered what kind of life Annunziata had led, that she did look at human interactions that way. How lonely that had to be for her. No wonder she fought Betty constantly at FM; she didn’t know any other path to take.
Instead of contradicting her, or agreeing with her, Betty said simply, “Daniel’s wonderful.”
Annunziata didn’t reply, simply smiled at her own reflection before going back up on deck.
When Betty rejoined Daniel, the yacht had neared the dock. She slipped her arms around his waist and said, “We’re almost home.”
“You still smell like coconut,” he said, and it was true; the sunscreen he’d applied clung to her after hours in the water. In her ear, Daniel murmured, “Bet your skin is still soft. Slippery.”
“We’ll check at home.” She couldn’t resist a grin. “If not - you can reapply. All over.”
**