Page 34 of Gulfside Girls
And Daddy might not have wanted them to drive his car, but he also didn’t say no. That was Mommy’s job. Today, they took Daddy’s keys and drove with the top down.
Erline, their family’s maid, packed them peanut butter sandwiches in wax paper, pickles, and even peaches, so they wouldn’t “starve,” she said, sweetly. Though Belinda was worried about dieting lately, thanks to Mommy. Well, if she swam all day, she’d burn off the sandwiches, hopefully.
Joetta handed Belinda a mangled tube of white paste, zinc oxide. Belinda put it on her nose, which was now pealing for the fiftieth time this summer.
“The smell, why does it have to smell like that?” Joetta scrunched up her little button nose that was freckled from similar scorching.
“Why can’t my legs get color instead of my nose every time?” Belinda was trying to achieve an even tan, but of course, it washer nose and shoulders that got it. Her thighs, ugh, they were still light, a tiny bit of color at best. She wanted them savage!
Yes, as the Gulfside Girls lay on their straw mats, the main consideration and worry in their lives was getting that even tan.
“Flip, the back of your legs are dark, and the front isn’t,” Joetta, the baby sister, advised Belinda.
“Well, if he doesn’t get here soon, Mommy is going to flip because we told her we’d be at the club in time for dinner.”
“Oh, please, he’s going to be here. I know it.”
And Belinda knew it, too. Joetta was the prettiest girl on the beach, and she was always attracting admirers. Normally, Joetta was the one in charge of the situation. She dangled her affections in front of the local boys like a carrot. It was sort of sad. But then again, if they were stupid enough to think they were “the one and only,” they were stupid.
This new boy was different, though. Joetta was not in charge. He was. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and more muscular than the country club set they normally mingled with.
And older. Belinda didn’t know exactly how old, but he wasn’t a teen like them.
And honestly, he was a little scary in that he didn’t really talk much. He probably had seen too many Steve McQueen movies or something.
They waited and worked on getting every square inch of their bodies as brown as possible.
Suddenly, Joetta said to Belinda, “I’m going to tell you a secret. You cannot tell. Anyone. Even Christie Lee.”
They called Christie Lee “Middle Sister,” even though Christie Lee wasn’t their sister. They’d essentially added her as a mutual best friend. The two sets of parents had deemed their friendship acceptable socially. That was a relief. It was how they all got away with being away. “We’re going to Middle Sister’s!” they’d say. Or Christie Lee would say she was sleeping over atBelinda and Joetta’s. Their parents never checked. It was how the Gulfside Girls could be essentially free and feral and away from the country club expectations of Mommy.
And now Joetta was telling Belinda to keep something from Middle. They weren’t in the business of keeping things from Middle, so Belinda knew it really did have to be a huge secret.
“Swear.”
The two sisters put their palms together and did a quarter turn. It was their own secret salute.
Joetta took and deep breath then blurted, “I think I’m going to go all the way.”
Belinda didn’t react. She wanted to gasp, wanted to warn her not to! To be careful! More than that, though, not to do anything before Belinda got a chance to.
She knew, as the older sister, that she was supposed to provide the guidance on these things. But she had nothing to share. No words of wisdom on “all the way.” Even though Belinda was only a year older, she should be more worldly. Except, their world was mostly this tiny town, this beach.
So, she sat there quietly, wondering what the right thing was to say. She did not want to act like their mom—square, stuffy, scandalized by everything they did.
Even though the worst thing they did was wear patched skirts they got at the swap meet instead of the Lilly Pulitzer dresses their mother favored for them. Mommy hated their outfits and thought they should both still be dressing like Jackie Kennedy—White House Jackie, not Jackie O. Mommy was very into labels.
Faced with the news that Joetta planned to go all the way, Belinda stayed quiet. She didn’t warn Joetta. She didn’t act like a prude.
But in her chest, she felt a little fear. Things were more out of control with this new boy than she realized.
“Why him?” she asked.
“He’s just so much more exciting than Banks and that crowd. He’s a veteran. He has that tattoo, and he does what he wants. He has a job already. He makes cars!”
“Wow, I didn’t know that. Yeah, he’s no Banks Armstrong, for sure.Hisbiggest worry is borrowing his father’s Lincoln and hoping no one smokes in it. But, you know, he’d do anything for you.” Belinda liked Banks; she understood him. And honestly, the way Joetta ignored him broke her heart.
“He’s nice, I guess,” Joetta conceded. “But boring.”
