By Sadie St. Claire
Featured artwork by Mama St. Claire
(for The Prenup and Chapter 1 of Witches click here)
Chapter Two:
Four Hundred Years of Dick
Geoffrey rented a share in one of the most beautiful houses on the island. It had multiple fireplaces, an entire wall of stained glass with well placed track lighting, and a heated pool that looked out over The Great South Bay. It had a large sauna with red lights inside and mirrors on three of its cedar walls. It had a great round jacuzzi tub with a custom leopard print cover, which made it resemble one of Jackie O’s pillbox hats.
Like most houses in The Pines, the whole affair looked and felt like the set of a 1970’s porn film. But this house was the fanciest and most high budget one.
Geoffrey had instructed them to just walk in, and they found him on a chaise in the sunken living room, reading before a roaring fire. He wore a perfectly matched sweatsuit that looked brand new, and had draped himself with a cashmere throw. An elegantly oversized goblet of red wine perched on his fingertips, and with the book in the other hand, he waved them to the kitchen.
“There’s Pinot Noir and glasses in there,” he announced. The two helped themselves then joined Geoffrey before the fire, where he had laid out a tray of edible delights. There were plump green olives that still had their pits, purple-black kalamatas, a hard aged pecorino in slices, a soft veined Gorgonzola drizzled with honey, and a wedge of Brie. The sesame crackers were perfectly crisp, a miracle on this perpetually damp island. Holly knew that Geoffrey had either carried this spread with him all the way from Brooklyn, or he had spent an arm and a leg on it at the Pines Pantry.
She thanked him for the abundance of snacks, and he replied, “Oh honey. With charcuterie, I don’t fuck around.”
When they had eaten all the olives and cheeses, and finished the wine, they set out towards Teal Walk. The night was starless, but the wind had cleared enough of the cloud cover to reveal glimpses of a glowing half moon.
When they arrived at Bill’s, Holly was careful to make sure the gate latched behind her.
“If you let the deer in my yard and they eat my flowers, I’ll kill you,” he had warned her the summer they met, only half kidding.
Inside, they were greeted by a choir of older gentlemen, already a few spritzers deep.
“Come in, come in!” All ten of them welcomed, showing the newcomers to the white wine and vodka and seltzer atop the counter.
The gaggle of them twittered about, eager to regale Radius and Geoffrey and Holly with tales from the 40 summers they had all been spending on Fire Island together.
“That’s 400 years of DICK,” Geoffrey leaned over and whispered in Holly’s ear. She nearly spit her chardonnay on the polished floor.
The conversations meandered from social politics to real estate to decorating, but as Geoffrey predicted, always came back around to dick.
“Those houses on that block are beautiful-“
“-And Vinny’s been in EVERY one!”
“Oh YES,” Vinny mused. “I had a wonderful love affair in one of those houses one summer.”
“I remember,” someone cut in, “It was very romantic, honestly.”
“My lover’s name was Trotsky-“
“-He was a leftist!”
They all cackled.
“They’re renovating the Belvedere, did you see?” Someone else chimed.
“My first night on the Fire Island was at the Belvedere, with a boy who worked there. A fabulous room that wasn’t rented. It had a domed ceiling, it was like St. Peter’s cathedral.”
“Do you think they’ll have Sip n’ Twirl tomorrow night, with the storm coming?” Another voice wondered.
“They’ll have Sip n’ Twirl come Hell or highwater,” declared Geoffrey. “And they’ll be charging full price, too. $42 for three martinis during a hurricane in October!”
Ah yes, thought Holly. There was a storm coming. That would explain the tension that had been hanging in the air, that ominous feeling she had described that morning by the bay. The barometric pressure was waiting to break.
“They might cancel the Ferries from time to time, but they never cancel Sip n’ Twirl,” Bill agreed with Geoffrey.
“I’ve never seen the Ferry get canceled,” said Radius, and Vinny estimated that it had been over ten years since the last time it was.
“Ah yes, I think it was ‘04,” Bill said. “I lost my car in that storm.”
When they were good and tipsy, they kissed all the daddies goodnight, and Radius and Holly walked Geoffrey home. The wind had died down, and the world was very calm and still. After they said their goodbyes, the creaking of the boardwalk beneath their feet was the only sound against the ocean’s gentle roar from the other side of the dunes. They walked back to Robbie’s house in silence, to wait for the storm with Cleopatra.
TO BE CONTINUED
The Witches of Fire Island is a forthcomoing novella by Sadie St. Claire. Set on the magical barrier island between the Great South Bay and the Atlantic, it is a tale of friendship, of romance, and what happens when two besties are stranded for a week in the Storm of the Century.
Read The Witches of Fire Island: The Prenup
Read The Witches of Fire Island Chapter One: A Witch’s Holiday
