Backcast (39 page)

She gave the bag a squeeze and a couple globs of the tomato aspic dropped into the water. She quickly replaced the cover and waited. She didn't want to push it with the sunlight. After a couple of minutes, she lifted the cover and took a quick look. The aspic was nowhere in sight. She smiled.

Dream my ass.

Another loud burst of cheering erupted from the crowd.

Phoebe didn't like it. Quinn could feel her agitation mounting. She was getting more active in the tank. Impatient. She wanted to get this over with.

Quinn checked her watch. They had at least twenty more minutes to wait.

To wait for what?
So the tournament judges could hold the grandest and noblest fish that ever swam these waters up in front of cell phones and TV cameras? So they could post her picture on every news outlet and transform her from a legend into a sound bite?

That wasn't right. No one should do that. Not the judges—and certainly not her. She didn't catch Phoebe. Nobody could catch Phoebe.

Phoebe wasn't here so Quinn could win this stupid tournament. Phoebe was here for one reason, and one reason only.

“Things don't have meaning,” Phoebe told her in the dream. “Once you understand that, you can relax and stop equating feeling with pain. And then you can learn how to let go.”

Quinn covered the cooler before walking over to untie the cleat lines. As calmly as she could, she started the engines and slowly pulled out of the slip.

In a few minutes, they'd be out of the marina. Then she could make for the open water and head north for Bixby Island. If Phoebe had been hanging out there, she must've had a reason. So it would be there that Quinn would let her go.

“Tell me again what's in this?”

Cricket was downing her second Moby Dick. Doug Archer had created the signature cocktail to commemorate the last night of the
retreat—and the somewhat esoteric catch Quinn and her crew had made earlier that day.

“It's cranberry juice, Blue Curacao, Grey Goose L'Orange, and simple syrup.” Linda stirred hers with the stick of rock candy Doug had added as a garnish. “Pretty damn tasty, if you ask me.”

“And appropriate. Did you get a load of that centerpiece?” Cricket pointed at the buffet table where the industrial-sized pleasure aid projected from an arrangement of red and purple Dianthus blossoms cut from Kate and Shawn's new backyard.

Linda shuddered. “I think Viv is selling raffle tickets to see who gets to keep it when the party's over.”

Cricket rolled her eyes. “That wouldn't surprise me.”

“I have to admit that, although that thing offends my traditional lesbian sensibilities, it
does
provoke one's curiosity.”

“Trust me, if you tried it, it would provoke more than your curiosity. I look at it and see nothing but the certain risk of cervical puncture.”

Linda choked on her drink.

“What are you two gabbing about?” Towanda joined them at the bar. She was carrying two empty Collins glasses.

“We were just admiring the flowers.” Cricket patted Linda between the shoulder blades. “Weren't we, Linda?”

Linda nodded and cleared her throat.

“Yeah.
The flowers
.” Towanda made air quotes. “Right.” She set her empties down on the bar. “So, do you think that if you sterilized that thing it would be safe to use?”

Cricket squinted at her. “You're asking me this question? Seriously?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“Oh, god.” Cricket scanned the bar area. “Where is Doug? I need a double.”

“Come on. You're a nurse. What do you think?”

“I think you need a psychiatrist.”

“Wanting a little variety in my sex life doesn't make me crazy.”

“No.” Cricket agreed. “Wanting that kind of ‘variety' makes you suicidal.”

Towanda threw up her hands in frustration. “I don't know why I keep hanging around with lesbians.”

“Probably because you love eating coochie.”

Towanda reeled around to face Viv. “Very funny. Where the hell have you been?”

“I was over there.” Viv jerked a thumb toward the lobby. “Selling raffle tickets.” She waved a handful of bills. “We're up to three hundred bucks.” She lowered her voice. “Those two Canadians bought
six
of them.”

Linda was confused. “Isn't this kind of thing against your religion?”

“What religion?” Viv was scanning the bar. “Anybody seen Doug? I want another one of those Moby Dicks.”

“No pun intended.” Cricket quipped.

“Your Esoteric Seminary thing.” Linda pressed her point. “Aren't you some kind of minister?”

“Oh, no,” Towanda clarified. “She's not a minister, she's a Teutonic Chaplain.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Cricket patted her hand. “It's an online church, Linda.”

“How do you do a church online?”

“The same way you do your magazine online. Only this is a lot simpler. You log in, pay a hundred and fifty bucks, and voila.” Towanda framed Viv's face with her hands. “You're ordained.”

“It cost more than that.” Viv groused.

“Oh, that's right. I forgot.” Towanda draped an arm around Viv's shoulders. “She shelled out an extra fifty for the wallet ID.”

Linda seemed suitably impressed. “And you're doing the ceremony for Kate and Shawn tomorrow?”

“As soon as those Bible beaters clear out.” Viv sighed. “At first, I was concerned because I neglected to pack my vestments, but Page Archer said she had a sewing machine and could whip something up for me if I found the right fabric.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Viv tossed her head. “Wanda and I found a couple of great-looking tablecloths at TJ Maxx in St. Albans.”

Towanda nodded. “They're dark blue with little cartoon fish all over them. Perfect for this wedding.”

“Oh, my god.” Cricket turned back toward the bar and was relieved when she saw Doug Archer reappear.

He sauntered over to where they all stood holding up his bar, and took in their row of empty glasses.

“Ladies?” He adjusted his bow tie. “It looks like we need another round.”

“Here, here.” Viv clapped her hands. “It's like they say: you can't walk on one leg.”

“Don't worry, honey,” Towanda cooed. “If one of us wins the raffle, you can always pole vault.”

“I think it's simply genius.”

Kate meant it, too. Barb's model for the exhibit had blown them all away.

Kate knew that Barb had been working to incorporate the fishing motif that had formed the backdrop of their two-week retreat into the show. She even had a preview of how it was all coming together the day she visited Barb in the studio to ask her about making the rings. At that time, the little sculptures weren't even arranged like the constellation or tied to each other—but getting a peek at them strewn across the big worktable had still been a jaw-dropping experience. They contained such simple and direct references to the life experiences they each had written about. Barb had managed to craft each one of them with some kind of unique twist that spoke to the author's individuality. Yet, taken together, they were all alike.

It was pretty incredible. No wonder Barb commanded the respect she had in the arts community. Works like this made it easy to understand why the NEA continued to fund her projects.

Mavis helped Barb move her model down to the inn for the party so the group could see it and react to the ways she had interpreted their essays. Shawn and Kate were standing near the table at the
back of the restaurant where the exhibit was spread out. Darien and V. Jay-Jay were with them.

Shawn was bent over the table, examining the intricacies of the glass and metal work on the tiny fish.

“I can't believe the level of detail on these.” She pointed at one. “Look how this one is riding a bicycle on a wave made of copper.”

“I guess it's pointless for us to try and figure out who we are?”

V. Jay-Jay shook her head. “I don't think that's the point, Darien.”

“It isn't?”

“No. These models are intended to be evocative of the stories we told—not the lives we lead today.”

Kate was intrigued by V. Jay-Jay's observation. “You think there's a difference?”

“I hope so.” V. Jay-Jay looked at Shawn. “Don't you?”

“I'm not really sure.” Shawn seemed to consider V. Jay-Jay's observation. “I guess like all good art, this one hits us at about every level.”

“That's sure true for me.” Darien shook her head. “Besides, when this thing is finished and ready for display, isn't Barb going to tell viewers which fish go with what essays?”

“I think that's the plan.” Shawn stood up. “It's hard to imagine the impact this will have when the fish are recreated at life size.”

“Or the physical space the entire thing will command.” Kate lifted up a bit of the string that connected the tiny statues. “Barb said she's going to use lengths of Manila boat dock rope to tie the fish together.”

“Holy cow.” Darien stared at the expanse of the display with wonder. “How long is it going to take her to recreate all of these?”

“She said about twelve to fourteen months.” Kate shook her head. “Incredible. I had my doubts about this whole thing at first. But now, I'm honored to be a part of it. I think it's going to be a seminal installation—akin to Judy Chicago's masterpiece back in the 70s.”

V. Jay-Jay was nodding enthusiastically. “You mean
The Dinner Party?
”

“Yes. Well, minus all the vulvas, of course.”

V. Jay-Jay smiled. “A regrettable omission, to be sure.”

“I don't know about that.” Darien nudged V. Jay-Jay and pointed at one of the fish that appeared to be sporting a very red genital opening near its anal fin.

“Close, but no cigar. Fish lay eggs. They don't have vulvas.”

“Well they don't drink alcohol either,” Darien countered. “But that one is sure stuck inside a Jack Daniels bottle.”

Shawn had to agree. “She's got a point there.”

V. Jay-Jay capitulated. “I guess this is where that whole willing suspension of disbelief comes in.”

“Well I, for one, am just eternally grateful that I was willing to suspend my personal disbelief long enough to make the trek down here.” Kate linked arms with Shawn. “The outcome ended up changing my life in ways I never could have imagined.”

Shawn tugged her closer. “Mine, too.”

Kate noticed that Darien and V. Jay-Jay exchanged shy-looking smiles. She threw caution to the wind and decided to make a comment about it.

“It looks like you two might have drawn winning cards in the relationship lottery, too.”

Shawn looked at Kate in amazement.

“What?” Kate defended her uncharacteristic observation. “You can't blame me for my candor. I've had
three
Moby Dicks.”

Darien burst out laughing.

“It's true.” The normally taciturn V. Jay-Jay seemed to take it all in stride. “We weren't looking for anything, but thank god we both had the sense not to run away when it showed up.”

Shawn nodded. “That's the hardest part. Once you get over that hurdle, the rest is gravy.”

“Gravy I can take.” Darien reached for V. Jay-Jay's hand and smiled. “But that aspic has to go.”

Shawn leaned closer to them and lowered her voice. “You didn't hear it from me, but I think there might be a plan afoot to raid the kitchen later tonight after the party.”

V. Jay-Jay looked like a deer in the headlights. “Whatever for?”

Shawn chuckled. “Let's just say that some of the women have
decided to put feet to their prayers and take the inn's supply of aspic out for a midnight cruise.”

“Oh, god.” Kate rolled her eyes. “Does Viv know about this? It sounds like they might want to invest in some damage waivers.”

“Oh, that part won't be a problem.”