Blood Games

    Finley’s bag was in the middle between Abilene’s and Helen’s. She dropped down on it and crossed her legs. ‘Great, huh? Now, if we just had some margaritas and chips.’

    ‘Feel free to go back for them,’ Abilene said. ‘I’m sure we’re not far from the car.’

    ‘Did anybody bring food?’ Helen asked.

    ‘We should’ve,’ Finley said.

    ‘But we didn’t,’ Abilene said.

    ‘Geez.’

    ‘You’re trying to lose weight,’ Cora reminded her.

    ‘That was before.’

    ‘You can survive till morning,’ Vivian said.

    Helen sighed. ‘Yeah. Sure.’

    ‘Just forget about it,’ Cora said. ‘Let’s brush our teeth and get some sleep.’

    ‘And take a leak,’ Abilene added.

    ‘Not necessarily in that order,’ Finley said.

    They gathered their toothbrushes, paste, the big plastic water bottle and the roll of toilet paper. Helen passed the roll around, and they each tore off some paper.

    ‘We go that way,’ Abilene said, pointing back the way they’d come.

    They crept into the trees. A short distance from the clearing, they crowded together in a circle to share the water while they brushed their teeth.

    Then they separated. Glad that she’d changed into a skirt instead of shorts, Abilene slipped out of her panties. Poor Helen, she recalled, was still in her swimsuit. Everything would have to come off. While she squatted close to the ground, she heard the others nearby: footsteps mashing forest debris, muttered curses, splashing sounds.

    Done, she backed away and stepped into her panties. She didn’t go looking for the others. Instead, she made her way to the clearing. Cora and Finley were already there. As she was putting her toothpaste and brush into her toilet kit, Vivian returned.

    Abilene sat on her sleeping bag. She was pulling off her moccasins when Helen came slouching out of the trees.

    ‘What a pain,’ Helen muttered. She carried her swimsuit and Bermudas in one hand. She wore only her blouse and shoes. The blouse hung open, its front bouncing and swaying with the motions of her loose breasts.

    ‘The Tipton girl,’ Finley said.

    In spite of Helen’s miserable appearance, Abilene found herself grinning. Helen really did look like some kind of bizarre parody of the Tipton shirt commercial that, during the past year, had made Vivian something of a national celebrity.

    In the commercial, Vivian strides languidly across a veranda, leans her shoulder against a pillar and gazes out at swaying palm trees, combers rolling in toward a deserted beach. A breeze caresses her thick, auburn hair and stirs the front of her white Tipton dress shirt. It is a man’s shirt, too large for her. Its sleeves are rolled partway up her forearms. Its tails drape her buttocks and thighs. She seems to wear nothing except the shirt. Only a single, closed button prevents it from blowing open.

    The camera slowly circles her as she enjoys the tropical scenery. Then a sleek, handsome man, dressed only in slacks, crosses the veranda. He wraps his arms around her, kisses the side of her neck. The voice of the announcer says, ‘Men prefer Tipton shirts.’

    ‘Men prefer Tipton shirts,’ Finley said.

    ‘This is J.C. Penny’s,’ Helen muttered. ‘And it’s wet.’ She dropped onto her sleeping bag. ‘Everything’s wet.’

    ‘You should’ve changed when you had the chance,’ Cora told her.

    ‘Your stuff would’ve gotten soaked, anyway,’ Abilene said. ‘Unless you don’t sweat.’

    ‘Hotter than a huncher,’ Finley said.

    Vivian shook her head. ‘We could’ve been in an air-condi-tioned motel room right now.’

    ‘Tomorrow night,’ Abilene said.

    ‘If we can find the keys.’

    ‘We’ll find them,’ Cora said, and lay down on top of her sleeping bag.

    Finley stretched out on hers, too. ‘Let’s all go to sleep, kiddies. The sooner we fall asleep, the sooner morning will come. Maybe Santa will leave us a nice set of car keys under the tree.’

    ‘I don’t care where he leaves them,’ Abilene said, ‘as long as we find them and get out of here.’

    Vivian sank down beside Cora, rolled over, and rested her face on her crossed arms.

    Abilene was about to lie down, but remained sitting, curious, when she saw Helen take off her blouse. Pale in the darkness, Helen leaned forward. She spread her blouse, swimsuit and Bermuda shorts over the top of her sleeping bag. Then she got to her hands and knees. She pulled down the zipper at the side of her bag and struggled to crawl inside.

    Finley, also watching, said, ‘You’ve gotta be kidding.’

    ‘You’ll cook in there,’ Abilene added.

    ‘Leave her alone,’ Vivian murmured.

    Abilene heard a rip-like sound of the zipper sliding up.

    ‘Maybe she’s planning to sweat the pounds away,’ Finley said.

    ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ came Helen’s muffled voice.

    Abilene eased down onto her bag. Its slick fabric felt cool through her blouse and against the backs of her bare legs. She folded her hands under her head. Her hair was tangled and wet. But lying down felt very good. The thickness of the sleeping bag cushioned her from the ground. If there were twigs or rocks beneath her, she couldn’t feel them. She stretched, and sighed softly.