Free Intermission by Ashley Pullo Page B

Her doe eyes are now the size of saucers and she’s making a weird sheep noise. They don’t seem to mind the audience and yet I can’t look away.
    “Everything gets laid,” I joke.
    “On Fire Fucking Island,” Nat retorts.

 
 
7:45 p.m.
    We met a few of Molly’s neighbors on the beach earlier and they graciously invited us over for cocktails on their patio. Now, math is my worst subject, but I can manage simple calculations to determine that one husband, one wife and one girlfriend equals a threesome. And two gays plus two LeGrange girls equals no sex for Chloe. I would never judge someone’s lifestyle or sexual preference, but Nat and I might be in a sexual conundrum.
    The owner of the house, Mr. Hughes, has one hand on the ass of his girlfriend Susan, and the other hand tightly around my waist. His gorgeous wife, Mrs. Hughes, is busy drunk-flirting with Natalie, and I’m pretty sure her left boob is about to pop out of her super slutty top. Natalie is so sarcastic and crazy, that she charmingly plays along with the flirtation, even commenting on Mrs. Hughes’ lovely top. Benjamin and Travis are the hottest gays ever, and I have a very, very dirty visual going on in my head right now that includes me, the gays and a steamy shower – but, I didn’t spend two hours getting everything waxed for lousy bourbon and an awkward swing party.
    “So hey, Nat, we should get to those dinner reservations,” I say casually.
    “Reservations? No, you have to come with us to Frankie’s by the docks! It’s the spot to watch the fireworks.” Travis pulls me away from Mr. Hughes and spins me slowly. He’s making one of those mmm hmm faces and motions for Benjamin to join him. “Chloe, you have amazing curves! Benji – Rita Hayworth, am I right?”
    “Oh yes, the real Rita Hayworth, not that poor queen dragging at The Pines!” Benjamin quips and they both laugh at some sort of inside joke. But whatever, Rita Hayworth was fucking hot – and real men appreciate curves.
    “Chloe, I love you in that dress!” Natalie squeezes between Benjamin and Travis and winks at me. “In fact, I’d say whoever packed that dress is a fucking genius.”
    It’s true. Natalie is an evil genius. I feel amazing in this knee-length vintage purple dress – an actual vintage piece of clothing from a shop in SoHo that sells Broadway costumes (in my mind, it belonged to Raquel Welch.)
    “Travis – I have a brilliant idea! Let’s introduce the girls to the Decker twins,” Benjamin squeals.
    “Yes! I would love some double Decker peckers,” Natalie jokes.
    “Oh honey, they are pretty to look at, but incredibly dumb!” Travis adds.
    Honestly, I don’t give a shit if they grunt like cavemen, I desperately want to escape the Hughes and their bow chicka wow wow pretense. Mr. Hughes keeps winking and licking his lips and Mrs. Hughes’ left nipple has finally made its way into the party.
    “Great, let’s go to Frankie’s!” I shout.

 
 
8:25 p.m.
    The seven of us make our way to Frankie’s by the dock. The swingers up front, fondling and giggling, followed by Nat and Travis debating over the sexiest Superman – Lois and Clark or Smallville. Benjamin hangs in the back with me, breathing in the fresh air and catching fireflies.
    “Don’t you just love the Fourth?” Benji asks.
    “It’s my birthday, actually,” I say.
    “No shit! I’m buying you a drink, my little Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Benjamin puts his arm around my shoulders and rustles my hair. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’m attracted to, tall, dark and the muscular forearms of Popeye. But he’s also sincerely sweet and protective, qualities of a true gentleman.
    “Benji, can I ask a favor?” I say quietly.
    “Of course, my pet.”
    “Don’t let me do anything stupid.”
    “But it’s your birthday and a holiday!”
    “Please,” I say firmly.
    “I promise. Look, we’re here – Peccadillo Circus!”
    Holy shit!
    Natalie and I walked past Frankie’s