Chapter 17 #2
Jackie looks a little surprised at herself for suggesting it, but she schools her expression quickly.
“Your…clothes?” Claire says.
“Bathing suits. I have a few. They’re all clean,” Jackie says, standing up quickly and gesturing for Claire to follow. “You can just wear whichever one fits.”
Which is how Claire finds herself in Jackie’s bathroom with a selection of suits laid out, trying to find one that will cover everything it needs to.
It’s not an easy task. She and Jackie are wildly different sizes—Claire has none of Jackie’s curves—but she manages to find a top and bottom set that she can tie tight enough to not fall down immediately.
Claire has never worn so little fabric in her life.
Her underwear covers more than this—it at least sits at her bellybutton, where Jackie’s bikini feels like nothing but a few tiny scraps of material strung together with twine.
Claire’s hipbones are jutting out. Without her usual layers she can’t hide her wide shoulders, her narrow hips and tiny breasts.
Rita has told her a hundred times while taking her measurements—clothes create an illusion. With the minimal fabric she has on right now, Claire might as well just be baring herself to Jackie’s eyes completely naked.
Claire takes the pins out of her hair, wraps one of Jackie’s big, fluffy towels around herself, and heads out to the pool.
Jackie is underwater when Claire emerges from the house.
Jackie cuts through towards the stairs and then rises up to meet her, water streaming down her body, and for a moment as Jackie emerges from the pool Claire is so overcome by the similarity to the Jackie that she sees in her dreams that she’s rooted to the spot.
She can smell the chlorine. She can hear Jackie’s voice, low in her ear.
Not so unbuttoned now, are you?
Jackie is so soft. So feminine. She’s all shapely curves and swells, where Claire is sharp angles.
Something about the way Jackie looks right now feels dangerous, like the glowing red spiral of a hot stove element, and a part of Claire that’s getting louder by the minute wants to slap her hand onto it to feel the burn.
“The water’s nice and warm,” Jackie says, in her actual real-life voice.
On the patio table is a bottle of soda with a straw in it.
Jackie takes a sip, blissfully unaware of how Claire’s traitorous eyes track every drop of water that runs down her skin.
The bow that ties Jackie’s bikini top cuts slightly into the softness of her upper back, leaving divots in the soft flesh, and something swoops low in Claire’s belly.
“Just—um, just give me a second,” Claire stammers. She pulls the towel tighter. Faced so up-close with Jackie’s perfect body, she doesn’t want to reveal her own.
Jackie sets her soda down. “You can’t swim in a towel, silly.”
“I know, I—I need sunblock, first,” Claire says, grabbing at the open bottle sitting next to Jackie’s drink. She holds it out like a shield, but Jackie only steps closer.
“Sure. Do you need help with your back?”
The idea of Jackie’s hands on her body, spreading warm lotion over her skin, is even worse than the exposure of the bathing suit.
“No!” Claire yells.
Jackie stops in her tracks. Her eyes are wide, and a little hurt. It pierces the panic slowly rising in Claire.
Claire clears her throat, trying to lower her voice. “Sorry. It’s only that I—I burn very easily. Maybe I should just stay up here under the umbrella?”
“We can do whatever you’d like,” Jackie says softly.
Whatever Claire would like. What would Claire like?
What Claire would like is to feel as comfortable in herself as Jackie does. What Claire would like is to understand her own fascination, her own fixation. What Claire would like is to forget her strange dreams and the tension they leave her with, and have a good time with her friend.
Claire drops the towel.
Jackie goes silent.
Her eyes rake over Claire’s shoulders, over her stomach and her bare legs, in a way that reminds Claire of how she felt in that department store changing room.
It doesn’t feel like Claire is being judged, as she feared, but it’s certainly more focused than Claire expected. She feels as bare as a newborn.
Jackie’s skin has gone rosy. Just when Claire is about to ask what’s wrong, Jackie seems to snap out of it. She blinks rapidly, her wide eyes snap up, and in a rush, she sprints past Claire and dives into the pool.
It’s out of character for Jackie to do something so sudden, so dramatic, and the water from her dive splashes on Claire’s feet in a big wave. Jackie stays underwater, seeming to settle on the bottom of the pool; Claire remembers seeing her do the same thing from her window, once.
That remembrance leaves her hot all over.
Claire descends the stairs into the shallow end at a normal pace.
The water is just cool enough to be refreshing, but it does make her shiver as it hits her thighs.
She can see Jackie moving under the rippling surface, coming towards her, closer and closer, until Claire is sure Jackie is going to plow right into her.
A hand closes around Claire’s ankle, pulling sharply, and suddenly she’s underwater.
The water is a shock to her system, but not nearly as much as Jackie’s sudden move. When Claire surfaces again, shaking water out of her eyes, her first order of business is to shout.
“Why did you do that?”
Jackie, of course, surfaces perfectly. Her hair slicks back. Water droplets form on her eyelashes. In contrast, Claire’s curls are stuck to her face, and the borrowed bikini bottoms are riding up.
“You were taking too long,” Jackie says. The strangeness from before seems to be gone—she’s her usual self again, cheeky and laughing as Claire finger-combs her own hair.
“So your solution was to try to drown me?”
“You’re perfectly welcome to try to drown me in retaliation,” Jackie says, grinning as she drifts away in a perfect backstroke. “If you can.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“More of a dare.”
“Oh, I’m gonna get you,” Claire says, laughing as she lunges in Jackie’s direction. Jackie gets a face full of pool water, and the war begins.
Jackie is a great swimmer, but Claire has a longer reach.
They chase each other around the pool, giggling and shouting like children, and Claire forgets propriety.
She forgets that anyone could be listening, and that Pete will notice if her hair is wet when he comes home.
She swims and splashes and laughs with Jackie, and she doesn’t care about anything else.
Her sides are sore with pure, undiluted joy when Jackie successfully jumps on her back, playfully shoving her under the water.
Claire surfaces again quickly. She turns to grab for Jackie’s legs, pulling her all the way around with the intention to dunk her under the water in retaliation, but Jackie latches on like a koala bear—her legs wrap around Claire’s waist. Claire’s hands go, instinctively, to Jackie’s thighs.
The game stops.
They’re pressed together in every conceivable place.
Suddenly Claire is very aware of every inch of touching skin, every scrap of fabric, every tiny movement between them.
Now it’s Claire’s fingers making divots in Jackie’s thighs, gripping them like a life raft.
The water is cool, but Jackie’s skin is hot.
Jackie is staring at Claire’s mouth with an indecipherable expression. Claire can see every soft, dark hair on her face, illuminated by the bright sun. Droplets of water slide down her temples.
Claire is hit with a thought that goes off like a gunshot.
They’re close enough to kiss.
The very idea is like a foreign language deciphering itself before Claire’s eyes.
Kissing a woman. Kissing Jackie. It’s unfamiliar, frightening, but something about it resonates somewhere deep inside her.
It’s like a tuning fork, striking a piercing note that lines up exactly where it’s supposed to.
One of Jackie’s hands curls around the back of Claire’s neck in a hold that makes Claire want to melt and become one with the chest-deep water. Her heart is thrumming like the engine of the Mustang; she can feel warm breath on her lips. They tingle with restless anticipation.
Claire’s eyes drift closed. She tilts her head up, letting herself slide into whatever is about to happen, as she feels the slightest brush of warm breath against her lips.
She wonders, suddenly, how her dreams would have continued if she had kissed Jackie in them.
As if she can hear Claire’s shameful thoughts, Jackie stiffens against her. She leans away, her legs releasing their hold, and she uses them to launch herself off of Claire’s body so hard that Claire is propelled backward a foot or so into the deeper end of the pool.
When Claire opens her eyes, Jackie is standing in the shallow end. She’s breathing in quick, frantic little gasps. She’s flushed, now, all the way down to her chest.
“I forgot, I—I have a gig in the city,” Jackie says. Her voice is unnaturally high and seems to quiver. She’s already climbing out of the pool, stumbling up the stairs and wrapping Claire’s abandoned towel around herself. “A paying one. Soon. Now, actually. I have to go.”
“Didn’t you just get back?” Claire says. Her very bones are vibrating. She takes a step forward, still struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire nature of the last few minutes. The water ripples out around her wobbly legs.
Jackie doesn’t acknowledge that Claire has said anything. She’s fumbling with the sliding door. Her voice sounds choked. “Keep the suit.” Finally, Jackie manages to rip the door open, and she disappears inside. “I’ll see you later.”
She’s gone before Claire can respond.
After a minute or two, Claire drags herself out of the water.
She drip-dries awkwardly at the threshold of the sliding door, before scurrying to the bathroom to get her own clothes and throw them on haphazardly.
Jackie’s bedroom door is closed when she passes.
The Mustang screeches out of the driveway a few hours later.