Angela jogged toward the big red Jeep Cherokee idling in Maura's driveway, waving a large paper sack. "Janie, I packed you some sandwiches for your trip. Peanut butter and fancy jelly made by those monks in Ohio. Maura bought me a case of it and I don't think I'll ever use it all even if I live to be 100. You have boysenberry and blueberry and damson plum. I tried to stick to the ones that looked like grape."
"No fluff?"
"Somebody finished it all and put the empty jar back in the closet. If that person was honest about her piggery, I would have replaced it when I went shopping."
"Wasn't me." Jane muttered, but she couldn't meet her mother's eyes.
"Yeah, I heard that before when somebody took all the condoms out of your father's sock drawer and blew them up like balloons."
"I was five, Ma! How would I have known they weren't balloons?"
"You were old enough not to snoop."
"Ugh, thirty-five years later and you're still bringing up the 'Trojan incident.'" Jane dropped her raspy alto into the baritone range for dramatic effect.
"It was very upsetting to your nonna. She thought Frank and I were using the rhythm method."
"I doubt nonna knew the difference between a rubber and a balloon. Gimme the sandwiches, I gotta go."
"You have to pay for them with a hug and a kiss."
Jane rolled her eyes, but placed a quick peck on her mother's cheek and allowed herself to be squeezed tightly for a full three seconds before squirming out of Angela's arms.
"You don't wriggle and make faces when Maura hugs and kisses you."
"That's…different."
"I know, baby, the sexual attraction between the two of you crackles in the air like an electric storm. It's palpable."
"Eww. Ma!" Jane whistled for Jo Friday and the little dog scampered around the hedges and made a beeline for the truck. "Ready, girl? Wanna go to the beach? Wanna see Maura?"
"I bet you want to see Maura. You miss the orgasms she gives you." Angela waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"Ma!" Jane picked up the dog and tossed her into the back seat, desperate to flee her mother and whatever bizarre notion she had that this was an appropriate topic of conversation to have with her grown lesbian daughter.
"What, Janie? I'm hip to it all. I'm glad that you have a partner that satisfies all of your needs, emotional and physical. Marry her already; she's perfect."
Jane leaped into the driver's seat and slammed the door, her face as red as the candy apple paint on the Jeep.
Angela leaned into the open window. "I don't know why you're such a prude, Janie. You didn't get that from me. I think it's a case of…internalized homophobia."
"Where did you come up with that?"
"At my P-Flag meeting. I am now the assistant treasurer of the North Boston Chapter."
"Good for you, Ma. I gotta go…and I am not homophobic on the inside or the out."
"Fine."
"Fine. I'll see you in two weeks."
"Maybe sooner. I might just take a trip to your big gay island."
"Why?"
"Why not? I like the beach."
Jane broke into a grin. "You'd be welcome, Ma. I love you."
"I love you, too, baby. Drive carefully. I have to text Maura that you left so she can triangulate your route or something." Angela pulled out her phone as Jane turned the corner with a wave, the Who's "Baba O'Reilly" blasting from the speakers.
By the time she had crossed into Connecticut, she was exasperated by boredom, her muscles were coiled tight under her t-shirt, and her legs jittered against the steering wheel. The miles of blacktop ahead of her seemed endless, every song on her ipod was irritating, there was no ballgame on the radio, and the book on CD that Maura had bought for her, a mystery novel whose killer Jane guessed by the third chapter had aggravated her to the point that she'd popped out the disk and flung it over her shoulder into the back of the truck.
She stabbed at the console with one long finger and brought up her phone's bluetooth. "Call Maura cell." She growled at the computerized voice.
"Call Maurice L.?" The voice asked pleasantly.
"No! Call. Maura. Cell." Jane screamed.
"Okay. I will call Maurice L." The phone began to ring the mobile of one of Jane's confidential informants, Maurice Lebowsky, a shady disbarred lawyer with a meth habit.
"Cocksucking piece of shit!" She stabbed the console again and the call disconnected.
She flipped on the ipod again and listened to two songs from the Grease soundtrack, which led to a daydream about making out with Maura in the backseat of a souped-up hot rod. She contemplated doing something about the feelings this evoked, but the thought of being found by the Connecticut State Troopers dead in a wreak with her hand jammed into her shorts quickly quelled her passion.
"I'm bored, Jo!" She growled, but the little dog merely peered at her in the rearview mirror.
She punched up the phone again, over-enunciating. "Call Maura."
"Shall I call Maura home?"
"No."
"Shall I call Maura cell?"
"Yes."
Maura answered, breathless on the fourth ring. "Jane, are you all right?"
"Yeah, babe, I'm fine."
"By my calculations you should be between seven and fifteen miles outside of Storrs, Connecticut. Storrs is the home of the National Undersea Research Center. They do fascinating work."
Jane chuckled, just hearing her girlfriend's voice improved her mood. "I think I'll pass on that for today."
"Of course, you have a schedule to keep. You should stop to use the bathroom in Connecticut. There are no rest stops on Long Island. I'm sure you have already consumed a liter or more of some sugary soft drink. You'll need to relieve your bladder soon. You should walk Jo as well."
"Got it. I miss you, Maura, and I'm bored."
"I miss you too, love. Why don't you count homosexual vehicles?"
"What?"
"Vehicles driven by gay people, Jane. Sometimes the bumper sticker will give it away, other times you will catch a glimpse of the driver and your gay-sonar will ping."
"Gay-dar, Maur. My gay-dar is terrible, and yours is worse."
Maura laughed on the other end of the line, a silvery sound that made Jane's heart soar. "That's debatable, but I don't have time to debate right now."
"Do you have a patient?"
"Yes! Hundreds of them."
"Hundreds? How is that possible? Is there some sort of outbreak on the island? Ebola?"
"No, of course not. I did a bit of advertising and it's paid off. Faye gave me the idea. I'll tell you all about it when you get here. Drive safely, Jane. You carry my heart with you."
Jane smiled, her eyes growing moist. "I will. See you soon."
Homosexual vehicles. Jane shook her head, but no sooner had she laughed off the idea, a canary yellow mustang passed her, the New Jersey license plate read NOTSTR8.
"Score one for the homos." She informed Jo.
Maura woke with her alarm at five. She never hit snooze, but allowed herself the luxury of listening to Giulietta Simionato sing "Strida la Vampa" in its entirety. Maybe an aria about a gypsy woman burning her only child alive by accident was a poor choice to start her day, but the pulsing rhythm of the piece did get her blood stirring in the morning. If Jane were here, she would be complaining and pulling the pillow over her head. She allowed herself another minute to miss Jane, her dark curls splayed messily against the white sheets, her long body curled up like a child, innocent in sleep and then she arose.
Maura's set hours in the Cherry Grove Medical Office were from seven to one every day, though she was always on call in case of an emergency. Dr. Argentina had explained that the firehouse had a signal, a series of alarm bells that could be heard from one end of the town to the other; one long blast sounded each day at noon, three short blasts indicated a fire, two long and a short was a medical emergency and she should immediately report to the clinic. She was also instructed to take the red cross flag that hung on a short pole outside of her office with her should she visit the beach and plant it in the sand next to her towel so she could be located quickly if necessary.
She had spent the previous two days sitting on her Adirondack chair on the small front porch of the clinic in her starched white lab coat, waiting for her patients, but no one had come; not a single person had needed stitches, a burn poultice or even an aspirin all weekend. Once, a young man in hot pink spandex shorts approached her and her heartbeat quickened. He looked healthy, but the outward appearance of salubrity could easily mask a myriad of illnesses; many of the bodies on Maura's autopsy table appeared perfectly fit at first glance. This young man, however, just stepped up to say hello and pass her a glossy postcard advertising the "Great Cock Gobble", Cherry Grove's own hotdog eating contest at the Ice Palace Hotel pool the following afternoon.
Today, she hoped, would be different. She showered and dressed carefully in a sunny yellow blouse and crisp blue slacks. Her linen Louboutin heels were modest but lent her an air of confidence, pushing her height above the average threshold into that of "almost tall." She laid out a set of black scrubs on top of her neatly made bed to wear later for Jane, sans panties and bra.
When she opened the door to the clinic, she was greeted by a nurse in a pristine white uniform, including white stockings and a starched white cap emblazoned with a red cross, the likes of which hadn't been seen on any RN's head since the middle of the last century. The woman was a little smaller than Maura in her heels and very muscular with café au lait skin and dramatically high cheek bones. Pilates. Maura thought to herself Pilates and perhaps some Native American blood. But when she spoke, the doctor was suddenly uncertain if she was, in fact, a woman.
Maura smiled nervously and held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Isles. Dr. Argentina didn't mention that I'd have an assistant. Do you work Monday through Friday?"
The hand that clasped hers was large and broad, heavily calloused, but with bright red painted nails. "I'm nurse D'Fwan. I work when the mood strikes me."
"I see." Maura was now certain that the person in the nurse's dress was, at least biologically, male. At closer inspection she had a prominent Adam's apple and noticeable stubble despite a close shave. Her voice was a low baritone, bordering on bass.
"Where did you train? I've worked with some fine nurses when I was an intern. It's always been my opinion that nurses are perhaps better informed than doctors when it comes to…"
D'Fwan arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not a real nurse. I'm a naughty nurse."
Maura didn't know what to say. She stood in the middle of her immaculate examining room with a sickly grin plastered on her face. Four years of medical school, three more years of internship and residency, and fifteen years in practice hadn't prepared her for dealing with a naughty nurse.
"Don't worry, Doctor, I won't get in your way. I just like to have a backdrop for my fantasy. I've helped Dr. A from time to time. I know my way around medical instruments and what not; I was a medic in Desert Storm."
"Oh." Was all Maura could muster. "Are you in the military?"
"Not anymore. I work in construction. Jackhammer."
That explained the strong calloused hands and ropey muscles.
"We have our work cut out for us today, Doctor. There are about fifty women waiting outside your office and it ain't even seven yet."
And just like that, Maura had an assistant.
Jane skidded into the parking lot, her tires spraying gravel in grey arcs. She slammed the shift into park and leaped from the Jeep, tossing her lone bag over her shoulder and lifting Jo Friday in one choreographed movement.
"Hey, Fish Farm, watch where you're going!"
"What?" She turned to see an elderly man in a pink crew neck sweater and lemon yellow bermuda shorts glaring at her, his hands resting on his hips in a posture of pure annoyance.
"You nearly ran me down and you peppered my poor Pussy with stones."
Jane frowned in confusion until she noticed the cat carrier on the ground between two feet clad in tasseled white loafers.
"Oh, sorry. I…I didn't want to miss the ferry."
The man smirked. "Couldn't wait another hour to get howling drunk and puke in the dunes with the rest of the day-tripping tuna."
"Don't listen to her." Another man, in a lilac polo shirt and oversized straw sunhat joined them. "She's nothing but a bitter old queen who has forgotten that she spent every summer from Lynnie Johnson to Ronnie Reagan puking in those dunes…" He leaned conspiratorially toward Jane, "…and that puke was more semen than Seagram's, if you know what I mean."
"Joan!" Pink sweater screeched. "You're an evil witch."
"And you're an old, dried up twat." The pair kissed lightly on the lips and headed for the ferry dock arm in arm, the cat carrier swinging between them.
Jo Friday whined and Jane put her down on the gravel where she peed for a full minute. Maura had been right, there were no highway rest stops on Long Island. She checked her watch, hoping that she too had time to pee before the boat left. Jo didn't seem inclined to poop, so she scooped her up and hurried toward the dock where three white double decker ferries bobbed in the brackish water, their engines already thrumming.
She patted her hip pockets; keys, check, phone…no phone. Shit.
With a growl of frustration, she shouldered her dog and her bag and returned to the truck, rooting around in the passenger seat until she found her phone under a discarded bag of pizza-flavored Combos. A new text from Maura had come through.
Brava, Jane! You made the trip in just under four and a half hours, which means you drove within the speed limit. There are three ferries out of Sayville; just follow the homosexuals and I will meet you on the dock in half an hour.
Jane texted back, Braless?
Yes, but I had a problem with the panties; removing the crotch panel undermines the integrity of the garment. I have decided to go "Orlando."
Jane stared at the phone dumbly, then grinned. Commando, she typed, then added an emoticon of a drooling smiley face and jammed the phone into her pocket.
Follow the homosexuals. Even with her poorly calibrated gay-dar, Jane had no doubt that the pair she had just encountered would fit that description. She looked out across the expanse of the parking field and caught sight of a pink sweater disappearing into the white metal hull of the middle ferry.
She adjusted Jo in her arms and took off at a fast trot toward the spot of pink which was growing smaller and smaller as a crew member pulled the hull door closed. "Waaaiiiit!" She howled, blessing Maura's OCD as the doctor had purchased tickets in advance and tucked Jane's copy into the case of her iphone. She sprinted through the empty boarding queue, waving her ticket.
"Miss! You have to pay for the dog." A nervous teenage ticket clerk shouted as Jane blurred past, but Maura had thought of that, too. Jo Friday's ticket was neatly sealed in a ziploc sandwich baggie and safety pinned to her leash…which was in the trunk of the Jeep.
"Your mother's cock!" One vein throbbed in Jane's temple as she turned to the jittery teenager who began to cry, big tears running down her freckled checks.
"No, not you, sweetie…It's just something I say when I'm angry at myself." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a fifty. "Will this cover the dog?"
The girl sniffled and nodded.
"Good. Keep the change."
With two long strides, she was up the steps and slipping through the metal door just as the big boat pulled away from the dock.
"C'mon Jo, let's sit on top and get some sun. Maybe we can wave to Maura when we get close to Cherry Grove."
The little dog wagged her tail, clearly game for whatever her mother had in mind.
"Hey, Tuna Boat, you're on the wrong ship."
"What?" Jane spun, halfway up the white metal stairs to the open deck above.
Pink sweater was looking at her, amused. "This little old ferry is going to the Pines." He pointed to an identical boat rapidly pulling away from them as they exited the narrow channel and approached the open waters of the Great South Bay. "That boat's going to Cherry Grove."
"You're shittin' me."
"I shit you not, Fish Sticks."
"Fuck." Jane dropped heavily onto the steps and Jo sat beside her.
Jane pulled out her phone. Maura had sent another text. I am very excited, Jane. I've missed you. An emoticon of a smiling face with hearts for eyes followed her words.
Jane texted back. For once in your life you were not specific enough, babe. I followed the "homosexuals" right onto the Pines ferry.
A moment later her phone dinged with a reply. Jane, I thought you'd read the signs. The terminals are clearly designated with placards depicting their destinations and are color-coded for easier differentiation at a distance: Cherry Grove in red tones and Pines in green. The third destination, Sailor's Haven is, I believe, advertised with blue signage. That, however, is not at issue since it is not a homosexual destination.
Jane sighed. She hadn't read the signs; there was no getting around that. Sorry, Maur. I'll get there as soon as I can. Go back to the house, but DON'T PUT ON A BRA! She added a smiley face with its tongue hanging out.
She stuffed the phone back in her pocket. "This sucks my left tit."
"I told you, Joan, this one is not Pines material. She's a typical Grove dyke."
Jane wasn't sure whether she should be insulted. "What's Pines material?"
"Oh, you know…" straw sunhat replied, waving his hand. "High-end fag hags. Madonna has a place there and the other one…" He snapped his fingers, but the gesture did nothing to improve his memory.
"There aren't too many clam buckets in the Pines."
Jane groaned. "Tuna boat, clam bucket, fish stick…I take it you don't like women."
"I love women." Pink sweater rested a bejeweled hand against his chest. "I don't like vagina. In fact, I've only been in a woman once and I cried for months after."
"Okay…what's the punch line?" Jane curled her hand in the universal gesture of "let me have it."
"She's talking about being born."
Jane clutched her stomach and roared in a paroxysm of false laughter, then immediately returned to her sardonic demeanor. "Lame joke."
"I like this one, Barbara." Straw hat confided to his mate.
"Oh, you like everyone, Joan. You're a regular Polly-fucking-Anna."
"So…" Jane interrupted their squabbling. "The Pines is for men and Cherry Grove is for women?"
"No, not at all."
"The Pines is snooty and mostly male. The Grove is mixed and much more…how would you describe it, Barbara dear?"
"Free and easy? Casual? Wild?"
"And you two snobby…" Jane tried to think of something as insulting as all the fish references to pay the pair back. "…kielbasas, uh, bratwursts, are clearly Pines material?"
The couple giggled. "You flatter us both. If only we were kielbasas and wurst. I'm lucky if I'm a Vienna sausage, and Marty is barely a cocktail wiener."
"That's right. When God was giving out cocks, I thought he said 'clocks' and I forgot to set mine."
Not to be outdone, straw hat mimed opening his fly and shrieked in horror. "I thought he said 'jocks' and I was busy blowing one behind a cloud that day."
Jane laughed despite herself. She liked these two crazy old coots.
"But to answer your question, we are not Pines material…at all. We live in Cherry Grove from May through October and then we trudge back to our depressing walk-up in Yonkers for the rest of the year."
"Every Monday we make a trip to the Pines for afternoon tea. Our old friend, Madam Butthole-fly sings at a piano bar from noon until four. The three of us drink too many dirty martinis, weep into our glasses, and renew our suicide pact."
"Sounds pathetic." Jane dead-panned.
"It is. Dreadfully so. Join us?"
"Maybe another time. I have to get to Cherry Grove."
Straw hat sighed. "What are you rushing to? Are you in that lesbian wedding party? I saw two crab patties dressed in matching white gowns get on the Cherry Grove ferry. You dykes are all so quick to marry. Boring, isn't it, Barbara?"
"Oh, I don't know, Joan, I've dreamed of a big, royal wedding since I was a little girl. I dreamed of a prince and I wound up with an old queen."
"No. You wound up being an old queen."
"Yes, that too." He turned back to Jane who was watching the pair with undisguised amusement. "Where are you staying in the Grove? That overpriced cum-bucket with the hepatitis pool?"
Jane snorted. "Nah, we have a…" She thought back to Maura's description of their accommodations for the next two weeks. "…a well-appointed cottage with adequate living space, not unpleasant at all."
"Hmm. Sounds lovely. Which walk?"
"Doctor walk."
"We're right around the corner on Duryea. Oh, I have a juicy little tidbit of Grove gossip that I'll share with you." Pink sweater clapped his hands and shifted in his seat. He waited a full minute before speaking again, hoping to elicit eagerness in his listener, but Jane just stretched out her long legs and looked bored. She didn't know anyone on Cherry Grove and frankly didn't give a crap.
"Aren't you just a little bit curious?" He finally blurted.
"Not really, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."
"Well, Cherry Grove has a new doctor."
Jane sat up and narrowed her eyes, momentarily forgetting her lack of interest in the beach town and its drama. The detective in her soon took over, and she relaxed into her previous pose of studied nonchalance. "Yeah, so?"
"She's a real looker…if you like that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?" Jane asked, adjusting Jo Friday's collar to hide her interest.
Pink sweater screwed up his mouth into a rictus of disgust. "A hairless chest with great globs of fat hanging from it." He shuddered.
"No!" Jane sat up, bringing her clasped hands toward her chest in a pantomime of outrage and shock. "The doctor is a woman and she has…" She gasped loudly. "…breasts!"
"Yes! Not only breasts, but she oozes estrogen. It's obscene. Mark my words, Barbara, by Labor Day half the queens on the island will be wearing Dr. Isles drag. Goodbye Cher and Judy Garland, Diana Ross and Miss Bette Davis."
Jane snickered. "So that's your big gossip?"
"Only part of it. The dykes are all in a dither. The new doctor is like catnip to them."
"Pussy nip." Straw hat corrected. "Speaking of which, Miss Pussy is still overwrought from her ordeal. She needs a highball, Barbara."
"Well you certainly don't have one to give her. Your balls are so low you could store them in your socks."
"At least I still have them, darling."
"Useless appendages, like Christmas lights on a cactus."
"Don't mind us, we've been sniping at each other for 46 years."
Despite herself, Jane felt a twinge of jealousy. Maura had spent the weekend alone on Fire Island, the gayest destination on the East coast, perhaps in the entire country. Fire Island was nearly synonymous with gay. How many times had she been teased as a teenager. "Hey, it's Lezzoli, mayor of Fire Island" or "Jane only applied to one college; the Lezziversity of Fire Island." Fire Island was swarming with lesbians, and those lesbians were swarming around her Maura.
"About that doctor…" She blurted, not caring anymore if she sounded too interested. "…she's single?"
"I didn't see any hulking neanderthal butch standing guard over her. I expect she took the position to find herself a stud."
"Of course she did. There was a line around the block this morning. Must have been two hundred dykes waiting to see her. All of a sudden every lesbo on the island has developed a vaginal infection that they want the doctor to look at."
Jane was clenching her jaw, but she had to know. "For real?"
"Mmm-hmm. I saw it myself. I bet she sniffed each pussy till she found the one that smelled best to her."
"Joan, I'm going to vomit up that lovely little frittata you made for breakfast. Really, stop."
The motion of the boat changed, the rhythmic thrum of diesel engines changed to a harsher whirr as the captain downshifted and the large boat drew alongside the pier. Jane scanned the small group waiting to meet the ferry. She half-expected that Maura would be among them, that somehow she would have used one of her scientific travel tricks, studied the map and triangulated the cosine of the hypotenuse to arrive five minutes ahead of the ferry, pulling a little red wagon full of iced cold beer.
"Hey, Tuna Casserole, you coming?" Pink sweater asked, they had docked and the ferry was almost empty.
"Yeah, but I'm Jane, enough with the fish shit."
"Fine. I'm Bill and that's Marty, but since we're friends now, you can call us Barbara and Joan."
"After Barbara Walters and Joan Jett?"
The two men gasped in horrified unison. "After Miss Barbara Stanwyck and Miss Joan Crawford."
Jane looked at them blankly. "You lost me."
"You are a cretin, Jane, an absolute Neanderthal. You will need every ounce of help we can give if you want to win over that elegant doctor."
"That's right. We will officially be your fairy godfathers."
Maura finished with her last patient at ten minutes past one. It was fortuitous that Jane had caught the wrong ferry or she never would have had the time to shower and change into the requested black scrubs and crocs. Now she would have an extra hour to sit with D'Fwan on the porch and have the gin and tonic that they had both promised each other as they efficiently dealt with 362 lesbians, some of whom had waited hours to see the doctor.
D'Fwan had proved to be an excellent assistant. He greeted the women at the front door, passed out clipboards and pens to take medical histories, and managed to be in two places at once, ushering women out once Maura had examined them, bestowing upon each eager lady one of Maura's coveted business cards as they left the clinic.
This had been Faye's stroke of genius. She and Maura had brainstormed on the phone Saturday night, devising ways that Maura could get to know the people in her care, build relationships that would be both beneficial to the health of the community and ease her slowly into the frightening world of doctoring to the living.
Maura had spent Sunday evening printing up fliers that she had posted on the community bulletin boards at the ferry dock, next to the town market and in front of each of the bars that served the Grove. "Ladies: Are you at risk for stroke?" They read. "Elevated Blood Pressure is a silent killer of women. Come meet Dr. Maura Isles, your new town physician. Every new patient will have a free blood pressure screening and receive a voucher good for two free cocktails at the drinking establishment of her choice."
Maura was certain that the free booze, rather than the health screening, was what drew the crowd, but the result was the same. She found a dozen women with dangerously high pressure who had no idea they were at risk and nearly fifty more whose pressure was borderline. She may very well have saved a life today.
She toasted D'Fwan with her frosty glass. "We're a good team, Nurse D'Fwan."
"Yes, but I didn't get to be naughty. I'm looking forward to prostate screening day."
Maura grimaced and took a deep drink from her glass.
"So I can get a water taxi here on the dock?" Jane felt the stress of her drive melt away after emptying her bladder at the gazebo covered piano bar.
"You could, but why not have a drink with us first? Madam is going to do a medley of depressing show tunes that is not to be missed. She always begins with 'Send in the Clowns,' but substitutes cocks for clowns. It's a hoot." Joan opened the cat carrier and Miss Pussy tentatively stepped onto the bar and headed right for a glass of amber liquid.
"Is that cat drinking scotch?"
"Of course. She's 23 years old. She's lasted this long because she's pickled."
"Wow. I almost want to stay just to see a drunk pussy, but I need to get to the Grove."
"Don't worry, honey, there will be plenty of drunk pussies where you're going. You'll get there faster if you walk through the Meat Rack."
"There's a butcher store on the island?"
Barbara howled. "How delightfully innocent you are, Jane dear. The Meat Rack is a butcher store of sorts. All the boys hang their best cuts of beef out and you can have your pick; from short ribs to fat back."
"Don't listen to her, darling. That's no place for a lady. Do yourself a favor and take the water taxi." An elderly, obese man wearing a short kimono and the elaborate white face paint of a geisha approached carrying a lacquer fan and an enormous tropical drink. "I'm Myron, but my friends call me Madam Butthole-Fly.
"I'm Jane and my friends call me Jane."
"Ah, a droll sense of humor. So many dykes are just plain humorless. The Meat Rack is deliciously vile, particularly at night, but if you don't offend easily, it is the fastest route to the Grove."
Jane nodded. "I don't offend easily. I'm a homicide detective."
"Well then, off you go. Send my love to Albert."
"Who's Albert?"
The trio snickered. "You'll know him when you see him."
Jane followed Fire Island Boulevard, a broad boardwalk freshly planked with fragrant cedar wood, until it abruptly ended in a sandy ramp leading into a densely wooded thicket of pitch pines and maples. The air smelled of the ocean, which she could hear rolling and breaking behind the dunes to her left. Jo Friday hesitated at the tree line so Jane scooped her up and carried her cradled against her chest. She had the bizarre thought that she was Dorothy, about to enter the Haunted Forest with Toto, but without the Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow, whom she had left behind to slowly get drunk at the piano bar.
She didn't see another person on the sandy path that weaved in and out around serviceberry and blackgum shrubs, but she could hear movement off to her right and the soft sound of breathing and an occasional groan. She had patrolled gay cruising grounds during her time in Vice; The Fenway Victory Gardens and Columbus Park came to mind. She knew the drill; men would lean casually against a tree, make eye contact and disappear together into the denser woods. She hated making those busts; two consenting adults, harming no one.
About a half a mile in she could see a clearing ahead and to her right, a circle of sandy ground where countless feet had trampled away the underbrush. As she rounded a bend in the path, a pair of bare feet and pale, hairless legs appeared at eye level. She stopped and stared, dumbstruck, at a ten foot utility pole, firmly planted in the ground. A thin man, nude save for a black leather face mask, was bound and tied to it. Heavy yellow safety ropes wrapped around his thighs and chest and his hands were cuffed behind his back, the cuffs carefully latched to hooks set in the pole.
She dropped Jo Friday and sprinted full out toward what she could only imagine was a gruesome crime scene, pulling out her phone to dial for back up.
"Hello!" The man called cheerfully from above her.
Jane froze, her thumb hovering over the final one in 911. The man was obviously not dead.
"Hello!" He called again. "Are you a big, handsome bear?"
Jane swallowed, unsure what to say.
"Ah, the strong, silent type. Okay. I can do that. Here's the scene. I'm thirsty. There should be a bottle of water on the ground next to the pole."
Jane spotted the water bottle and walked toward it, hesitated a moment and picked it up.
"You found it? Good. Let me hear how wet and refreshing it is. Go ahead, shake it."
Jane shook the bottle.
"I'm so thirsty and that water is so cool and wet."
Jane removed the cap and approached the pole, standing on her toes to reach it toward the man's mouth.
"That's right. Show me that water, bring it closer."
She tipped it toward the mouth hole in his leather mask.
"No!" He shrieked. "That's not the scene. I don't get to drink the water. I've been bad. You have to withhold it."
Jane backed away, confused.
"Good." He grew calm again. "Please, let me have a drink. I'm so thirsty, so very thirsty. My mouth is like ashes. It's so hot and I'm so thirsty."
She approached again, opening the bottle. "Here. Just fucking drink it already."
The man went rigid. "Oh my god, you're a woman."
"Yeah."
"I am so sorry, sweetheart. I… I thought you were someone else. I'm embarrassed, mortified even. Please forgive me."
"No problem. I was just passing through and thought you were in trouble…you're not in trouble, are you?"
"Not at all. I do this every day."
"Oh…kay. Are you Albert, by any chance?"
"The one and only."
"Barbara, Joan, and Butthole-Fly said to say hello."
"Ah, such sweet old trolls."
Jane placed the water bottle back where she had found it and lifting up her dog, jogged the last half mile down the path, her eyes firmly planted to the ground ahead of her. She imagined the three men in the Pines were having a good laugh at her expense. She rounded a final bend, avoiding a beefy man in a yellow tutu heading into the Meat Rack from the opposite direction, probably Albert's playmate for the afternoon. A hundred yards further the tree line broke and the town of Cherry Grove appeared ahead.
Jane emerged from the forest onto the wood planked boardwalk of Cherry Grove. Her t-shirt was plastered to her back and her hair hung limply in damp plaits, salty tendrils stuck to her cheeks. She dropped Jo Friday onto the boardwalk and pulled out her phone.
She tapped out a quick text to Maura. I'm here. Please tell me you have beer. Ice cold beer. She added an emoticon of a smiley face with exed-out dead eyes.
The reply came immediately. Doctor's Walk is the eighth in. I will meet you halfway, maybe 3/8ths of the way since you have longer legs.
Five minutes later she saw Maura, cheerfully waving in her black scrubs and matching crocs, her golden hair bouncing on her shoulders as she walked. Her hands were suspiciously empty of beer. Jane groaned.
They met on the corner of Gerard and Lewis. Maura smiled, her dimples popping and hazel eyes shining with happiness. She tilted her face up and kissed Jane softly on the mouth, her pink tongue darting quickly over her girlfriend's lips and flicking briefly against Jane's teeth and tongue.
"You taste like peanut butter and Dr. Pepper, Detective."
"And you have a fine palate, Doctor, but can you distinguish the jelly that accompanied my peanut butter?"
Maura leaned in again, kissing deeper, her tongue probing the roof of Jane's mouth and swirling around her tongue. She pulled back, sucking at Jane's lower lip until it released with a pop.
"Boysenberry and…damson plum, but I also detect pizza and Dentine gum."
Jane pulled her in for a tight hug. "Even your mouth is a genius. I'm in awe."
Maura laughed and bent to pat Jo Friday on the head. "I'm so glad to see both of my girls. Let me help you with your luggage, and then we'll go home and get you both a cold drink."
"I got it, Maur." Jane gestured to the gym bag on the boardwalk beside her.
"That's all you brought? Impossible. You simply left the greater part of your luggage at the pier in the Pines. No worries, Jane, we can send a water taxi to collect the rest later."
"The only thing I left in the Pines was a small pile of Jo's poop, right off the side of Fire Island Boulevard."
"Jane, that's…" Maura shook her head, flabbergasted.
"I forgot the biodegradable poop bags, so I just left the poop to biodegrade on its own."
"I'm not talking about the feces. How can you possibly live for two weeks out of one small gym bag?"
Jane hefted the bag from where it lay at her feet; it was light and for that she was grateful, having carried through scrub brush for over a mile. "I have all I need, babe, my strap-on and change of underwear."
The doctor looked stricken. "I knew I should have packed for you. Didn't you read my list?" She whipped out her iphone and began tapping at the screen. "I copied myself on that email. Here, item number 7— a minimum of 28 clean pairs of panties. Do you see?"
Jane looked over her shoulder, taking advantage of her greater height to rest her nose in silky strawberry-blond tresses. She inhaled deeply; Maura smelled like vanilla bean and sandalwood with just a hint of salty sea air. The familiar scent traveled quickly to the pleasure center of her brain, acting like a drug. Jane Rizzoli was intoxicated with love, high with desire, infused with the well-being that proximity to Maura granted her; her skin tingled, her sex pulsed, she felt alive.
"I don't think I own 28 pairs of panties, babe."
"This is serious, Jane, there are no laundry facilities on the island."
"Well, I guess I'll just have to go 'Orlando.'"
Maura opened her mouth to complain, then shut it, her pique instantly evaporated at the thought of her girlfriend wearing nothing but frayed denim shorts, the well-worn material the only barrier between her own hand and the firm muscles of Jane's lower abdomen and beneath that, the wet heat of her sex. She licked her lips. Not wearing panties was unhygienic, but they were on vacation, at the beach. In a few days Jane would be bronzed from the sun. She imagined her hands on the sharp hipbones protruding above the waistband of Jane's shorts, she'd push them down, exposing the dark glossy hair at the apex of those sun-kissed thighs. She wrapped an arm around Jane's small waist and pulled her close. The side of a firm breast pressed into her collarbone and she trembled at the contact.
Jane pulled her in closer, trailing kisses up her neck to her temple and back. It felt so good to stand in the middle of the street lavishing Maura with the love she deserved. They never hid their relationship in Boston, often walked Boylston Street holding hands, but here they both felt freer still, almost giddy.
Maura pulled back to look into Jane's dark eyes. "Is that really all you brought? A sex toy and one pair of panties?"
"Well… there may be one other thing in the bag."
"A swimsuit, I hope."
"Yes, that…and something else. Close your eyes."
She sighed, but did what she was asked. Jane rooted around in the bottom of bag until she found a small blue box. "Don't peek."
"I never peek, Jane, that would be dishonest."
"Okay. Open them."
When she did, Jane was kneeling on the boardwalk, toying with something near Jo Friday's neck.
"What's wrong, Jane? Does she have a tick?"
"I don't know, Maur. Maybe you should take a look."
Maura squatted beside her and began running her fingers through long tan fur, parting it to examine the skin beneath. The sun sluiced through the foliage above and a bright glint caught her eye, drawing her gaze to the little dog's collar. "Oh…Oh, Jane."
"Marry me?"