Harvest Festival
Marilla and Jean's relationship grew more serious. It had been a long time between caresses for Marilla; not since she broke up with John Blythe had a man kissed her. Jean was particularly skilled in that endeavour; long long moments would pass as they passionately explored each other but Jean always tried for more. His hands snaked around her torso, attempting to infiltrate her girdle. "Mmf no," Marilla would break apart when he grew too insistent.
"C'mon, Marilla. I want you, I need you," he would implore. But she was insistent, no premarital sex. "You're so old fashioned," he would say pouting.
"Maybe I am, but nice girls don't do it without a ring on their finger." Marilla had seen what had happened to her friend Rachel. One fling got her stuck with the detestable Thomas Lydne. She very much did not want that to happen to her, even if Jean was nothing like Thomas.
"Marilla, could you prepare this financial report for me. I mean I could do it…"
"Of course, M. Pouse." Marilla still hated calling him monsieur at work, it seemed wrong somehow, when she knew him so well; but he insisted and frowned when she slipped up. He had spoken to her when they were out the other day. He had pulled away from their kissing session on a park bench to admonish her. Her lips still bruised from his kisses, "it's not a good look. You are my subordinate, you need to show our colleagues you respect me, you understand don't you sweetheart?"
"Mm hm," Marilla nodded. "Of course, I do." The reason she slipped up all the time was because she didn't really. What made it worse was that he called her colleagues Miss and Mrs respectively but still called her Marilla, because you're my girl," he explained. Though why it didn't work both ways he never explained.
Marilla stayed back late that night finishing off the report. It involved pulling down heavy ledgers from shelves in the filing room and meticulously copying down figures in a large spreadsheet. Everyone was long gone by the time Marilla placed the typed document on Jean's desk to be presented at his meeting the next morning. He was so overwrought the next morning he forgot to thank her.
He did find time to talk to her after lunch when he called her into his office over the intercom. Marilla hoped he would finally thank her for all her hard work. She knocked gently and waited until he waved at her through the office window. He was just finishing up a hearty phone conversation in which he organised a golf game the following week. When he hung up, he asked Marilla to close the door. She sat on the edge of her chair. "Marilla," he started. "There's been a complaint."
Marilla was shocked, "a, a complaint?"
"Yes, the other managers think you are a bit too familiar with me."
"Don't they know we, um, we…"
"It's not common knowledge and even if it were, I think you should be more respectful of my position. They're concerned that if you are so casual with me, they may be next."
Marilla felt sick and decided to change the subject, "how did your meeting go? Was the report okay?"
"We didn't get around to looking at it yet. I may have been a bit over eager." He smiled magnanimously at her. "I hope you didn't work too late. Of course, next week the figures will need to be updated. I'll let you know." Marilla nodded. "Anyway, back to the original matter, just be a bit careful you know," he smiled at her condescendingly.
Marilla had to get out of there, she felt like she might throw up. She got to her feet and backed out, searching blindly for the doorknob. Feeling rather like she was leaving a royal throne room.
Jean sprung an impromptu trip to the beach on her. After work one day they drove down to the foreshore and sat looking out at the vista for a moment. The beach looked inviting, a cool breeze blew off the water and the red sand beckoned. Jean parked the car behind a tree in the car park. Want a swim?" he offered.
"Oh, if only I'd known. I didn't bring my swimming costume," Marilla said forlornly. The water did look inviting.
Jean got out of the car and opened the trunk, "here try this," he flung an old swimming costume at Marilla who caught them inexpertly, not questioning why he had a spare bikini in his car. Shyly she turned away from Jean who was only able to appraise her from behind for a moment before he put on his trunks. He looked at Marilla once she had gotten changed, the swim suit wasn't exactly the right size, you could see stray strands of hair hanging out the bottom and the top was too big for Marilla's small breasts, but it would do in a pinch. "Here's a towel too," Jean handed the garishly coloured thing to Marilla who wrapped it around her skinny body.
Jean handed a basket over to Marilla to carry and then they made their way down to the water. "Here," declared Jean as he laid out his towel and plonked himself down on top of it. Marilla nodded as she set the basket down. It had been heavier and more unwieldy than she expected. She kneeled next to Jean to catch her breath. Jean watched her and just as she seemed to be settling down, got to his feet and caught Marilla by the arm pulling her up saying, "c'mon, let's go in."
Eagerly, laughing Marilla chased Jean tripping slightly over her own feet as she raced down the beach. The water was freezing, "bracing," Jean called it in a slightly higher pitched voice than usual before he effortlessly dived under a wave resurfacing in an iridescent bow wave. He turned over to float on his back, chestnut-brown nipples tight from the cold. He laughed at Marilla who stood hip deep in the water, her arms wrapped protectively around her chest. "It's gorgeous, c'mon."
Tentatively, Marilla stuck out her right foot to take one step further in, jumping slightly as a wave threatened to submerge her stomach. She always found this the hardest part, but she had to do it at her own pace. Suddenly she found herself drenched by a spray of icy water and she screamed just a little. Hearing Jean hoot with laughter did not help, but she was determined to get in, even if her shoulders were now cold and goosebumpy. Jean swam around her and called out initially encouraging but soon teasing words. He started splashing her, and she shrieked imploring him to stop, but a massive bow-wave of water drenched her mid scream and all she got was a mouthful of salty water.
Later they lay on their towels letting the sun dry their bodies. The drying salt itched Marilla's skin, she lay on her back with her arm shielding her eyes from the sun. Jean naturally had a hat and sunglasses which he wore looking very sophisticated. Marilla felt ungainly beside him. "Drink?" offered Jean. The beach was deserted now; the crowds that had come down for a quick dip after work had left to do whatever it was they did in the evening, leaving Jean and Marilla lying on their towels. Jean turned over towards her and pulled her closer sneaking his hand over her breast. "Jean! We can't," Marilla protested pitifully.
"Sh, there's no one here we can do what we like." Marilla let herself be pulled into his embrace, his cold arms wrapped around her. His soft goatee brushed across her lips. All her protestations subsided as he kissed her on the deserted foreshore. She always expected the beach would be divine place to do it, but in truth it was cold, hard and uncomfortable. She was unable to relax for fear they'd be caught. She wriggled away from Jean and firmly said, "no." He swore, stuffed his towel into the basket and strode back to the car wordlessly; she scrambled to follow him lest she be left behind.
The Harvest Festival Dance loomed. Jean hadn't officially asked Marilla, but she hoped he would soon. She kept dropping hints which he casually deflected. Eventually he presented her with a new dress he'd found in town. "Maybe you'd like to wear it to the dance?" he suggested as Marilla threw herself into his arms.
She tried it on in the bathroom, still not entirely comfortable undressing in front of him. The light blue dress matched her eyes. When she emerged, he asked her to twirl around for him, her hem swirled around her ankles most fetchingly. She grinned at him and told him how lovey it was. "Hm," he said. "It's not too bad. If you had a bigger bust it would look amazing." Marilla was disappointed. She loved the dress but there wasn't much she could do in a short time to make her diminutive breasts larger.
Her bust was the one part of her anatomy she truly despised. She'd tried a supplement she'd seen advertised in a magazine; 'Flat chested girls despair no longer. Build a bigger bust! Beauti-Breast of Paris will grow your bust by 3 inches! 99% effective!' it had promised. Accompanying before and after pictures assured a happy outcome. She had sent away some hard-earned money in a money order and received a suspicious contraption called the 'Hydrotherapy Cup'. She had used it religiously once a day for a month; measuring her chest at the end of every week. The cup proved useless, evidently Marilla was one of the unfortunate 1%. Another advertisement told her that chest exercises could help, but yet again as hard as she trained her breasts remained as flat as fried eggs on a skillet.
Jean turned away leaving her standing forlornly by the window. "I suppose it'll have to do," he muttered over his shoulder. Marilla turned to get changed back into her work clothes and when she remerged Jean asked her to massage his shoulders because, as he put it, "I'm tired after my big week."
Marilla put her hands on his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of his muscles under her hands and they chatted about the dance and who they expected to meet there. Marilla promised to introduce him to all of her friends, she was sure they would all love him.
The church hall looked so merry that night; the roof line was festooned with white fairy lights and a myriad of small lamps hung from the veranda, looking like stationary fireflies. Folk were milling around outside chatting, smoking; the boys looking very smart in their suits, beautiful girls showing off their new frocks. An old-fashioned hay wain was loaded with pumpkins and assorted foodstuffs adding to the harvest theme.
Marilla was delighted to introduce Jean. Lavender Lewis was there with her beau Stephen Irving, and even Hester Murray and Jordan Gray made an appearance. They politely chatted to Jean and Marilla until the band struck up with a jaunty tune and they all raced out to the dance floor to dance the jitterbug. Eventually hot and sweating Marilla and Jean stumbled off the dance floor. Marilla stood at the side panting. "Want a drink?" Jean asked her.
Marilla turned her red face to him and nodded, breathing hard after her exertions. Jean disappeared while Marilla caught her breath. She stood alone surrounded by happy groups yelling above the music; her left hand clasped her right elbow feeling a bit awkward. Jean did not reappear, but she could hear his infectious laugh at the other end of the hall. Craning her neck, she could just make him out surrounded by a giggling coterie. Marilla glanced around uncomfortably, tapping her foot now. She would wait a while longer and then, well then, she had no idea what to do. It was only when she spied John Blythe approaching with a friendly smile on his face his pretty new girlfriend in tow that she knew she had to escape. There was no way she could face him tonight of all nights. Abruptly she turned on her heel looking for the restroom and had to turn again when she couldn't see it. Of course, it had to be located over John's shoulder. She stormed past him ignoring his entreaties to stop and meet his new girl.
There was a long queue and when Marilla stopped to listen the talk was of some exotic man with an exquisite accent. Ugh, was there a single woman in the place Jean had not flirted with? Yes, there was, she thought - her.
Eventually her friends found Marilla standing alone by the drinks table. "Where's Jean disappeared to?" Lavender asked kindly.
"He's over there," Marilla gesticulated with a shake of her head. Lavender's eyes followed and she saw Jean's curly brown locks jutting above a coterie of laughing women. "Oh Marilla."
"Don't say anything, just don't okay. It's alright, I mean I can't stop him from having a good time, can I?" Marilla spoke in a deadpan manner, trying to hide her hurt.
"Well, I suppose not. Still he did…" She paused as Marilla put up her hand to stop her; choking back the words she was about to say. They stood around then awkwardly trying to make conversation, but Marilla's attention was very much not on them, rather on the man at the opposite end of the room.
Eventually Jean did remember that he had brought a date. Marilla watched as he excused himself from the pack and wove his way back through the crowd. "Having a goo time, M'rilla," he slurred pawing her ineffectually.
Angrily she batted him away, "are you drunk?"
"Mi have had a couple," he swallowed heavily and belched in her face, the stale beer fumes smelt revolting. "Iss a party after all, ya should live a little, M'rilla. You're always so upti," he weaved in front of her. "Here gimme a kiss, you never kiss me enough," he leant across her and attempted to fondle her breasts, the ones he said were too small. His hot beery breath caught in her throat and his goatee roughly rubbed against her cheek. She tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and she found herself pushed against the wall, powerless; his hands groping her through her dress.
Just when she was worried something might truly go wrong, he was roughly pulled away. Stephen Irving had seen him in play from across the room, but it had taken him some time to find a way through the crowd to come to her rescue. "Alri, alri," Jean backed away, stumbling in his effort to get away from Stephen's menacing fists.
The crowd turned to watch the drama unfold, several women gasped when it looked as though their handsome Jean might be punched.
"Leave her alone," Stephen growled. "Just leave her alone."
"No, it's alright, Stephen. Thank you." Marilla turned to help Jean putting an arm out to fend Stephen off.
"He's a maniac that guy, why do you like him?" Jean said, suddenly sober.
"Sh, sh," Marilla placated.
"I'm not having any fun, I'm leaving. Coming?" he asked Marilla abruptly.
"You're not driving, are you? You're too drunk. Let me drive," Marilla tried to wrestle the car keys out of his hands.
"No!" he shouted, suddenly escalating the situation. "No woman's driving my car." He shoved her out of the way and climbed into the car. "You comin'?" Marilla shook her head, unwilling to get in the car with him in that state. "Your loss," Jean spat at her and revved the engine as he drove off without a backwards glance. Marilla could feel the heat of the exhaust dissipating on her bare legs.
Stephen and Lavender were there when Marilla needed them. She climbed into their backseat and they took her home, kindly not saying a word about the situation.
That night as she was undressing for bed. she heard the phone ring downstairs, its strident tones waking up the whole family. "Marilla!" her father called. "It's Jean, he's had an accident."