Chapter 2: Slip, Slop, Slap
"Spotto!" Bazza exclaimed as Lester turned a corner and the ocean came into view. Despite my desire to keep the glistening waves in sight as long as possible, I found myself turning to see what the Australian was pointing at through the rear passenger window. Nothing of significance caught my eye, though, so I cut my gaze to the man just as he settled back in his seat with a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Gotta love the coast," he said. "Always a Spotto. Doesn't matter the country."
"What's a Spotto?" Binkie asked before I could form the same words on my own tongue.
Bazza's expression registered surprise for about a second before he shook his head. "Ya don't play Spotto here?"
"We might," Lester said slowly, glancing at the man in the rearview mirror as he paused the car at a stop sign. "If we knew what it was."
"It's a game ya play on long car rides," he explained, scratching the back of his head the way he always seemed to whenever he was explaining something about his culture. "Ya watch the cars out the window and when ya spot a yellow one ya yell Spotto."
"So it's like Punch Buggy?" I asked, likening it to the game Mom had banned in our car almost as soon as Val and I started playing it, just because Val couldn't handle being punched three times in a row.
"Nah yeah," - I think that was a yes - "- that's a good comparison," Bazza agreed. "Guess Aussie parents got sick of tears when their kids whalloped each other and changed to a non-contact sport."
"Yellow cars aren't that rare, though," Binkie pointed out. "We must have passed a dozen taxis before we even left Trenton, and what about school buses?"
Bazza shook his head. "Yeah nah." That one was a no, I was almost sure of it. He'd used that contradictory statement and it's counterpart so often during our shift together yesterday that I was pretty sure I was getting used to recognising when he meant yes and when he meant no, but thankfully there was almost always a follow-up statement that helped me confirm it. "Cars in uniform don't count. Taxis, school buses, if their dress code is yellow, it's a no-go. Lose a point if you call Spotto on one of those."
He spent the rest of the trip - what litter there was left of it - explaining the intricacies of the game until Lester pulled into the beach house Ranger and I had bought together as a wedding gift to ourselves. A warm, fuzzy feeling filled my chest just looking at it.
Point Pleasant has always been my happy place, but the time I'd been able to spend at the shore had grown sparse in recent years as my life spiralled into increasing bouts of chaos. One post-disaster, wind-down trip with Ranger, though, and a confession that staring at the ocean calmed my mind in ways I hadn't been able to replicate with any other method I'd tried, and the next thing I knew he was presenting me with a proposal - not the ring kind, because that rock was already on my finger and arrangements already underway for the wedding - to purchase a house on the beach so that we always had a refuge when we needed one
It had been a couple months since my last trip out here, and the fact that Ranger wasn't able to come caused a little pool of melancholy in the corner of my soul, but the fact that I had the guys with me meant that I likely wouldn't get too much of a chance to dwell on my husband's absence.
Realising that the Merry Men were more family than employees, we'd made sure to choose a house that had plenty of space to sleep a few men when we were looking at properties. This, I knew, was one of the main reasons I was immediately at the top of Binkie's list when he won a two hour surf lesson for a group of six people. If Ranger and I agreed, they could turn the trip into a weekend getaway.
Not that they couldn't have done so without either myself or Ranger along, but the free accommodation was a perk, and Ranger had a few stipulations attached to the semi-open invitation he'd proffered to our closest friends not long after we bought the house. The first being that no one but me and him were allowed in the master bedroom. Barring emergencies, of course.
We kept it locked and alarmed when we weren't there, but that didn't mean it was fully secure against the guys. They worked for the company that provided the security, they had their ways of getting around the system. And there was always the suspicion that the pranksters among the group, like Lester or Ram, would put all their skills to use to break into our private sanctuary just to prove they could. And, of course, in the case of Lester, to get under his cousin's skin.
The guys must have recognised this when Ranger laid down the rules, because so far they'd only been at the beach house when one or both of us was there. Perhaps as a show of good faith that they could behave.
We all piled out of the SUV and I sucked in a deep lungful of the salty sea air as Binkie and Les called greetings to the second carload of Merry Men, containing Ram, Bobby and Zip, that pulled into the driveway behind us. They started unloading the trunks while I skipped up the stairs to unlock the door, Bobby and Ram hot on my heels to do the mandatory security sweep of the building before we could all file in.
While they were working on that, I returned to the driveway, intending to retrieve my bag only to find that Uncle Bazza had already scooped it up along with his own and was heading my way.
"I can take mine," I offered, holding out a hand to do just that, but he waved me away.
"Do that and I'll stack it," he informed me.
"Stack it?" I repeated by way of asking for a translation. It was the simple system we'd settled into yesterday.
"Fall arse over tea kettle," he explained. "The bags have me perfectly balanced."
"Okay, well, thanks," I said, falling into step beside him on the way back to the porch.
"No wukkas," he replied, sliding me a half smile from under the worn hat that was once again back on his head. He never went anywhere outdoors without it on, I'd noticed.
"Don't know what that means," Lester said, coming up behind us hauling his own bag and one of the coolers we'd packed with drinks and food. "But you'll have to leave Steph's bag in the hall outside her room. No one's allowed inside."
Bazza looked from me to Les and back. "No one? Or just not him?"
"Not a soul," Les confirmed.
"My bets are on some kind of kinky sex dungeon set up that they don't want us to see, but I've known Steph has a kinky streak for years," Zip announced as he ascended the stairs behind us. "I mean, tell us what really happened when you were cuffed to the shower curtain r-OW! What was that for!?"
Lester shook his hand out as Zip rubbed at the back of his head. I felt a little better knowing that the guys could hurt themselves by hitting one another and it was a trait that wasn't strictly reserved for weaklings like me.
"You're gonna get us banned if you keep that up," Lester admonished.
"That's no way to talk to a Sheila," Bazza agreed just as Bobby and Ram reappeared announcing that the house was free of bogeymen.
"What's a Sheila?" Binkie asked in confusion.
I rolled my eyes. "I am," I said entering the house ahead of everyone else and making a beeline for the second level. "Everyone upstairs, we're gonna do this Storage Wars style."
"Do what?" Ram asked, jogging up behind me.
"I'm going to unlock the master suite and you'll be given 5 minutes to inspect the room from the doorway. You may not enter the room. A single toe past the threshold and you'll be on latrine duty for the rest of the year. You may not touch anything that is inside the room, either."
"How would we touch anything that's inside the room if we're not allowed inside the room?" Binkie asked from the back of the pack as they all gathered around the door to the main bedroom.
"At the end of the five minutes, are you gonna auction it off to the highest bidder?" Zip added before anyone could attend to the logic of Binkie's question. He quickly retracted the enquiry, though, when it earned him another thump to the back of the head from Lester.
I rolled my eyes. The further away from a work environment they were, the lower their maturity level. At the moment I would approximate their collective mental age to be around twenty-one, which was usually fine in small doses, but if this was what I had to look forward to for the rest of the weekend, well, there was a reason I was so disappointed when Ranger got called in for a consultation job this weekend other than the simple fact that we'd be apart for a couple of days. The guys didn't let the maturity drop as much when Ranger was around.
"Alright, you heard 'er," Bazza said, depositing my bag on the floor next to the door and stepping back. "Look with your eyes, not with your hands, and if anyone brings out their mobile for a happy snap I'll feed 'em to my pet snake."
"I bet any woman at the clubs would love to be fed to my pet sn-"
"Zip, I swear to god," Lester exclaimed, reaching past Bobby to shove him in the shoulder.
"You're all on thin ice," I told them. "Any more innuendos in the vicinity of me or my room and you can all go find a hotel room for the weekend. Understood?"
A smattering of 'yeses' accompanied a mock salute from Binkie, and I rolled my eyes again, turning to the panel beside the door and holding up my hand for it to scan. Hopefully, they'd get their sillies out now and I wouldn't have to put up with the frat boy antics all weekend.
"It's normal," Binkie pointed out, peering over Lester's shoulder into the room.
"Almost identical to their apartment on the seventh floor," Bobby agreed.
"That's disappointing," Les added, sidling out of the group and shouldering his duffle again. "Not even a hint of something worth hiding."
I rolled my eyes. "Are we all satisfied?" I took the nods and murmurs as confirmation and shooed them away from my door. "Go fight over your own bunks."
As they went to retrieve their packs, Binkie reminded us all that the surfing lesson was booked for two hours time, which gave us enough time to grab lunch at the boardwalk and let it settle before we plunged into the ocean.
"We'll meet downstairs in twenty minutes," Binkie concluded.
We all nodded agreement with the plan and as Uncle Bazza made his way down the stairs with his bag, presumably heading for one of the lower level bedrooms, he called over his shoulder, "Don't forget to slip, slop, slap."
My eyebrows shot up, cheeks heating at the suggestion as I caught the looks on the other guys' faces: confusion morphing into realisation. They seemed to contemplate it in silence for a few moments as Bazza disappeared from sight. Exchanging awkward glances, Lester tipped his head from side to side.
"I mean, it makes sense," he said. "Bound to be girls in bikinis. Whacking one out as a preventative measure is smart."
"Wouldn't wanna embarrass yourself," Ram agreed.
I shook my head and bent to hook the strap of my duffle, turning to retreat into my room. Sometimes, when they openly discussed things like that, I think they forgot that I wasn't one of the guys. Which was all well and good in some situations, but I did not need to hear my friends discussing the merits of using the next twenty minutes to masturbate. And I'd thought, as crude as Uncle Bazza could appear at first impression, that he was on my side this weekend. Hadn't I just said no more innuendo?
Hoisting the duffle onto the bed, I took a detour into the ensuite to use the facilities before I got changed and smiled at the memory of christening the shower with Ranger on our first stay here. I was almost inclined to take up Bazza's advice as well, as the memory caused a molten heat to pool low in my belly. But I couldn't bring myself to do it knowing the guys were down the hall, likely engaging in similar acts. Instead, I returned to the bedroom and texted my husband to let him know we had arrived safe and would be heading out for lunch soon.
His reply came only a moment later: a thumbs up, a thank you for keeping him updated, and an encouragement to have fun. It was a small gesture, but compared to the man of mystery act he'd shrouded himself in when we first met, the communication level he'd lifted to these days was huge. And, I guess my keeping him informed of my plans and whereabouts was a step up from my old habits of going off on my own without a plan. It was something we'd both worked hard on to improve once we finally managed to get on the same page at the same time about how we felt about each other.
I changed into my swimsuit and returned to take a picture in the mirror to send off to Ranger as a reward for using his words. It was a one piece with navy, high-waisted panties attached to a white and floral halter top, with a plunging V neckline, and I made sure to pose so all my best features were on display.
My phone was ringing on the counter a moment later as I French braided my hair back. I swiped to answer it and jabbed at the speaker button while I kept hold of the strands in my other hand, grinning into the mirror.
"Babe," he growled before I had a chance to greet him.
"You like the swimsuit?" I asked innocently.
"I like you in the swimsuit," he corrected. "I've got about 5 minutes before I've gotta go sit in another boring meeting and you in that suit will be all I'm thinking about."
I smiled harder down at the phone even though he couldn't see me. "You're welcome."
"How are the guys?" he asked. "Not too stupid?"
Tying off the end of my braid, I picked up the phone and carried it back to the bedroom where I flopped into my thinking position on the bed. "They're exactly as stupid as you'd think," I sighed. "I've had to ban innuendos already."
Ranger made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded mildly surprised. "That was fast."
"Yeah." I gave him the cliff notes version of Zips sex dungeon suspicions and how I'd shut them down.
"If they keep it up tell them-"
"That you'll meet them on the mats at oh-five-hundred?" I finished for him. "You gonna kick their asses for letting their hair down?"
"I'm gonna kick their asses for making you uncomfortable."
Speaking of uncomfortable… "Hey, have you heard of the phrase 'slip, slop, slap'?" I asked, aware that our call would be ending soon.
"Sounds like a Lester-ism for stroking his dick," Ranger said, his tone revealing how Lester making such comments in my presence made him feel. To be fair, though, a lot of what Lester did garnered that reaction from him. Some days, all Les had to do was breathe in his general direction and Ranger was on the verge of rage.
I shook my head. "Not a Lester-ism," I said. "Bazza told us all to remember to slip, slop, slap before we head out to lunch." I could almost feel the confusion in Ranger's brief silence. "It sounds like a euphemism, and the guys seemed to think so too, but I don't know. After spending the day with him yesterday, it doesn't strike me as the kind of thing he'd casually toss out, especially in front of a mixed group."
"And he didn't explain when you asked?" Ranger asked. I'd told him about the understanding we'd come to yesterday when he called me after dinner last night.
"I didn't get a chance."
Someone called Ranger's name in the background and he grunted back at them. "I've got a go, Babe. Keep me posted on the meaning, 'cause if-"
"Yeah, yeah, gym, mats, consequences," I waved him off verbally. "I'm sure it's fine."
"I love you, Babe," he said quietly, but with as much intensity as if he was directly in front of me. I could almost feel the heat of his hands on my waist, pulling me closer.
"I love you, too, Carlos."
We hung up, and I lay there for another minute or so until I heard footsteps and conversations heading back down the stairs. It was almost time to get going, I realised with a glance at the time on my phone display. I rolled off the bed and grabbed the matching cover-up that came with the swimsuit, (a navy wrap skirt with floral trim), and the beach tote I'd left by the dresser last trip that contained a small bottle of sunblock, a loose cotton button up, and a big floppy hat for keeping the sun away from my pasty-white skin. I'd learned my lesson with sunburns early in life. I added a fresh towel from the bathroom to the bag and slid my feet into my flip flops, calling myself ready to go.
Downstairs, the guys didn't appear to have changed at all. They were all still dressed in the clothes they'd arrived in, the only difference being that Binkie and Bobby had swapped out their sneakers for flip flops like the rest of us.
"Just gotta grab my thongs and I'll be ready," Bazza said, appearing at the sliding glass door from the back deck that looked out onto the private stretch of beach.
"Thongs?" I questioned, mortified by the image that flashed in my mind of Uncle Bazza in nothing but a g-string. It wasn't flattering, despite his obvious good physique, because I'd glimpsed the crisp lines where the tan ended on his biceps, meeting with pale flesh, clearly showing where his shirt sleeves typically ended. I imagined a similar line somewhere on his thighs, and the stark contrast along with the body hair, and the g-string… I suppressed a shudder.
"As in multiple?" Lester added, sounding just as aghast.
Bazza paused halfway across the living area, taking in our reactions. "Bugger," he muttered. "I meant flip flops."
Zip appeared skeptical. "Did you?"
"We call them thongs in Australia," he pointed out, and now that he mentioned it, it did sound familiar. "Or pluggers." He cast his eye over us all again for a second, then asked, "You all slip, slop, slap?"
The guys fidgeted, avoiding eye contact, but I just adjusted the weight of the tote on my shoulder. "Define slip, slop, slap?"
His eyes narrowed, probably realising that yet another phrase from his vocabulary wasn't universal. "Slip on a shirt, slop on sunscreen, and slap on a hat," he explained. "You guys don't have Sid the sun safe seagull here?"
I shook my head along with the Merry Men, and Bazza abandoned his previous course, tapping something into his phone as he came toward us. "Slip, slop, slap is a sun safety slogan that came out in, like, the 80s I think. Features a seagull with a lisp. Here, watch this while I grab my tho- uh, my flip flops." He handed me his phone where he'd cued up a YouTube video of an animated seagull who sang an admittedly catchy little tune that did indeed detail how to slip, slop, slap for sun safety. As it finished up, Uncle Bazza reappeared, from his room and took the phone back, explaining. "They updated it a few years back to add 'seek and slide' to the list for finding shade and putting on sunglasses, but I'll always think of the original. So, ready to go?"
"I don't know about anyone else, but I did not… slop," Zip said.
"Yeah, and I left my hat upstairs," Ram added.
Bazza sighed and swung his backpack around off one shoulder, extracting a massive pump pack of sunblock and setting it down on the end table. "Put it on, then go get ya hats," he instructed. "Ya 'sposed to apply ya sunscreen twenty minutes before ya go out in the sun." He shook his head in disappointment. "What the fuck did ya think I meant when I told ya to slip, slop, slap?"
"You, uh, don't wanna know," I assured him, reaching for the sunblock and squirting some into my hands. Thinking of Ranger's request for an update, I added, "Can you send me the link to that YouTube video?"
Happy Australia Day!