"Food is usually nice."

We'd gotten into the car. He leaned over and did a Groucho Marx eyebrow wiggle. "I could suggest something else to eat."

"If you want to get your face slapped, you could."

He smiled, sitting back and turning on the engine. "I'm gonna wear you down. Seriously, anywhere particular you'd like to go?"

"Somewhere that doesn't have a drive-thu. Maybe even somewhere that has actual cloth napkins, and you don't have to walk through a serving line."

"Would seafood be all right?"

"Considering where we are, it bloody well better be, but that's usually kind of expensive. Let me check my purse, and..."

He pulled over to the side and put the car in park. Then he reached over and put his hand in my hair, holding my head steady so that I was looking at him. "Repeat after me: I'm out with Lawrence, this is a date--he pays."

"He pays with bruises and a bloody nose if he doesn't let go of my hair." Lawrence let go. I smoothed my hair back (yeah, right, stop laughing. It has happened--occasionally). "All right, if you insist on seeing this as a date--fine. But I'm going to warn you--I haven't had a hell of a lot of opportunities, so I'm not going to feel obligated to play by fifties dating ettiquette and spare your wallet."

There was a nice seafood restaurant nearby (what a shock). Lawrence once again managed to surprise me by holding my chair for me. He pulled one out, and I started to reach for the other. He grabbed my wrist and said, "Uh, Scribe? Notice that I'm standing beind this chair."

I eyed him. "Understand this Lawrence--in my life a situation like this might end with the chair being jerked away."

"Trust me."

"Mom always said to run when a man said that to me, but here goes." I sat, and the chair was gently tucked under and moved up. "I feel like I should be snapping a fan."

I ended up being glad that he was paying, because the place was not cheap. In fact, I wondered how he could afford it on the sort of salary I figured Conner was paying him. I made a note to find out what his favorite kind of cookie or cake was and fix it before the week was out.

We shared an order of fried mushrooms, after I flatly refused to try calimari. "I know what that stuff IS, Lawrence. I'd rather not try to eat anything that would normally give me nightmares in its living state. That's why I don't eat alligator, rattlesnake, gar fish, or escargot. It took me years to overcome my food prejudices and eat oysters, and they still have to be fried."

"Is it going to bother you if I have some raw?"

"You're not going to chew, are you?"

"Lord, no! You just let 'em slide down."

"It won't bother me, then."

He leaned an elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand, and said slyly, "They're considered an aphrodisiac, you know."

I snorted. "So is chocolate, and I don't go jump someone after I have a Hershey bar." I pretended to think. "Godiva might be a different story."

"I wonder if they have an outlet on the island?" I fanned him with the menu.

I had the Admiral's Feast--an overflowing platter of french fries, fried fish, crawfish, shrimp, oysters, barbequed crab, broiled scallops, and seafood jambalaya, with a cup of shrimp gumbo instead of a salad. Lawrence had a whole lobster, along with the oysters. It was a hoot, seeing him wearing a bib. I started to say something, but he'd caught me eyeing it, and shook a lobster claw at me. "Not a word about 'junior', or anything like that."

"Moi?"

"Vou. And don't you like barbequed crab? You haven't touched yours."

"I can't eat them right--I'm too much of a klutz. I can't get the meat out, and I end up just sucking on them for the flavor."

He grinned at me. "Go ahead."

"Somehow I don't think you need any encouragement, you dog."

"Woof."

I was just the right side of uncomfortably full when we left. As we got in the car, I sighed, "I hope they've assigned cooks for tonight, because I'm not gonna want to mess with food for some time to come."

"We should be safe as long as it's anyone but Boz, and if it's him, hopefully he'll have enough sense to go pick something up. Where to now?"

"Back to the cabin. Screw that walking around to settle lunch nonsense."

"Sure. The meeting should be safely over by now."

The others were all back out on the sand when we returned. I shook my head. "They're all going to look like mahogany sculptures by the time this is over, and I'm going to be the only alabaster one."

"I'm going to try to work you up to a nice, oh, say, oak tone."

"Dreeeeam, dream. Dream, dream, dream..." I sang, to the tune of 'All I Have to Do Is Dream'. "I'm lucky I didn't end up a lobster after yesterday. I don't tan--I burn and peel, burn and peel."

"We'll have to be careful. There's a canvas cabana in one of the closets--you know, an open fronted tent affair? I'll get some of the others to help me put it up--you go put on your new outfit."

"My new... Oh, no you don't!"

"Scribe."

"No. You're not supposed to go in the water for an hour after you eat. Everyone knows that."

"You won't be in the water. You'll be lounging comfortably in the shade."

"No."

"I'll take back the cover-up."

I clutched the bag as we started up the stairs. "I'll tell the world you're an Indian giver."

He stuck his tongue out at me. "Whose side do you think they'll be on?"

"You're an evil, wicked, demanding thing, and I don't like you one little bit. Okay. Just stop threatening my cat stuff."

"Mwha ha ha! I love it when I find a button."

He was dragging a large roll of candy-striped canvas out of the downstairs closet. "Just see if you can't get that camera away from Charlie, will you?"

"I promise nothing." He was pulling out brace poles. "Charlie would get me on film if I tried anything, and I don't attempt mischief if there's a chance of photographic evidence."

"Coward." I went into the bathroom and got into the bathing suit. It had been a long time since I'd worn one, and it was more comfortable than I remembered. There wasn't a full length mirror (I should probably have been grateful for that--I doubt I'd have had enough courage to go out in it if I'd seen myself), but from what I could see, it didn't look too bad. *Anyway, it's not like anyone is going to see it,* I thought in satisfaction as I put on the cover-up.

They were putting the finishing touches on the canvas cabana by the time I got down to the beach. Lawrence had dragooned the entire group onto working on construction. Well... almost all of them. Boz was 'supervising', and Charlie was, of course, recording it on film for posterity.

Lawrence was pounding a final stake into the sand (they'd had to dig away a lot of loose sand to reach anything firm enough to actually hold a stake). He glanced up as I approached, and grinned, then called, "Are you wearing the suit under that?"

"I'd damn sure better be," I answered. "This isn't a nude beach."

Charlie approached with his camera. "New wardrobe! Let's see, Scribe."

I clutched the robe tighter. "Go shoot the seagulls, Charlie."

"Their legs are too skinny. C'mon, this is significant for the issue we'll do about this trip. The sort of beachware our staff buys."

I turned, looking back over my shoulder so he could have a good shot of the cat graphic. "You sure this is the image we want to project to our readers? Cat kitsch?"

He laughed, snapping away. "Quirky staff members. They'll love it. Now, let's see the suit."

"Dream on."

"Lawrence," Charlie called, "You slept with her--any blackmail material?"

I squeaked, "He occupied the porch with me--and he slept. That's it!"

Charlie lowered the camera, grinning, his eyes glinting. "That's all I wanted to know. You're still cherry."

I threw up my hands. "I'm being haunted!"

"We all are," said Conner wryly. "Look, we're all doing our bit, giving the readers their little beach fantasy, so you have to kick in with a few visuals, too." He crossed his arms. "The boss has spoken."

"No."

"Do it, or I'll make you cover politics for the magazine."

Everyone knows that I avoid the mere mention of politics like the plague. "And risk the believability of your fine publication?"

"I'll label it humor."

"You're a hard, cruel man. If anyone dares to start singing 'The Stripper', I'll call down a Baptist curse on your heads--you'll go on the visitation list of every Latter Day Saint and Jehovah's Witness withing a thousand mile radius."

"Watch it, friends," said Dan. "She's serious. I had an aunt who was a hellfire-and-brimstone Baptist, and believe me, when it comes to curses, the pagans have nothing on them."

"Very well." I loosened the sash of the coverup. "In honor of Isaac and Belinda," I gripped the edges of the robe and whipped it open. "Flash!"

*Flash*

"Damn, Charlie, do you need that flash attachment on such a sunny day?" I blinked specs out of my eyes, temporarily blinded.

"Oops, sorry. Have that in case it becomes overcast. They're predicting rain soon." Someone was flipping the skirt of the bathing suit. "You wearing bottoms under that?"

I still couldn't see entirely clearly, but he was close enough that I wasn't going to miss. I was charitable, and didn't slap his face--I just smacked him upside the head, at about third power. "Ow!" He stepped back and started snapping again. "Staff hellcat!" I threw up my hands in resignation.

I felt hands on my shoulders. Before I could whip around and administer another attitude adjustment, Lawrence said, "Allow me to help you with your wrap, m'lady."

I grabbed at the terrycloth. "You said I could keep it!"

"You can, but it's not meant as a permanent part of your wardrobe. It's supposed to be used only periodically. Now turn loose. I wouldn't mind wrestling with you, but not in public."

"Crap." I let my arms drop, and he took the robe. Charlie got after it again with the camera. "I'm going to have to buy every single copy of the damned 'Beach Retreat' issue. You're all welcome to attend the bonfire."

Lawrence draped the robe over one crooked arm, then bowed and gestured with the other, like a maitre de. "This way to your seat, madam. I have procurred for your comfort a blanket of the finest, least moth-eaten wool blend that was available in our closets."

The blanket, spread to its fullest, covered the floor of the cabana neatly, with scarcely an inch of sand showing all the way around. It looked nice and shady inside--pretty comfortable, actually. I bowed to Lawrence. "I consent to occupy this canvas contraption." I went in and sat down.

"Get comfy. I have to go change, and I'll be right back."

As he trotted off, I called, "Bring me a book!"

"Fat chance!"

"Snot." I settled back to gaze out at the ocean.

Charlie stepped in front of the cabana and snapped a picture. "Scribe-in-a-box."

"When was the last time someone punched you in the nose, Charlie?"

"Oh, I missed the hey-day of Sean Penn and Roseanne and Tom Arnold. Besides, I'm fast." He entered the cabana, and sprawled on the blanket beside me. "Have a nice time in town?"

"Nice enough, when you consider the fact that I'm being blackmailed with the threat of with holding of cat merchandise unless I embarrass myself in this green spandex."

"You look good in it. Did Lawrence pick it out?"

"Charlie, you saw MY idea of swimwear yesterday."

He smiled slyly. "Did he help you fit it?"

"Could you go five minutes without mentioning sex in any way if I gave you five dollars?"

"No." He cocked his head. "But if you have it tucked down your cleavage, I'LL give you five bucks to let me fish for it."

"Charlie, what is it with you? There's a clutch of good looking, available, interested girls out there. If Phil and Dan are in a swinging mood, you could explore your bi tendencies, or if Connor and Janice feel frisky, you could whip up a menage. Why aren't you out there leering at one of them?"

"They aren't virgins."

"Oh, Christ!" I flopped back on the blanket, arms outstretched. "It's a scrap of tissue! I might not even have it, after all the bicycle riding I did when I was a teenager. And there was that time I slipped on the balance beam and fell straddling the beam."

"It's not so much the physical reality, Scribe. It's the whole concept of virginity. The very idea of unexplored territory. You are unexplored, aren't you?" He reached over, hand drifting toward my breasts. "Any grope sessions?"

"If that hand lands, you lose it." He grinned, and leaned back on his elbows. "Aside from you grabbing me and humping my behind last night--no. Um, well... One kiss, with tongue."

"Oo!" He sat up. "Tell, tell!"

"Charlie, I'm not Catholic, and you sure aren't a priest..."

"You damn betcha I'm not!"

"...so confession just isn't going to happen."

He smirked. "That's all right. I think I can pretty well guess who it was. So, you only go for blondes?"

"Basing attraction strictly on hair color or body type is more a male characteristic, Charlie, and I'm not interested in getting in touch with my inner guy."

"I'd like to get in touch with your inner woman." I glared at him. "Then about my getting in touch with your outer woman?"

"Will you stop it? You're not obligated to try to make it with every female."

"I can't help it. It's a biological imperitive for a man to spread his seed."

"I have news for you--the human race is not in danger of extinction. Do you use protection when you have sex?"

"Of course!" He started digging in his pocket. "Don't worry, I have a selection."

"How thoughtful. If you use a rubber, then the 'sowing the seeds' bit pretty much goes by the wayside, doesn't it? If you want to spread your seed, go jerk off, Charlie. In fact, go fuck yourself."

"I love a fiesty woman."

I sighed deeply. "I'm beginning to think that all a woman needs to attract you is XX chromosomes."

He shrugged. "Not always. I once dated a really hot transexual..."

Lawrence appeared in the cabana entrance. He took in the scene, then planted his hands on his hips. "Charlie, you're parked in the wrong space. Haul it."

"C'mon, Larry, you had her all day." He smiled at Lawrence. "Or rather you didn't have her all day. I understand she's still pris-teen."

"And she isn't interested in having you grub her up, so scoot."

"There's room on the other side." Charlie batted his eyelashes at me (and the booger had eyelashes just as good as mine.) "How about it, Scribe? Wanna be between two men?"

I stood up. "You know, ususally you have to go as far as a drunken frat party to find such sophisticated patter. I'm going to go gather shells." I cast a jaundice eye on a grinning, unrepentant Charlie. "Maybe I can find one with a sharp edge to keep under my pillow."