FREEDOM (excerpt) by Jay Humphrey
They say in vino veritas. Well, it’s sure true that a bottle of wine and a few Mai Tais will kinda make you feel like, you know, just go for it! Or was it the seven-year itch? My wife Jennie and I had been married about seven years. All I know is that Freedée walked up to me in the downtown Papeete gallery, put her hand on my shoulder, stretched up to my ear, and whispered, “My name is Freedée. That means freedom.” Then she licked my ear—only a little flick. I just stood there. In shock, I guess. She grabbed my arm and started to show me around the paintings.
Well. Freedée. There she was. Five foot three inches of bronze-skinned, black-haired, dark-eyed Tahitian … energy. She looked just like the woman on a South Seas calendar that, as a teenager, I’d pinned on my bedroom wall back in Cleveland. When Jennie and I married and got our own place, she let me keep the picture tacked up in the garage next to my workbench.
Freedée stopped. “This one’s of me,” she said, pointing to a beautiful nude. “The artist is a friend of mine. Are you an artist? Maybe you’d like to paint me? Think you’re up to it?”
What did she mean by that? Was that a kind of, you know, racy joke? I sort of hedged my bets in answering. “I think so, I guess, if I understand you, that is.”
“So you do talk,” she purred.
“Yes, I do,” I said proudly. I was feeling pretty good.
I should tell you my name. It’s Gerry Smythe, a common name, except for the spelling. I think the “y” and the “e” give it a touch of class. But I’m really just an ordinary guy, I guess. I’ve been a loan officer in a bank for eight years. Not a very exciting job, but it’s stable. In these crazy times, it’s good to have an anchor you can trust. You know, meat and potatoes on the table, and next month’s rent pretty much guaranteed.
I’d dreamed of Tahiti ever since I got the calendar with the picture of that bare-breasted woman lying on the sand at the edge of an amazing blue lagoon. Not too many topless Tahitians in Cleveland. Except for maybe at Cheetahs, but I certainly don’t go there. So, finally, there I was. Jennie and I’d saved enough to take a seven-day, six-night vacation package to Tahiti. The first night, we’d seen a Tahitian dance show at the hotel. Man! Can those women move their hips! And the men, all that knee wobbling and thrusting! The whole thing’s, well, you know, kinda suggestive. Probably wouldn’t go over too well with our church group, but Jennie didn’t seem to mind. She’s such a good sport.
Speaking of the hotel, we loved the place. We even took pictures of the all-you-can-eat dinner buffet. Anyway, our second night in Papeete, we decided to check out the local art scene. And now this thing with Freedée was happening. I’m sure it’s every man’s fantasy. So what was wrong with this picture? You’ve probably guessed by now. Jennie. She had just returned from the bathroom, and was now standing about 20 feet from us, staring.
I’m sure it was the alcohol’s fault. We’d shared a bottle of French wine at a very late lunch around the hotel pool. The sun warmed our skin right through the canvas umbrella. After lunch, even with a coffee, I felt a little high. Back in our room, I’d hoped Jennie and I would maybe, you know … but she wanted to take a nap. So I went back down to the lobby, and read a book for a couple hours.
Just before sunset, we took a shower, then set out for our walk. A bar on the waterfront had a late happy hour, so each of us had a Mai Tai. It was a beautiful scene. Just the two of us, sitting there watching the surf break way out on the reef. We left the bar, and, thanks to the trusty tourist map from the hotel, we found the gallery we were looking for.
I love the way Jennie looked that evening. She had on a pair of tight white pants and a dark blue camisole kinda thing with a light purple Tahitian shawl over her shoulders. And she was wearing the dangly silver earnings that give her the gypsy look I like.
But, back to Freedée. Obviously, I should have pried loose from her then and there, as soon as I saw Jennie. I should have told Freedée I was married—I was wearing a ring—and pointed out Jennie as my wife. But, no. I didn’t. Anyway, I guess I was somewhat miffed at Jennie. I felt she was sort of taking me for granted. I mean, we’re in Tahiti, and she wants to take a nap? Okay, so maybe she wants a more exciting life than a banker can provide. But I’m tall, still slim, reddish hair. I’ve always thought of myself as a California surfer kinda guy. So what the hell. Sometimes, you know, you gotta take the bull by the horns. Why not play out this scene with Freedée a little? Show Jennie that I’m still attractive to other women. At least some other women. Well, one other woman. Apparently.
As Freedée began to explain another painting to me, she slipped her arm around my waist. At that, Jennie crossed the room and calmly planted herself right in front of the painting. She smiled at us, a big grin, but didn’t say a word. Just looked at us, smiling. Freedée looked her up and down. Of course, this was another moment for me to introduce Jennie, to explain the situation. Instead, I just stood there.
Freedée glared at Jennie. “Who are you?” she said, crisply enunciating each word.
Jennie looked at me. “Tell the nice lady, Gerald.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Freedée, I’ve been meaning to mention this to you. This is my wife, Jennie.”
“You brought your wife to Tahiti?”
Jennie took a couple steps toward Freedée and crossed her arms. “He didn’t bring me. We came here together. For a vacation,” Jennie said, a cat playing with a mouse before biting its head off.
But Freedée was no mouse. You couldn’t easily intimidate her. She tightened her arm around my waist. “So, American woman, you like the islands? The hot sun? The delicious, cool water? Sexy, no?” Jennie didn’t answer.
“Oh, yes, she loves it,” I said, casually trying to make Freedée’s arm go away from my waist. But she held on.
“My name is Freedée,” she said to Jennie. “That means freedom.” Continue Reading »
