Ruby joined Coral and me at the yacht club bar. The brunette emerged, a surprise, in a red skirt, stockings and heels; the latter provided height, plus her ponytail flying high. We three celebrated her win at her dad's request. He brought us non-alcoholic beverages, as we were not yet eighteen.
Ruby's dad clutched the silver sail-shaped trophy, delighted in showing it off at the bar. He kept calling the brunette his princess to everyone as he shouted for free drinks. Ruby pulled faces at Coral behind her father's back as his praise descended to cloy.
The brunette escaped the mushy lauding by snatching at Coral's hand and hitting the dance floor, aware Josh was Coral's priority, and she would leave. I admit they danced well as a pair, close and attuned. Heels titivated Ruby, and she matched Coral's technique in flats.
The girls forgot the public location and enjoyed uninhibited hip-to-hip bumps. I noticed Ruby's momma, arms folded, unimpressed, talking to a friend. Coral stayed longer than intended, cutting it fine as she embraced her girlfriend before exiting for 'Josh time.'
The golden girl ambled, heading through the door, when Ruby called, "Your sunnies, sweet pea."
Coral sauntered to her girlfriend, catwalk style. Ruby caressed the sunglasses she had snatched off a side table. Coral extended her hand to collect them, yet the brunette brushed her hand aside—the pixie's fancy broadcast and exposed as it infiltrated her fingers.
Arching on her heeled feet, Ruby set the sunglasses on Coral's ears. Her fingers lingered and tarried, tracing each lobe. The golden girl tottered, swayed or trembled. Then gave a low-five and capered off to Josh.
Arianna nudged me.
"Ruby needs company, Luke."
She said this as we watched her daughter stare out the double glass doors—a last glimpse of Coral.
I hesitated.
Ruby, in her pivot, read her mother's face. She raced over, grabbed my hand, and dragged me to the mezzanine balcony, which overlooked the marina and the bay — the maximum venue distance between herself and her mum.
Ruby played the daughter her mother expected. She selected the topic to engage me, Coral's clothes today. I joined Ruby's farce, created to please her mother.
As the sun set across Port Phillip Bay, I listened to Ruby whilst gazing over her shoulder. The twilight made me think of Marin.
I thought of his watercolour titled Sunset. No dusk ever looked like Marin's, even post Sodom and Gomorrah. Five circles compose his sun. There is unpolished ruby red at the centre. Around this, a softer watermelon hue. Jade green, moving wider in the image, is surrounded by a delicate, thin charcoal line. Finally, the outer expanded orb is a frame within the frame of the work.
Marin recorded what his inner eye contemplated and brushed it. I gazed at the darkening water of the bay. Horizon light rays skipped on the sea. The marina lights flickered on as the sun sank. Transition is personal, but the sun posed as a pink pearl. It liquefied wide, reminding me of suffused rose water. Exquisite and arresting, like Ruby sailing.
The brunette spun to see what held my gaze.
"Whatever you are looking for, it's not there."
"The vanishing point," I said, composed.
"Oh, that's there. We vanish," a snideness in Ruby's tone.
She brushed compactly beside me, her toned bicep at my lower forearm.
"No, the associations don't," I said, risking her sass.
We rubbed shoulders as close as the pappus of a dandelion, yet she deigned no glance at me. I thought the jetty and its boats lured her attention until she spoke.
"Aren't there incidents you want to lose from your life?" — a wistful undertone in her slow words.
Poised, she created an impression of being so much younger. I turned; she stared straight at nothing. Seemingly, she looked inward and shut a door.
Yet, she left behind her inner pensiveness as the enveloping darkness allowed her to reveal her murkier thoughts. Ruby started dissing Josh, and her earlier apprehension dispersed. Her mother, chummy and social, danced in a lady's group, and her dad occupied the bar drinking, back slapping a young deckhand.
"Coral's too good for Josh."
My bestie is too good for you; I only thought it.
Ruby, in a corralling gesture, drew me inside.
I said, "We don't love the same," aiming to support Coral, yet I let slip my yearning.
The brunette ignored my divulging of the word.
Ruby kept her focus on Josh.
"No, he doesn't try. He's not worth her enthusiasm."
I smirked as her arms waved to support her words, raised like her mother.
"It's one-sided Coral input," she said.
The brunette saw Josh as Coral's weak point.
My face held straight.
"Josh tries."
I started without conviction.
"No flesh breaks commitment," she interrupted me, and she sounded no argument sure.
I conceded because Ruby's opinions were too brutal to match.
Coral content in life, I hoped.
If my buddy believed Josh was a mouldable devotion, I sighed; he was hers to mould.
He might take a fair while to shape, I mused.
"Enjoy your vanishing sunshine till I get back."
And offering no reason, Ruby dashed across the crowded dance floor.
I couldn't recapture what I sensed in the sunset. With a blank stare, I followed the jetty line and the lapping inky bay ripples before Ruby bounced into view, minus her heels and stockings. Her petite bare feet and cute toes were worthy of dating.
"Okay, let's dance," she urged, surprising me by interlocking my hand.
As fast, she let it go.
"Let's get a drink first. I don't want you thirsty on the floor or for me!"
Ruby gave a self-satisfied chuckle before we brought a milkshake from the bar: a bar minus her dad, who lurked unseen.
"Puppy-boy," she proclaimed, emptying her tall glass, "We are dancing, nothing more, and you know why. Let's go."
Ruby then double-elbow nudged me, and I joined her on the dance floor, my shake unfinished.
Impersonal personified our dancing and an ample gap between us. Seated and drinking with friends, Arianna raised her glass in my direction. I laughed internally; I felt a part of an old-fashioned dance card.
Filler for Ruby!
I would never get close enough to tread on or tickle the brunette's cute toes. I wasn't aiming to. On the dance floor, I let Ruby use me.
A few dances into the night, a middle-aged guy said to Ruby, "Good looking boyfriend."
The brunette's eyes averted, and she pursed, sealing her lips in a closed smile. I watched her toes to avoid treading on them. Delicate and dainty, manicured nails, pretty toes.
"Too far south, boy; get your eyes up."
Ruby flipped my chin.
As she twirled, she muttered, "Why are men obsessed with toes?"
I tingled, embarrassed, as I tried to understand the brunette's meaning: men, man? I remained too scared to inquire in case she snapped further. Next, I wondered if her comment had a more profound personal significance. This loomed murky, so instead, I swayed around, mirroring her movements—a straightforward decision versus thinking about or looking at her toes.
Time passed, grooving to seventies pop. Ruby danced carefree. She gazed anywhere, avoiding me, and my glances around the club averted Ruby's eyes. Yet, I appreciated her red skirt swirling and the crimp of her toes.
Around eleven o'clock, Ruby stunned me during a break between songs.
No pussyfooting by the brunette, blunt and direct; "Do you think Coral fibs about Josh not petting her?"
"Shh," I responded, a finger to my lips.
I trusted Coral.
Ruby should do the same.
The next song played. Ruby left her thoughts on Coral between her bouncing ponytail and tapping toes. The brunette and I foreclosed on exchanging words during the last hour of the dinner dance. Instead, as the night ticked towards midnight, we combined in semblance dancing. Ruby rocked and jived, all confidence, as I compliantly swayed.
The minx appeared to exude outward self-direction towards whatever life threw at her. In contrast, I burrowed into my shell, the quiet place where we don't need words.