Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James Page A

swimsuit slips down over her shoulder and her breast is exposed. This makes her laugh some more, and she spins and squeals like an excited child, and pulls her other strap down so that both of her breasts are free. Then she cups them in her hands, lifts and squeezes so her nipples are pointed at Robbie.
    “Bang, bang, you’re dead,” she says.
    “Oh. Aaaaah.” Robbie clutches his chest and topples backward into the water.
    Alice turns to face me, nipples pointed.
    “No, no.” I laugh. “Please. Have mercy.”
    I see movement in the corner of my eye and turn to see a middleaged man and woman. They are walking past, staring, their faces stony with disapproval and disgust.
    Alice follows my gaze and sees them. I watch her expression change from one of laughing amusement to one of anger. Suddenly she turns so that she is facing the couple directly. She reaches behind herself and tugs at the string of her bikini top so that it swings loose in her hand; then she puts her hand on her bikini bottoms and pulls them down, steps out of them, and straightens up. She looks at the couple, naked and defiant, and smiles a cold, challenging smile.
    The man and woman rush away, red-faced, muttering and shaking their heads.
    Alice watches them go, then tips back her head and laughs.
    We feast that night on take-out hamburgers and fries. The fries are crunchy, the burgers juicy, and the three of us stuff ourselves. When we’ve finished, we spread out on the sofas and talk lazily about nothing much at all.
    “God, I hate people like that,” Alice says out of the blue.
    “Like what?”
    “Like those narrow-minded small-town hicks we saw at the beach today.”
    “Narrow-minded? Really? You’ve got them totally figured out?” Robbie looks at her curiously. “After seeing them for a total of five seconds?”
    “Small lives, bad haircuts, and horrible clothes. Fat and ugly to boot. The kind of people that vote for right-wing politicians and hate gays. The kind of people who say things like, She’s a nice girl, even if she’s black. I wouldn’t say I’d go as far as asking her to dinner, though.”
    I laugh at Alice’s wicked satire, assuming that she’s joking. But Robbie doesn’t laugh. He looks at Alice and shakes his head. “You can be such a bitch sometimes.”
    “That may be true, but I’m right about them.” She points at him. “You’re just too nice for your own good.”
    “I’m not nice. You’re unfair. You just—”
    Alice yawns loudly, interrupting, and stretches her arms up over her head. “Maybe I am unfair. But who cares? The whole world’s unfair, Robbie. And believe me, I know those kind of people. I know their type. They’re exactly like my parents. Sad. Bitter. Ugly. Always so nosy about what everyone else is doing because their own pathetic lives are so boring. I can see it in their eyes. I can smell the stench of them from a hundred feet away.” She stands and stretches again, flashing her tanned midriff and her belly ring as her T-shirt lifts. “Anyway, this conversation is getting boring. We’ve had it too many times before, and we’ll just have to agree to disagree. I’m suddenly very, very tired.” She blows us both a kiss and walks from the room.
    Robbie and I smile at each other, listen to Alice mutter to herself as she undresses, hear the squeak of the bed as she climbs in.
    “Don’t get up to anything naughty without me,” she calls from the room. “Nighty-night, children. Be good.”
    “Night, Alice.”
    “Do you want to go and sit outside? On the deck?” Robbie suggests to me, after a while.
    “Sure.”
    I can tell by the expression on his face as he arranges our chairs and by the way he waits for me to sit before he speaks that there is something on his mind.
    “I want to ask you a question,” he says.
    “Okay.”
    He sighs. “I hate asking this type of thing. And I understand if you don’t want to answer. Feel free to tell me to drop dead.”
    “Okay.” I laugh.