The Tender Catch

Listen to your mother. Please, I beg you. Mine warned me not to sign up on the Tender dating app, but I wouldn't listen.

Ramone's photo flashed onto my screen, and I swiped right. Her raven hair, milk-dud eyes, sexy gypsy nose, and perfect tanned figure in a three-band-aid bikini caught my attention. Hormones invaded my brain, and I pleaded to the dating gods for her to pick me. She did.

My mom had no idea what she is talking about. I hit a home run my first time at bat.

We lived ten miles apart and met in a martini bar downtown Greenville. From the first minute, her doe eyes never left mine, and I drowned in them as we shared our stories of failed love and our life goals. Her black evening dress complimented her exotic shoulders and sensual legs and stirred my desires. Ramone laid her hand on my arm, and I was bewitched.

My work as a writer intrigued her, and she begged to preview my unpublished novel. I had published a few short stories to pay the bills, but my love was the long story like F. Scott Fitzgerald. The idea wasn't as good as the thought of sex but close since I had learned she was an editor for a major book publisher in Boston.

I've hit the lottery. Beautiful, sexy, fun, and a publishing editor. Mom, you don't have a clue. I have found my Zelda.

Ramone sped-read the first two chapters. "Terry, your novel Green Pines Manor is a masterful story," she said. "I can see it now, Terry Hawk, the newest author on the New York Times Best Sellers list."

The date ended with a long, slow kiss and my promise to visit Ramones house the following day. She had the week off and committed to assisting me in finalizing my manuscript.

***

Ramone's one-story, gray brick house sat at the end of a vacant street in a cul-de-sac. Inside, the décor was spectacular in its simplicity and unique design. A twenty-square-foot saltwater aquarium, almost ceiling high, was at its center. Each side of the massive glass tank constituted the interior walls for her living room, bedroom, kitchenette, and bathroom. Two bookshelves lined the outside wall with a dozen authors I recognized.

"George Anthros's novel, Star Journey Seven. Dorothy James, The Art of Heaven, Tom Spangle, The Greatest Catch. Are all these your works?" I said, and she smiled.

"Those are my editorial works," she said, "I discovered the authors, they did the work, and you will be my next success."

"My babies like you," she said.

I turned around to face the aquarium. Dozens of fish of varying species, colors, and sizes congregated behind the glass. The magnificent collage of greens, yellows, blues, and reds radiated like a chromatic symphony. Prisms of light splashed the wall like a rock band's color organ of the sixties. Water plants, ornaments, and a small reef accented the beautiful waterwork like living art.

"Are they hungry? Do they want to eat me?" I said, and she laughed. A clownfish pursed its mouth open and closed as if trying to speak. "Your aquarium is huge, Ramone, and …."

"Expensive?" she said, "I have done quite well in my career. I want to be with my babies at all times. They inspire me," she said and led me to the couch. "Sit! Mr. Hawk. I've always wanted a Hawkfish, and now I have one. Kiss me!"

I sat.

Ramone leaned into me with her legs folded underneath and kissed my neck. Intoxicated by her musky perfume, I turned my face to hers, and our lips brushed together. Our lips parted, and tongues touched in a heated kiss. I couldn't breathe from the excitement that coursed through my body as her breast pressed against my chest.

"Let me introduce you to my family," she said.

"Why are they staring?" I said.

"They do like you, Terry, or they'd just hide."

The dark orange fish with white vertical stripes is a Clownfish. I call him George. He's my first.

She introduced me to her other favorites, Dotty the Dottyback, and Tom the Angel fish. George hovered and blew his lips at me, signaling what, I didn't know.

Dotty charged toward the glass in a mock attack and darted away. Tom swayed his head left and right until Ramone tapped the glass with her knuckles. Alarmed, he swam into a maze of water plants and artificial coral.

"Some people have dogs and cats which live with them. I have my fish. They are with me when I cook, eat, sleep, work, and well… one other thing," she said, taking my hand and leading me to the bedroom.

***

Two hours later, Ramone slept in the crook of my arm with her head on my chest. The babies followed us to the bedroom though I had forgotten about them in our moments of passion. They stared. I didn't care. When Ramone awoke, she bounced from the bed.

"Let's go big boy, we have work to do. Get your manuscript and meet me in the kitchen."

For two weeks, I wrote, and she edited. I rewrote it, and she edited it again. We ordered take-out, made mad love, slept, fed the fish, cleaned the filters, and worked more. I grew accustomed to the citizens of the aquarium except when I showered. Did they think of my manhood as bait? When Ramone and I made love, did they judge us? I kept waiting for our voyeurs to hold up scorecards.

On the fifteenth day, I showered while Ramone read the latest draft. George the Clownfish floated before me in the bathroom. I kept sensing he would speak to me if he could. I imagined his fish lips were saying "No," or "Run." I stepped to the glass and pressed my face close.

"Are you jealous buddy? Is that it?" I said, "Protective of Ramone?"

Ramone stepped into the bathroom and threw her arms around my neck.

"It's finished, Mr. Terry Hawk. Congratulations," she said and kissed me. "We have to celebrate with a toast with our family. Drop the towel we are going swimming," she said.

"In the aquarium?" I said.

"Of course, we are," she said.

Ramone led me to the aquarium's access ladder in the kitchen. We climbed to the top, where a metal platform jutted out over the water and sat with our legs in the water.

Ramone pulled an aged brown bottle from the storage locker overhead. "We sip this spiced rum, skinny dip, and water dance with my babies. Okay?" and handed me the uncapped bottle.

"Okay," I said and tilted the bottle up and swigged. The sweet-salty liquor taste reminded me of the ocean and burned as it slid into my stomach. My vision blurred, and I fell against Ramones naked breast, and she laughed.

"Shakzar, comildiscopa, aquastasium, forte," she cantered.

"Wha…" was the only sound I uttered from my burning throat. Ramone shoved my body into the water, and I sunk to the bottom, and everything around me went black. The air became thick in my lungs, and my body shivered. Pain filled my brain with the torment of a hundred migraines.

***

I opened my eyes to see George the Clownfish staring into my face.

"I tried to warn you, man," he said, "Guess you can't read fish lips.

"I must be dead. Fish can't talk, at least not to humans," I said.

"You're right. Look in the glass bud. Fish can communicate with fish," he said.

I moved my head, and the reflection in the glass was a two-toned red Hawkfish, just like the photo Ramone had shown me. My mouth opened and closed as water flowed through my gills in the best scream I could muster.

***

Time unknown had passed when Ramone stepped to the glass in the same black dress from our first date. She kissed the glass between us with ruby-red lips and winked at me. A tall, muscular man in a black screen-printed T-shirt stepped beside her with a book and tapped the cover. His face was awestruck by her response. She nuzzled the man's neck and pressed her lithe body against his.

The book cover read.

_______

Green Pines Manor

by Terry Hawk,

A New York Times Best Seller

Aquarium Publishing

_______

George the Clownfish, Dotty the Dottyback, and Tom the Angel tread water beside me as we watched Ramone close her next deal. The screen-printed shirt she pulled over her dates head read, I'm Jack, I Write. Ramone had made clear she had always wanted a Jackfish in her collection.

Please, listen to your mother.