Betsy leaned against my naked chest like a young boy would lie back against a huge maple tree contemplating the meaning of life or maybe just what’s for dinner. Her post-lovemaking skin felt cool next to mine and I felt satisfied and safe with her there. Why would I be eager to let this go to investigate my dysfunctional feelings for Steve?

I knew love was becoming much more complicated. Everything had changed because I had made a decision to commit. Maybe not to Betsy, but to women. I wanted to love women. I wondered if Betsy was thinking as neurotically as I was until finally I asked her.

She replied, “I was thinking about taking a long shower, putting on whatever you wanted me to, and headin’ for the fireworks.”

“Really?” I said, slightly disappointed. “You still want to go. They’re not till 5am and I’m tired. Honestly, I’m just as happy with you naked in my bed.”

“You promised!”

“All right, all right. Go take a shower. I’m going to close my eyes for twenty minutes than we’ll go.” In that twenty minutes, I dreamt of Steve touching me as I lay paralyzed in my bed. My unresponsiveness didn’t seem to bother him or me for that matter. I lay completely passive waiting for him to....

“Michael?”

I opened my eyes to Betsy staring at me. She had showered and was naked. “What should I wear for you?” I thought about what Steve would say. “A dress,” I finally replied. “With nothing underneath so I can reach up and touch you whenever I want.” She smiled and walked away.

The reason they do the fireworks so late (or early, depending upon your definition) in Santa Monica is because of those two dreaded words now used so commonly on the westside of Los Angeles, “high volume.” There simply aren’t the resources to handle the need of the throbbing crowds that descend upon the up scale area. During summer, literal radio reports will announce by 11am that due to “high volume,” all beach parking lots are full, traffic is jammed, and if you’re not already in the area, DO NOT come to the beach. Depending upon the time of day or the event, parts of Los Angeles will literally, for lack of a better word, SELL OUT. Therefore the 4th of July fireworks are put at an ungodly hour to help reduce visitor traffic.

It was a cool night/morning so I held Betsy close to me as we headed down the pier. We leaned against the railing and stared down at the dark swirling ocean as it beat against the pylons. We were both quiet in thought and I got the feeling we were far away from each other. I was curious as to why but I didn’t ask.

“Mike?” said the familiar voice. I turned, seeing Fran standing nearby with Shirley by her side.

Betsy turned, “Hi!” She gave Shirley a huge hug but Shirley looked uncomfortable to me. Then Betsy placed her hands on Fran’s shoulders, leaned in, and kissed her on each cheek like a European. There was something electric the way Betsy pulled away and smiled at me, then back to Shirley and Fran. For a moment I was jealous but realized I was being overly sensitive and stupid.

Just then the first set of fireworks went off and Betsy squealed, but in true L.A. summer style, because of the marine layer of clouds over the bay, all that could be seen were fireworks exploding into the clouds in puff balls of light.

But this didn’t stop Betsy. All of a sudden it was as if she was the princess of the party-- like a new life had overwhelmed her. It was weird because as I watched her smile and laugh, a part of me just wanted to take her right there while another part of me was completely turned off by her inability to subdue herself. Suddenly, I noticed Fran looking at Betsy in the same way I was and another pang of jealousy tapped at my heart.

It was in that moment that I knew I was not being overly sensitive. Something was definitely going on because Fran saw me staring at her and a flush of guilt consumed her. Blood rushed to my head and I wanted answers right then but I kept my mouth shut. I looked upwards and watched the rest of the fireworks exploding within the clouds, seething like a furious child.