When Angela told Emmy about the excursion to the beach, Emmy declared that she would come along with us to watch the volleyball tournament.

“Leah is amazing,” Emmy said. “It has been a long time since I have been able to watch her play.”

“It’s sand, and I haven’t played more than a handful of times since I graduated,” I protested, not wanting their expectations to be set too high. “And I’ve never even met the girl I’m supposed to team up with, so I have no idea how we’ll play together.”

Waving my concerns away, Emmy said, “It does not matter to me how she plays. I only want to watch you.”

“Em’s right,” Angela agreed. “I just want to see you in action. I want to see you in that bikini, jumping to slam the ball or diving to save it.” Then turning to Emmy, Angela said, “I got Leah to pose topless! Want to see the pictures?”

“Topless? On the beach?” Emmy asked, surprised. “How very European!”

As Angela took the memory card from her camera and downloaded the pics onto her laptop, Emmy asked me how the beach had been.

I told her it reminded me of a typical Southern California beach town in almost every way except the accents.

“But the beach was topless,” Emmy protested. “That is not like California.”

“Yeah… In all honesty, I’m not convinced the beaches here actually are topless. I didn’t see anybody else letting their girls out, and we only did it when we were all by ourselves with nobody anywhere near us,” I admitted.

“They are too,” Angela responded, watching the photo gallery populate on her computer’s screen. “Like I said, bikini tops are not legally required here but most people wear them anyhow, especially when the beach has a lot of families with kids.”

“I didn’t see anybody else going topless, and there sure weren’t many kids out today,” I objected.

“What can I say? I think if we’d gone to a more trendy beach we’d have seen boobs, but like we were told, Manly Beach is more locals and family oriented,” Angela said.

“Manly?” Emmy asked.

“It’s the name of the town,” I said with a shrug as we all crowded around Angela’s computer to see the pictures that we’d taken at the beach. “It’s a suburb to the north.”

“You really were topless!” Emmy said in amazement when Angela clicked through the gallery to those pics.

“Angela was, too,” I said as the slide show continued.

Angela clicked through a bunch more pictures when Emmy said, “Stop! Go back!”

The photo she wanted to see was of me, thigh deep in the water. I was facing out to sea but looking back over my shoulder at the camera while wringing out my wet hair. There was a decent amount of side boob, but no nipple. The French cut bikini bottom had ridden up a bit and exposed most of my ass, but not so much as a thong would have.

“That back…” Emmy said.

“I know, right?” Angela agreed. “Just looking at it on this little screen gets me a bit wet. In person I had to hold my legs tight together!”

“It is not fair that anyone can be so hot,” Emmy said, pouting.

“Says the woman named ‘world’s sexiest’,” I said, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“I am like the Moon,” Emmy said. “My light is but a reflection of yours.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said. “If anything it’s the other way around. You’re the bright, shining star, Em. Over half a million people have paid tons of money to see you on this tour, not me. You're the one, babe.”

Emmy smiled gratefully at my vote of confidence. “I still have a very hard time believing it.”

“When you look out over a giant stadium filled with adoring fans the night after tomorrow, you’ll have to believe it. When all those people call out your name, accept it,” I told her.

“Lee is right, you know,” Angela said, leaning back against Emmy’s chest. “You're more like the Sun than anybody I know.”

The next day we all had breakfast together at the same restaurant from three days before, then Emmy went to go do all the stage and sound checks while Angela and I took a guided walking tour of the historical district that we’d all seen our first day in Sydney. It was fun hearing about the convicts, sailors and other ne'er-do-wells that made up the early history of the British colonization.

“I like this place,” Angela said during lunch after the tour.

“This pub, or Sydney in general?” I asked.

“Well, Sydney,” Angela said. “I liked Manly, and the wine region, too.”

“It is a nice town,” I agreed. “But honestly, we’re seeing it as wealthy tourists, right? We’re seeing the best the place has to offer.”

“I understand that, but…” Angela said, at a loss for words.

“It’s not too late to sell the place in London and buy here instead,” I teased.

Smiling in that pretty way of hers, Angela said, “No, it is too late. The designer architects sent me over some sketches and I approved them a few days ago.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised and pleased. Surprised since she hadn’t mentioned anything, and pleased since she had taken it seriously when I’d told her it was hers to do with as she wanted.

“Really,” Angela said, nodding. “I wanted it to be a surprise, just have you and Emmy see it without any… um, warning, when it's done. Just the three of us walking in and seeing it, how it’s going to be.”

“Well, in that case I’ll pretend you didn’t say anything,” I said.

“It is going to be expensive, though…” Angela said, not looking up from her pasta.

“I’m not going to ask. I’ll just send whatever money is needed,” I told her.

Smiling, Angela said, “Good, because they want some money to get started.”

That night over dinner Emmy complained that the sound check was really difficult.

“The stadium, it is acoustically very complex,” she said. “If we got the sound just right for the center of the field it was terrible for the stands on either side, which have a metal roof, making things even harder,” she groaned.

“Only the sides have a roof?” I asked. “They’re saying it’s going to rain tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, that was discussed very much today,” Emmy agreed. “The people seated on the field will get rained on, but those in the stands will stay dry, and that also affects the sound. We spent hours trying the get it just right, and while it it still far from perfect I think we managed to get it to be acceptable anywhere in the stadium.”

“Well, I guess that’s acceptable, then,” I said.

“Yes, we have to accept that it will be what it will be,” Emmy agreed.

“And it won’t be what it won’t be,” I added.

“Truer words were never spoken,” Emmy replied.

“Is this a comedy routine you guys are doing?” Angela asked, interrupting.

“Life is a comedy,” Emmy replied with a flippant shrug.

The next morning the three of us (plus Grant and Tiny, of course) found ourselves at Manly Beach in the cool, damp morning. Emmy caused quite a stir as a crowd formed to talk to her, get her autograph, or more commonly, get a selfie with her. I was happy enough to let Emmy, Grant and Tiny manage the situation while I found Mike Hall and his friend.

“Right!” Mike said when he spotted me. “Sign up is over there. Sarah’ll be ‘round here somewhere.”

Glancing back to the crowd that had gathered around Emmy, Mike squinted to try to figure out what was going on.

“Everybody wants to get a selfie with my wife,” I said with a shrug.

“Your wife? The hot- the woman you were with on Thursday?” he asked.

“No, not her. I mean Emmy De Lascaux,” I said as we walked, but Mike came to an immediate halt when I said the name.

“Emmy Lascaux? She’s your wife?” he demanded. “And she’s right over there?”

“Yes and yes,” I said. “She wanted to come to watch me play.”

Shaking his head, Mike said, “Nobody’s gonna pay any attention to the tournament.”

Laughing, I said, “Emmy will.”

Mike led me to the sign-in table and had them add my name along with Sarah Chase as my partner. “Premier Women,” he told the girl at the table.

She looked up and didn’t recognize me, asking, “Where’s Mare Swenson?”

“She’s out,” Mike said. “This is Leah Farmer, from the US. Killer Leah?” he said, hoping to jog some recognition in the girl.

“Killer Leah? People call her that?” the girl asked, clearly dismissive of the nickname.

“You’ll see,” Mike promised.

We finally found Sarah Chase, who looked tanned and fit and ready to play. Mike left us to go do something, giving us the chance to talk rough game plans. She filled me in on the level of competition, and I told her that sand was never my specialty but I’d played enough to have a handle on it.

When the matches were drawn, Sarah said, “Jenny and Carrie. They’re good, but we should be able to beat them, yeah?”

“What are their strengths?”

“Carrie is good, but Jenny is better. She has a solid spike,” Sarah said as we got ready to play, removing our sweats and leaving our bags up on the boardwalk with an attendant.

Mike found us as we waited in the cool morning for our court assignment. He looked me up and down, but didn’t say anything. He just shook his head, then said, “You got this one easy, right?”

“Hey, baby! Show ‘em how it’s done!” Angela shouted from the stands as we walked to our court.

“Your girl?” Sarah asked, not seeming judgmental, just curious.

“One of them,” I said. At Sarah’s puzzled look, I said, “It’s a bit complicated. I’ll tell you later.”

Closing Jenny down was easy enough, and after a handful of crushing blocks on her best shots our two opponents’ game completely fell apart. They had no real answer except to play us back from the net, but Sarah was excellent at setting me up for strong cross-court spikes. After Carrie (I think it was) dug one of my spikes and had it take a bad bounce into her face, her enthusiasm for getting underneath the ball vanished entirely.

“Mike called you ‘Killer Leah’ and I can certainly understand why,” Sarah said as we dressed again after we put the match away. “I’ve never seen anybody hit the ball that hard in my life.”

“I hated that nickname,” I said, sipping from the bottle of Powerade that had been handed to me by one of the juniors working the event.

“If the shoe fits,” Sarah said with a laugh.

We had a little over an hour before our next match, so I told Sarah I was going to try to find my wives.

“Wives? More than one?” Sara asked, astonished.

“I told you it was complicated,” I said.

“That brunette- she was one of your wives? Who’s the other one?” Sarah asked.

Again, she didn’t seem judgmental, just curious, so I saw no harm in explaining. “Do you know who Emmy De Lascaux is?” I asked.

“Do I know who she is? I got a selfie with her earlier!” Sarah said.

“Yeah, so she’s my other wife, We’re a… threesome,” I said.

“That’s fucking mental! You and that other girl, you’re both married to Emmy?”

“Her name’s Angela, and yeah, we’re both married to each other and to Emmy. Like I said, we’re a threesome,” I explained.

Sarah got up to follow me, evidently to satisfy her curiosity and ascertain I was telling the truth. It wasn’t hard to figure out where Emmy and Angela were- all I had to do was look for Tiny towering above the crowd.

“They’re over there,” I said to Sarah. “See that big guy? Emmy’s bodyguard. His name’s Jeremy.”

We made our way through the crowd, which was kept to a respectful distance by Tiny’s intimidating presence.

“Hey, babe,” I said, leaning in to give Emmy a kiss. “Did you watch the match?”

“We did,” Emmy said. “We watched you and your teammate destroy those other girls.”

“Em, Ange, this is Sarah,” I said, pulling Sarah forward.

“We met earlier,” Emmy said with a smile. “We got a selfie together.”

Sarah seemed stunned that Emmy would remember her, but it didn’t surprise me at all.

“Are you two hungry? Do you have time to eat anything?” Angela asked.

“I’m good,” I said. “You?” I asked Sarah.

“No, thank you,” Sarah said, nervous.

“Em, how long can you stay? The tournament is supposed to run until four, right?” I asked Sarah for confirmation.

“Yeah, but we won’t play that late,” Sarah said. “The premier class is done by noon, until tomorrow morning.”

“So, noon,” I said. “Can you stay that late?”

Emmy thought about it for a moment, then said, “No, I should not. We need to be at the stadium by two o’clock. It takes an hour to get to the hotel, then I will need to shower and get ready…”

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll go ahead and tank our next match so we can leave early.”

Sarah turned to give me a stunned and indignant look, but Emmy just laughed. “You could no more do that than I can fly to the Moon,” she said. “Your competitive drive would never allow you to lose intentionally.”

“I’ll be very mad at you if you don’t play your best,” Angela said, crossing her arms. “If you do, you won’t be getting any for a long time, I can promise you that.”

“If we win, does that mean I’ll be getting laid tonight?” I asked.

“You really are a beast,” Angela said with a slow shake of her head while Emmy just laughed. “We probably won’t have time tonight, and besides, the tournament runs into tomorrow, so you need to win it all.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” I said. “And I’m gonna hold you to me, also. Both of you.”

“Then you must play your best, Leah,” Emmy said. “I would hate to have to deny you.”

“I would hate that, too,” I admitted.

Back in the athlete’s area, Sarah finally commented on what she’d just seen. “They were having you on about cutting you off, right?”

“They were,” I said with a chuckle. “Like Emmy said, it’s not in my nature to throw a match, and it’s not in their nature to tell me no when it comes to sexy times.”

“I can’t imagine being married to one woman, let alone two,” Sarah said, shaking her head.

“So you’re one of those people?” I asked.

“What?”

“Straight people,” I said, looking around suspiciously. “Careful- they might be anywhere. You can’t always tell by looking.”

That did it- Sarah broke out laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation.

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “I am one of ‘those people’. There are more of us than you might realize.”

“I have no problem with straight people, as long as they keep it to themselves,” I said, getting another laugh.

By that point the first round had finished and the drawings for the next were posted. We had court number eight, against a pair that Sarah didn’t know.

“They’re from Perth,” she explained. “I’ve never played against ‘em.”

“Well, we’ll just have to crush them, see them driven before us, and hear the lamentations of their women!” I said in my best Arnold accent, flexing my muscles. The effect was spoiled by the fact that I was wearing loose sweats, but Sarah got the reference and laughed anyway.

“Tell me about the nickname,” she demanded, changing the topic.

“You stab a few people here and there and everybody acts like it’s a big deal,” I said with a shrug. “Next thing you know, people start calling you ‘Killer’.”

Sarah laughed again. “Right?” she asked.

Our match against the girls from Perth went our way, guaranteeing entry into the elimination rounds the next day no matter how our third match went. Still we wanted a better seed, so we went into our last match of the day determined to finish the prelims with three Ws and no Ls.

Emmy, Tiny and Grant had left after the second match, but Angela stayed to watch our third. It was good that we faced that final duo after Sarah and I had time to get used to each other, since the couple of girls from Gold Coast were much better than our earlier opponents. Still, we took it, giving us the second seed for the next morning.

Mike found us as we were about to get dressed after our last match of the day. “What d’you think, Sezza? Killer Leah lives up to her name, right?” he asked Sarah.

“Fucking pleased I’m not the one tryin’ to block her spikes,” Sarah agreed.

Turning to me, Mike handed me a T shirt. “Here, wear this. It’s important,” he said.

I looked at the obviously well worn shirt that said, “Manly Beach Volleyball Association.”

Seeing my puzzled look, he glanced around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear. “Right. That’s your shirt, you’ve had it for ages, if anybody asks. The only way I could get you registered for the tourno was as a member of our club, of which you have officially been a member for the last two years, if anybody asks.”

“Got it,” I said, pulling the nice and soft T shirt on. “I’ve always been proud of my association with the MBVA.”

“Righto,” Mike said, a broad grin on his sunburned face.

When Angela found us she asked Sarah if she wanted to get lunch with us.

“We ate at a nice place down that way on Thursday,” she said. “We could go there again. I liked the rooftop deck.”

Sarah accepted our invitation to lunch, but suggested a different place, farther south down the beach. It was a farm-to-table type of place with a rustic chic vibe going. I went straight for the steak lunch, while Angela opted for the grilled prawns.

“I’m curious,” Sarah said, setting down her burger. “How does… a threesome like yours happen?”

I looked at Angela to see if she wanted to field the question, but her look back let me know this one was mine.

“I met Emmy in school and we went to Stanford together, then got married as soon as it became legal in California. After school we moved to Los Angeles, where I met Angela here. She was living in our condo building, but her boyfriend got arrested for selling steroids. We gave her a place to stay while things got sorted out, and we all just gradually fell in love,” I said.

“But how do you marry two different people? Does California allow poly marriages?”

“No, not legally,” I said. “So we’ve had to play some games with the legality. Emmy and I have both listed Angela as our next of kin on our legal documents and so on. Eventually we’ll be able to legalize it, but for now we know we’re married.”

“It’s the greatest thing ever,” Angela said, an earnest expression on her expressive face. “Both Lee and Emmy are so different, but so amazing. I get the best of both worlds, you know?”

“I get the best,” I corrected, resting my hand on hers. “I get you and Emmy.”

“Get a room!” Sarah said with a laugh.

“We have a room,” I replied. “It’s just clear across town."