4.
She emerged from the quivering blue jelly of the pool in a sheath of water that fell away in droplets. She spluttered, pushed her hair back, went back to the board, repeated the dive.
Bill watched her from all angles, tried to somehow understand the numbness in his mind or was it his heart. He watched the lean heart-shape of her rear as the board rattled under the brown balls of her feet. He tried to get excited about her long white form, her legs, her arms, her bare back in flimsiest bikini; but he felt afraid.
She emerged, toweling herself. "Sorry. I have to have my morning dip, my shower, then my coffee."
"It's okay," he said. "It's Saturday. I'm in no rush."
"We'll have our coffee together" she promised. "I'll join you out there.
As he waited on the chaise longue, he heard radio playing soft FM rock from the kitchen. Craning his neck, he saw the white kitchen with its immaculate counters and sunbeams falling on jars of this and that.
He looked past the edges of laundry piles toward what must be the bathroom. Steam sneaked out in swirls. She hadn't locked the door, but left it inches ajar. Would a younger man take it as an invitation to join her?
Bill sipped his coffee and wondered when and how he should make a graceful exit. He felt sweat prickling under his collar, and wished he were in his car driving away.
She was soon back in the heavy bathrobe. "It hurried up for you." Without makeup, her fresh young face seemed thinner and more freckled. Her eyes seemed brighter and straight-forward. Her hair was plastered against her cheeks in little ringlets.
"So how do people sell things?"
"Well," he said, "you try to see as many people as you can. It's a numbers game. If you see enough people, you'll sell all the equipment you want. If you talk to as many people as you can, someone will buy an office machine. Or refer you to someone who might buy one. "
"Is there good money in your business?"
"Sure. I do okay. Young person like you could really hustle and make some money."
"You make it sound like you're so old and gray." She had a way of nudging you in the ribs with her voice, kind of palsy-teasing.
He grinned manfully. "Sometimes I feel a little older than I'd like to be." At least, he thought, I'm not flexing my muscles or posing or anything stupid like that.
"You're cool," she said over the rim of her mug. "I think you're pretty nice looking. What are you, late thirties?"
"Fifty-five."
"That's still young. I took you for ten years younger. And the cane?"
"In the Army. Last month of 'Nam. I was a passenger in a deuce-and-a-half, that's a big truck, and we hit a mine."
"Wow, you are a war hero."
"You'd be good in sales," Bill said. "You almost have me sold already."
She laughed. "Do you need a copying machine?" She sipped while looking at him with big eyes. Her orbits were crinkled with humor. "My war hero."
"I'm not a war hero, just ague who rolled a truck." She had no idea that people had died, and it was a touchy subject. No sense taking it out on this kid. She was sweet and meant well.
"Modest."
"Honest."
"Married?"
"Yes."
"You make it sound like a terminal condition."
"It is." Bill reached for his cane, getting ready to go.
"Can't be any worse than being single. Look at me."
Bill stopped and looked at her. Was she joking? She had everything going for her. But then, youth was wasted on the young, as the saying went. Something about what she had just said. Single. He'd never really been single. He knew guys who had been single. They seemed to have good time. But they always ended up broke, drunk, in trouble. And in the end, getting married.
"Bill?"
"Present and accounted for," he chirped. She had touched his secret scary dream, the shapeless one that had lurked in the back of his marriage for years.
"At ease, soldier." She laughed at lot. It was refreshing. She patted his hand. Her touch was warm and dry.
"Pretty expensive apartment," he said.
She grew cloudy. "Don't remind me. I'm looking for cheaper place, sort of. I had a boyfriend until about two months ago. Andy. Makes big bucks. We shared the rent. Then he left me for my best friend Maria. Haven't heard from either one of them." She sniffed.
She has secrets, Bill thought. Don't we all? He fished out his wallet. "Look, Laurissa, I keep a couple spare twenties here in the back behind my license."
"Oh no." She looked aghast.
"Hey," he said. "I'm buying you lunch. Take a friend. It's on me."
She lowered her forehead onto her knees and began to cry. Loud sobs.
Bill hesitantly patted her back. He felt the long smooth curve of her young back under the robe. Her skin felt nice—a sensation he hadn't known in decades. "Here," he said," here's sixty bucks. Just take it."
She shook her head.
"Go on." He rose, left the money on the table. He laid his business card next to the money. "Wish I could do more." He touched her head in a fatherly way. His fingers fluttered over dampness.
After he was out, going down in the elevator, he smelled his hand and it smelled just like her apartment. He had given her his poker money. That meant he stayed home this week.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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