I was squinting. I’d forgotten my sunglasses in the bag. Either suffer or balls it up, and I chose the latter. If this chick had a serious problem…Fighting was like riding a bicycle.
I approached her slowly, picked up my bag, set it down on the chair next to her. I dug to the bottom and put on my shades.
“You new or something?” the other girl asked, in nearly accentless English. I looked at her.
“What?”
“Deaf, too,” the girl said, closing her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m new,” I said, focusing on her. She seemed nasty, testy. At first glance I’d thought she was Mexican, but as I looked at her now I thought maybe she was Puerto Rican or Dominican or something. “Why?”
“Because no one swims in the pool,” she said.
“No?”
“No. That’s why I come here.”
“They just go in the ocean or what?” I sounded stupid. Three years with Jackson had taken all the edge out of me.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, with a bored yawn. I nodded, walked back to the pool, and stepped in slowly, next to positive she’d kill me if I splashed her. It wasn’t long before another girl, tall, thin, with straight dark hair and fine, pretty features, came and moved my bag to the ground again, sitting next to killah chick, who laughed and looked at me.
“What?” the lissome girl asked.
“Nevermind. So what’s going on at the house?”
I had no choice but to eavesdrop. They were five feet from my head.
“Nothing.”
“Not a damn thing, huh?”
“No. Everyone’s gone.”
“Your brother too? He awake already?”
“Yeah, he’s awake already. He might come down here later. I don’t know. You gonna be here all day?”
“Prob’ly. Get as much action here as I do at home.”
“Come on, Letty, that’s not fair.”
Letty. So this tough bitch was Letty. Sounded like an old-lady-in-a-nursing-home name, not a tough-bitch-at-a-beach-resort.
“I know,” she conceded to the other girl’s accusation. “I’m just so fucking bored. I think I need to get a job, too. Have a little money that he can’t touch so I can go out and entertain myself.”
“He would kick your ass.”
“He wouldn’t have to know, though, would he.” It was not a question. Letty fixed the other girl with the same glare I’d received a few moments before. The girl didn’t answer. “Would he, Mia,” she repeated, and finally the girl sighed.
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t tell him.”
“A’ight den.”
“I’m going for breakfast. Wanna come?”
“No. I’m dog tired. I’ma sleep.”
“Okay, then, girl. I’ll see you at the party tonight.” Mia rose and stretched slowly. She wore a little lacy cami top and no bra, white shorts, and open-toed sandals. Rings on almost every finger and every other toe. My guess was that she was Italian, too dark for anything Anglo, too light for anything ethnic, beautiful either way. Both girls were in such good shape…I felt like a chubby nine-year-old in their company. And as she left, I promised myself I’d lay off the junk food, get myself some new clothes. I wanted to look like them. I wanted to BE them. And I didn’t even know them.
And yet, there was something different about them, too. After hearing Letty make Mia promise not to tell…whomever…that she was getting a job, I knew they weren’t vacationing there. I knew they weren’t with their rich parents. I knew they weren’t sisters (she’d said your brother, not our). And I was damn sure they hadn’t gone to prep schools and college readiness seminars. No one at any of those damn things EVER said ‘A’ight den.’
The Letty girl fell asleep as soon as the Mia chick left, and I stayed in the pool until I was pickled all over, then got up and went home, tired again. What was it with me? This heat? It had to be this heat. Three o’ clock in the afternoon and I was ready for another fricking nap already. I stripped off my suit and threw on a sundress and some underwear, skipping the bra because it was just too damn hot. I flopped down on the bed and crossed my ankles, my hands behind my head. There was a giant water spot on the ceiling that was kind of shaped like someone’s profile, with a big old shnoz, and a…
I dozed off. When I woke, it was eight. I had slept for five hours. The cool cloak of darkness was coming on, and I couldn’t have been more happy. The sun was sinking, a giant orange disc flaming in a crimson-colored sky. The ocean was calm, shimmering like a living body in fading shades of blue and red and glittery gold. I stood in the window and stared out, inhaled deeply. What a divinely beautiful place. Down the street at the Cabana there was a mariachi band, and I could hear the guitarristas, could see them in my mind’s eye. A strong, salty breeze was coming off the water and it dried the sleepsweat from my skin and put me completely at peace.
I reached to run my fingers through my hair and nearly fainted from shock before remembering that I had cut it earlier. I took a minute to really look at it, put it in a ponytail, and it bounced lightly as I brushed it. I decided I was glad I’d had a tantrum and done away with it.
My father would hate it. I was sure he would.
And then someone was knocking at the door. I frowned, wondering if my parents were downstairs and had ordered…ordered what? Could you even order pizza in Mexico? I walked down the stairs and as I did so it was a painfully obvious reminder that I was not wearing a bra. When I swung open the door, my breath stopped with a heavy hitch in my chest.
Leon.
And there was no way I could…I stood there, the crepe-y white dress billowing around me as the breeze wafted in with his smell.
“Hey,” I said, breathless, losing myself immediately in his eyes.
“Hi,” he said, and his eyes raked unapologetically across my body. His hands gravitated to my waist and I felt weak. It was the breeze. Or the weather. Or the smell of him. But I knew he was going to kiss me and I let him, soft and sweet at first, just tasting me. My arms felt as though there were no bones in them as I draped them around his neck, and he kissed deeper, harder, and I opened my mouth so he could explore it with his tongue. And he took three steps forward, kicked the door shut behind him.
Crazy. It was crazy.
He was sweaty, his hair drenched, and I knew he’d been working since the crack of dawn in this heat, and there was a slow ease with which he moved, a measured exhaustion, a heavy-lidded mixture of lust and caution. He was paying attention to my response, and I was giving him nothing near to an excuse to stop. His hands moved southward, and he was still pushing forward, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the sofa and my legs folded beneath me. We fell back and he landed with a natural ease on top of me between my legs, kissing and touching me and I was on fire. He had his mouth on my breast through the sundress, holding my hands in his, and I could feel him pressing hard through his pants.
He kissed along my jawline and pushed my dress up, up and up, over my hips, kissed my stomach and hooked his fingers under the waistline of my panties. It took a few tries before I found my voice and spoke.
“No,” I said. He stopped immediately.
“No?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Really?” he asked, and I nodded. He was silent a moment, staring at me. Then that cocky self-assurance returned to his face with a smile. “Oh, well.” He laughed. “Doesn’t hurt to try.” I smiled too, relieved beyond belief at his reaction, pulled him back down to my face and kissed him. He buried his face in my chest then, breathing hard, willing himself to calm down. When the heat of the moment had passed, he just lay there on me, his cheek on my collarbone, and played with my fingers. “Will you come over to our place tonight?” he asked, his voice soft and harmless. I could feel in the slackness of his body how tired he was.
“Sure,” I said, nodding.
“Can we go now? I’m jonesin’ for a beer.”
“Sure,” I said. “Just let me change.”
“Aw, don’t do that,” he said, cupping one of my breasts softly in his hand. A shudder tore through me involuntarily.
“Yeah,” I chuckled breathily. “I think I’d better.”
