The Last Bathing Beauty

by Nathan, Amy Sue

  The girl squeezed Betty’s elbow. “You’re a doll. I’m Barbara. And I know you’re Betty. Who’s your honey?”

  “Oh, he’s not—”

  “Marv Peck, nice to meet you, Barbara. C’mon, Betty, we should be going.” He tapped her elbow. Marv lifted her powder-blue cardigan from her arm and swung it over her shoulders as they walked away from the fire and toward the lighthouse. How dared he behave like they were an item. She yanked the sweater and slung it back over her arm.

  Despite her irritation, Betty jump-started the chitchat—the new beach chairs and umbrellas on the beach, the musical talent of the staff who sang after dinner, their favorite desserts (Marv’s was apple cake and Betty’s was blueberry pie). She remained polite, though she grew bored, aching for the moment they’d turn back to the crackling blaze and all that surrounded it.

  Betty had changed out of a peach cotton sateen number and into green pedal pushers with a madras plaid blouse tied at her waist. Marv no longer wore a suit but casual tan slacks and a button-down shirt.

  Two years earlier Betty had believed she and Marv might share interests beyond their memories of childhood games. Peck’s Popular Shoes was, for all intents and purposes, a fashion-oriented business. And if there was one thing Betty loved and respected aside from her grandparents, it was fashion. Betty had attempted to describe the latest spring and summer styles, but Marv had refused to talk about business.

  “Why do you care so much about the shoe business?” Marv had asked.

  “I know a lot about fashion and cosmetics,” she’d said. “And not just how to wear them. I’m going to be a fashion magazine writer and editor someday.” She’d been sure of this since the ninth grade, when she’d written a beauty column for her school paper: “Popular Looks for Today’s Girls.”

  Marv had smirked. “Is that so?”

  Betty had wanted to slap him. “It is!”

  “By the time you graduate you’ll be twenty-two. All your friends will be married.”

  “Good for them.”

  “Don’t you want that? A husband, a house, children? All girls do.”

  “Sure,” Betty had said. “Someday. I want an education. A career. A bank account. Independence. Then I’ll have more to offer my husband than just a pretty smile and a trousseau.”

  “Just for the record, I think that’s all a fella wants.”

  Not any fella of mine. Betty had turned around. “I’d like to go home.”

  When Marv had asked Betty for a second “walk” the next day, she’d declined.

  Yet here she was now, walking with Marv Peck.

  “You’re a real beauty, Betty.”

  Betty looked at Marv. She really looked at this young man who seemed to like her, though his actions and words were misguided. He stood about five-eleven. She knew this because he was just a trifle taller than Georgia. His shoulders were narrow and his shirt loose. In that moment she hoped he’d fill out. That’d help him look more manly, more mature, take up more space. She wondered how much authority he commanded at his father’s shoe stores. She liked to think he had another side to him, one that would attract the kind of girl he wanted, one with a smile and a trousseau, but without brains or ambition.

  “I’d like us to remain friends this summer,” Betty said.

  “Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy.”

  “I’m going to New York in September; there really isn’t a point to more than that.”

  “For now.”

  “No, Marv, not ‘for now.’ I’m going off to Barnard and I plan to stay in New York. I’m not coming back to South Haven.” No magazine jobs in Michigan. No Michigan for Betty. “My grandparents support me.” She would have stomped her foot but knew that was childish and would refute her point.

  He smirked the way he had before. “Okay.”

  Betty quickened her step, not easy to do in the sand. Marv caught up to her.

  “I’m just teasing you, Betty. Don’t be so sensitive.”

  “I don’t think it’s very nice to tease someone about her hopes and dreams. Do you know how hard I worked to be accepted to Barnard? How much my grandparents are sacrificing to send me away? You were rude. I said I wanted to be friends when I could have said ‘bug off.’” She was at once angry at Marv’s dismissal, yet horrified that he might be right, that she had no right to leave the cocoon of her family, to want anything more than she could find right here on the beach or back at home.

  No. He was wrong. She could have it all. This is what she had been raised to believe, and Nannie and Zaide didn’t lie. Even her absent parents supported the decision, which, up until now, had been the only thing to make her question it.

  In the distance Betty saw the glow of the bonfire.

  “Actually, Marv, I’m going back, but you don’t need to walk with me. I’m quite capable on my own.”

  Back with the group, Betty saw a few couples were wrapped around each other, slow-dancing in a way that would have made Betty blush, had she not been envious that they’d already found their summer sweethearts. They swayed side to side, even though the radio was gone. Other couples lay on beach blankets the way she once had with Robert Smith, except no one here seemed to be putting a stop to anything. They had wrapped the blankets up and over themselves, but still.

  Marv had been a half pace behind her, and now stepped to her side. “Betty, wait,” he said.

  He’d followed her. They were just a few feet from the safety of the group that was not necking or dancing.

  Darn. She stopped and turned toward him, clasped her hands in front of her the way she did when she thought she might fidget inappropriately.

  “Before you say anything,” Betty said, “I won’t tell my grandparents what you said. They like you, and I’m not going to be the one to change that.”

  Marv tugged gently on her hands. “We can just be friends for now.”

  “You’re not paying attention,” Betty said.

  “I thought it was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

  “It is. But I won’t.”

  Marv sank into the sand—or he somehow just looked smaller. “All righty then. Shall we roast marshmallows? As friends?”

  A cloud lifted from Betty’s spirit, though it all seemed too easy. “Sure.” She wanted to tell him heck no, but she had to think of her standing as the Stern granddaughter.

  Three girls held sticks over the embers, their marshmallows slowly browning. Marv and Betty faced them from the other side of the firepit.

  “There’s two left,” a deep voice said from behind, and an open blue and white box of Campfire marshmallows was thrust between Betty and Marv.

  Betty turned around to thank this bearer of marshmallows and spun back toward the fire. Holy moly. It was him. Abe.

  “Thanks,” Marv said. He reached into the box, then turned to Betty. “I’ll go grab a couple of sticks.” He stepped away. What was Betty to do now? She wasn’t supposed to meet this boy when she was on a date with someone else. But there was nothing wrong with being polite. “Being polite is always right,” Nannie would say.

  Betty turned to express her gratitude for the last two marshmallows and stared straight into a square chin covered in fine blond stubble and accented by a dimple. He’d stepped closer. She should have stepped back but did not, so his body occupied all the space that should have existed between them. Betty inhaled the menthol tang of aftershave and wanted to hold her breath and keep it inside. Instead she exhaled deeply.

  “Thank you,” she said. She glanced up and was so close that even in the dark she saw his blue eyes were flecked with gold. Or maybe it was the reflection of the fire.

  “You’re welcome.”

  A chill scurried across Betty’s neck, although his voice sounded like it had been warmed by the fire. It sounded deeper and smoother than she’d remembered from the kitchen window, as if that had been an off-the-cuff remark and these two words were deliberate and thoughtful. The tone rolled over her and calmed her, whil
e at the same time shivers traveled her arms. He smiled, and the dimples in his cheeks appeared as if she’d asked them to come out and play. He wore a button-down shirt, open in a casual beachy way and showing off an undershirt, as if he’d just thrown it on after a swim. The shirt hung loose outside his khaki shorts but did not disguise the shoulders that were as broad as any football player’s she’d seen. The warm, woodsy scent of the fire wafted into their imaginary lair. Betty couldn’t do anything except smile back at him.

  “I wondered if I’d see you again,” he whispered. The lowered volume of his voice didn’t change its resonance. “And not just from across the dining room.” Betty’s cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t blame the fire. He had noticed her. He had wondered about her. “You seem to have recovered nicely from your ordeal with the canapés.”

  Doris had been right—this voice matched the one they’d heard at the kitchen window. If it was anyone else, it might have seemed creepy, but that’s what she’d wanted. For him to notice her. Betty glanced around the firepit for Marv, who was holding marshmallows over the heat, and talking to Eleanor Rosen, back at Stern’s for her second year as a children’s counselor. Eleanor was popular with the waiters, though Betty knew she shouldn’t believe kitchen gossip.

  “Your boyfriend looks busy,” Abe said.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. Why does everyone think he’s my boyfriend?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, people don’t usually come to these things alone. And if they do, they don’t leave alone.” He lifted his eyebrows and Betty turned away, clamping her lips. She was flabbergasted. He was so forward! She should have been outraged that he spoke so plainly before they’d even properly met, yet her heart pounded, and her skin zinged with the thrill of being near enough to touch him. And to hear him talk about the romance around them? Betty’s face warmed again, and the flush traveled. Get ahold of yourself!

  “I guess I didn’t realize.” Betty turned back. Oh, she’d realized. She’d been realizing for years. That’s why she shouldn’t have asked Marv to bring her here. She’d misled him, perhaps, but if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met her bonfire man. Yes, that was more apropos than “marshmallow man.” He was not a marshmallow at all.

  Marv returned with one stick, two marshmallows stuck onto its end. He held it out to Betty.

  “Thank you,” Betty said.

  Betty had tasted marshmallows floating in hot cocoa at Georgia’s house, but she’d never tasted one that had been roasted over a fire. After all, marshmallows were treif—and her grandparents couldn’t serve anything at the resort that wasn’t kosher and wouldn’t have them at home either. Betty hadn’t believed it when she’d learned that marshmallows contained gelatin, and that gelatin was made of pigs’ bones.

  But forbidden bites were often the sweetest.

  “Who’s your friend, Betty?” Marv asked, pulling marshmallow strings from the stick, and jutting his chin toward her bonfire man.

  “Abe Barsky.” He held out his hand. “I’m a new waiter, among other things.”

  Marv fumbled the stick and shook Abe’s hand. “Marv Peck. I’m an old friend of Betty’s, among other things.” He slid his nonsticky hand around Betty’s waist and she slipped to the left, away from his grasp. Marv stuck his hand in his trouser pocket. He looked small next to Abe, whose arms looked like the boxers’ arms she’d once seen at an exhibition match she’d been to on a date. It was a bad date, but there were some good-looking boxers (before the match, that is).

  “Let me walk you home, Betty,” Marv said.

  “For Pete’s sake, she lives right there!” Eleanor said, as she sauntered up behind Marv wearing a floral halter bathing suit covered only by a towel she’d wrapped around her waist. It was much too late and too cold for a swim, but it was always the right time for Eleanor to show off her curves and her cleavage. Betty should have been discomfited by Eleanor’s bold bluster but was mesmerized by her confidence.

  Eleanor tapped Marv’s leg with her hip. “She’s not Bitty Betty Stern anymore, is she? Our little girl’s all grown-up. Or that’s what I hear.”

  Betty was not so mesmerized by Eleanor’s harsh words.

  Marv and Eleanor chuckled. Betty scowled. Abe shook his head, not so much in disapproval but as if assessing the situation and the involved parties.

  “I’m not leaving yet,” Betty said.

  “You can walk me home, Marv.” Eleanor, her brown hair styled to flip like Myrna Loy’s, stared at Betty, daring her to object. Eleanor shifted her gaze to Marv, then to Abe, then back to Betty, and grinned. You can have him.

  “It wouldn’t be right,” Marv said. “I came here with Betty.”

  “Like Eleanor said, I live right there,” Betty said.

  The only light on in her house was the screen porch, no less obvious than the lighthouse beacon. It was half past ten, according to Betty’s watch. Nannie and Zaide wouldn’t be awake to ask her about her walk with Marv. And by breakfast time they would be too busy to ask.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Betty?” Marv asked. Eleanor grabbed his hand and Marv didn’t pull away.

  “Of course you’ll see her tomorrow, silly,” Eleanor said as she skipped away dragging Marv behind her. “She owns the place.”

  “Eleanor’s too much,” Abe said.

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” Betty spun around and looked at the few couples necking on the beach. The fire had been doused with water. Stars were now hidden by a layer of clouds. She faced Abe. “I’d say that was my good deed for the day, wouldn’t you?”

  “You played right into Eleanor’s hands.”

  “I may have.”

  “You didn’t want Marv to walk you home.”

  “Well, let’s just say Eleanor wanted it more than I didn’t want it.”

  Abe laughed. “Would you let me walk you home, Betty Stern?”

  Her heart thumped. Had she heard him correctly? “Didn’t you come here with someone?”

  “No.”

  “I thought you said most people don’t come to bonfires alone.”

  “I said no one leaves alone.”

  Abe smiled a slow, wide smile, one that made his eyes crinkle at the sides. Sure, he was flirting. Thank God.

  He cast down those eyes as he reached out a bent arm. And then, a moment later, he made eye contact with Betty. Even in the dark his eyes sparkled when she looked into them. Had she ever looked at anyone this way before, right into the center of their eyes as they looked back? If she had, surely their eyes hadn’t glistened like sapphires. She’d have remembered that. She’d remember this.

  As Betty looped her hand through Abe’s arm, she rested her palm on the hill of muscle in his smooth forearm. Blood rushed around her body and she burned from head to toe. Abe’s smile broadened without effort, and his gaze coated her skin like a drizzle of warm summer rain.

  “I would very much like you to walk me home, Abe Barsky.”

  It was the loveliest name she’d ever said aloud.

  As they started up the beach, Betty silently rehearsed the best way to say, “Thank you for walking me home.”

  She was content to hold his arm, to walk in wordless company. Then he laid his hand atop hers and patted it three times—three times! She was certain those were not platonic or brotherly pats—she’d have been able to sense that, wouldn’t she? His hand lingered. Was that by accident or intention? Abe didn’t strike her as someone who did anything by accident. He set his hand back to his side.

  “I hear you’re going to Barnard in September,” Abe said. “You must be really smart.”

  “I guess.”

  “Don’t be modest,” Abe said. “You should be proud. It’s hard to get into college. Especially for a girl. And Barnard is like an Ivy League, isn’t it?”

  “Ivy League colleges are for boys. The Seven Sisters are their counterparts, I guess.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be great. Have you ever been to New York?”

  Now Betty felt fool
ish. “No. I applied by mail and met an alumnus in Chicago. Have you been?”

  “No,” Abe said. “But it’s a dream of mine. I’m going to design skyscrapers.”

  “I’m going to work in one!” Betty sensed it was safe to match his honesty.

  Abe laughed but it wasn’t dismissive; it was playful. “We’re a good match then, I guess. Maybe I’ll work on the skyscraper and you’ll work in it. What do you want to do inside my skyscraper, Betty?”

  Betty’s heart pounded as they stood by her porch steps. “I want to write for a magazine.” She outlined her plan for working her way to fashion editor.

  Any other night, with any other boy, dreaming aloud would have been pointless. Boys weren’t interested in her plans or her dreams. Most boys were like Marv—tolerant yet glib. But Abe listened. Abe nodded. Abe did not smirk.

  “I have a feeling you’ll be whatever you want to be. It’s nice to meet a girl who isn’t going to college to find a husband.” Abe inhaled. “You’re not, are you?”

  Betty shook her head.

  “I can tell. You have more in your head than room for recipes. Not that there’s anything wrong with marriage and kids and all.” Abe blushed. Oh my God, he blushed. “I should shut my trap now.”

  Betty laughed. “You’re right. I have a lot of plans. But this summer I just want to have fun.” There. She said it. “Can I ask how you ended up working here?”

  “I need extra money to help with tuition next year. I asked around. I wrote to your grandfather and explained my situation. I sent references from three professors and my hockey coach. He was really kind to hire me at the last minute.”

  “That’s Zaide.”

  “I’ll always be grateful.”

  “I heard your family owns a store. What kind of store is it? My friend Georgia’s family owns the department store in town. Lemon’s.”

  “It’s a five-and-dime, nothing fancy,” Abe said.

  “And you didn’t want to work there?” Betty hadn’t meant to sound like she wished Abe hadn’t come to South Haven. “Obviously you didn’t want to, or you’d be there. I’m glad you’re here.”