The Last Bathing Beauty

by Nathan, Amy Sue

  “Well, there she is.” Eleanor’s voice reverberated like wind chimes and was equally as irritating. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Abe turned and smiled at Betty. She combed her fingers through the tendrils hanging near her face.

  “You’re a goner,” Georgia whispered so softly that had she not been close enough for Betty to feel her breath, she wouldn’t have heard her friend at all. “I’m not leaving until she does.”

  Betty turned around. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  When Betty looked at Abe again, he stretched out his arm toward her and opened his hand as if revealing a tiny treasure. She could see the muscles in his forearms, and she shuddered, remembering the softness of his skin, the solidity of the muscles beneath.

  “What are you waiting for?” Georgia whispered, and poked Betty’s back. She turned and saw Georgia’s apricot painted lips stretched into a wide grin, her eyes crinkled closed by the smile.

  Betty skipped down the steps toward Abe, but truly she could have floated. When she arrived at his side she leaned in, knowing one day it would be natural to push onto her tiptoes and kiss the day’s stubble or his dimple. No, she’d kiss both. She swallowed hard, imagining his rough jawline against her lips. He smelled earthy, like sandalwood mixed with crisp lake air. The aroma was delicate considering his size, but it was also warm and safe, which fit him. She wished Eleanor would disappear, and even Georgia—though that wish tinged her with guilt. When Georgia met someone, she’d get it. All Betty wanted was to inhale deeply, his scent as vital as oxygen. Once on their own, she and Abe could tumble back into the rhythm they’d found. Betty wanted to know every little thing about his day. Had anything funny happened in the kitchen tonight? Had he overheard any gossip while serving the guests? Had he taken a nap? Swapped a shift? Received a letter from his parents? She wanted to tell him about Mrs. Gallbladder, how Betty possessed a wristwatch in place of a mother, how his outstretched hand had already endeared him to Georgia. Instead of speaking, Betty linked her fingers with Abe’s as Eleanor watched. He’s mine.

  Abe squeezed her hand. “Eleanor was just telling me about her date last night with your friend Marv.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. We went to Sherman’s Dairy Bar for ice cream and then walked on the beach,” Eleanor said.

  “Well, good for you.”

  Eleanor swung her hands behind her back and shifted side to side, as if humble and shy. But Betty saw how Eleanor narrowed her eyes when she looked at Georgia, and then blinked three times when she looked at Abe.

  “You do know Georgia Lemon, don’t you, Abe? She hails from South Haven, and she’s practically an honorary Stern, aren’t you, Georgie?” Eleanor asked.

  “Georgia, not Georgie,” Betty and Georgia said in unison.

  “Of course, we’ve met,” Abe said. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you too.” Georgia stood on the ground next to Eleanor, who looked up at her. Georgia’s ginger hair was curled and styled half-up, half-down—a little fussy for the arcade—unless she had her eye on someone. Did cautious, clever Georgia have a crush?

  “I have the car tonight,” Georgia said. “Let’s leave these two. I’ll give you a lift to the arcade, or wherever Marv is waiting.”

  Eleanor didn’t budge.

  “Eleanor?” Georgia asked. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Oh, you mean me?”

  Georgia grabbed Eleanor’s arm and led her away. “Yes, you.”

  Chapter 8

  BETTY

  For more than half an hour, Betty and Abe stood off to the side of the steps and talked. Guests nodded and smiled and stopped to chat. Betty was a Stern, never ignored.

  “Have you ever had a normal summer?” Abe asked.

  “This is a normal summer.”

  “I mean one where you’re not on a three-month vacation?”

  “Is that what you think this is for me?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I know that’s what everyone thinks. My grandfather says, ‘Let them think it.’” But she didn’t want any miscommunication with Abe. “Did you know we’re getting ready for a month before the staff arrives? I have to not only iron all the sets of curtains for every cabin, but pin up the lace panels to dry after my grandmother has cleaned them. And when I say pin, I mean with hundreds of pins. We clean the cabins ourselves. And do most of the landscaping. And while you might think leading calisthenics is easy, all those women doing whatever I say like we’re playing a game of Simon says, well, they also blame me when they can’t fit into a dress for Saturday night, when all week they’ve been feeding like horses at a trough! Oh, and don’t forget the five a.m. toilet plunging with my grandfather because he didn’t want to pay a plumber or having to cancel plans if someone calls in sick or quits. Last year I was a chambermaid all of August.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Abe said.

  “No one does.”

  “But that’s what family is for, right? I’d do anything my mother asked.” Abe traced his finger down her nose to just above her lip. The sensation ran over her scalp and down her neck, into her shoulders, arms, torso, all the way to her toes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you grew up without your parents.”

  “I had a wonderful childhood. Sometimes I think more than I had a right to.”

  “You have a right to be happy, a right to whatever you want.”

  Abe pulled her close and Betty wanted to stand that way forever. “Honestly, sometimes I forget my grandparents aren’t my actual parents.”

  That was a wishful lie. For the past fourteen years Betty only pretended to forget that the two people who were meant to love her most had left her behind. One day she would tell Abe how, for years, she looked for her parents everywhere—in crowds on the beach, at High Holiday services, on walks, in her dreams that took her under the sea and up in the sky. She looked for Tillie and Joe in everyone, especially strangers she noticed from the back who were the right height and build, or almost.

  This summer she was still without parents, but she was with Abe. Attentive, caring, smart, dreamy Abe. They’d started something. They were building something. No way was she letting her parents ruin tonight’s mood. “Will you take a walk with me?” Betty held out her hand and Abe clasped it.

  She steered him across the lawn and toward the beach. They sprinted onto the sand and it scattered at their feet as if clearing a path. Laughter drifted behind but didn’t follow them. Moonlight and the glow of a nearby hotel lit the way as they ran far from lights and sounds and the well-meaning passersby of Betty’s life. Privacy was elusive but not impossible.

  “Where are we going?” Abe asked.

  “To one of my favorite places on earth.”

  Betty and Abe climbed the dunes that rose to the east past the cabins, the tennis courts, and the staff parking lot. Most people didn’t know this was part of her grandparents’ property. A natural boundary between her family’s resort and the Atlantic Hotel, the dune remained untended and overgrown. That’s what made it a perfect childhood hideaway, where Betty played house among the brambles, where she had a mother home after school and a father who read her bedtime stories.

  She pushed through the brush and the grasses, eager to show Abe her personal refuge. Stepping on fallen branches, she kicked them out of the way. At the top she turned back toward the lake and sat in the sand.

  Abe chuckled and sat next to her. “You could’ve done that on the beach.”

  “But then I wouldn’t see this.”

  The not-quite-full moon hung as if by a string and its light cast a glistening vertical stripe in the water. They were backlit by distant resorts, and Betty knew without that remnant glow the air around them would be as dark as Mabel’s dark-chocolate molasses cookies. Betty leaned her head on Abe’s shoulder without hesitation or permission and pointed while gazing straight ahead.

  “I used to play back there.” Betty tipped back her head and Abe turned a bit, not
far enough to see but enough that she knew he was listening. “I played house and school, but my favorite was cops and robbers. I was both.”

  Abe placed his hand on hers. “Of course.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it’s unexpected, like everything about you.”

  Betty had never heard herself described that way. All her life she’d tried to do what had been expected of her—more than was expected. She couldn’t risk her grandparents changing their minds. Then what would have become of her?

  Oh, her grandparents adored her, she never really thought they’d send her away, but Betty had never been prone to taking chances. She achieved good grades, was accepted to a fine college, kept up her appearances, pitched in at the resort, made her bed, used polite manners.

  “What’s back there anyway?” Abe asked.

  “Dense bushes, I guess. I haven’t been here in years.” Betty popped up her head. “There used to be a patch of beach grass. I had picnics there. Stole cookies out of the cookie jar, although I always confessed later. I wonder if it’s all grown over. It’s too dark back there to check.”

  “Next time we’ll bring a flashlight,” Abe said.

  Next time.

  Abe tugged on Betty so that she’d turn to him. “Did it bother you that Eleanor bragged about a date with Marv?”

  “Bother me? God no. Why would it bother me?”

  “I think he has a thing for you.”

  Whether he had or not was of no concern to Betty. “I’ve known Marv since we were children. We’re just friends.”

  “So, you’re not upset they’re together?”

  Betty hadn’t thought about it before. “I’m happy that they each found someone.”

  “Are you happy for us?”

  Betty sucked in a breath and looked at her shoes, the shiny pennies in her summer loafers staring at her like a wide-eyed hopeful friend. “There’s an ‘us’?”

  “There is for me.”

  Bashfulness washed over Betty. She said nothing, as if she had nothing to say. Pressure spread inside her chest, resulting in a shortness of breath like the times she’d swallowed mouthfuls of lake water. The ache was proof. This was really happening.

  Betty raised her head and stared into Abe’s blue eyes again. Neither of them glanced away. She was safe there, gazing at him, safe this close to him. She was not at risk of losing any part of who she was, or what she wanted. Abe liked her spirit, her ambition, her unexpectedness.

  His eyes were rimmed in specks of yellow. His nose a little crooked from a childhood tumble from his bicycle. His lips curved and slim, but not thin, and a pale shade of pink she might have chosen for a silk slip.

  Abe placed his hands on her waist and caressed her with his thumbs, but he didn’t move his hands. Betty’s reticence dissolved. Her shyness whirled into desire. She rested her palms on Abe’s chest. He smiled in the way that deepened his dimples, and her longing.

  When would he stop being such a gentleman?

  Abe leaned toward her. He kissed her full on the lips, deliberate and soft. The touch was tender and new, but somehow familiar. Then he pulled away.

  Don’t stop. Did he have regrets? Betty stared at his smile as it brightened his face. She knew he wasn’t sorry he’d kissed her. She smiled into his eyes.

  Then she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. This time he touched open lips to hers. She crushed against him as the sweet kiss accelerated. Abe was skillful and passionate, not boyish or clumsy.

  She drifted, oblivious to time, unaware of the surroundings. Then she recognized the taste. Mint.

  Betty’s insides fluttered. Abe had planned to kiss her all along.

  She pulled away and kissed Abe’s cheek, his chin, the tip of his nose. She rested her head on Abe’s chest. He lay back on the sand and she remained there, listening to his heartbeat. Did all hearts pound so loudly?

  Summer stretched in front of her, but at the same time the season wasn’t very long at all—just three months. How could it be that just days after she met him, she’d found a piece to her puzzle? And not just any piece—a corner piece, one that secured her to everything else in her life.

  And just like that, she knew.

  I love him.

  It felt the way she believed it should. Safe and strong. Urgent and patient. Overpowering and liberating.

  He traced his hand down her back. She laid her arm over him, pulling Abe as close as she could. Her next breath emerged as a sigh. She could be closer.

  It wouldn’t happen tonight, but it would happen. Abe would be her first.

  She wanted him to be her only.

  Chapter 9

  BETTY

  On Saturday night, traces of perfume and hair spray sailed around the dining-room-turned-nightclub. Cigarette smoke draped the air like a morning mist. Diamonds sparkled on wrists and necks, satin shimmered on bodices and lapels. Live trumpets blared, saxophones swooned, drums thundered.

  Betty swept her hands behind her waist that had been cinched inside her pale-blue taffeta dress. She locked her fingers and stepped backward to the wall. Just one dance with Zaide and then she could go. Nannie had promised Betty could leave before midnight.

  Her grandparents whirled around the dance floor as if stand-ins for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, though in the dimmed room the spotlight remained on the Rudy Mazer Orchestra. Nannie and Zaide wouldn’t have had it any other way. They spent the off-season booking top-notch entertainment. Fellow resort owners cursed Nannie for her charm and Zaide for his shrewdness, but the guests boasted to their friends and family and strangers on the beach. “Boasting boosts business,” Zaide often said.

  In her mind, Betty swapped out her grandparents for her and Abe, decades from now, a lifetime behind them. She imagined his broad shoulders filling a tuxedo jacket destined for dancing, not waiting tables, and herself in the aubergine organza gown with a trumpet skirt and an illusion neckline that was both alluring and sophisticated—the one she’d seen in Vogue. No matter how flattering, there would be no more modest pastel dresses with layers of petticoats once she entered college. She tapped one foot and closed her eyes, pretending she’d been transfixed by the music.

  She visualized Abe leaning down to kiss her, and the way his mouth stayed parted when she removed her lips from his neck. Her heart rate quickened, and blood rushed through her veins. She remembered the piercing gazes they’d shared on the lawn, in the main house, by the tennis court earlier that day.

  “May I have this dance?”

  The voice did not belong to Zaide.

  Betty opened her eyes. “No, thank you, Marvin.” He smiled anyway. Had she blushed? Could he know what she’d been thinking?

  “My mother calls me Marvin.”

  “No, thank you, Marv. I’m actually waiting for someone.”

  Marv turned toward the dance floor, then back to Betty. Zaide was waltzing with Mrs. Levine.

  “Since no off-duty staff is allowed in the nightclub and your grandfather looks busy . . .” Marv cocked his head. “I’m sure Abe wouldn’t mind if two old friends shared a dance.”

  Betty would mind but she heard Zaide’s voice in her head: Give the guests what they want. Did anyone care what she wanted?

  “What about Eleanor?”

  “What about her?”

  “Won’t she mind?”

  Marv shook his head and smiled but didn’t smirk. “No, she won’t mind.” His tone was mild, without insinuations or demands. Then he held out his hand. “Please.”

  Betty nodded. It was just one dance.

  And it was one dance with Marv. They whirled around the dance floor to “Till the End of Time.” It was one of Nannie’s favorites, but a little old-fashioned for Betty’s taste, which made it perfect. The band played some new music, but mostly catered to the guests her parents’ and grandparents’ ages.

  As the song ended, Zaide walked toward them wearing his new midnight-blue semiformal dinner jacket, a fashionable match f
or Nannie’s peacock-colored dress, even when she was on the far side of the room directing cocktail waiters.

  He dominated the crowd, guests stepping aside as if nudged. There was never a sideways glance or distasteful sneer. Of course, her grandfather was handsome, but it was something else for Betty to see the reaction to his stature and good looks, to realize that even at sixty-two he garnered the attention of men and the admiration of women. A cluster of guests—female guests—pressed to the side to make way for Zaide, as if it was their pleasure to stop talking and smash their evening gowns together like cotton rags. Betty thought perhaps it was. “Come back and have a drink with us?” one woman said. And why shouldn’t she? Zaide always had a jovial anecdote or kind word for every guest. For the women he sprinkled compliments the way Betty had sprinkled daily fish food for a carnival goldfish.

  Zaide patted the sheen from his forehead and slid his handkerchief into his pocket as he struck the shoulder of Mr. Horowitz with his other hand like they were old college pals.

  Abe would be just as smooth when he was older, Betty was sure of it.

  “May I cut in?” Zaide asked.

  Marv released his hand from Betty’s waist but maintained a light hold on her right hand, which he placed into her grandfather’s left. Even after an enjoyable Lindy Hop, repugnance settled into Betty’s stomach like soured milk. Marv was not being possessive, but chivalrous. Wasn’t he? He wanted to be friends.

  “Thanks for the dance, Betty,” Marv said.

  She wondered if he was off to see Eleanor. “You’re welcome.”

  Marv nodded once at Zaide. “Good night, sir.” He walked toward the door as the music grew louder and Betty began to fox-trot with Zaide by rote.

  How lucky Marv was to be on vacation for the whole summer, away from his work and responsibilities. Did that mean he wasn’t essential to his father’s business? This thought tumbled through Betty’s thoughts as she and Zaide danced.