Underwater Vibes

by Mickey Brent

  Hélène felt nauseous. Her hand went to her mouth. Averting her eyes, she tried to shut out the faint tap tap tap as the tan toes in the flip-flops hit the floor with each passing second. She shivered. Now what am I supposed to do?

  *****

  Sylvie felt the cool air run over her thighs through the wooden slats in the bench. She wrapped her bath towel around her shoulders. A few minutes passed. She checked her watch. It was already 7:05 a.m. Shivering under her towel, she glanced at the women’s locker room entrance. Still nobody. She’d better show up, she decided, already regretting her decision to take on this new student. But she needed the extra hours; she couldn’t afford to refuse the job. Nursing images of herself snuggling under her cozy comforter with Goldie, she sighed. I’d so much rather be in bed right now. Hugging her elbows to her muscular chest, she tried to trap the warmth. If she doesn’t come by 7:15, I’m taking off. I could still go for a quick jog to the park.

  *****

  From behind her crate filled with pool props, Hélène’s eyes were glued on the Greek goddess. To her dismay, the toe tapping got worse, until finally, the goddess rose. Hélène’s heart pounded as she watched the younger woman leave the pool area. Just as the goddess entered the women’s locker room, Hélène emerged from behind the crate, cleared her throat, and hollered, “Er…Excusez-moi.”

  Sylvie reappeared, with a startled expression. “Bonjour.Where did you—” she began, glancing toward the men’s locker room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Hélène stammered. “I had difficulties finding the pool, vous voyez. Sort of took a detour. It was dark and—”

  “Don’t worry.” With a warm smile, Sylvie held out her hand. “Madame Dupont? I’m Sylvie. I’ll be teaching you to swim.” Hélène drank in every bit of the goddess’s sensuous voice.

  Sylvie? Doesn’t sound very Greek.

  Before her knees could buckle, Hélène stepped backward. “Bonjour. I’m…” Fighting a froglike sensation in her throat, she squeaked, “I’m Hélène.” As soon as Sylvie’s strong fingers clasped hers, time stopped for Hélène—as if in a dream. She felt Sylvie’s warm breath caressing her face, light and soft as a silken scarf floating in the breeze. She felt her lungs pumping fresh air under her swimming suit. Her legs were as weak as soggy cardboard. She leaned against the wall to keep from falling.

  *****

  “Enchantée, Hélène,” chirped Sylvie, oblivious of the entrancing effect she had on her new student. She was too absorbed with the eyes behind Hélène’s lenses. Their blueness startled her; she had never seen such an extraordinary deep-sea tint. The intensity created a potent cocktail of beauty mixed with fear. It’s normal. She’s scared of the water, she decided, pushing all other thoughts out of her mind. She smiled at her new protégée with the confidence of an expert instructor. And that’s why I’m here.

  *****

  Hélène forced herself to return to reality. Awkwardly, she returned her teacher’s smile. She was about to say, “En fait, we’ve already met,” but stopped. Feeling the goddess’s eyes penetrating hers, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “Nice pool.”

  Sylvie’s early-morning voice was scratchy, with a slight Greek accent. “Brand new. Alors, you’ve never swum before?”

  “Never. I’ve always hated water. It’s embarrassing…I’ve always been scared of it.”

  Sylvie smiled. “You’ll get used to it in no time.” Sitting at the edge of the pool, she plopped her feet into the water. “Come have a seat.” But Hélène remained at a distance, observing her teacher’s tan feet as they kicked the surface. “Venez, have a seat,” Sylvie repeated, gazing up at her student and tapping the space beside her. “I don’t bite.”

  Ah, mon Dieu. Hélène glanced at Sylvie’s muscular chest inside her tight bathing suit. Here goes… She made a silent wish, shut her eyes, and plopped herself next to the shapely tan thighs on the concrete. Lifting her toes into the air, she winced as she inched them toward the water.

  Chapter Eight

  The two scantily clad women were nearly pressed together. Hélène could feel Sylvie’s body heat mixing with her own. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sylvie’s neckline. Her yellow suit enhanced her dark skin, reminding Hélène of something she had recently written about a bumblebee: Brown and yellow and fuzzy all over. Inviting, yet painful, when you finally feel the sting.

  Hélène also noticed how Sylvie’s strong swimmer’s chest extended the fabric in all the right places. She didn’t dare look down at her own chest. She struggled to keep her eyes on the pool as the translucent water evoked childhood feelings of despair. Deep, mesmerizing darkness. Squeezing her eyes, she shuddered.

  Sylvie whispered. “Just put your feet in. You’ll feel better once you do.”

  “But I’m scared. I’ve always been afr—”

  “I’m a lifeguard. If anything happens, I promise, I’ll save you.”

  The tenderness in the instructor’s voice gave Hélène courage. Ever so slowly, she lowered a toe into the water. “Mince, it’s cold!” she yelped.

  Sylvie chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Toe by toe, Hélène gradually inserted her feet into the water.

  “That wasn’t so bad, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Sure, if that’s all I have to do every morning. Can I go home now?” blurted Hélène.

  Sylvie tapped Hélène’s knee. “I’m afraid there’s more to it. Mais ne vous inquiétez pas, we’ll go slowly. Every day we’ll do a little more.” With this, a jolt of electricity ran through Hélène’s body. “And I promise you,” continued Sylvie, gazing into Hélène’s eyes, “you’ll be swimming up a storm in no time. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  She tapped Hélène’s knee again. Hélène gulped. The electricity swept up her torso, straight to her cheeks. While her feet dangled in cold water, her face broke out in a sweat. She imagined the goddess with her in the water, grabbing her, locking her powerful arms around her chest. Instantly, she felt queasy.

  “Hey, you don’t look so good. Ca va?”

  “I think my body’s in shock,” replied Hélène, trying to keep her mind off the water, Sylvie’s soft brown eyes, and the intimate distance between their bodies. Sweat was trickling down her back. She wrapped her shoulders with her towel to fight off the chill.

  “Ne vous inquiétez pas. Don’t worry.” Sylvie leaned closer. “Have we met somewhere before?”

  Hélène’s body froze. She could feel her neck hairs bristling under her tight swimming cap.

  Sylvie lightly touched her shoulder. “Je suis désolée. It’s only your first lesson and—

  Hélène gave her a blank look. “Excusez-moi, what did you say?”

  “I have the feeling we’ve already met.”

  “Enfin, actually…” Hélène started blushing.

  “Did we?”

  Hélène gripped the side of the pool. “A few weeks ago, at the market. We met at the flower stand and—”

  “You found my keychain!” blurted Sylvie, slapping her thigh. “I didn’t recognize you with your swim cap on.”

  Hélène tried to suppress her nervousness. “Me neither. We were both wearing clothes.”

  “Quelle coïncidence!” Sylvie smiled, revealing a cute pair of dimples. “You saved my life that day.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Besides…” Hélène gestured at the pool. “You’ll be saving mine from now on.”

  “Let’s hope not. But I’ll always be here if you need me.” Sylvie stretched her chest muscles. “Allez-y, let’s give it a try.”

  *****

  Sylvie entered the shallow water and held out her arms. Hélène took a deep breath and grabbed her teacher’s hands. “It’s freezing!” she cried as the water hit her knees.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  Hélène shook her head. “It’s like bathing in an iced tea.”

  Sylvie let go of her student’s hands. “How poetic! Are you a writ
er?”

  She’s got to be kidding. “I just scribble.”

  “As in books?”

  “Poems. Just silly stuff, really.”

  Sylvie’s dimples materialized. “I love poetry.”

  Hélène’s eyes perked up. “Really?”

  “That’s so cool.” Sylvie’s eyes lingered on Hélène’s. “But let’s get back to our swimming lesson. Suivez-moi.” She walked backward.

  Hélène took a deep breath, trying to control her awkward moves in the water. She lifted her arms for balance. I give up, she decided, stalling.

  “Allez-y. You can do it,” seizing her hands, Sylvie ventured deeper—up to her waist.

  Grimacing, Hélène inched forward, one toe at a time.

  Sylvie took a bigger step; Hélène started to topple.

  “Got ya!” Sylvie caught her.

  Feeling the Greek goddess’s strong arms around her chest, Hélène’s mind flashed back to the market a few weeks before. Forbidden…

  A sea of foreign sensations swept through her body, invading it like a tidal wave washing over a city, sweeping away all that wasn’t firmly fastened down. Hélène struggled to keep her feet on the ground. She was transported to another time zone in Sylvie’s arms.

  Then she felt a burst of warm air on her lips.

  But instead of exotic spices from a faraway land, all Hélène could detect was chlorine. After what seemed like hours, they pulled their wet bodies apart and gazed at each other. I can’t believe this is happening.

  Sylvie broke the silence. “Ca va?”

  “Sorry. I’m such a wimp.” Hélène shifted her hips.

  “Not at all. Remember, this is new to you. And you’re doing great. Suivez-moi.”

  Sylvie walked backward again. Whenever Hélène faltered, Sylvie grabbed her. Soon, they were soaked to the ears. In between laughs, Hélène ventured, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Bien sûr.”

  “It’s kind of personal.”

  This made Sylvie stop laughing. Abruptly, her eyes lost their youthful sparkle and turned serious.

  *****

  Ah, non. Not again, thought Sylvie. She cupped her hands and squirted a thin stream of water across the pool. How she always hated this. Things would be going great until her new students—usually those taking private lessons—would ask her a series of inevitable questions about her personal life: Married? Children?—C’est bizarre. Why not?

  She squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the onslaught of invasive queries. It always happened on the second or third lesson. She seemed different from the others. Yet she’s asking me this on our first day. Guess they’re all the same. How in the heck does my private life have anything to do with swimming lessons?

  Sylvie realized how sensitive she was about this, but she couldn’t help it. Raised in a huge Greek family with traditional values, she wasn’t like her siblings. All her life, she had felt like a rarity—a hard raisin trapped in a loaf of fresh bread, an indigestible item to chew.

  The question she hated most was: “When will you finally settle down with a nice man and start a family?” Yaya was the only person in Santorini who left her alone. She cooked up healthy dishes of advice, like most grandmas, but she never forced intimate details out of Sylvie. Rather than imposing her ideas, she would scatter precious seeds of counsel—as if nourishing a baby bird. Sylvie was free to nibble or not.

  Even though Sylvie resided in Brussels, thousands of kilometers away, she always sensed the vibrations of Yaya’s unfaltering love and respect. Unfortunately, the rest of Sylvie’s family—and even her neighbors—thought it was their right as Greeks to know everything. Her throat tightened just thinking about it. Fifteen years ago, she had naïvely thought she would escape this nonsense when she moved to Belgium. But here it was, happening again.

  “I don’t want to be rude or anything but…”

  Sylvie squinted. Merde. Here it comes.

  “You have a bit of an accent. Are you from somewh—”

  “Oui!” Sylvie burst out. “I’m from Greece. And I’m actually a big, wild, Greek dolphin.”

  Before Hélène could respond, Sylvie dove underwater and swam around Hélène’s legs. After a while, she resurfaced. Pulling off her cap, she shook her hair, releasing a luscious cascade of dark silk. Gasping for air, she turned to face Hélène, who stood mesmerized by the droplets running down her muscular chest.

  *****

  Hélène’s body reacted like she had just downed a bottle of whiskey. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the pair of erect nipples aiming straight at her. Even through her water-smeared lenses, she detected the buds poking through the thin yellow fabric. Her head started whizzing as she fell backward.

  Sylvie grabbed her and whispered in her ear. “Ca va? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Hélène tried to focus. “Just feeling kind of dizzy.”

  “Did you have breakfast this morning?”

  Hélène remembered feeding Chaussette. But did I eat? “Guess I didn’t.”

  “Tomorrow I want you to eat breakfast first. Cereal or fruit—bananas are good.”

  Hélène nodded.

  “That’s enough for today.” Sylvie guided her to the shallow end. “You did great. See you tomorrow.”

  Hélène climbed out of the pool. Hope she doesn’t notice my big butt. She quickly covered up with her towel. When she turned around, Sylvie was nowhere in sight.

  There she is. She held her breath as a flash of yellow soared through the water. Powerful arms carved the surface, each stroke leaving a frothy mark.

  Hélène shivered on the cold concrete. So graceful and strong. As she tiptoed toward the locker room, painfully aware of her sore toe, she sidestepped the warning sign: “Rule number one: No running around the pool.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bundled like a baby in a fluffy bathrobe, Cecile stood amidst half a dozen fake palm trees. Puddles of water enveloped her dainty feet after a late-night plunge in her private outdoor pool. She shook her brown curls like a poodle, flicking chlorinated droplets at the plastic trees. A blissful cry erupted from her throat until ringing interrupted her folly.

  She sashayed over to a gold-rimmed, retro telephone.

  “Cecile Beaucils,” she answered, rousing her most feminine voice. “I’m so glad you called!” Her tone dropped half an octave. “Attends. Slow down, ma puce.”

  Cecile squinted at the moon. “So how was your first lesson?” she asked, twisting her hair into a tight ringlet. “Quoi? You’re kidding. The woman at the market?”

  Smacking her delicate lips together, she eased into a lounge chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

  *****

  Marc’s mustache rose and fell in tiny, rapid movements—like a rabbit’s nose. Hélène concentrated on his thin lips, which seemed to be scowling. Wonder if it’s because of what he’s reading or what he’s chewing? She reached for her fork. Tonight, she would do things differently: she would focus on her food instead of him.

  What a reward. Her taste buds serenaded each carefully prepared morsel. The tender steak, fresh zucchini, and whole-wheat pasta that miraculously turned out al dente. Licking her soft lips, she took it all in. Now that she was biking to work—after purging her junk food stashes—her appetite skyrocketed. She was inhaling healthy snacks: handfuls of mixed nuts, dried fruit, a banana, or half an avocado with whole-wheat wafers. Just as Dr. Duprès predicted, with exercise and a healthier diet, Hélène’s energy level soared.

  As she shoveled pasta into her mouth, her thoughts went back to the morning’s swimming lesson for the umpteenth time. All she had to do was close her eyes, and the Greek goddess materialized, hands outstretched and zealous, to transport her into the water.

  Hélène’s reverie was interrupted by a grunt. “Where’s the sauce?” Marc was waving a forkful of steak at her.

  “Comment?” muttered Hélène, lifting her eyelids. “Désolée, chéri. Did you say something?”

  “You kn
ow I can’t eat my meat without Béarnaise.”

  “Chéri, remember what the doctor said? I need to be careful, so I’m trying to—”

  “Poison me with these new recipes of yours? Couldn’t get any blander.” Marc mashed the zucchini on his plate.

  “You’ve just got to get used to the natural taste of real food. It’s wholesome, with no additives or excess calories. I’ve been reading a lot about it, actually. Japanese cuisine is—”

  “Who cares about Japanese cuisine? We’re in Belgium, remember? So I want Belgian food. Like frites, mayonnaise, Béarnaise sauce, chicons au gratin…”

  “S’il te plaît, chéri. Try to understand. Dr. Duprès insisted on this. And if my blood test results are better, we can go back to eating sauces again.”

  “You had better get good results. This stuff reeks.” Marc threw his napkin down.

  As soon as he was gone, Hélène glanced at his plate. He had hardly touched it, except to mash the pasta and zucchini together, sculpting the mass into a three-dimensional form. She looked at the odd shape and shrugged. Guess he really is an artist.

  “By the way,” added Marc, returning from the kitchen with bulging cheeks and armfuls of potato chips, ice cream, and several beers. “I forgot to congratulate you.” As he munched, he waved his ice-cream scooper at Hélène. “I see you didn’t drown this morning.”

  With a spring in his step, he disappeared into the living room.

  *****

  Sylvie sat on the cold bench, dangling her feet. She pulled her towel around her thighs to keep warm.

  At precisely 7:02, Hélène tiptoed out of the locker room. Sylvie jumped up and kissed her on the cheek. “Glad you’re back!”