by Joy Fielding
The girl behind the counter looked up from the fashion magazine she was perusing, extraordinary violet eyes overwhelming the rest of her small face. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice surprisingly husky, the words emerging slowly from between small but full lips, as if she weren’t quite sure whether meeting me was nice or not. She was dressed all in black, which made her look thinner than she already was, although her breasts were high and disproportionately large for her narrow frame.
“I don’t think they’re real,” Alison would later say.
“I’m wondering how much that painting is,” I said, glancing toward the painting of the girl on the pink, sandy beach, her face hidden by her wide-brimmed hat.
Denise raised bored violet eyes to the far wall. Then she reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic-covered sheet of paper to scan the typed list. “That one’s fifteen hundred dollars.”
“The wall behind the sofa in your living room,” Alison said again. “What do you think?”
“I think you don’t start work till Monday,” I reminded her.
Alison’s face broke into a wide smile. “I’m gonna be great at this, aren’t I?”
I laughed, directing my attention to the display of jewelry in the glass counter that occupied the middle of the store. I found myself staring at a pair of long silver earrings in the shape of cupids.
“Aren’t those great?” Alison knew exactly what pair I was looking at. “How much are these?” She poked at the glass above the earrings.
Denise opened the back of the case, lifted the earrings out, held them toward me. Deep purple nails protruded over the ends of long, tapered fingers. “Two hundred dollars.”
I backed away, lifted my hands in the air. “Too rich for my blood.”
Alison quickly scooped up the earrings. “Nonsense. She’ll take them.”
“No,” I countered. “Two hundred dollars is way too much.”
“My treat.”
“What? No!”
“Yes.” Alison gently removed the thin gold loops I was wearing and replaced them with the long silver cupids. “You gave me a heart,” she said, patting the tiny gold heart at her throat. “Now it’s my turn.”
“It’s hardly the same thing.”
“I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, I get an employee discount. How much with my discount?” she asked Denise.
The young woman shrugged. “Take them. They’re yours. Fern’ll never miss them.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, immediately preparing to take them off.
“She’s just kidding,” Alison said, already returning several loose $100 bills to her purse. She quickly ushered me to the front of the store. “Fern’s her aunt,” she reminded me, as if this should be explanation enough.
“Does she know her niece is a thief?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll settle with Fern on Monday.”
“You promise?”
Alison smiled, tucked my hair behind my ears to better admire my new earrings. “I promise.”
SEVEN
Don’t you look lovely!” Myra Wylie lifted her head from the pillow, gnarled fingers, like turkey claws, beckoning me toward her bed.
I ran self-conscious hands across the front of my yellow dress as I approached. Myra had asked to see what I’d be wearing for lunch with her son, so I’d used her bathroom to change out of my nurse’s uniform and into my street clothes. I’d decided on the same dress I’d worn to dinner with Alison the previous week.
“Thank you, dear.” Myra lowered her head back to the pillow, although her eyes remained on me. “It was very sweet of you to show me your dress. I get a taste of what I missed by not having had a daughter. That former daughter-in-law of mine was for the birds. She was no fun at all. But you . . .”
“Me?” I prompted, eager to hear more.
“You’re very good to me.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“People aren’t always kind,” Myra said, her eyes on some distant memory.
“You make it very easy,” I told her truthfully, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her, stealing a glance at my watch. It was almost twelve-thirty.
“Don’t worry,” Myra said with a knowing smile. “He won’t be late.”
I leaned forward, pretended to be tucking in the blue cotton sheet that served as a bedspread.
“Those are lovely,” Myra said. “Are they new?”
Her bony fingers were twisting toward the dangling cupids at my ears. “Yes, they are. A friend gave them to me.” I wondered if Alison had settled with her boss, as she’d promised.
“A boyfriend?” Worry clouded Myra’s eyes, like fresh cataracts.
“No. Actually, they were a gift from my new tenant.” Again I pictured Alison. She’d started work on Monday, and except for one quick call to say she was loving every minute of her new job, I hadn’t spoken to her all week. “Besides, I’m a little old for boyfriends, don’t you think?”
“We’re never too old for boyfriends.”
“What’s this about boyfriends?” the male voice boomed from the doorway.
“There he is,” Myra said, all girlish flutter. “How are you, darling?” She held out her arms. I stepped out of the way and watched Josh fold inside them.
“Perfect,” he said, looking right at me.
“Was the traffic bad?”
“It was miserable.”
“You should take the turnpike.”
“Yes, I should.” He straightened up and smiled at me. “We have this same discussion every week.”
“You should listen to your mother,” I told him.
“Yes, I should.”
“Doesn’t Terry look beautiful?” Myra asked.
I looked to the floor to hide the blush I could feel spreading across my face. Not because I was embarrassed by the compliment, but because I’d been thinking exactly the same thing about her son. I don’t think I’d realized before how deep were the dimples at his cheeks, how pronounced the muscles that bulged beneath his short-sleeved shirt. It was all I could do to keep from crossing my legs and screaming out loud. I hadn’t felt this way in years.
“She looks very beautiful,” Josh dutifully replied.
“Do you like her earrings?”
Josh lifted his fingers to my ear, his hand grazing the side of my cheek. “I like them very much.”
I felt a rush of heat, as if he’d struck a match, held it against my flesh. “You’re a troublemaker, you know that?” I told Myra, who looked inordinately pleased with herself.
“You ready?” Josh asked.
I nodded.
“I expect a full report after lunch,” Myra called after us.
“I’ll take notes,” I called back as Josh ushered me into the hall.
“How would you like to have lunch by the ocean?” he asked.
“You read my mind.”
*
WE WENT TO LUNA ROSA, an upscale eatery located on South Ocean Boulevard, directly across from the beach. The restaurant was one of my favorites, an easy walk from my house, although Josh had no way of knowing that. He’d reserved a table outside, and we sat along the narrow sidewalk, soaking in the ocean air, and watching the constant parade of people pass by our chairs.
“So, tell me, when did all this happen?” Josh’s voice rose easily above the conflicting sounds of surf and automobiles.
“When did what happen?” I watched a young woman in a turquoise thong bikini as she ran barefoot across the road, then disappeared into a burst of sunlight.
Josh waved large, expressive hands into the air. “This. The Delray I remember was all pineapple fields and jungle.”
I laughed. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“Delray’s changed a lot in the past ten years.” I felt an unexpected surge of pride. “We’ve just been awarded our second All-American City designation by the National Civic League, and a few years back we were named ‘the best-run
town in Florida.’ ” I smiled. “How do you like them pineapples?”
He laughed, his eyes on mine. “Looks like I should visit more often.”
“I’m sure your mother would like that.”
“And you?”
I grabbed my ice water, took a long sip. “I’d like that too.”
The waiter approached with our orders. Crab cakes for Josh, a seafood salad for me.
“Your mother’s quite a character,” I said, taking a mouthful of calamari, seeking safer ground. I’d never been a good flirt, and I was even worse when it came to playing games. I tended to blurt out whatever thought was on the tip of my tongue.
“Yes, she is. She’s filled you in on the sordid family history, I take it.”
“She told me you’re divorced.”
“I’m sure her description was considerably more colorful than that.”
“Maybe just a little.” I took another sip of ice water. Sensibly, I’d declined Josh’s offer of a glass of wine. It was important to keep a clear head, to stay in control. Besides, I had barely an hour before I had to be back at work. I leaned back in the uncomfortable folding chair, listened to the sound of the waves somersaulting toward the shore, echoing the tumult taking place inside my body. God, what was the matter with me? I hadn’t felt so overwhelmed, so smitten, so damn girlish, since I was fourteen years old.
I wanted to grab Josh Wylie by the collar of his white linen shirt and yank him across the table. I haven’t had sex in five years, I wanted to shout. Can we just skip all this verbal foreplay and get on with the real thing?
But of course I didn’t. I just sat there smiling at him. My mother would have been proud.
“She tells me you never married,” Josh said, cutting into his crab cakes, unaware of the more interesting conversation taking place inside my head.
“She’s right.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, and I would have thought some guy would have snapped you up long ago.”
“You would have thought,” I agreed with a laugh.
“You have something against marriage?”
“Not a thing.” I wondered why I always seemed to be explaining my single status. “As I told Alison, it wasn’t any conscious decision on my part.”
“Who’s Alison?”
“What? Oh, my new tenant.”
“Any regrets?”
“Regrets? About Alison?”
Josh smiled. “About life in general.”
I released a long, deep breath. “A few. You?”
“A few.”
We finished the rest of our meal, talking easily, laughing often, as the waves swept our unspoken regrets back and forth along the water’s edge.
*
AFTER LUNCH, Josh removed his socks and shoes and rolled his black linen trousers up around his knees, while I slipped off my sandals, and we walked along the beach. The ocean repeatedly rushed toward us, only to pull away upon contact. Like an eager lover tormented by second thoughts, it charged only to retreat. It seduced you with its monstrous beauty, then abandoned you, breathless and alone, on the shore. The eternal dance, I thought, the water cold as it licked at my toes.
“Aren’t we just the luckiest people alive?” Josh said with an appreciative laugh.
“We are.” I pushed my face toward the sky, squinting into the sun.
“I remember when I was a kid,” he continued. “My father used to take me to the beach every Saturday afternoon while my mother was having her hair done.”
“You’re from Florida originally?” I wasn’t sure why I asked that. I already knew everything there was to know about Josh’s background: that he’d been born in Boynton Beach, weighing a hefty nine pounds, two ounces; that his parents had lived at 212 Hibiscus Drive all their married life; that his mother had continued to live there after her husband’s death a decade ago; that she’d refused her son’s offer to move her down to Miami so that she could be closer to her grandchildren; that she’d continued to live in that little house she loved until she got too sick to look after it anymore; that she’d personally selected Mission Care over fancier facilities in Miami, insisting that she got nosebleeds south of Delray; that her son drove up at least once a week to see her; that he was still reeling from his divorce after seventeen years of marriage to his college sweetheart; that he was the single father of two lovely but confused children; that he was lonely; that he deserved a second chance at happiness; that I was more than prepared to provide him with that chance.
That I was completely out of my mind, I thought, realizing that I hadn’t heard a single word he’d said in the last two minutes. What was the matter with me? Was I so starved for male companionship that a pleasant lunch instantly spawned fantasies of happily ever after? I needed to slow down, calm down, cool down. Before I ruined everything.
Deliberately, I allowed myself to be distracted by the sight of two boys, maybe five or six years old, in matching bright red bathing suits, tumbling over each other as they rolled, like runaway logs, into the water, before disappearing underneath a succession of increasingly large waves. I looked around the crowded beach. An elderly couple was relaxing under a red-and-white-striped umbrella; a young man was erecting a sand castle with his toddler son; two teenagers carelessly tossed a neon-pink Frisbee back and forth; a middle-aged woman, her large stomach protruding over a tiny bikini bottom, swung her arms with careless abandon as she marched along beside the ocean; a younger woman was soaking up the sun, breast implants proudly pointing toward the cloudless sky. No one was supervising the two boys, I realized, holding my breath as the boys’ heads appeared above the water, only to disappear again under the next big wave.
“Do you see anyone watching those boys?” I asked Josh, hard pellets of sunshine bouncing off my eyes as I continued scanning the beach.
Josh’s eyes joined in the search. “I’m sure there’s someone,” he said unconvincingly, as one of the youngsters began waving his arms in the air.
A fresh wave immediately slapped them down. This wave was immediately followed by a much larger one. A small voice rode the wave to shore. “Help!” the voice cried, wobbling like unsteady knees on a surfboard.
“Help!” I echoed loudly, motioning frantically to the lifeguard farther down the beach, but he was busy chatting up a teenage girl in a black-and-white string bikini, the girl’s long, lean legs stretching all the way up to her baseball cap. I’ve had nightmares about drowning all my life, maybe because I never learned how to swim. I couldn’t just stand there waiting for disaster to strike. I had to do something. “We have to do something,” I shouted as Josh raced toward the lifeguard.
“Help! Help!” the small voice pleaded, now joined by a second voice, more plaintive than the first. Their cries skipped along the surface of the water like a stone, only to disappear beneath yet another rush of deadly white foam.
“Somebody do something!” I shouted at the people around me, but although a small crowd was starting to gather, nobody moved.
Without further thought, I dropped my purse and shoes to the sand and jumped into the surf after the boys, the cold water reaching between my thighs and whipping my dress around my legs. An unexpected undertow suddenly anchored my legs to the sand, and I struggled to maintain my balance, my hands circling my body like rusty propellers.
“Help!” the boys continued crying, their heads bobbing like apples in a bucket as I resolutely pushed myself forward, only to feel my legs collapse beneath me like the folding chair I’d been sitting on only moments before.
“I’m coming,” I called out, the bitter taste of salt washing over my tongue as the ocean spilled into my mouth. “Hang on,” I urged as the ground under my toes suddenly disappeared, as if I’d stepped off a steep cliff, and I fought to keep my head above water. My hands reached blindly for something to grab on to, accidentally smacking against what felt like a rock, but proved to be a small head.
Hair curled between my fingers, like seaweed.
Whether through determination, good fortune, or just plain, dumb luck, I managed to get my hands around first one boy, then the other, and somehow catapulted their kicking frames toward the shore in time for anxious arms to reach them. I heard a series of excited, high-pitched exhortations—”Didn’t I tell you to stay put until I got back? Look at you! You almost drowned!”—and then the water once again wrapped itself around my torso, like a hungry boa constrictor, and carried me back out to sea.
So this is what it feels like to drown, I remember thinking as the water covered my head like a heavy blanket, sneaking into all my private cavities, an impatient lover who would no longer be denied. “Terry,” the water whispered seductively. Then louder, more insistent. “Terry . . . Terry.”
“Terry!”
The voice exploded in my ear as determined hands reached under my arms to pull me toward the sky. My head burst through the surface of the water like a fist through glass.
“My God, are you all right?” Strong arms pushed me toward the shore where I collapsed onto my hands and knees.
Water clung to my eyes, like shards of glass, and I struggled to open them. Slivers of breath escaped my lungs in a series of short, painful spasms.
“Are you all right?” Josh’s face formed around the edges of the words.
I nodded, coughed, sucked furiously at the air. “The boys . . .?”
“They’re fine.”
“Thank God.”
Josh’s fingers pushed the hair out of my eyes, smoothed the water from my cheeks. “You’re a hero, Terry Painter.”
“I’m an idiot,” I muttered. “I can’t swim.”
“So I noticed.”
“You’re not supposed to go in the water without a bathing suit,” a little girl admonished from somewhere beside me.
I looked down at my once seductive dress, now wrapped around me like a bruised yellow tent. “Look at me,” I wailed. “I look like an overripe banana.”
Josh laughed. “Good enough to eat,” I thought I heard him say, although in the ensuing commotion I couldn’t be sure. A crowd was gathering. Unfamiliar voices were exclaiming their gratitude; strange hands were patting my back.