“Not exactly… I wanted to ask you something personal,” Jeff said, sucking his cheeks in and out. “Would you go talk to her for me?”
“Talk to who, Jeff?”
“Abby-when she’s at C. C. Willoughby on Thursday. She’s just got to come sign books for me, Mitch. I need this, or I swear I’ll go under. Chrissie totally blew me off, and Abby hung up on me as soon as she heard my voice.”
“What makes you think she’ll speak to me?”
“She’ll at least hear you out. She doesn’t hate you. Will you do it, Mitch?”
Mitch really didn’t want to get involved in Jeff’s marital problems. But the little guy seemed so desperate and alone that he didn’t know how to say no. “Can I think it over?”
“Does that mean yes?”
“It means I’ll think it over.”
“Sure, sure,” Jeff said with great relief. “Mitch, you’re a real pal. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Honest.”
Mitch continued on behind the open-air showers now to the weathered knotty pine changing stalls, which were grouped on either side of a center aisle, maybe fifty of them in all. Each stall was about three-by-five feet, with a door that was cropped a foot short at top and bottom for ventilation. Mitch’s stall was bare except for a wooden bench and a few pegs to hang clothes on.
He emerged a moment later in his baggy surf shorts, and padded back out to the veranda. Martine was already swimming laps in a roped-in area out by the float. There was no one else out in the water. Will and Dodge were busy laying the ears of corn around the edge of the fire, which was getting good and hot. Jeff was seated back under the umbrella in the shade.
Now Donna joined Mitch, wearing a generously cut one-piece suit and a self-conscious look on her round face. Donna was no long-stemmed bikini babe-she was stubby and short-waisted, and she knew it. “Berger, is that you?” she joked, groping blindly at the air before her. She had removed her wire-rimmed glasses for the swim.
“It is.”
“How do you like my new hot girl suit?” she asked, modeling it with a dainty curtsy. She was definitely feeling her margaritas.
“I like it fine. You ready to go in?”
“Absolutely, but you have to go in ahead of me. I don’t want you staring at my big butt.”
“But this way you get to stare at mine.”
“That’s right, honey.” she giggled, swatting his arm with her hand.
The tide was out, the bottom sandy and soft. It fell off gradually as they slogged their way out, the water calm but surprisingly chilly. It was still only about chest deep as they neared the float, where Martine continued to swim laps back and forth, the hazy sunlight glistening on her smooth, tanned flesh.
“What’s up with that Rocky Dies Yellow tattoo?” Donna asked, peering at his biceps. “Are you some kind of a Stallone boy toy?”
“No, Cagney.”
“Oh, sure, that’s from the end of Angels with Dirty Faces. I love that movie.”
“I didn’t know you were into old movies.” Mitch’s eyes continued to follow Martine, her stroke so effortless and graceful that she barely made a ripple in the water.
“Mitch, there are more layers to me that you can possibly imagine. I’m like a really good lasagne Bolognese-but I’m also old-fashioned.”
“How so?”
“I believe that when you go swimming with one girl you shouldn’t be staring at another.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Were.”
Mitch lowered his voice. “What do you think of her?”
“That’s a funny thing to ask,” Donna responded slowly. “I should hate her guts.”
Mitch widened his eyes at her. “Really?”
“Oh, totally. There’s never been a day in her life when she wasn’t pretty, popular, rich, could have any boy she wanted. And look at her now, she’s pushing fifty and she’s still built like I was when I was never. Which is, like, so not fair.” Donna paused, letting out a sigh. “But the truth is that she’s a real doll, and she’s been nothing but nice to me since I moved here. Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.”
“And does Trooper Mitry know you’re just… curious?”
“Not that kind of curious.”
“Yeah, right.”
Donna headed farther out now, so that the water was up over her head and she had to paddle a little. Back on the veranda, Dodge wasbusy working the grill. Will was busy staring out at the two of them-so intently that Mitch couldn’t help wondering if he was jealous. Jeff was still seated by himself at the umbrella table, shoulders slumped.
“What’s up with our Mr. Wachtell tonight?” Donna wondered, squinting back at the shore. “He seems somewhat bummed.”
“He’s got money worries.”
“Hey, who doesn’t?”
“Come on, The Works is an incredible success story.”
“Incredible,” she agreed. “Just as long as you don’t look too close.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mitch, let me put it to you this way-what am I doing right now?”
“You’re, well, you’re at the beach club. You’re in the water. You’re…”
“Work with me here, Mitch,” she said impatiently.
“Okay, I’ve got it-you’re treading water.”
“And what happens if I stop paddling?”
“You sink to the bottom and drown,” he replied, nodding. “But how can that be? Your place is mobbed morning, noon and night.”
“Overhead,” Donna answered simply. “We owe the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Our payroll is huge. Our debt load is huge. Everything we hold near and dear is tied up in The Works, including the note on our house. Long term, Dodge is convinced we’ve got a winning idea. He thinks we can even franchise it all around New England-anywhere there’s an abandoned mill. But short term, we are just total kitchen slaves. This is the first time I’ve had fun in I don’t know how long.”
Martine started back in toward shore now, waving at them as she swam past, her smile dazzling and white.
“I wasn’t kidding this afternoon, Mitch,” Donna said, coloring slightly.
“About what?”
“Sailing off to Bermuda with you.” Her eyes were locked on to his now.
Mitch swallowed. “What about you and Will?”
“Don’t look too close at that either.”
“You’re having problems?”
“I don’t know what we’re having,” she confessed. “Things just haven’t been the same since we went into business together. But, hey, enough with the Oprah-babble. I’m trying to seduce you, handsome. Do you want to sail away with me or not?”
“This is the margaritas talking,” Mitch said lightly.
“No, it’s all me. I’m dead serious.”
“I don’t have a sailboat, Donna. I don’t even know how to sail.”
“Do you know how to swim?”
“Why do you-?”
She dunked him hard, pushing him underwater with both hands. He surfaced, sputtering, and paid her back. And the fight was on, the two of them frolicking and shrieking like a pair of twelve-year-olds. When they’d laughed themselves out Mitch noticed that Will was waving at them to come in. Dinner was ready.
As they waded in Dodge got busy lighting a dozen or so citronella candles to ward off the mosquitoes. Donna wrapped a towel around herself and made straight for the grill to see how everything was doing.
Mitch rinsed off under one of the open-air shower heads and padded back to his changing stall, where he stripped off his wet trunks and toweled himself dry, feeling tingly and invigorated. As he dressed he heard someone’s footsteps clomp past him on the decking toward a neighboring stall. He heard a stall door slap shut. Then he heard something else.
He heard a man whisper, “Not here-someone will catch us!”