Night Swimming by Robin Schwarz Page B

It could ruin what was so far a good day. All that mattered now was that Tom had taken her to the track enough times so that she could bluff her way through with Sandra Lockley.
    “Yup. The track. Sometimes I was just lucky. I won more than a couple of trifectas in my day. There were some races I’d just take chances on when the odds were stacked against me. And on those occasions... well, I’d come out smelling like a rose.”
Wow. I’m good. I especially like that “smelling like a rose” part. It’s like l’m Faye Dunaway in
Chinatown
or Jackie Gleason in
The Color of Money.
No, wait, not Jackie Gleason. Too much of a resemblance. Paul Newman—yeah, that’s better. I’ll be Paul Newman. And I love his buttered popcorn. Perfect.
    Sandra Lockley looked horrified, no doubt envisioning Blossom at the track, flapping her fat hands in the air with a wad of sweaty hundreds.
    “Isn’t that something!” was all Sandra Lockley could manage to get out.
    By nine the money had been counted up, and Blossom was the proud owner of a fancy, furnished Hollywood apartment with an inground kidney-shaped pool on a street lined with palm trees.
There, so you see, MaryAnn, dreams can come true.
    And so Blossom moved in with her four suitcases, two of them empty now, and two of them still bulging with their secret contents. She walked from room to room, trying to get accustomed to her new surroundings, but every room drew her to the windows that overlooked the pool. Where was he? She could feel her curiosity creeping into a mild obsession. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored entryway, she wondered if she had a snowball’s chance in hell that he would ever find her remotely attractive. She pulled her belly in and lifted up her breasts, trying to reduce the property size of what felt like no less than an acre of flesh.
There’s just too much of me.
She lay down right there in the foyer and threw her arms over her head, trying to look longer and leaner.
Better—still horrible, but a tad better... it’ll be tough to go through life in this position.
    She rose and walked back to the window and looked one last time before closing the drapes. She hoped closed curtains might help break the spell she now found herself under. But just as she was about to pull the tie, she saw him. There he was: shirtless, strong, and sexy, a vision among the roses, a virtual homage to the glory of love. Her eyes fixed on his back with a laser precision.
    Turn around, just a little so I can see your face.
    He leaned in Blossom’s direction, ever so slightly, but enough for her to see him.
    Oh, my God, you’re beautiful.
    She could not turn away, but at the same time, she wanted desperately to get down to the pool before he went off to do something else.
    Blossom was greedy, greedy to see more of him. She took a chance and left the window, hurrying down to the pool. She entered Eden by way of the flowering hydrangeas leading into the courtyard. But where was he?
Damn.
    “Morning.” The voice came from just behind her. Blossom turned, much like the slow-motion turn that happens only in the movies, the deliberate turn that suspends life for just a few seconds before the dramatic crescendo....
This
was
that
moment. Suddenly, she found herself face to face with her Adonis, her Romeo, her Mar-cello Brigatino. She scarcely knew what to say. “Good morning” would have been fine, but she couldn’t even find those words. It was as if English weren’t her first language. She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a flutter of invisible butterflies. By the time she was able to form something that resembled a human sound, he was gone.
    How could I have let him walk away? I stood here like a mute. He must think I’m rude or slow or deaf. I’m so humiliated. “Good morning” was all you had to say, Blossom. Is that so hard? “Good morning”? You’ve been saying it since you were six.
    And as if Blossom were trying to right her