Swim to Me by Betsy Carter Page A

except, of course, for Lester. And guess what?
The Godfather
is all about men.”
    Everyone turned to Lester, who ran his fingers over his jawline. “I read the book,” he said, trying to change the subject. “It’s the best book I ever read.”
    â€œIf mermaids can be astronauts,” said Delores, “why can’t they also be
family?”
She lowered her voice when she said
family.
    Despite an obvious answer, having to do with space suits versus business suits, the logic seemed irrefutable to them.
    The people who worked at Weeki Wachee had never been cheerleaders. They had never been part of any cliques in high school. Like the people in
The Godfather,
they were outsiders with no one to turn to but each other. They took heart from how the characters in the movie had created their own world. That it was a world punctuated with loss and violence was overshadowed by the fact that the characters in it were self-made and powerful. The mermaids began talking to each other using a deep, lugubrious Italian accent. Even the Sheilas and Helen played along.
    For the next three hours, they sat at the picnic table thinking the idea through. Lester would play Don Corleone; that was obvious. When Helen said it out loud, Lester demurred: “No, that’s wrong. You need someone bigger than me to play Vito Corleone.” Always behind the scenes, except when he was behind the counter at his father’s pharmacy, lately he preferred not to be the center of attention. He hadn’t always been that way. He had been four years old when his parents took him to see his first mermaid show. As the curtain rose, a mermaid in a green tail had swum by and blown a kiss to the audience. Ever since then, he’d wanted to become a merman. When he was six, he began to train seriously by swimming with his legs tied together with rope. A strong swimmer with a handsome faceand the perfect body for a merman, Lester made it to Weeki Wachee by the time he was sixteen. By then, the acne had blossomed, and he began seeking out roles that allowed him to cover himself with masks and costumes. He was the Tin Man in “The Wizard of Oz,” the Caterpillar in “Alice in Wonderland.” When he thought about showing his real face, all he had to do was close his eyes and he could see how it would go. People would take one look at him, then turn away. They’d pretend not to have noticed his erupting skin, but, of course, that was all they could see.
    â€œI really think one of you should play the Don,” he argued. “You know, someone powerful and nice to look at.” His eyes darted toward Delores.
    Delores remembered the time that Henry had called her “Tiger,” and how just the fact that he’d said it made her feel that her boundaries were not as narrow as she’d always assumed they were. “Lester,” she said, “You’d be perfect as the Godfather. The strong, silent type.”
    Blonde Sheila stood up. “Go on, Lester, it’ll be good for you to play a real guy for a change instead of that faggot Tin Man. I’m gonna play a guy, too. Johnny Fontane.” She stabbed her chest with both thumbs. “A real ladies’ man. I know something about being attracted to the opposite sex,” she said in a leering voice.
    â€œYou know something about being attracted to a lamp,” snickered Helen.
    Molly suggested that Delores be Connie Corleone. She had the same big, dark eyes as Talia Shire, who’d played Connie in the movie. “You’d get to dance with Don Corleone,” she said, smiling at Lester who was jabbing at a cuticle and not meeting the eyes of the others.
    They planned how he and Delores would dance to the opening number until Johnny Fontane came on stage. Then Delores wouldswim to him, throw her arms around him and kiss him. (“Don’t forget,” Blonde Sheila had teased Delores, “no tongues.”) The other