of participating with the children. She'd just fired a pass to Sid when she heard the colonel call to her from the pool's edge.
“McCann!”
“Yes, sir?”
She resisted the urge to salute. Instead, she swam over to the nearest ladder and climbed out of the pool. He was waiting for her with a towel and a clipboard.
“Scuba!” he boomed. He offered her the towel. “What's your take on that, McCann?”
Kiley dried herself off, then wrapped the towel around her waist and tucked in the edge. “That it's self-contained underwater breathing apparatus, sir.”
She wasn't about to add that she knew scuba diving was a requirement for any self-respecting marine biologist. Or that back in La Crosse, scuba diving had been a recreational activity only for those wealthy enough to go away on winter vacations to Hawaii and Jamaica. Since Kiley's winter vacations tended toward car trips to Appleton to see her aunt, she'd never learned.
“I want you to learn, McCann. Right here at the club.” He thrust the clipboard at her. “This is the registration form. Classes begin day after tomorrow. I've already paid the fees. Sign at the X.”
Kiley took the outstretched pen before the colonel could change his mind, thinking that Susan might have talked to him about her interest in Scripps. “This is fantastic! I've wanted to learn to scuba dive forever.”
“The missus mentioned your aquatic interests,” the colonel barked. “This will be a good opportunity for you. Bruce too.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes, McCann. He's going to be joining you.”
Huh. Good luck. Thus far, the colonel's attempts to shape up Platinum's fourteen-year-old had been met with nonviolent civil disobedience worthy of Mahatma Gandhi. As a result,he'd been confined to quarters—his bedroom—every night for the past two weeks, and had done more push-ups than a linebacker at summer training camp. Now the colonel wanted Bruce to learn to scuba dive?
“Sir?”
“McCann?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
The colonel put his hands behind his back. “Permission granted, McCann. What's on your mind?”
“Sir, I doubt that Bruce is going to want to learn to—”
“Stop right there, McCann,” the colonel interrupted. “
Want
doesn't cut it with me. This is not a matter of what he wants. This is a matter of what he needs. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes, sir,” Kiley replied, still highly dubious. “I hope you can convince him, sir.”
The colonel laughed. “That's the second part of your assignment, McCann. I wish you all the luck in the world.”
The white-jacketed Indian waiter was about to take the lid off one of the crockery dishes when Billy stopped him. “Wait a second, Kumar. I want to give her the full experience. Close your eyes.” Billy grinned across the small table at Lydia.
“Billy Martin. If you think you're going to shock me by having me close my eyes and then making me eat something nasty, you have got the wrong girl.” Lydia didn't know why it was that whenever she was with him, her Texas drawl got more pronounced. It was as if she allowed her own authentic self to surface for him. “I have eaten roasted mealworm and fried monkey guts. How about you?”
Kumar paled.
“Interesting girl,” Billy told the waiter, then gazed again at Lydia with his deep blue eyes. “You'll have to trust me.”
“Billy. My parents homeschooled me in a mud hut. Nothing makes you learn quicker than red ants biting your butt.”
Billy laughed. “You, Lydia Chandler, are one of a kind. Okay, Kumar. Lid off the vegetable biryani. Lydia, close 'em.”
“Since when did you get so bossy?”
She closed her eyes in happy anticipation. It wasn't for the Indian food, much as Billy had rhapsodized about how this particular restaurant across from the Westside Pavilion in the Rancho Park section of the city was the best in all of Los Angeles. Mostly, she was imagining him in bed with her, doing what came naturally. She'd enjoyed the look in his
“McCann!”
“Yes, sir?”
She resisted the urge to salute. Instead, she swam over to the nearest ladder and climbed out of the pool. He was waiting for her with a towel and a clipboard.
“Scuba!” he boomed. He offered her the towel. “What's your take on that, McCann?”
Kiley dried herself off, then wrapped the towel around her waist and tucked in the edge. “That it's self-contained underwater breathing apparatus, sir.”
She wasn't about to add that she knew scuba diving was a requirement for any self-respecting marine biologist. Or that back in La Crosse, scuba diving had been a recreational activity only for those wealthy enough to go away on winter vacations to Hawaii and Jamaica. Since Kiley's winter vacations tended toward car trips to Appleton to see her aunt, she'd never learned.
“I want you to learn, McCann. Right here at the club.” He thrust the clipboard at her. “This is the registration form. Classes begin day after tomorrow. I've already paid the fees. Sign at the X.”
Kiley took the outstretched pen before the colonel could change his mind, thinking that Susan might have talked to him about her interest in Scripps. “This is fantastic! I've wanted to learn to scuba dive forever.”
“The missus mentioned your aquatic interests,” the colonel barked. “This will be a good opportunity for you. Bruce too.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes, McCann. He's going to be joining you.”
Huh. Good luck. Thus far, the colonel's attempts to shape up Platinum's fourteen-year-old had been met with nonviolent civil disobedience worthy of Mahatma Gandhi. As a result,he'd been confined to quarters—his bedroom—every night for the past two weeks, and had done more push-ups than a linebacker at summer training camp. Now the colonel wanted Bruce to learn to scuba dive?
“Sir?”
“McCann?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
The colonel put his hands behind his back. “Permission granted, McCann. What's on your mind?”
“Sir, I doubt that Bruce is going to want to learn to—”
“Stop right there, McCann,” the colonel interrupted. “
Want
doesn't cut it with me. This is not a matter of what he wants. This is a matter of what he needs. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes, sir,” Kiley replied, still highly dubious. “I hope you can convince him, sir.”
The colonel laughed. “That's the second part of your assignment, McCann. I wish you all the luck in the world.”
The white-jacketed Indian waiter was about to take the lid off one of the crockery dishes when Billy stopped him. “Wait a second, Kumar. I want to give her the full experience. Close your eyes.” Billy grinned across the small table at Lydia.
“Billy Martin. If you think you're going to shock me by having me close my eyes and then making me eat something nasty, you have got the wrong girl.” Lydia didn't know why it was that whenever she was with him, her Texas drawl got more pronounced. It was as if she allowed her own authentic self to surface for him. “I have eaten roasted mealworm and fried monkey guts. How about you?”
Kumar paled.
“Interesting girl,” Billy told the waiter, then gazed again at Lydia with his deep blue eyes. “You'll have to trust me.”
“Billy. My parents homeschooled me in a mud hut. Nothing makes you learn quicker than red ants biting your butt.”
Billy laughed. “You, Lydia Chandler, are one of a kind. Okay, Kumar. Lid off the vegetable biryani. Lydia, close 'em.”
“Since when did you get so bossy?”
She closed her eyes in happy anticipation. It wasn't for the Indian food, much as Billy had rhapsodized about how this particular restaurant across from the Westside Pavilion in the Rancho Park section of the city was the best in all of Los Angeles. Mostly, she was imagining him in bed with her, doing what came naturally. She'd enjoyed the look in his
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