Night Swimming

by Robin Schwarz

  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 missed opportunity, she kept saying “Good morning” over and over again. Marcello Brigatino must have heard her, because he stood up from behind the shrub he was clipping and, in playful imitation, uttered back to her, “good morning, good morning, good morning.”

  Astonished for the second time within a minute, Blossom simply, straightforwardly, and unabashedly laughed. And the best part? The part she couldn’t have written any better? He laughed, too. Loud and euphonious laughter, without judgment. And laughed and laughed and laughed. Yes, sweet Jesus... yes, yes, yes!

  Blossom grabbed her bag and some cash and headed out the door to the fine shops she’d passed on the way to the Realtor. She would buy herself nice clothes, jewelry, perfume, but most important, she would buy herself some big, floppy frocks to wear poolside. She’d definitely be spending some time there.

  “May I help you?”

  “Oh yes... Where are your cover-ups?” Blossom asked.

  “Cover-ups?”

  “Yes, you know, the little shifts you wear around the pool.” Blossom bit her tongue. How could she have said “little”?

  “What I mean is, a smock, a housecoat, a toga of some sort.”

  “I understand, madam, but you won’t find them here. We sell only bags. Perhaps you want to go over to the Beverly Center. They have several floors. I’m sure you’ll find what you need there.”

  But the woman said it with such disdain that Blossom wished she could respond with something. All she heard was, Yes, I understand, madam; what you need are tarps, tents, and horse blankets.

  Heat rose in Blossom’s cheeks. You arrogant b.i.t.c.h. But she could only spell it. One day she would have the nerve to say it, but not today.

  When she was done shopping for her muumuus, Blossom reluctantly wandered into the bathing-suit area. The last thing she wanted to do was try on a bathing suit, but it seemed ridiculous not to have just one. Especially if she were going to spend the remaining days of her life at a pool. But she was far too self-conscious to wear it in front of anyone, particularly that gorgeous pool guy. If she were to swim at all, it would be at night, long after he’d gone home.

  She looked at herself from every possible angle in the mirror, but every single angle was unforgiving. There were black suits, red suits, striped suits, flowered suits, leopard suits, suits with sequins, suits with skirts, suits with matching tops, suits of every imaginable cut and color. Thank God she had decided to swim at night. Only the moon would judge her.

  She tried on no less than thirty-three suits before painfully deciding on one. She had better luck choosing her saris and purchased no less than two dozen, most of them in dark colors, which she had heard were slimming. What would he think of all these pretty things? she wondered. He? I don’t even know his name! And so that became her next mission.

  When she got home, she called the managing company of the complex immediately. “No, not the maintenance man, the gentleman who does the pool.” She waited, feeling as if some tele-tarot reader was about to reveal the name of the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

  “Really?” she said, as if surprised by the answer. “No... thank you very much... That’s all I needed to know.” Then she hung up. She felt like someone who had just been told a secret that would change the world as she knew it—as if his name alone was the password to eternal happiness. “Skip,” she said out loud. “Skip Loggins.” Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t it lovely? lt sings; it exults; Lord, it downright jubilates. Skip Loggins...It’s perfect.

  And like a mantra, Blossom repeated it the rest of the day. And most of the next.

  Life is different when you think you are dying. Ordinary things carry a different meaning, a different significance. The mind plays tricks on you: A cold is the precursor to pneumonia, and a headache is the forewarning of a brain tumor.

  Blossom simply had a stomachache, but this put her to bed for two days. She realized, as she trembled under the covers, just how precious life was. And maybe the doctor had made a mistake. Maybe she had less than a year left; maybe she had only twenty minutes left. What a waste. And she didn’t even have the chance to tell Skip Log-gins she loved him.

  Of course, she didn’t love him. She knew that. But she wanted so much to love before she died.

  When her stomachache finally subsided, so did Blossom’s anxiety, and she was ready once again to take on the world...or at least the immediate pool area. She slipped into one of her abundantly dark yet cheerful shifts and went downstairs.

  Should I say, “Hi, Skip”? Should I let on that I know his name? He’ll wonder how I found out. Then he’ll think I’m stalking him. No... When I see him, I’ll simply say, “Good morning.” Let’s see if I can finally manage to get that out of my mouth.

  And at that moment she saw him from the far right corner of the garden. It was Blossom’s opportunity.

  “Hi, Skip,” she said, without thinking. Skip! Skip! Why did I say Skip? What’s wrong with me? I might as well have gone up and kissed him. Oh, Blossom... just... just...

  But before she could finish, Skip had waved and yelled “Hi” back.

  “How are you today?”

  “Oh... fine, just fine,” Blossom said, blushing like a sixteen-year-old.

  “I don’t think I know your name,” Skip continued. “You just moved in, didn’t you?”

  This was more than Blossom had ever expected. This was a conversation.

  “Yes, I just moved in a few days ago. Blossom McBeal,” she said, extending her hand. A warm current ran through her when he took it. It had been so long since a man had touched her, even just to shake her hand. It was as if a tiny light had been turned on at the end of a lonely road that had been dark for years.

  “Like it here so far?” Skip asked. He was cordial and nice, and Blossom’s heart pounded like the hooves of horses.

  “Oh, very much.” She couldn’t think of anything to say next, and when he simply said, “Well, enjoy the day,” she was both upset and relieved. Upset because she couldn’t come up with intelligent words around him, but relieved because her heart was beating so hard, she was sure that if he stood there for another moment, she’d have a heart attack.

  But the ice had been broken, and now she could go down to the pool and make small talk as a normal person would... even though she felt anything but normal.

  Blossom sat out there the whole day. It was not so much that she was waiting for another chance to chat, though that would have been nice... very nice. She just liked being in his presence. However, when it was five o’clock, the working people in the complex began to come home. It seemed odd to sit there as the sun was going down, so Blossom rose to leave. When she did, she felt a sting as her shift brushed against the bottom of her leg. She had sat out too long, and whatever exposed areas there were had turned brick red. It was painful to look at.

  She didn’t see Skip when she left the pool and went upstairs. She tried to ease the damage by smoothing on all kinds of lotions. But she still looked rubbery and nuclear, like Ronald McDonald. The worst part for Blossom was that she would not be able to sit by the pool for at least two days. Two days. It might as well have been forever.

  CHAPTER 18

  MAKLEY HAD RETURNED HOME from New Orleans. Nothing had turned up yet but he needed to address the business of the bank president; he’d return to New Orleans once he’d sussed out exactly what Kelly was hiding.

  An irritated Kelly entered the police station dressed in hunting gear, the rifle slung across his shoulder leading Makley to wonder if the ammunition was intended for the ducks or for him.

  “Sit down, Kelly. Thanks for coming in. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Makley asked.

  “
No, thank you. Anyway, what’s this all about?”

  A fine line of perspiration formed on Kelly’s forehead. “Warm in here,” he observed nervously. Makley smiled.

  “Now, Kelly,” the chief began nonchalantly, as if he were asking Kelly about the new Camry in his driveway, “I have to ask you what you were doing with two million dollars in the vault.”

  Kelly had rehearsed the answer to this question a thousand times.

  “Okay, okay. I knew you’d come around to asking me that. Fact is, my brother-in-law had some assets from a portion of a strip mall he sold in Columbus. He had to put the money somewhere while he

  was deciding where to invest it again.”

  “What about his own bank?”

  Kelly paused. “Good question. Never even thought to ask.”

  “But my understanding is that it’s not the first time this kind of cash has turned up in your vault.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Seems to me I’m the one asking the questions here,” Makley said evenly.

  “Well, my brother-in-law is always turning over some deal or another. So I offered him a place to put his money. I didn’t think I was breaking some big federal law. Or that it was anyone’s business particularly. I mean, what’s the big deal?”

  Makley could think of several reasons that this was a big deal, but he didn’t want to discuss them with Kelly. The less Kelly knew what was going on in Makley’s head, the closer Makley was to nailing Kelly. “I think I need to talk to your brother-in-law.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I still have some questions that are troubling me a bit.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’d like to ask him, if you don’t mind.”

  “Jesus, Makley, don’t you think you’re overreacting here a bit? Calling my brother-in-law in is like impounding Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for overdue parking fines.”

  Makley laughed. “The only reason I can see for not talking to him would be that you don’t want me to. And if you don’t want me to, then I have to wonder why that is.”

  “Christ, Makley, I don’t care if you talk to him. I mean, he’s a busy guy and he has to come up from Boston. But I’ll call him. Hell, what do I have to hide?”

  Plenty, Makley thought as he walked Kelly to the door. Plenty.

  CHAPTER 19

  BLOSSOM’S BURN took a few days to heal, but as soon as she could move without wincing, she returned to the pool; this time she took up her vigil under a tree. She watched Skip move around the grounds like a cloud, softly and gently. She waited for him to approach. She was determined to talk to him beyond the general courtesies of weather and salutations. And she had to find out if he was married.

  However, the whole day went by before he wandered into her tiny circle of surveillance. “You keeping cool?” he asked, disentangling the green hose from its own embrace.

  “Oh, yes. I learned my lesson two days ago,” she said.

  “Why? What happened?”

  Hasn’t he noticed that I wasn’t at the pool...or that I got this terrible burn? Blossom’s face fell.

  “Nothing really. I just got myself too much sun, is all.”

  “Oooo, watch out. Burns can be nasty out here. Been there myself.” She glanced over covertly to see if he had a ring on, but his hand was in his pocket. “Do you live around here, Skip?” Blossom was getting bolder. Questions began coming that she hadn’t even planned on.

  “I live in Venice.”

  She waited for him to offer something more, but he didn’t, so she persevered. “Isn’t that the place near the beach with all the canals?”

  “Yes, it is,” Skip laughed. “You aren’t from California, are you? Where are you from, Blossom?”

  She hadn’t been prepared for that question. Further, she was flabbergasted when he said her name. The combination rendered her speechless once again.

  “I’m... I’m from ...Well, originally, I was born in New Hampshire.” Oh, Jesus, Blossom don’t tell him that; it’s way too close to the truth. Think, where can I be from? How can I not know where I’m from?

  “And then?” Skip asked. “Then my family moved to...to...” “To?” “To Louisiana.” Yeah, that’s right, Louisiana. That state does seem to come up a lot.

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Near New Orleans.” Please don’t have any relatives there. Don’t tell me you know it well and ask me if I know the Lafittes or if I’d ever gone shrimping as a kid.

  “Louisiana?” he said. “Never been there, but I’ve heard it’s nice.”

  Thank God.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Blossom gushed like an expert. “It’s wonderfully exotic. A perfect place to live.”

  “Then why did you move here?”

  Another trick question. “When the last of my family died, I just didn’t see any sense in staying. I wanted a new beginning and thought that California might give me that. I was left a nice inheritance, so I didn’t have to worry about my future in terms of income. I could settle wherever I wanted to.” Not bad, Blossom. And, after all, California is a new beginning, so that’s not really a lie. And you don’t have to worry about money. All in all, a good cover.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Skip offered apologetically.

  “About what?”

  “Your family and all.”

  “Oh,” she said, mindful again of the fictions she was recklessly inventing. “Yeah, it was sad, but that’s all water under the bridge.” The Point of Pines Bridge, to be exact. “Thank you anyway.”

  Skip took his hand out of his pocket to give Blossom a sympathetic tap on her shoulder before moving off to spray the sunparched peonies.

  In the blur of that gesture she saw that he was not wearing a ring.

  “Skip,” she said, watching him drag the hose across the grass, “I have a picture I need hung, and I was wondering if you might be able to help me with it at some point or another.” Now, that’s brave, Blossom...in fact, it’s beyond brave. It’s downright plucky. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

  “Sure, no problem. You don’t have to pay me, Blossom. Happy to do it. Would tomorrow be okay?”

  “Absolutely. Tomorrow would be perfect.” And he disappeared behind a crush of shrubs. Now all Blossom had to do was go out and buy a picture.

  That very night Blossom hurried over to the Beverly Center to find a painting. Any painting would do except for velvet paintings of cats with big eyes, or those that you could plug into electrical sockets. She once saw a painting that had street lamps that actually lit up, and she swore she’d never be brought down to that level of taste no matter how long she lived in Gorham. MaryAnn would make a pilgrimage to a nearby Sheraton where they would have their yearly sale of “famous paintings.’’ Van Goghs, Picassos, Monets— MaryAnn always acted as if she were getting a masterpiece.

  “But, MaryAnn, masterpieces are not nineteen dollars.”

  “They say right on the TV commercial that all paintings are at a fraction of their retail price, Charlotte.”

  “Their retail price? That would be somewhere in the neighborhood of ten million dollars.”

  “I know they’re not the real thing, Charlotte, but who can tell the difference? You have to be some kind of art expert.”

  “I just think you’d want a painting that doesn’t have a sign at the door of the exhibit hall that says prices are being slashed, everything must go. I would think you’d want an original.”

  “But then no one would recognize it.”

  Charlotte cringed just remembering, and settled on a signed print. Yes, it was from the Beverly Center, but at least it was a limited edition.

  The next day, she did not go down to the pool. She waited expectantly for a knock on her door. For Skip to be standing there, happily waiting to hang her picture. When five o’ clock rolled around, he still had not appeared, so she ventured out.

  “Hello, Blossom,” he said as she entered the garden. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” No, not f
ine. Hurt. He had obviously forgotten. She had planned her whole day around his coming to her door to hang the print, and he didn’t even remember. She decided to mention it.

  “Think you can get to that picture today, Skip?”

  “Damn, I forgot all about that, Blossom.”

  Obviously. “No problem.”

  “Could I do it tomorrow? I’m running late and have to be somewhere by six.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine,” she said, smiling graciously, although the exact opposite was simmering in her brain.

  She was dying to know what plans he had at six, but felt funny asking him. After all, she didn’t know him well enough. A question like that could be construed as invasiveness instead of mere idle chatter. And she had zero interest in idle chatter.

  She wondered if he was taking a beautiful woman out for dinner, followed by a long romantic ride up Highway 1 to watch the sun go down over the water. She was jealous of all that she didn’t know about him, and all possible combinations of love that were his to be had.

  Later that evening she sat by the window, staring blankly out at the gardens, listening to the quiet. The insect zapper with its purple fluorescent glow was silent; the gardens were silent; even the Japanese maples stood elegantly hushed without a whisper of wind.

  The calm seduction of the night lured Blossom down to the pool. She gazed at the flat blue water. It seemed like a seal that begged to be broken. And so she obliged by lifting a large stone from the garden and hurling it down into the waiting water. It was as if the

  rock had smashed a pane of glass, shattering the night. A flock of sleeping birds nestled in the bushes rushed out like applause.