It looked like a present—a thin, wide box in white gift-wrap. A cryptic notecard unfolded to read, simply, midnight in tight felt-tip. Midnight? she wondered. She opened the package.
You dick, she thought.
It was beautiful, a Bill Blass corselet-tank swimsuit, in a gorgeous bright-fuchsia. A half-front lace up. Her size, too: 7. Her lips drew to a tight, exasperated seam. I am not going to go swimming with that presumptuous prick, she told herself. But it can’t hurt to try it on.
Suddenly she felt giddily enthused and could name no reason. Was she so bored that trying on a swimsuit, which she had no intention of swimming in, seemed like a paramount event? Yes, she answered herself, quickly locked the office, and scurried up the stairs.
Minutes later she was stepping into the swimsuit before the mirrored bathroom wall. She laced up the front in a big, pretty bow. Her amethyst flashed. She turned in the reflection. This looks great, she assayed, turning again for a side view. Too bad I’m not going to…
She strayed to the bedroom. The mantel clock ticked, luring her eyes. It was midnight.
No, she thought. You’re not.
She poured herself a dab of Grand Marnier, thought about it. You’re a big girl, Vera. Why should you not do something you want to do because of some guy? It was a flawed rationalization—never mind that Kyle had invited her, and had given her the swimsuit—but Vera let that pass. What the hell, she dismissed. She put on her robe, grabbed a big terry towel, and went downstairs.
She peeked around the bottom of the landing. What if someone saw her? What if Feldspar saw her? The atrium stood empty, dimly lit by the chandelier and embers in the great stone fireplace. She could hear the cleanup clatter from the restaurant, but no one could be seen in the dining room. She whisked around the reception desk, slipped through the door, and traipsed down the dark hall to the pool.
This is a mistake, she told herself when she entered. A kaleidoscope of multicolored light floated amid the pool’s long column. The top of its T remained dark, and all the skirting lights were out. But there was no sign of Kyle. Good, she thought. But was that how she really felt? The silence sounded hollow, like an empty auditorium. Falteringly, she folded her robe and towel over the first of a row of strapped chaise lounges. She stood still a moment, biting her lower lip. Part of me wishes he was here, it occurred to her. But why? Perhaps those two drinks had hit her harder than usual.
She dipped the tip of her foot into the languid water. It felt deliciously warm. Then she dove in.
This is nice, came the slow, lulling thought. The warm water caressed her as she glided out. It was like rolling through a pleasant, idle dream. She slowly backstroked further across the pool. Gradually the warm water erased out some of the day’s aches and knots. Worst thing about her job was being on her feet most of the shift, then hunching over her desk with the nightly paperwork mess. Back in the city, Paul would give her fabulous back rubs when she got home, kneading all the stress out of her at once. I could sure use one of those right now, she dreamily thought, floating toward the dark end.
From below, the hand grabbed her ankle—
Vera screamed.
—and jerked her down. She flailed beneath the surface, bubbles erupting with her terror. She madly kicked away, gasping as she resurfaced.
