The Resort (8 page)

It
was
cold, Owen discovered as he dangled his own toes, and though he knew the best and quickest way to get used to the water was to jump in all at once, the three of them opted for a more gradual approach, sitting there and allowing their legs to slowly stir the water in an effort to acclimatize themselves.

A moment later, David's parents passed by on their way to the restaurant for a late breakfast or early lunch or brunch. Owen was amazed by how casual and unconcerned they seemed about their son. They'd both been under the impression that David was back in their room watching television and were surprised to see him here, but aside from a perfunctory greeting, they didn't stop to talk, didn't even seem to give a shit where he was or what he was doing, and the second they were beyond the shallow end of the pool, David was on his feet facing their retreating backs, both middle fingers raised high in the air.

Owen and Curtis looked at each other. Their parents might have been incurable doofuses who embarrassed them more often than not and put far too many restrictions on them in comparison with the parents of their friends, but at least things had not deteriorated to this extent. David was grinning, as though the whole thing was hilarious, but Owen thought it was kind of sad. He remembered an antidrug commercial he'd seen where a bunch of kids pissed and moaned about their too-strict parents, recited a litany of offenses, said “I hated you,” and then looked into the camera and said, “Thanks.” He'd always kind of felt that way himself—angry at his parents for their micromanagement of his life, yet at the same time grateful that they cared so much—and this split-second glimpse into David's family dynamics only reinforced his feelings.

“Hey,” David said, fingering his earring, “why don't we see who can get kicked out of the pool the fastest?”

“I don't want to get kicked out,” Curtis told him.

“Me either,” Owen admitted.

“Okay. Let's see who can do something outrageous and be the first to get a warning.” He glanced around. “They must have lifeguards around here someplace. Or some kind of hotel worker who can lecture us.”

“And it has to be on the slide,” Curtis said, getting into the mood. “No harassing people or yelling at kids or splashing old women. It's for a trick or something you do on the slide.”

David nodded. “Deal.”

Owen watched an over-the-hill jock careen down on his ass, hands in the air, whooping all the way, before landing above that irregular spot on the pool floor.

“Pussyboy?” Curtis prodded. “You in?”

“Yeah.” Owen nodded. “I'm in.”

David went first and, as agreed, Owen and Curtis sat on the edge of the pool and watched from the sidelines. At the top of the slide, David stood for a moment, then shouted “My balls!” at the top of his lungs and, melodramatically clutching his groin, slid face-first all the winding way down to the water.

No one even noticed. There were no reprimands over the loudspeaker, outraged security guards did not meet him at the pool's edge, and the swimmers and sunbathers surrounding them did not look up at David's cry.

“Strike one,” Curtis said as David swam up. He dove in and with long even strokes headed for the recessed steps in the faux cliff, which he climbed quickly. Reaching the top, Curtis stood for a moment at the head of the slide in a classic surfer's pose—knees bent, arms stretched out for balance—before shoving off and riding to the bottom, standing all the way.

Suddenly the piped-in music stopped, and an echoing voice came over the hidden speakers: “Please remain seated on the slide. Any guest who stands on or misuses the slide will be barred from using the pool for the rest of the day.”

“Son of a bitch,” David said.

Curtis laughed, swimming up. “Works every time.”

“You win,” David admitted. “You have mad skills, man.” He looked at Owen. “What were you going to do?”

Owen shrugged. “Wave my weenie at the crowd.”

“Brought a pair of tweezers along, did you?”

“You're thinking of my brother.”

Curtis splashed him. “Loser.”

“Ten o'clock,” David said under his breath.

Owen and Curtis casually turned their heads; Owen to the left, Curtis to the right. A good-looking girl of approximately their own age was walking lazily toward them through the shallow water, using her arms to help propel her forward.

“Breast stroke,” David muttered.

The girl reached them and stopped, looking from one to the other before letting her gaze settle on Owen. “Hi,” she said. “I'm Brenda.”

“Owen,” he managed to get out.

“These your friends?”

“Brother,” Curtis said, introducing himself. “My name's Curtis. No one calls me Curt.”

“David,” David said suavely. “No one calls me Dave.”

“You can call me Owe if you want,” Owen said lamely.

Brenda laughed. She had one of those inviting, infectious laughs that you usually only heard in movies or read about in books, an inclusive full-throated expression of mirth that was at once hearty and supremely feminine. “I saw you guys on the slide. What in the world were you thinking? Was that some sort of dare?”

“A bet,” Curtis corrected.

“A bet? What for? Money?”

“Nothing. It was more like a contest,” Owen explained.

“Well you must've won. You're the only one who didn't completely humiliate himself.”

“He was up next,” Curtis said. “He was going to stand up there and flash the pool.”

Brenda raised an eyebrow. “The full monty?”

Owen reddened, splashed his brother in retaliation.

“I'm sorry it didn't get that far.”

They let that one hang there.

She was definitely a hottie, Owen thought. And for some ungodly reason, she seemed to have taken an interest in
him.
He had no idea why. Back in the real world, back at his school, none of the girls were interested in him at all. He wasn't some freak like Kyle Hendersen, wasn't completely ostracized and rejected by society, but he wasn't in the winner's circle, either. He was just part of the nameless rabble whom no one noticed and whom girls chose to ignore. Curtis, too, although at least Lisa Bowen seemed to be interested in him.

“So what are you guys doing?” Brenda asked. “Want to check out the Jacuzzi?”

They looked at each other.

“Sure,” Owen said, and though he was starting to sweat just
thinking
about that hot water, he forced himself to smile.

“All right,” “Okay,” David and Curtis acquiesced.

She waited for them to get out of the pool first, probably not wanting them to check out her ass as she pulled herself out of the water—or maybe wanting to check out
their
asses as
they
got out. Owen suddenly felt self-conscious, and he quickly hoisted himself onto the cement and hurried over to the Jacuzzi. David cranked up the timer and the jets kicked in just as Owen was sitting down.

Brenda padded across the hot concrete toward them, and Owen was acutely conscious of the fact that her crotch was just about eye level. He immediately looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, and she sat down in the Jacuzzi next to him. She sat slightly closer than was polite, their thighs practically touching even though there was plenty of room for everyone.

“So where are you all from?” she asked.

You all,
Owen thought. She was probably from the South. His heart sank a little. Although he knew it was stupid and childish, he'd held out hope that she lived somewhere near him, that they'd hit it off here at the resort and go back home as boyfriend and girlfriend. Curtis would laugh outrageously if he knew his brother had such sappy thoughts, and David most certainly would too, but Owen couldn't help it.

“Tucson,” David said, tugging at his earring. “I'm a local boy.”

“We're from California,” Curtis offered.

“Me too! Where?”

Owen's heart speeded up. “Brea.”

“Fountain Valley! We're practically neighbors!”

He had a chance. Fountain Valley was at the opposite end of Orange County and still seemed pretty far to him, but he'd be getting his learner's permit in five months, be able to drive in a year and a half, and then the distance wouldn't matter. He felt absurdly elated, and he vowed to do everything he could to get to know this girl. It might lead nowhere—she was definitely out of his league and would probably discover that in about a minute—but his vacation suddenly seemed about a thousand times better.

“How long are you staying?” he asked her.

“Five nights.”

Five nights. The same as them. The same as David. Something about that made him feel vaguely curious about the coincidence, but overriding that was the exciting realization that they'd all be here together for several more days. It seemed too good to be true.

“You hear about the dive-in movie?” David asked.

Brenda shook her head.

“Saturday night. They're going to drop a screen over the area where the waterfall is and let people watch the movie while they swim or float on rafts or just sit on the edge with their feet in the water. Sounds pretty cool.”

“We'll be there,” Owen offered.

“What's the movie?” she asked.

“I don't know. Some old family flick.
Toy Story
or something. I don't know. But it'll be kind of fun just to hang out in the pool, watch the movie.” He grinned. “Snorkle between people and scare them. Pull down their bathing suits.”

Brenda laughed. “
I'll
be there.” Under the cover of bubbles, she put her hand on Owen's thigh, gave his leg a small squeeze.

Shit like this didn't happen to him.

The pool area was
really
crowded now. There were long lines at the snack bar and the raft booth, and all of the chairs and tables seemed to be taken. Several parents had put down blankets on the cement for their kids to lay out on. So many people were clustered in the shallow end of the water that a young girl, apparently lost and confused, paddled around in a circle crying. From somewhere within the cacophonous din of the crowd, they all heard a faint voice call out, “Brenda!”

Brenda stood. “I have to go. My dad's calling me.”

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Owen said awkwardly.

“I'm busy this afternoon, but why don't we meet out here tonight,” she said. “About nine?”

“Where?” Curtis asked.

“Right here. At the Jacuzzi.”

It would be tough to get out, and they'd have to come up with something pretty damn good to convince their mom that they should be allowed to roam around the resort by themselves after dark, but one look at Brenda's warm inviting smile made Owen realize that, whatever it took, he would do it. He thought of her hand squeezing his leg and imagined what might happen under the cover of darkness. “We'll be here,” he said.

Involuntarily, he glanced over at the big pool. A father waited in front of the slide for his little boy to come down. His heart skipped in his chest. What would that shape on the pool floor look like at night? Would it appear as benign as it did now? Or would the heft return, the sense of three-dimensionality?

He pushed the thought from his mind, focused on Brenda.

She smiled at him. “See you later.” She waved to Curtis and David. “Bye, guys.”

They watched as she climbed out and padded across the cement, disappearing into the throng of guests.

Curtis was jealous, he could tell, but David high-fived him. “Way to go, bro!”

Owen grinned.

“Don't get too cocky, though.”

“That's
exactly
what I'm going to get.”

“Cock?” Curtis snickered. “I always had my doubts about you.”

“Asshole.” He kicked his feet, splashed water on his brother.

Suddenly, Curtis grimaced. “Oh no,” he groaned, his eyes focused on a point past Owen's shoulder.

He turned around to see their mom marching toward them, Ryan out in front of her.

David grinned. “Looks like it's babysitting time for you fine young ladies.”

The three of them looked at each other, then, without speaking, simultaneously leaped out of the Jacuzzi and sprinted to the big pool.

Owen dived in. “Cur—” he heard his mom call out in the split second before his head hit the water, and then the three of them were speeding through the pool as quickly as they could away from Ryan.

The line from
Casablanca
kept going through his head as Patrick Schlaegel checked in. Around him in The Reata's spacious lobby he saw old couples and young families. Through the glass doors and picture window that overlooked the main pool, kids were playing in the water while middle-aged Middle Americans lay whitely on the padded lounge chairs soaking up sun or idly flipping through mass-market magazines.

Where were the singles, the hot babes, the scenesters? He'd been under the impression that this resort catered to a young hip crowd, had been led to believe that he would be among
his
people here rather than stuck staying with a bunch of refugees from Branson and Orlando.

Townsend had been the one to put that idea in his head, and Patrick would not be surprised to learn that the misconception had been intentional. It was just like the editor to play a joke like that on him, and Patrick vowed that if that was indeed what had happened, he would pay the man back in spades.