He was tall, tan, well-built, young and was wearing a Pools-R-Us polo. The fabric on his shirt was pulled tight. Very tight.
I was sunning myself as I lay on my Brentwood chaise, next to my Brentwood pool with my Brentwood husband somewhere nearby, no doubt. I reclined like the wife of a film star would, watching the pool boy. Are we allowed to call them ‘pool boys’ anymore? He didn’t look like a boy.
He was tall, tan, well-built and was wearing a Pools-R-Us polo, and that curly blonde hair that turns green in chlorinated water. But his wasn’t green, it was a beautiful shade of blonde. Several beautiful shades of blonde, actually and rather long, cascading in large curls, brushing lightly against his large shoulders as the breeze picked it up and my sentence ran on as flowery adverbs sprung to mind. His arms and legs were tan and shiny from all the sweat and he was wearing the heck out of those short-shorts. Like Magnum P.I.
I’m not one of those wives who lusts after the pool boy (she said). My husband is almost more than I can handle and I truly want nothing more. But I wondered why a wife would do that and what kind of villain is she? Is she Potiphar’s wife or just some lonely woman hypnotized by beautiful sweat, easily swayed by a kind word coming from a pretty face with a killer body? Maybe her flabby husband is the villain. Or is the pool boy the villain? I mean pool man. How would I write this scene if I put it in my book?
I opened my phone to jot down that idea and then he just walked into my line of sight. I didn’t catch his name since he only said hello in passing. I think I’ll call him Kai. I’ll bet Kai surfs when he’s on the pages of my book and he’s not digging leaves out of pool drains or bringing lonely Mrs. Potiphar an iced tea.
I could go for an iced tea because it’s rather warm out here under this Brentwood sun. Hi Kai, I’m Mare. I’m not much of a lounger but I came outside for a little Vitamin D and now I’m going to write you into my story as soon as I fetch something cool to drink. Oh, you’re going to fetch it for me? How nice.
No, I said nothing. I could say that I had a free hour then Kai showed up and distracted me from whatever it was I was doing out here. What am I doing out here?
“What are you doing out here?” I heard my husband’s booming voice ask. I jumped a little and looked up at him as his large shadow was eclipsing my source of Vitamin D. The pool boy looked up as well.
“What?” I asked, looking up into Gerry’s face. I couldn’t really see his face because his head was right in front of the sun. He repeated himself. “Writing on my phone,” I answered.
“Your phone screen is black,” he said, and I looked down at it.
Crap on a cracker, if he wasn’t right. Gerry sat down in the chaise next to me and he looked over at Kai and they chin-nodded at each other. I looked at Gerry, averting my gaze from the pool boy, squinting from the sun that was no longer in my eyes. I need to think of something to write. And fast.
I was wearing sunglasses and a big straw hat and I too, had on short-shorts and a tiny tank top. Gerry was now surveying my outfit. In my defense, these are not shorts I would wear out of the house, and I was not expecting company. I don’t think you can consider the pool boy as actual company if he just saunters into your backyard with an armload of chemicals. That’s on Kai. That’s what I would tell Gerry. I mean, if it came up. I breathed a ragged breath and Gerry smiled at me. I should say something about the whole sun/vitamin thing soaking into my recovering arm.
“I have a hurt arm,” I said weakly, touching my arm that rarely hurt anymore. Gerry looked over the top of his sunglasses at me in disbelief. He pushed his sunglasses up and smiled.
“Your arm seemed to be working all right last night.” My husband let that memory land.
“You’re welcome,” I said, giving nothing away in my face. “Do you want to do that again?”
“I do and you will do it again, but later,” he said, seeming a little put out. “You know, Mare, there’s a pool company that employs only women. It’s like Hooters with chlorine. Maybe we should call them,” Gerry suggested, looking over at Kai and then back to me. I sat still a moment, gathering my thoughts, thinking of just the right thing to say.
“Yeah, we could do that,” I agreed. Now it was coming to me, now I was writing. “Are these Chlorine Hooters dressed like Las Vegas showgirls, Gerry?” I was looking at my husband now and he seemed to blanch, remembering our recent trip to Las Vegas and all the feathers and breasts that were accidentally flapping in front of our eyes. Gerry was quiet a long time, watching Kai squat in his short-shorts, testing the water’s chemistry.
Finally, he turned to me and said, “Touché, Mare. Well played.” I smiled and turned back to Kai. Changing the subject, he said, “Joan Smith sent a PDF of the magazine article. I have it pulled up on my laptop in the den.”
I wasn't done yet or ready to change the subject. Looking straight ahead, waving my sunglasses toward Kai, I asked my husband, “Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to ask him if I could paint him? His…his hair is so...” I ran out of words at that point. Gerry turned and looked at me with a smile growing on his face.
“Yes, it would be inappropriate and I wouldn’t like it at all, Mare,” he answered.
I nodded and smiled. “Would you let me paint you, Sweetie?” Gerry smiled that wickedly handsome smile at me.
“Sure. You could even do it naked.”
“The artist or the model?” I asked for clarification.
“Both,” he said.
“Oh my,” I said, feeling a tingle go up my spine and it made me sit up straight. I made eye contact with Gerry as I spoke. “I’m thinking charcoal. Naked charcoal drawing. I could break it in my hands and rub them together and then rub the charcoal on your pecs and down over your big shoulders with my eyes closed.” I closed my eyes and raised my face to the sun, thinking about my naked husband smudged in charcoal, running my hands over his hard body. I sighed deeply.
I felt Gerry take my hand and I opened my eyes as he pulled me to my feet. We walked back into the house, ignoring Kai. I didn’t need any more subjects to paint because there was a drop-dead gorgeous, rock-hard, former actor holding my hand, who wanted to be my story’s hero and my model.
Gerry is indeed the whole package and I truly want for nothing more.
Copyright 2022 Mare Loch © All rights reserved. Excerpt from Orange Grove: The Reformation of a Midlife Wife by Mare Loch. Available on Amazon or read for free on Kindle Unlimited.
The characters and events portrayed on this website and all subsequent publications are fictitious. Except for Gerry. He's delicious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this website may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
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