My Life Next Door(34)

“So,” I say hesitantly. “You okay?”

“Fine.” His voice is abrupt. Either he hasn’t forgiven me for not being his ATM or he’s got a headache. Probably both.

“Seriously? Because this job is, well, serious.”

“Yup, the fate of the world depends on what goes down at the Lagoon pool at the B and T. I get it. I’m your man.” He salutes without looking at me, then squirts sunscreen into his palm to rub on his pale chest.

“Honestly. You can’t mess around here, Tim. There are little kids and—”

His hand on my arm silences me. “Yeah, yeah. Screw the lecture, Princess Buttercup. I know.” Taking off his sunglasses, he jabs them at his heart for emphasis with a phony smile. “I’m hungover but I’m straight. I’ll save the partying for after hours. Now get off my back and do your job.”

“You’re part of my job. I’m supposed to show you where the uniforms are. Hang on.”

I position the Lifeguard Off Duty sign more prominently on my chair, walk through the bushes to the Lagoon pool, and set that one up too. A bunch of moms standing outside the gate with their children and their arms full of floaties look annoyed. “Just five more minutes,” I call, adding in an authoritative tone, “Need to resolve a safety issue.”

Tim’s sweaty and preoccupied as he follows me through the labyrinthine course to the room where uniforms are kept. We pass the bathrooms, with their heavy oak doors, thick iron latches, and signs that say “Salty Dogs” and “Gulls,” then spell it out in nautical flags.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he says.

“Yeah, It’s ludicrous, but—”

He grabs my sleeve. “I mean really. Wait.” He vanishes into the men’s room.

Not good. I move away from the door so I don’t have to hear. After about five minutes, he comes back out.

“What?” he asks belligerently.

“Nothing.”

“Right,” he mutters. We get to the uniform room.

“So, here’s your suit—and stuff,” I shove the towel, hat, jacket, and whistle that come with the job, along with the gold-crest embossed navy blue board shorts, into his hands.

“You gotta be kidding. I can’t wear my own suit?”

“Nope—you need to display the B and T crest,” I say, attempting a straight face.

“Fuck me, Samantha. I can’t wear these. How’m I supposed to pick up hot girls and get laid?”

“You’re supposed to be saving lives, not scamming on girls.”

“Shut up, Samantha.”

Seems as though all our conversations run into the same dead end.

I reach over and scoop up the hat with its jaunty insignia, plopping it on his head.

It’s removed even faster than Tim can say: “That will be an extra helping of hell no with the hat. Do you wear one of those?”

“No—for some reason, only the male lifeguards get that. I get the little jacket with the crest.”

“Well, not this guy. I’d just as soon go in drag.”


I can’t worry about Tim. It’s pointless. Besides, this isn’t a job that allows for downtime. At the far end of the Olympic pool, a group of elderly women are taking a water aerobics class. Despite the rope blocking off that section, kids keep cannonballing into the class, splashing the ladies and upsetting their fragile balance. There’s always a baby who doesn’t have a swim diaper, despite the many signs saying this is a must, and I have to talk to the mother, who usually gets antagonistic—“Peyton was toilet trained at eleven months. She doesn’t need a diaper!”

At two o’clock, the pool’s nearly empty and I can relax a little. The moms have taken little kids home for naps. No one here but tanners and loungers. I’m overheated and sticky from sitting so long in the high plastic chair. Clambering down, I blow my whistle and hoist the Lifeguard Off Duty sign, thinking I’ll get a soda at the snack bar to cool off.

“I’m taking a break. Can I get you something to drink?” I call over to Tim.

“Only if it’s eighty proof,” he calls back through the bushes and granite stones that separate the Olympic pool from the Lagoon one.

The back door buzzer sounds behind me. Weird. All B&T guests have to sign in at the gatehouse. Back door is for deliveries, and Nan didn’t say anything about more Stony Bay paraphernalia coming.

I buzz the door open and there’s Mr. Garrett, a stack of two-by-fours on his shoulder, so out of place I actually do a double take. He’s wandered in from the wrong movie, all bronzed and full of energy against the pale ivory gate. His face breaks into a big smile at the sight of me. “Samantha! Jase said you worked here, but we weren’t sure of your hours. He’ll be pleased.”