The Pool Boy

Chapter 4: A Savory Appetite

Chapter 4: A Savory AppetiteTacoma held his fork like a shovel; I didn’t mind. We ate salad and pieces of cold, fried chicken. Beverages were iced teas with slivers of lemon. From the shade he admired the West Garden, stared at the statue of David near the foxtail lilies, perhaps wondered about the cobblestone walkway meandering off to in the nearby woods. His interests and curiosities seemed active, but he asked no questions about his surroundings. In silence, he observed the hammock, the gazebo in the distance, the surrounding garden, and the tool shed that was half hidden behind too-tall oaks and maples, a slew of birch and cedars that offered shade, and an arrangement of roses, more lilies, and baby’s breath scattered throughout the property.

I dabbed a linen napkin against the corners of my mouth. “There is watermelon for dessert. Do you like watermelon, young man?”

He had a tiny piece of chicken stuck to his left upper lip. When the pool boy nodded the small morsel fell off and onto his glass plate. Seconds passed when he realized what had happened and he used his napkin to wipe away the mayo-glaze from his lip. After his brief episode with the chicken, he said, “I do like watermelon.”

To keep the conversation flowing between us and get to know him better, I asked, “What are your hobbies?”

“Sunbathing and swimming.”

“How appropriate. The pool boy who swims and sunbathes.” I laughed without insulting him. “Any other hobbies or activities, my friend?”

A light summertime breeze fluttered through his high-and-tight hair, caressed his thick brows. I was sure the wisp felt pleasant, rewarding.

He took a semi-large bite from his salad, shoveled it into his thin mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Running and working out. I’m into my body. You probably guessed that.”

I thought: I’m into your body, too. “Good. You can do all those things here. There’s a gym near the East Garden in the house. I think you’ll find it useful.”

“Does it have weights?” Not the quickest lark in the barn, but the handsomest.

“That’s why they call it a gym, my boy.”

* * * *

I believed him straight, relishing women over men. It was his eyebrows: they were not groomed and willy-nilly in shape and size. Something told me that he had never kissed a boy or man before, and mostly dated women of his own age. In truth, it was the bad boy look in his daring eyes that confirmed bluntly that the pool boy enjoyed the company of females: an intense brown, unyielding, so serious. I couldn’t help myself from asking him, “Do you have a girlfriend here in West End?”

“No. Not currently.”

“But you have had one, right?” I was being completely selfish, rude, nothing more than an old bitchy queen. How easy I found my game, and how intoxicating to pry answers out of him about his life, treating him like prey. How distasteful, but it felt sweet to me, rewarding.

He nodded. “I did have a girl back in Cali. A beautiful ginger.”

“Cali?”

“California. It’s what some people call the state.”

“Of course. Yes.” I moved the conversation forward. “Now tell me who this beautiful ginger was?”

“I’d rather not discuss her, if you don’t mind.”

I waved a hand at him. “Of course not. I respect that. It doesn’t really have anything to do with you being my pool boy.”

He blushed, half embarrassed, but kept eating.

“Being a writer, I like to obtain as many details as I can from those I employ. Forgive me for prying. I honestly shouldn’t pay attention to such facts, but I do.” I patted the manuscript next to me on the table. The green pen rolled off the pages and onto the cement patio. A new collection of words quickly created a line inside my mind: Robert, you’re such a loser. Stop the nonsense. Move on.

“I’m sorry, Robert…Have you hired me or not? I’m quite unclear at the moment.”

I chuckled.

He didn’t.

I pointed at him with an index finger and told him, “In due time you will find that answer out, young man. Patience is a virtue, you know.”