I'm with Stupid (11 page)

Max takes another step toward him. “You’re the gross violation!” he counters. Libby tries to shush Max but it’s no use. “If you even think about reporting this,” Max continues, pushing his finger into Manuel’s chest, “I swear to God I will—”

Libby tells everyone to calm down; we can all just stay in the pool. Max throws up his arms. “Why me,” he moans. Manuel’s eyes widen. “I knew it,” he says excitedly to Libby, who peels off her white dress, revealing her polka-dot bikini and mounds of cleavage. “I knew you had feelings for me.” Max gives Libby a sour look. “Do me a favor and cover up those tits,” he says, pointing at her bikini top. “I can’t deal with this shit much longer.”

Manuel begins doing laps around the pool to show Libby how fast he can move; Max and I follow Libby’s lead and peel off wet clothes. I’m in a black bikini and Max is in red trunks. William takes off his khaki uniform shirt but leaves on his khaki shorts.

We congregate around William’s hairless chest, which, according to Max, would make a wonderful dessert tray. When Manuel realizes that Libby is not paying attention to him, he gets out of the pool to retrieve a bottle of Winta and a glass that he left on a deck chair. As he exits the water I notice something gravely unfortunate. Manuel is wearing an orange Speedo that glows in the dark. Libby gasps: Manuel has an erection. And unlike every penis I’ve ever seen, Manuel’s is not pointing up, toward the chin, if you will. No, Manuel’s penis is pointed straight ahead. Let’s say this: If Libby backed into him right now, she’d immediately be having anal sex. Not good. He holds up the bottle of Winta and waves it at her, leaving me to wonder if he has a factory that makes that, too.

He takes a running start and does a swan dive into the pool, bottle and glass still in hand. Libby covers her eyes. Earlier in the day Max mentioned wanting to see William in a Speedo. Well, there’s the Speedo, it’s just on the wrong guy. At least he’s not wearing the socks.

Manuel and his penis and his bottle and his glass begin swimming underwater toward Libby. They stop at her feet but show no sign of coming up for air. Libby wonders aloud what Manuel could possibly be doing under there and, when a few bubbles break on the surface of the water, I joke that perhaps he knocked himself out, knowing full well that he’s doing nothing more than checking out her thighs. A look of concern spreads across William’s face. He reaches underwater, pulls Manuel out by the back of his Speedo, and asks if he’s okay. Manuel throws him off and leans into Libby. When he puckers his lips for a kiss she leans all the way back. The conversation again turns to Winta. Would Libby like some? Her answer comes quickly: No, she would not. He promises that she will not regret indulging. “Winta is a very sensual drink,” Manuel says. He shakes his wet head, spraying fat drops of pool water into Max’s eyes. Gracias señor! “It is made from the extract of a rare flower coveted by tribal chiefs and shamans of the hinterlands,” he continues. “It enraptures and titillates the senses. I drink it at elite social gatherings, not to mention the occasional vernissage.”

Max flicks water in Manuel’s direction. “What’s a vernissage, sock puppet?” Max mumbles. “What are you even saying?”

Manuel is quick to explain: “A vernissage is a private showing of an art exhibition that has not yet been opened to the masses. A vernissage is certainly not something you would ever be asked to attend.” Max gets right up in Manuel’s face. He speaks slowly, carefully pronouncing each syllable: “I-do-not-un-der-stand-a-word-you-just-said,” he concludes. “Speak-Eng-lish-next-time.”

I look over at Libby. Vernissage. Man, oh man. As far as she’s concerned vernissage is something you put in a bun and eat with mustard. Vernissage. She couldn’t give a flying fuck. The other day she asked me if Art Deco was a painter.

Manuel holds out the bottle and she shakes her head no. She doesn’t want any of what she calls his “Spanish fly.” Manuel jumps to his own defense: Oh, no, no, it is not like that at all. (This from the kid who asked if she was a virgin the second they met.) Max impatiently grabs the bottle from him, unscrews the top, and takes an impressive swig. He informs us that it tastes like cold Irish coffee. Not bad at all. Manuel takes the bottle from him and wipes down the opening with his palm. “This is a product to be savored,” he says under his breath. “Not wolfed down in the manner of a savage, you
bête sauvage
.” After thoroughly disinfecting the bottle he asks Libby if she’s sure she doesn’t want to try some. He explains that it’s like a piece of velvet on the tongue.

“I don’t want a piece of velvet on my tongue,” she answers.

Max turns to me. He’s had enough: “Come on, let’s go to the deep end. Don’t be afraid, mother, I’ll take your arm.” I hesitate and William notices. He asks what I’m afraid of. I explain that I don’t know how to swim and that Max just enjoys making fun of me. William turns his back toward me: “Hop on,” he says. “I’ll take you around the pool.” I contemplate William’s muscular back while considering the graphic thoughts that are likely swirling in Max’s head. I don’t embarrass easily, not with a friend like Max always at my side, but here I’m momentarily overcome by shyness. I hope it doesn’t show. I shake my head and answer no: I’m just going to stay in the shallow end.

Libby hears our exchange. “I don’t know how to swim, either,” she lies. “Take me around, William. I’ll get on your back.” Upon hearing this, Manuel forcibly shoves the liquor bottle and glass against Max’s chest. “Don’t mind if I do,” Max says, scooping up Manuel’s tools of seduction.

Manuel grabs Libby by the arm. He begins to shout: “Why, you did not tell me you were unable to swim! I am a glorious swimmer! You will be my pupil!” Before Libby can stop Manuel, he has her by the waist. He begins to move her around the pool. Libby makes no effort to cooperate; Manuel looks like he’s dragging a corpse. Max, for his part, takes a second drink from the bottle, then points to a deck chair. “I’m going to be over there if anyone needs me,” he explains. “You know, this stuff really isn’t that bad,” he adds, more to himself this time. “It’s like a spiked milk shake. Kinda tropical.” He gets out of the pool and I’m left standing in the shallow end with William. He’s adorable. What else is new? After an awkward pause William tells me that he’s sad I am leaving. I admit that I am sad, too, and that it was very nice meeting him.

“You’re very easy to look at,” I add. I don’t know what possesses me to say the last part. It just comes out. He answers without hesitation: “I think you’re beautiful.” It may be dark but I can see that his ears are red. I can’t believe he blushes. I let out a laugh; William looks petrified. I think he thinks I’m laughing at him. He blurts that he has a hard time explaining how he feels. I encourage him to give it a shot. I definitely want this man to do the talking. After all, it’s not every day that a heartthrob with a sexy accent confesses his feelings for me in South Africa. A week ago I wouldn’t have been able to identify his country in a lineup.

“You’re so quiet, like me,” he starts. Quiet? Yes, exactly right. I am quiet. We know each other so well! “But you’re also fun,” he adds. “You’re . . . unique.” William cups his hand around the blue water and lifts it out of the pool. He looks up at me as liquid slowly drips through his long fingers. “I like that,” he says. Fuuuuuuck me. That one I felt.

I look over at Max, who seems to have fallen under the spell of Winta. He’s staring at the bottle, turning it around like a hippie grappling the meaning of his lava lamp. “We’re all amusing,” I blab, trying to distract William from what he likes. “The three of us.”

“But you’re so smart and accomplished,” he continues as a bead of water rolls down the center of his chest. “You’re . . .”

“What?” I ask, fishing for more compliments.

“You’re like no one I’ve ever met.”

William says this last part with such sincerity that I almost believe him. He’s lucky I’ve heard every line ever used, including that very one. Fucking Richard. Before William can say another word, Manuel drags Libby back to the shallow end and releases her from his clutches. She smacks her ear to get the water out and declares that she’s had enough of the pool for a lifetime. “I think he fractured my hip out there. I need a drink,” she adds, panting. Manuel lunges forward in the water. “I will get the Winta!” he says. “It will warm your delicate bones.”

“Don’t bother!” Max shouts from his deck chair and turns the bottle on its head. “I just drained it!”

Manuel lets out a moan but quickly recovers. “I have more,” he promises and keeps moving.

“No!” Libby screams in terror. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

Manuel follows her out of the pool. He adjusts his orange Speedo and stares directly at her breasts, which for him are at eye level. If he got a little closer he’d have his cheeks between them. “May I escort you to your boudoir?” he asks her breasts.

“No, babe,” she says while drying herself with a towel. “You’re seventeen.”

Manuel pulls the Speedo out of his crack. “Almost eighteen,” he corrects her. “This reminds me of a story. Once, when my family yacht was approaching the shores of Corsica, I said to—”

“Manuel!” I hear a woman shout. It’s Manuel’s mother, the perpetually enraged señora. She walks determinately across the deck, past a row of reclining white chairs, wagging her finger and screaming in Spanish, her high heels banging against the concrete, her gold bangle bracelets clinking. A uniformed ranger, her escort, stands off to the side. Manuel swaddles himself in a terry-cloth robe that has the words
CARNIVAL CRUISE LINES 2000
stitched on the pocket as William dives underwater, afraid he’ll be turned in for associating with the wealthy. Manuel’s mother stops at the edge of the pool to confront her son. William looks up at me from beneath the water. He is pinching his nostrils, his hair swaying like seaweed. After some heated words from Señora Sanchez, during which Manuel keeps his head down, she abruptly walks back up the path, past that same row of reclining white chairs, her high heels banging against the concrete once more. She howls a one-syllable command in Spanish. Disobedient Manuel turns to Libby and translates: “I must leave you now,” he explains. “My mother suspects that you are a gold digger after our family treasure. I am in the process of convincing her otherwise.”

She said all that in one word?

With his chin against his chest, Manuel follows his mother. Max can’t stop laughing when she grabs her son by the ear and begins dragging him like a mule. The ranger-escort follows behind with a rifle.

William and I get out of the pool once the coast is clear. His glistening body glows in the moonlight. Now that the hardest part of her day is over, Libby invites us to have a drink on her fancy wraparound porch. Max throws me a towel and a look. “Offer good for one night only.” He smiles.

Libby nods: “Yeah, and I’m wide awake.” The comment surprises even her.

We agree to have a drink on Libby’s porch; the idea of calling it a night is painful. William seems eager. He walks us to Libby’s then tells me he’s going to put on some dry clothes and get gas for the safari truck, and that he will be back.

We wait for William. Our hostess comes out of her chalet with a decanter of brandy. “I took a sip of this and it’s very sweet,” she marvels, setting it down on the table. I pull out one of the wicker chairs. As soon as my ass touches the seat Max is on me like a vulture. He grabs the arms of my chair, pulls me toward him, and asks if I’m going to sleep with the ranger. What? Is he totally crazy? I’m not sleeping with him. That honestly never crossed my mind as a legit possibility. I’ve just been fantasizing is all. I can talk a badass game but deep down I’m an innocent. I don’t just sleep with people. I don’t even know William. I waited a long time before sleeping with Richard.

I remind Max that William and I have exchanged a total of ten words. “Who cares,” he retorts, pouring out the brandy into crystal glasses, “it’s not words you need to be exchanging.” He fixes me with his eyes and points out that never again in my lifetime or his will there be a better-looking man than William. He is unbelievable. He is beautiful. Do I even know how beautiful he is?

I frown at him. He wants to know if I know how beautiful William is? Yeah, I think I felt how beautiful he is in the pool. I had to cross my legs, that’s how beautiful he is.

Max proclaims that people would kill to sleep with William. I believe that he would, yes, and assure him that I know how beautiful William is. “I can’t take my eyes off him,” I answer. “Stop reminding me how—” Max jumps in: “Please sleep with him. Do it for us. Do it for me. We would sleep with him if we could but he only has eyes for you.” I mildly protest that this is not the case, though it’s nice to think it might be. Libby nods: William only has eyes for me.

“What was he saying to you in the pool?” Max asks. “I was trying to eavesdrop but you two started whispering.”

I let out a squeal before revealing that William told me I was beautiful. Libby puts her hand to her heart. “Babe! He said that?” she asks in awe. That’s all she needed to hear. Now she, too, wants me to hook up with the ranger. I continue, reveling in the attention: “He said he’s never met anyone like me. It was such a line but a part of me wanted to believe him.”

Max rolls his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you believe him?” he asks. “You’re so jaded. You can’t afford to be jaded.”

“No, you can’t,” adds Libby, hand still at her heart. “Just kiss him once. It would be a fairy tale, babe. He saved us from a buffalo.” She momentarily closes her eyes and puckers her lips. “That face, that uniform,” she gushes. “Those shorts. I wonder what kind of clothes he wears in his off time.”

“Who cares,” Max says, “as long as he’s willing to take them off.”

We down a few brandies and I immediately start to feel light-headed. Max continues: “The truth is that he hasn’t met anyone like you. You heard him admit it, girl. You’re gorgeous and you’re the light of his life.”

Libby takes my hand: “Invite him back to your room for a kiss,” she says. “It’s our last night and he really adores you. And don’t listen to Max, you don’t have to sleep with hi—”