Swim to Me (7 page)

Blonde Sheila, the third of the Sebring trio, had a bleached Farrah Fawcett hairdo and smoked nonstop. Whenever she'd talk about boys, she'd get loose and smirky and say things to try and shock the others. She called women she didn't like “back-street whores.” She loved to bring up the subject of virginity, always guessing who had hers and who didn't. She'd look down at her crotch and say, “Well, that cradle was robbed years ago,” then explode into a raw combination
of laughter and smoker's cough. Delores thought Blonde Sheila had a faded quality about her, as if she were already used up.

There weren't many boys at Weeki Wachee. There was one guy who would show up twice a week to play the Tin Man in “The Wizard of Oz” show. His name was Lester Pogoda. He lived with his family nearby and worked in their pharmacy on the days he wasn't swimming. Lester had red, lumpy skin that looked as if ants were crawling beneath it. He had the build of a swimmer, with a long slim waist and shoulders that fanned out like angels' wings. Out behind the mermaid amphitheater, there was a big rock next to where the Weeki Wachee River flowed. Often, Delores would see Lester on that rock wearing a polo shirt and a pair of shorts. He'd lie on his back with his chin jutting out and his face angled so that it was directly under the sun. He'd stay there for as long as forty minutes until his face looked as if it might explode and his shorts and polo shirt were soaked in sweat. Once, while Delores was serving as an usher for one of the shows, she came outside for a break. It was a cloudless ninety-two-degree day, and everyone who could manage it had ducked inside to an air-conditioned part of the park, everyone except Lester and his fiery face.

“Hey, Lester,” she said.

“Oh, hey, Delores.” He was sitting up on the rock, dabbing the sweat off his face.

“Pretty hot day for sunbathing.”

“You're not kidding.” He pulled his soaking-wet shirt away from his chest and waved it up and down like a fan.

“Aren't you sweltering?”

“I really am,” he said, sounding anesthetized.

“Why don't you come in, out of the sun?” she asked.

“I can't,” he said. “I have a medical condition.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Delores, taken aback by this information.

“It's not life threatening or anything,” he said. “It's just that I have this terrible acne. They say sun is the best cure for it. One time, a guest here, an older woman, saw me after the show. She told me that my face was unsightly. Can you imagine, she actually said the word ‘unsightly'?” Lester's face got even redder. “She said the way to cure acne was to let the sun burn it away. She knew that because her son had had a bad case of it, and that's the only thing that worked for him. She said that her son's face got better and that he is now a famous linguist in Chapel Hill. I don't know,” he said, running his fingers over his wet nubby skin, “maybe it's getting a little clearer.”

Delores wasn't sure why Lester had told her all this. Maybe he would have told anyone who had come upon him at that moment. Seeing as she hadn't had a whole lot of experience with boys, she wasn't sure what to think. The only other boy she ever knew was Henry from the Y. Sometimes he had complimented her on her hair and told her how he liked it when she wore it up. One time, he was swimming in the lane next to her. She was doing the breast-stroke, he was doing the crawl. She could feel when he came near her by how the rhythm changed in the water. By accident, his hand brushed against her leg. She stopped swimming and merely floated. If she'd had to stand up at that moment, she couldn't have.

Later, when she'd gotten out of the pool, Henry had been waiting for her in the small corridor that led to the girl's locker room. He didn't say anything, just grabbed her close and kissed her. His tongue tasted like chlorine and she liked the way his nose bumped against hers. After that, they would kiss whenever they could find a private place. Neither of them ever spoke of it. Henry was the one who told her that she was good enough to become a professional swimmer, and Delores always wondered if he told her that so she would kiss him again.

Lester seemed different—less sure of himself than Henry. She knew how he felt. She felt that way about her teeth, her feet, her breasts. If someone had told her she could make herself smaller and more attractive by sitting under the scorching sun for forty minutes at a time, she'd have done it without question.

If she told Lester that she knew how alone and unattractive he felt, she would run the danger of cracking the facade of Delores Taurus. Instead, she tried to be encouraging. “You look good, Lester,” she lied. “I can see an improvement just in the time that I've been here.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice suddenly filled with life.

“Yeah,” she said. “Really. Just don't go getting yourself a third-degree burn.”

Delores got to know the shyest girl in the group, Adrienne, when they were both chosen to do a number with Molly and Scary Sheila in an upcoming show, “Carnival in Rio.” Adrienne was tall and reedy and looked like a piccolo. When she spoke, her little, airy voice made her sound like one, too. Early each morning, they'd practice in the tank, then walk back to the dorm together to get ready for the next show. Scary Sheila kept calling Adrienne “Sparky,” which seemed an aberrant gesture of affection coming from Sheila. Delores noticed how Adrienne flinched each time she heard the word
Sparky,
as if a bug had just flown in her eye. On one of those mornings, when Delores and Adrienne were huddling in the tube, the heated hidden platform where they warmed up between scenes, Delores asked about the nickname.

Adrienne's voice got even flimsier. “It's a horrible story. Everyone else seems to know, so I might as well tell you. I'm from Zephyr-hills, and I was the star majorette of the Zephyrhills High School marching band. Last year, for homecoming, I was chosen to do this trick where I light both balls of my baton on fire, throw the baton
in the air, and catch it again. I'd done it perfectly millions of times in practice; it was no big deal.”

Between deep breaths and long sighs, her story unfolded. On this particular evening, as Adrienne hurled the flaming baton into the air, she became distracted by some guy in the stands who was mooning the Zephyrhills Bulldogs as they were about to make their second-half entrance. The baton landed on the forty-yard line, igniting half the grass on the field. The Bulldogs were forced to forfeit the game, which they were winning by three touchdowns. After that, Adrienne was known around Zephyrhills High School as Sparky. “Even my teachers called me Sparky,” she said. “It was so awful. Every time I hear that name, I think of that night and how humiliating it was. Finally, I got so depressed I dropped out of school and came here. Someone sent one of the Sheilas the story from the
Zephyrhills High Times
and she was quick to spread it around. I don't care, though. I'm still determined to become a majorette someday.” She told Delores how since her arrival, nearly seven months earlier, she'd been attempting, without any success, to insinuate baton routines into the mermaid shows.

Twirling a baton underwater, thought Delores. It can't be done.

T
HE
S
EBRING TRIO
figured Delores, with her fancy clothes and famous parents, for a snob, so they rejected her before she could them. During her second week there, Delores landed the role of one of the Lost Boys in “Peter Pan.” Helen was playing Wendy. One afternoon, Helen got confused and couldn't find the air hose. Delores saw her panic. Without stepping out of her role, she swam over to her, took her hand, and pulled her over to the nearest hose as if she were introducing Wendy to some magic hideaway in Never Never Land.

After the show, she stood next to Helen under the hot shower.
“Thank you for helping me out down there,” Helen said in almost a whisper.

“No big deal,” said Delores.

“I suppose not,” said Helen.

They didn't speak again for another three weeks. During that time, Delores got slightly larger roles, first as a fan dancer in “Carnival in Rio,” and then as one of the von Trapp children in “The Sound of Music.” Her skin had turned the color of chestnuts, and the sun was starting to bleach her hair. But her real beauty flourished in the Springs. There were no boundaries between Delores and the water. She embraced its swells and tempo and moved through it with airy grace. Even the girls who wished her the least well were charmed by her natural affinity with it. On the Friday night after Delores received a standing ovation for her solo performance of “Climb Every Mountain,” Blonde Sheila came up to Delores as they were leaving the amphitheater.

“I like whiskers on kittens, too,” she said in a strangely provocative manner.

“Uh, thanks,” said Delores.

“So listen: me, Sheila, and Helen are hitchhiking into Port Richey tonight. There's this place, Hot Chick. You cannot believe how incredible their fried chicken is. We were thinking that maybe you'd want to come with us. What do you say?”

Molly, who was standing next to Delores, placed her hand over the scar on her neck, as if by hiding it, she might be chosen this time. She shot her a look that said,
If you go with them and leave me behind, I will put a knife through my heart.
So Delores told Blonde Sheila that she was expecting a phone call from her parents, who were on the road.

“You don't want to be hanging out with them,” said Molly later. “Bad news, bad reputations. You know what I mean.” So while
the others went off to Hot Chick that night, she and Molly stayed behind with Adrienne and her best friend, sad Sharlene from Homestead. They listened to a Bee Gees album, and another one by Chicago. Sharlene had long, thick blonde hair that she seemed to haul around. Since she never looked up, except when Adrienne spoke, the hair served as a shroud. She allowed as how, sometimes underwater, her hair would drape her face and she would get momentarily disoriented. “Why don't you try wearing a headband?” asked Delores. Sharlene and Adrienne exchanged startled looks. “That's a great idea,” said Adrienne. Sharlene nodded. It was only eight thirty. Molly suggested that maybe they go watch some TV. Adrienne smiled and said, “I have a better idea. Let's twirl.” Sharlene jumped up to retrieve the baton that Adrienne had given her. Adrienne ran to get hers. Delores whispered to Molly, “How much longer do we have to do this?”

When Delores landed the lead role of one of two sirens in “Song of the Sea,” Scary Sheila rationalized it to the other two: “She's new meat. Thelma likes new meat.” Still, the three of them decided to invite her to one of their “try-on” sessions. That's when they'd try on each other's clothes then borrow something from the others in order to make it look as if they had bigger wardrobes. Molly said it was because they wanted to wear all of Delores's fancy clothes that they'd invited her. Delores didn't care; she was pleased to be asked. But out of loyalty to Molly, she laughed and said: “I'm way bigger than you guys. Nothing will fit.” By now, she and Molly were definitely best friends. In the dormitory, their beds were side by side. They even tried to work the same shifts.

Most days, the mermaids performed two shows. Although they were twenty minutes each, it took them at least another twenty minutes to warm up and then another twenty to recover from the physical exhaustion of their performances. On the days they weren't performing, they would practice in the morning and serve as ushers in the afternoon shows. At lunch, they would man the refreshment stands, flipping hamburgers and cooking hot dogs. Every now and again they'd get to work in the gift shop, but that was a rare treat. Aside from the amphitheater, the gift shop was the only air-conditioned building at Weeki Wachee; because of their seniority, Scary Sheila, Blonde Sheila, or Helen worked there most days. On Sunday mornings, Thelma demanded that they all go to church nearby in Spring Hill. Blonde Sheila thought the preacher was cute, so she went happily, wearing her shortest baby-doll dress and strappiest sandals. Scary Sheila hated the services, rolling her eyes through most of the sermon. Helen loved the singing part and would join in, singing louder than anyone in the choir. The rest of them went as dutifully as they flipped hamburgers and cleaned the tank.

In her spare time, Delores would write postcards to Westie with pictures on them that she thought he would like. Once, she bought
him a card with a picture of a sea turtle:
There's a turtle in the Springs that I've nicknamed Westie. Every time I swim he comes around. I think he knows me.

Whenever she ushered, she would search the theater for a family that might be hers. Even when she swam, if she got really close to the glass, she could make out the figures in the first two rows of the audience. A couple of times, she saw a man with a navy blue cap and each time, she could have sworn it was her father. Then the man would stand up and she'd see that he was bent over or very tall, or she'd notice that he had a large dog at his feet. All men made her wary, even the ones who might have been her father.

In the Bronx, Delores had never been on a real date with a boy. She'd never played a kissing game at a party. Here, men—not even boys—said strange things to her. After the show, when she'd be available to pose for pictures in her mermaid outfit, they'd lean in and whisper things to her: “I sure would like a piece of that tail,” or “Meet me for a beer when the park closes, eh?” They'd sometimes say these things within earshot of their wives and children.

Late one afternoon, she swam with Adrienne, Scary Sheila, and Molly in “Carnival in Rio.” Her costume was a low-cut blouse with green and orange ruffles and the bottom half of a two-piece swimsuit. After they'd done a Ferris wheel, where they'd grip their feet onto each other's neck and spin around, she could see a man running toward the stage. He put his mouth on the glass and started licking it, right in front of her. One of the ushers tried to pull him away, but he shoved her away and kept doing it. Delores could see the slippery pinkness of his tongue pressed up against the glass. It was disgusting and it made her lose her concentration and forget to control her breathing. She started to rise to the surface, away from the others. Thelma Foote, who was directing the show, as always,
from an underwater booth, got on her microphone and shouted urgently: “Delores Taurus, you need to equalize. Delores Taurus, you need to equalize.”