“You a member?” asked the man behind the counter at the Y. He had the valley accent too.
“No,” said Eddie.
“Then it’s three bucks. Plus fifty cents for a towel.”
Eddie handed over the five, received lock, key, towel, change.
“Locker room’s down the hall, second on the left,” the man said. But Eddie knew that.
In the locker room Eddie stripped, stowed his clothes, his money, Prof’s cardboard tube, and locked up. Hanging the key around his neck he went through the showers toward the steam room at the end. He hadn’t thought about swimming; a steam bath was all he wanted. But the door to the pool was propped open with a bucket, and he couldn’t help seeing the still, blue quadrilateral in the door frame. He went back to his locker, dressed, returned to the counter.
“Rent swimsuits?”
“Used to. No demand now, not with this AIDS business. You can try the lost-and-found if you want.” He pointed to a box by the scales.
Eddie looked through the box, found a faded Speedo that would fit. If AIDS spread through the lost-and-found, no one had a chance anyway.
A few minutes later he was standing by the pool at the deep end. Same pool. Twenty-five yards, eight lanes, no springboard. Eddie had it all to himself, except for a man sitting in a chair at the other end with a towel around his neck, talking on a portable phone.
Eddie stepped up to the edge in lane five. Lane five had always been his favorite, he couldn’t remember why. Maybe there hadn’t been a reason. Jack in four, Bobby Falardeau in three. Two high-school state championships, athletic scholarships for him and Jack-Bobby hadn’t been quite good enough, hadn’t needed the money anyway-if he had to sum it up, that would be it. But that left out the swimming itself.
Eddie stood by the pool, motionless, toes curled over the edge. He smelled the chlorine, felt cool air rising from the water. The man at the other end raised his voice, said: “Three is the final offer. They can take it or leave it.”
Eddie dove in. Almost not registering on his consciousness was the impression that there was something familiar about the man’s voice.
Eddie glided. The glide went on and on, slowed to the point of swimming speed. But Eddie didn’t want to start swimming. He wanted to keep gliding through that cool blue, to feel it all around him. That was it: not so much the swimming itself as just being in the water. If there was a heaven, it must be a watery place.
“First time in the islands?” asked Mrs. Packer.
Eddie turned from the window of the little plane, turned from the sight of that clear blue-green sea with coral growing like forests on the bottom. First time in the islands, first time on a plane, first time he’d met a woman like Mrs. Packer.
“That’s right, Mrs. Packer.”
“Evelyn, please.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t say her name. She was older, for one thing. Then there were her painted nails, her makeup, the smell of her perfume, her long tanned legs, her self-confidence.
“I could tell by the way you were making big eyes at the scenery,” Mrs. Packer said. “Sometimes I think the planes should just turn back right about here and not bother landing.”
“Why is that?”
Mrs. Packer laughed, laid her fingertips on his forearm. “I’m just being cynical.”
She took her hand away, but he continued to feel the spot she’d touched, hot, like a local infection.
“Are you talking about the poverty?” Eddie asked, remembering something Bobby Falardeau had said; the Falardeaus went to the Caribbean every Christmas.
“There’s worse poverty in Miami. I just meant tropic isles.”
“Tropic isles?”
“And all that goes with them.”
The plane rose suddenly, bumped back down like a car running over something in the road. Not a hard jolt, but enough to throw Mrs. Packer, half turning, onto his chest, with her hair, full of smells, all good, in his face.
“Sorry,” Eddie said, disentangling himself. The infection began to spread all over.
“For what?” said Mrs. Packer, straightening, patting her hair.
Eddie could think of no reply, no way to resume the conversation. He gazed out the window again. The sea changed from opaque blue to translucent turquoise to transparent green. Then a round island went by and the sea colors passed under the wing in reverse order.
“You look like your brother,” Mrs. Packer said.
“People say that,” Eddie said, turning toward her. Face people when they talk to you: the job-hunting advice of Mrs. Botelho, guidance counselor.
Mrs. Packer took off her sunglasses for a better view. “Maybe not so … I don’t know what the word is. Hard?”
“Jack’s not hard.”
Mrs. Packer put her sunglasses back on.
The plane banked, descended on an island shaped like a banana, a green island outlined in white sand. “Saint Amour,” said Mrs. Packer. “You’re going to have a great summer, if you do something about that hair. My husband has a thing about long hair.”
The plane swooped down over treetops, so close Eddie saw a black bird, perhaps a buzzard or a vulture, on a branch, and touched ground, much too fast, Eddie thought, on a dirt strip. Only when the plane rolled to a stop did he glance at Mrs. Packer’s unconcerned face and realize it must have been a smooth landing.
A jeep was parked beside the plane. Jack and another man got out, rolled stairs up to the door. Eddie opened it, followed Mrs. Packer out. The air hit him right away: hot, still, full of floral smells. The blue of the sky was so deep and saturated it looked unnatural. He was going to love it.
“Good news?” said the second man, helping Mrs. Packer off the last step. He was as tall as Jack but broader: thick necked, barrel chested, with wiry hairs curling up around the opening of his short-sleeved shirt.
“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Mrs. Packer.
The thick-necked man held onto her arm. “Tell me now.”
She didn’t speak until he let go. “If their coming for a look is good news, then it’s good news,” she said.
“It’s great news.” He tried to kiss her mouth, but she turned her face and he got her cheek instead.
Jack threw his arm around Eddie’s neck, gave him a hug. “Bro,” he said. Jack looked great: browned, barefoot, strong: saturated too, in some way. “Brad,” he said, “this is Eddie, I’ve been telling you about. Eddie-Brad Packer.”
They shook hands. Packer’s hand was huge, his grip powerful. He squeezed hard, in case there was any doubt. Then he noticed Eddie’s hair. The grip softened; the hand withdrew.
“You didn’t tell me he was a goddamn hippie.”
Jack laughed. “Hippie? He’s starting USC on full scholarship in the fall. He’s no hippie.”
“What about that mop?”
“Needs a haircut, that’s all. No objection to a haircut, is there, Eddie?”
Eddie liked his hair the way it was. On the other hand, he would have to cut it for swimming in a few months anyway. He nodded, barely.
From the frown on Packer’s face he could see that another antihair remark was forming, but Evelyn cut it off. “That’s settled, then,” she said. “Welcome to Galleon Beach.”
“Resort, development, dive club, and time share,” added her husband, sticking out his hand. Eddie found himself shaking hands with Packer once more. This time he was ready, or Packer’s grip had lost some of its power. “Dive club,” said Packer: “That’s your line, correct?”
“Correct,” said Eddie, smiling. He couldn’t help smiling, not with that air, that sky.
“Remember Muskets and Doubloons?” he said to Jack as they got in the jeep.
“Huh?”
Galleon Beach, resort, development, dive club, and time share: six cottages on the water, one with a broken window; a central building with office, kitchen, dining room, and the Packers’ suite; a thatch-roofed bar; a floating dock; a fat folder of blueprints and architectural drawings. That afternoon, Jack opened it and showed Eddie the plans.
On paper, Galleon Beach had a two-hundred-room hotel, eight stories high; three restaurants-Fingers, the Blue Parrot, Le Soleil; two nightclubs-Mongo’s and Voodoo Rock; box on box of time-share villas spreading back from the hotel, up into the hills and halfway across the island; an eighteen-hole championship golf course, tennis courts, two swimming pools; a fleet of boats on the water.
Jack was watching him, waiting for his opinion. Eddie leafed through them once more. “Mongo’s-that’s you.”
“And Fingers. Evelyn came up with the rest.”
Eddie studied an artist’s rendition, not to scale. It showed a pink pavilion cut into the side of the hill. Pastel-dressed white people were dancing to the music of a bare-chested black steel band. Eddie said: “If someone has the money to build all this, why bother doing it?”
Jack put down his beer bottle. “No one uses their own money, Eddie. This is all about leverage. Leverage and operating in a tax haven with no unions and no bullshit. Brad’s going to make a fortune. He’s just lining up one more investor. We could break ground by the end of July, which is pretty quick considering we just got title three months ago.”
Eddie said: “I thought you were in anthropology.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sound like a business major.”
Jack took a long pull from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fact is,” he said, “I’m not going back.”
“Not going back where?”
“USC. I’m staying here. It’s a chance to get in on the ground floor of something really big.”
“What about your degree?”
“It’s just a stepping stone to something like this. I’m already here.”
“You want to work in a hotel?”
“I want to make money, jerk. You’ll see when you get out there.”
“See what?”
“How some people live.”
A white bird dove out of the sky, splashed on the water, rose with something silver in its beak. “What’s he paying you?” Eddie asked. He himself was supposed to get a hundred dollars a week, plus room and board.
“It’s not what I’m getting now. It’s what I’ll be getting in the future-I’ve got a piece of the action.”
“You bought into his company, or whatever it is?”
“GB Devco. Buying in was out of the question. That takes money, and we don’t have money, you and I. It just hasn’t hit you yet, that’s all.” Jack lowered his voice, although no one was around. “I own seven and a half percent of everything, all legal and binding. At least it will be in a few weeks.”
“How did you manage that?”
Jack glanced around. “It’s all part of the deal. That doesn’t mean I won’t have to work like a son of a bitch.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever it takes. Selling time shares, setting up the waterfront program-you’ll be helping with that-romancing travel agents, busting my ass.”
There was a long silence. The sea shone like beaten gold. Eddie remembered that image from English class, but he couldn’t place it. English was his worst subject. “What about swimming?” he said.
“Four hours a day in the pool? Who’s gonna miss that?” Jack took another drink; his eyes rested on the dancing pastel people. “So: what do you think?”
Eddie didn’t look again at the plans. He swiveled around on his stool. The bar had no walls, just a roof that seemed to be made of nothing but palm fronds. Up in the hills, a red-flowering tree blazed like the start of a forest fire.
“I like it the way it is,” he said.
Jack snorted. “It’s a dump the way it is. The last owner’s selling pencils on the street.”
Eddie looked into his brother’s eyes for some sign that he was joking. All he saw was the shimmering of beaten gold.
Eddie gestured toward the hills. “Does Packer own all that land?”
“Not yet.”
“But he can afford to buy it.”
“Hell, no. I told you. He’s got no money.”
“Then how did he pay for the hotel?”
“Borrowed, except for the five percent that came from Evelyn’s old man. And he got the place for a song.”
“He tells you all this?”
“All what?”
“Borrowing from Evelyn’s father. Isn’t that embarrassing?”
“You’ve gone dainty on me, Eddie. There’s nothing embarrassing about it. Got to have money in business. You get it where you can, at the lowest price.”
“Did the plane come from Evelyn’s father too?”
“Every dickhead developer in South Florida’s got a plane, Eddie.” Jack rose. “Enough theory. I’ll show you the main attraction.”
They walked down a path lined with sun-bleached conch shells to a shed by the beach. Jack came out with masks, fins, snorkels, tossed a set to Eddie, led him onto the dock. A silver-and-blue cruiser was tied up along one side; thirty-five feet or so, with tuna tower, portable compressor, dive platform. Eddie absorbed all that without really looking. What caught his eye was the name written on the stern in fresh black paint: Fearless.
Jack put his arm around Eddie’s neck, squeezed hard. “Of course I remember, asshole. What do you take me for?”
Eddie put his arm around his brother, squeezed back.
They boarded Fearless. Jack led him below, pointing out the electronics, the tank racks, the twin Westerbeke diesels. Then they rode out half a mile and anchored. “Wait till you see this,” Jack said. Eddie had done a lot of diving, but all in lakes and ponds. He donned his gear and followed Jack over the side.
First time in the islands, first time on a plane, first time on a coral reef. It lay on a bed of white sand about fifty feet below and sprouted up almost to the surface. Eddie took a breath and dove down, reached the bottom in eight or nine kicks. Even at fifty feet, the water was warm and shining with light. Tiny fish darted over the coral, wearing camouflage that would work only in a jewel box. Eddie took in a mouthful of salt water and realized he was smiling. He bit down on the mouthpiece.
They dove: two land creatures as at home in the water as land creatures can be. They didn’t stop until the sun sank toward the horizon, first reddening the sea, then darkening it. After, in the boat, they watched the sun disappear, leaving radiant traces on the surface of the water, in the sky, on their retinas. Then, quite suddenly, it was night.
“Not bad, huh?” said Jack.
“Not bad.”
“It goes on for miles up and down the shore. Sometimes better. Brad’s got a big New York outfit handling the advertising. Every diver in the world’s going to know about this place in six months. Nondivers, too. We’re designing an underwater observatory-you won’t even have to get wet.”
Was this another joke? Eddie looked at his brother. It was too dark to tell.
The radio crackled. “Galleon Beach to Fearless. Come in, Fearless. Over.” It was Evelyn.
Jack spoke. “Fearless here.”
“You forgot to say over. Over.”
“Over,” said Jack, laughing.
Evelyn was laughing too. “Dinner is almost over. Over.”
They ate sandwiches in the bar, Eddie and Jack at one table, the Packers at another. Baloney and cheese slices on white: the cook was arriving the next day. It didn’t matter. Eddie ate until there was nothing left.
“Stay for a drink?” said Evelyn. The Packers had a bottle of Wild Turkey on their table.
“Or two,” added Packer. “Then maybe Evelyn’ll get out her scissors.”
“Thanks,” said Eddie. “Some other time.”
Jack stayed for a drink. Eddie walked up the beach to the old fish camp-a go-cart track in the plan-where the previous staff had lived. There were a number of cabins but only two were habitable, Jack’s on the beach, the other under a tall spreading tree farther inland. A light was on in the second cabin, and a human silhouette moved behind the shade. Eddie entered the cabin on the beach.
He felt for the light switch, switched on an unshaded ceiling bulb. It spread a weak yellow glow, almost brown at the edges but strong enough to illuminate the peeling paint on the walls, the pile of laundry on the floor, and the two beds, one with a bare mattress, the other unmade. Eddie went into the bathroom-sink, toilet, rusty shower stall-and splashed cold water on his face. He looked around for a towel and in looking glanced down at the wastebasket. There were crumpled papers inside. One crumpled paper with a USC letterhead caught his eye. Thinking, if at all, that it might have something to do with him, he picked it out, smoothed it.
Dear Mr. Nye:
This is to officially inform you of your permanent expulsion from the University of Southern California, effective today. You have the right to appeal to the Board of Governors. Appeal must be filed by the first day of fall term, September 3. As per our discussion with Dr. Robbins of the Ethics Committee and Mr. Morris, the A.D., your athletic scholarship is hereby terminated.
Sincerely,
John Reynolds
Dean of Students
Eddie recrumpled the letter, dropped it in the wastebasket. He sat on the bare mattress. After a while he shut off the light and lay down.
Through the window, Eddie could see the other cabin. From time to time, a human figure, female, moved behind the shade. Later something small and quick ran across his roof. Then there was silence, except for the quiet crashing of the waves on the beach.
The light in the other cabin went out.