Chapter Seven
S tacey showed up at the pool at 6:25 pm the next day, Tuesday, to work her first night swim. She was freshly showered, with her hair done and makeup on. Jessie Thomas was also on the schedule, and it was their first shift working together. Wearing her new swimsuit with cut-offs, she practiced plastering a smile on her face in the mirror at home, and pushing out her chest, hoping it would make her look more attractive. All day she’d run through possible topics to talk to Jessie about: What church do you go to? When did you start skateboarding? Were you born in Mesa Valley? She desperately wanted it to sound natural when she offered to give him a ride home.
When she got to the pool, though, the door was locked. She leaned against the painted cinderblock wall facing the parking lot, hoping Jessie would walk up and see her looking cool and casual. She sucked in her stomach, and propped her right foot up like Julia Roberts on the Pretty Woman movie poster. But after ten minutes, her standing leg was sore. When she shifted her weight, she realized her left Birkenstock was stuck to gum. She was leaning over, scraping the gum off with a stick into the planter when Mark finally pulled into the parking lot.
Stacey stood back up, scowling at him with her arms crossed as Mark approached with his Carl’s Jr. dinner in hand. She salivated at the smell of the greasy fries, her mother’s bland turkey meatloaf turning over in her stomach. Mark’s shaggy hair and wrinkled T-shirt looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Look who’s here! It’s Miiiiiiss Punctuality. And, tell her what she’s won, Johnny!” Mark said, pushing his cup and bag into Stacey’s hands so he could unlock the door. Stacey uncrossed her arms, taking the bundle and a deep inhale of the fried food smell. She considered reaching in the bag to steal some fries.
“Bob said we always need to be on time,” she reminded Mark.
“For him, you do. For me…” He took the food back and looked in her eyes. “...you should chill.”
Stacey followed Mark into the guard shack, flipping on the lights, and set her bag in her locker. He sat at the desk and began eating his burger.
“Don’t we need to clean the bathrooms?” Stacey asked.
“Be my guest,” Mark replied through a full mouth without turning around.
Seriously? He’d better not be expecting me to clean this place by myself. Night swim starts in a few minutes. Where’s Jessie?
The lobby door swung open with a loud squeak. Jessie held the door as he and Melissa came into the guard shack. They both had bags of Del Taco and Macho 44 cups. With a nod to Mark, who nodded back in response, the pair flopped onto the couch beside one another, deep in conversation about the last episode of 90210, grabbing food from each other’s bags.
Stacey stood next to her locker feeling invisible. What the…doesn’t anyone realize I am standing right here? Did Melissa give Jessie a ride to work? Are they together now? She shook her head and rolled her eyes, then threw open the door to the pool deck and started emptying the overflowing trash cans. Jessie and Melissa could deal with the bathrooms.
At 6:59 she slumped into the furthest lifeguard chair, next to the deep end, and Mark opened the doors to the public.
About fifty people came to the pool that night, the most Stacey had seen so far. There were even a few skater kids she recognized who were a couple of years behind her in school. They did tricks off the diving board while Jessie teased them from his tower opposite her.
“Real men aren’t afraid to eat it doing tricks,” Jessie told them through his megaphone. “I’ll give a dollar to whoever lands the loudest belly flop.”
One after another, the skater kids ran off the end of the board and landed with a loud smack on the water. They climbed the ladder out of the pool, their bellies splotched red, and looked to Jessie for their score.
Stacey was embarrassed on their behalf, torturing themselves for his entertainment. After watching the fully-clothed kids and the toddlers in floaties nearly drown in the deep end over the weekend, Stacey was even more afraid of what accident might occur because of the diving board that summer. She was fairly certain they’d end up having to backboard one of these skater kids if Jessie kept egging them on. But it did help pass the time, and strangely the sound of their skin slapping the water actually cheered her up.
After thirty minutes, they rotated their lifeguarding positions, and it was Jessie’s turn for the first break. Stacey took over his position watching the shallow end, and Melissa was on duty to watch the deep end. But, rather than go inside as they usually did on breaks, Jessie went to the diving board to show the hot-dogging skaters how to land back-flips and gainers. Stacey was supposed to be focused on the shallow end, but it was impossible for her not to look over her shoulder in his direction. She was intoxicated watching every muscle in his lean body engage as he flipped off the board. It was like he moved in slow motion. And his teeth somehow glowed whiter at night.
Then Melissa’s voice came over the megaphone. “Is that the best you can do, JT?” she said after he’d executed a perfect back flip and landed feet first. “If you’re such a stud, why don’t you show us your belly flop?” Over the megaphone, Melissa gave Jessie her “judge’s score,” and the sound of her voice grated on Stacey’s nerves.
After thirty minutes of listening to Melissa’s sassy flirting with Jessie, it was Stacey’s turn for a break, and all she wanted was to get as far from both of them as possible. She held her towel tight and walked into the guard shack. Mark was dozing in the chair, his feet on the desk. She grabbed her book from her locker and stormed out, winding through the lobby to the front of the facility, slamming doors behind her. The glass in the metal frame of the cashier’s window rattled. Stacey leaned against the outside wall of the building and slid down to the concrete, tossing her copy of Animal Farm beside her. She closed her eyes and collapsed against the warm cinder block.
The door inched open a few minutes later and Stacey looked up to see Mark peeking out, then down at her. “What are you doing?” he asked, a spot of what looked like ranch dressing crusted in his goatee.
“Reading,” she sneered.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Whatever.”
“You look miserable,” he said.
“I’m not miserable!” But even Stacey could hear how pathetic she sounded.
“If there’s an accident, I need you in the guard shack so you’re ready to respond,” he said, but Stacey didn’t move. “Like, NOW.”
Stacey rolled her eyes. Now he wants to act responsible? She grabbed her book and followed him back inside.
From the couch, she could hear Melissa and Jessie’s megaphone banter through the closed door. She wished she had headphones.
“As if they would even notice if someone was drowning out there,” she said to Mark, who had returned to his seat at the desk but kept his back turned, ignoring her.
Stacey stomped over and turned on the stereo. She felt Mark watching her out of the corner of his eye. She fiddled with the dial trying to find the Ska Parade until she heard the familiar sound of the Reel Big Fish trombone tooting “Everything Sucks.” The song made her smile to herself. She turned the volume up until she could barely hear any noise from the pool area. She saw Mark watching her and erased her grin, then flopped back onto the couch, crossing her arms and glaring across the office at Mark.
Mark lifted his eyebrows, shook his head and exhaled, then walked out to the deck.
Stacey was throwing a tantrum and she knew it. But everything about the night totally sucked. After all her anticipation about working with Jessie, he hadn’t even acknowledged her existence. No one had, except Mark, who clearly couldn’t stand her. She sat alone in the guard shack, rereading the same page three times, wondering what she could do to make any of it better. The final shift needed to end so she could go home.
For the last thirty minutes of night swim, Stacey had to go back out to watch the deep end again. It was Melissa’s break, but when Jessie took over her position watching the shallow end of the pool, Melissa sat on the railing of Jessie’s guard tower talking to him for the whole thirty minutes, directly in Stacey’s line of sight.
Jessie would say something that made Melissa laugh, then she’d throw her head back like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, elongating her golden neck. Arching her back, Melissa would pushed her narrow chest out, striking a sculpture’s pose. Then Jessie would tickle her thigh and poke her in the side to get her to wiggle more. Melissa crumpled into him, her cackle echoing across the water.
“Totally unprofessional,” Stacey muttered to herself. “Get a room.” Whatever. She figured Jessie was way out of her league anyway. Of course he was into someone sexy like Melissa. But did she really have to watch them flirt all summer long? Or worse. What if they started making out every day like Desiree and Chad. I should quit.
Stacey distracted herself staring toward the far end of the pool where the lavender twilight sky hung above the glowing aqua water, willing the night to be over. She imagined how she might be able to mix those exact colors from the paints Ms. Moreno loaned her.
At 8:55, Jessie announced to the swimmers over the megaphone that it was time to close the pool.
Finally! Stacey thought. She climbed down her tower.
At nine, Melissa, Jessie, and Stacey quickly pulled the pool cover across while Mark flipped off the lights in the water and locked the gates.
Stacey entered the guard shack ahead of the others and was surprised to find the rest of the lifeguard crew had shown up. Tiffany sat on the desk twirling her gum and kicking her feet. Chad and Desiree were snuggled on the couch, his arm around her shoulder with his fingers casually resting on her breast. Stacey stood staring at them, dumbfounded. Desiree’s tank top was stretched-thin over her double Ds and her perfectly bouncy chestnut curls brushed against the spaghetti straps. Of all the female guards, she most resembled a Baywatch Babe in her red suit. And Chad couldn’t keep his hands off her.
A slow grin spread across Chad’s face. “Whatchalookingat Chapman?” He leaned toward Desiree’s ear, his eyes locked with Stacey’s. “I think Stacey here likes what she sees.”
Stacey blushed and turned away, while Tiffany pretended she hadn’t heard the exchange. Stacey went to her locker to collect her things.
Mark came through the door from the pool deck. “How’s it goin’?” he asked no one in particular in his Joey Tribiani voice. Then he froze, tuning his ears toward the speaker in mock disgust. “Enough of this.” He walked to the stereo and turned the dial to change the station.
“I left my Mariah Carey CD on the shelf. Put that on,” Desiree told Mark.
“Hell no,” he replied. “I have standards.”
Melissa and Jessie entered the guard shack. Jessie grabbed his guitar from its resting place against the filing cabinet, and they settled into folding chairs in the corner, where Jessie began tuning the strings of his guitar.
“What’s wrong with Mariah Carey?” Tiffany asked.
“What isn’t?” Mark snorted. “If I want my ears to bleed, I can press the blow horn button on the megaphone.”
“She’s gotten like two Grammys and was Billboard’s best female artist—twice,” Desiree replied, tugging her tank top up over her cleavage. Chad reached over with his free hand and inched it back down.
“That doesn’t mean her shrill, chick-flick pop is actually good,” Mark said. “It just means she sold a lot of albums because girls like you have no taste. You throw your money away on any crap that promises some guy’ll hold your hand and look into your eyes. I bet you like Janet Jackson and Shania Twain, too.”
“You’re an idiot, Mark.” Melissa rolled her eyes. “Guys like you criticize talented women because of their ability to succeed in a man’s world while you struggle even to achieve mediocrity.”
“Whoa, hold up! I have no problem with successful women,” Mark said, settling on a jazz and funk station. “I plan to see Demi Moore’s new movie next week.”
Desiree scoffed. “You mean the one where she’s a stripper?”
“Hell ya!” Chad lifted his hand to high five Mark. “I’m in whenever you go!”
“Pigs!” Tiffany said.
Melissa turned her back to the group, her knees pulled tight against her chest, and focused all her attention on Jessie. He was strumming his own tune, ignoring the music coming from the radio.
With her book and her towel tucked into the bag on her shoulder, and her keys in her hand, Stacey looked around the room. Isn’t anyone going to ask me to stay? Tiffany and Mark were perched on the desk shoulder to shoulder. Chad and Desiree were cuddled on the couch. And Melissa twirled her long, dark hair while Jessie serenaded her.
Stacey felt like a nuisance fly. Something was about to happen, and she felt like they were waiting for her to leave so whatever it was could begin. She mumbled, “G’night,” and headed out the door.
“Night, Stacey!” Tiffany called with a bubbly wave.
No one else spoke.
As the door closed, Stacey glanced through the cashier window back into the guard shack, and half-expected them to be holding their thumb and pointer finger in the shape of an “L” on their foreheads. But they weren’t. She wasn’t even on their radar. And that felt worse.
The lobby door squeaked loudly as she pushed it open. Stacey dragged herself to the parking lot.
Sitting in her car, she rolled the windows down and slumped over the steering wheel. Jamiroquai pulsed across the dark pool, gentle humming from the glow of the guard shack. Melissa’s all too familiar giggle ricocheted across the water. Stacey clenched her teeth then hit her forehead hard against the steering wheel. She did it again. Then once more, before finally turning the key in the ignition.
She drove away in silence.
When she got home, she fell onto her bed and called Gabe. He was half asleep and mumbled about opening at the restaurant for the breakfast shift at six a.m. Her words spilled out in a torrent.
“Whoa, Stace,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “Chill. They just don’t know you. They’re probably afraid you’re a narc or something.”
“I really needed this summer to be awesome. Everything about this job totally sucks.”
“Show ‘em you’re down to party.”
“Am I?”
“You don’t have to get wasted.” Gabe yawned. “That’s not what I mean. But…be cool.”
“I can be cool. I’ve partied. Kelly and I drank wine coolers with those guys we met in the desert over spring break.”
“THAT was dumb. You didn’t know anything about those guys. And wine coolers with your cousin isn’t cool.”
“I went to that party in the field behind Jason’s house, too. There was a keg.”
“Whatever. That’s not the point. Show ‘em your chill side. And, uhh…”
“What?”
“I think that Mark guy smokes a lot of weed.”
“Probably. He sleeps all the time.”
“Must be nice.” Gabe yawned loudly. “Listen, I gotta crash. Talk tomorrow?”
Stacey hung up and conjured an image of the crew laughing while they built a pyramid out of beer cans on the diving board. She pictured them inside the guard shack, passing a giant bong around. She could practically hear Chad making fun of her and everyone rolling with laughter.
Stacey shook her head to clear her mind. It didn’t work.
She took out her paints and tried to recapture the peace she’d felt in the art lab the night before. She dipped her brush in an old glass of water and mixed the bright green of the glowing pool and the violet of the sky as she’d seen it earlier that evening. Outside her window, a trio of coyotes howled, breaking the silence. She stepped back from her painting of the empty pool landscape. It looked blocky and childish, nothing like she imagined it would. Along with the coyotes, it left Stacey feeling sadder and even more alone. She crumpled the page and dropped it in the trash can beneath her desk.
There was no escape.
She turned out the light and laid beside Murphy on the floor in the dark, feeling pathetic.
Mark and Gabe were right: she needed to chill. She just didn’t know how.
At The Plunge the next morning, there was no skunky smell. Only the standard stench of the public locker rooms and office. Jessie’s guitar was back in the corner near Bob’s desk and the trash can was full of take-out bags. The air felt cool and steam rose off the water when they pulled off the covers. Desiree and Chad were about as enthusiastic as anyone would be cleaning a community pool at eight a.m. in the summer. From what Stacey could tell, it didn’t seem like they’d been up late getting high or drunk.
As they divvied up the jobs, no one wanted drain duty, so Chad suggested the three of them play rock, paper, scissors.
Stacey lost.
Desiree and Chad went to hose down the bathrooms; it was only fair, since they got out of drain duty. Bob was in the chemical room adding chlorine. Stacey grabbed a pair of abandoned goggles from the lost and found that looked relatively new, a pair of rubber gloves, and her towel, and headed out to the deep end.
At the side of the pool, she pulled the goggles over her eyes, then stretched, and let her towel fall onto the deck. The rising sun was warm on her back, and her skin tingled as she anticipated the coolness of the water. It was her first time swimming to the bottom of the deep end since she was a kid. Even then she’d barely touched it with her foot and quickly pushed back to the top. She wasn’t confident she could even hold her breath long enough to get the drain totally clean.
She curled her toes over the concrete edge above the “15 ft” depth marker tile. Taking a breath, she laid one hand over the other above her head, bent over, and pushed off with her feet. Her fingers broke the smooth surface of the water, and within a fraction of a second her body was submerged in the cool water in the lower part of the deep end. The pressure hurt her ears and she rebounded off the bottom without even touching the drain.
At the surface, Stacey caught her breath. Locating the drain with her eyes, she dove again, letting some air out so it wouldn’t hurt. As she reached it, she quickly scraped all ten gloved fingers across its screen to loosen the suction on the pile of waste. The water was foggy through the ill-fitting goggles, and the bubbles she let out made it even harder to know exactly what she was grabbing. But she collected everything she could in her clenched fists and kicked straight back up.
Stacey let out a gasp at the top and took a deep breath. She flipped to her back and kicked backward toward the wall, holding the sludgy debris pile above the water between her gloved hands. Her head bumped into the edge of the gutter. She turned and lifted her hands out, setting their contents on the side of the pool. It looked like mostly hair and Band-Aids, and possibly another rubber glove mixed in with a few leaves. She climbed out, then snatched the pile. She was about to drop it in a nearby trash can when something white fell to the ground.
She stood staring at the used condom, a million thoughts flowing through her mind. How did it get here? Was it a swimmer’s? Or a guard’s? Was it really used, or had someone unrolled it to make a water balloon for some stupid reason? Maybe those kids from the night before, trying to impress Jessie. If someone had sex with it, what happened to whatever was inside? Is it in the pool now? Is that a biohazard?
She cringed. “Gross.”
The image of Chad fondling Desiree’s breast on the couch the night before flashed across her mind. And Jessie tickling Melissa in the guard tower. Everyone waiting for Stacey to leave. Was that what they’d been doing? Having sex? All of them?
Coach Bob came up behind her, whistling like Andy Griffith. Stacey grabbed the condom in her gloved fist, pulled the glove off around it, and dropped it into the trashcan before he could see.
“You need help taking that out to the dumpster?” Bob asked.
“No. I got it.” She grabbed the trash bag pull ties and closed the top.
She wrapped the towel around herself, slipped on her flip flops, then pulled the bag from the can, holding the garbage far from her body. The lock rattled against the metal frame of the chain link gate as she pushed it open, then she crossed the empty parking lot, all the while only thinking about the condom and how many of the guards were probably having sex. With one another. In the pool. She wondered if Christian-club Jessie Thomas drank beer, smoked pot, and had sex. Even with his crown of thorns tattoo and WWJD bracelet. Jessie and the cackling, feminist, track-star Melissa. She’d called him “JT” while running her fingers through his wavy blonde hair and Stacey thought she couldn’t have hated her more. Until now.
Then she thought about Desiree and Chad’s passionate parking lot kiss that first day. The lace panties. They were definitely having sex. A lot.
She was done being the odd man out everywhere she went. It was her turn. She was going to get Jessie to notice her. No matter what she had to do.