Page 53 - WTP Vol. V #5

swimsuits, waterproof smiles painted onto their wrinkled faces, swimming in circles, singing some high-pitched jolly song before plummeting into the water together and disappearing into a trap door at the bottom of the pool.
Marjorie signals to him; a young woman has brought his food. She’s well-built, her apron barely covering her front, and he gets an eyeful of cleavage. “Nice and warm, eh love? That’ll put some life back into me,” he says. The girl merely places the plate in front of him and retreats, glancing at Marjorie, who holds her latte rigidly in front of her.
“He tries to put his arms around her
Don bites his roll, feeling the fatty juices run into his mouth. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
but can’t nd a natural place to hold her – she is all air and bones un- der the jacket. Every- thing he does for Marjo- rie seems unacceptable, repulsive. She won’t let him touch her, pulling
in on herself like a sea anemone.”
“There’s a serviette, Donald...” Marjorie says, “For goodness sake.”
She makes a thing of tidying the menu card, straightening the plastic sachets of ketchup and brown sauce.
“I don’t know how you can eat that.”
“At least this isn’t rabbit food like you make us eat.”
Marjorie looks away, down at the quiet pool where the attendants have finished their work. The young man who was in the changing room
is down there talking to a young woman, also in uniform. He stands, loose-limbed, leaning toward the girl.
At the next table is a young mother with three small children. She is feeding the youngest, a hun- gry toddler, strapped in its high chair. The child holds out its hand for the spoon. The mother is round, like Marjorie used to be. A mother duck with her baby ducks. Don makes little clucking noises with his mouth full, and bits of roll fall onto the front of his jacket.
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