Free Dangerous When Wet: A Memoir by Jamie Brickhouse Page A

roof near a waterfall. The entire pool was shallow, since it was meant for lounging and libations. Every submerged stool at the bar was occupied by men and women holding a rainbow of umbrella-studded tropical drinks: yellow pi ñ a coladas, pink strawberry daiquiris, lime margaritas, blue cura ç ao Hawaiians. A woman in a macram é bikini and floppy hat was making out with a man wearing a gold chain. They both had savage tans. Spilling out from the bar into the chlorinated lake were pairs of men and women holding their drinks high above the water as their heads floated on the surface, besotted hippos. Shrieks of laughter rippled from one end of the pool to the other and back again. It wasn’t that different from the kiddie pool, just another set of games.
    Like a cat whose eyes go from lazy indifference to wide-eyed alert as it spots the only two birds in a forest of trees, my eyes zoomed in on the only two men in Speedo bikinis. They were frolicking in the middle of the pool. The one in the lime-green bikini was coquettishly posing for the one in the navy-blue bikini with red and white racing stripes on the side. Limey was tall and lanky like me, with curly brown hair and a light spray of freckles across his face and arms. Racing Stripes, the older one, was stocky, solid muscle, and almost short. A towhead, he had Windex-blue eyes just like my first-grade boyfriend, Eric. In a ricochet of penetrating glances, I caught Limey’s eye, and he caught mine and tossed it to Racing Stripes, who threw the ball back in my court. Tennis, anyone?
    I cocked my head to the side and smiled, with my arms in straight lines behind me, the silhouette pose of a sexy woman on a Mack truck’s mud flaps. I wouldn’t be surprised if I licked my lips. Limey posed for another shot, gazing over his left shoulder at the camera. Just as Racing Stripes cried, “Say cheese!,” Limey pulled down the back of his bikini to expose a bare cheek like the little girl in those Coppertone sunscreen ads. When the camera clicked, he winked and shot his smile straight through me. If a bolt of lightning had struck that pool, I wouldn’t have noticed. I was already electrified.
    They got out of the pool and walked over to me. I pumped my legs in the water like Lolita and looked up as their near-naked bodies dripped on me. Racing Stripes took the lead and squatted on his haunches, offering his hand with a Pepsodent smile.
    “Hi, I’m Vernon. This is Kelly.” I shook Vernon’s hand and Limey/Kelly squatted down to offer his hand.
    “I’m Jamie. Nice to meet y’all.”
    “Want to take a walk?” Vernon asked, his head tilted in the direction of the beach.
    “Why not?” I said, thinking, I can’t believe this is really happening .
    They told me that they lived in Kansas and were at the Princess for a company sales conference. “His job,” Kelly clarified, indicating Vernon. How old are they? Kelly was probably Jeffrey’s age, twenty to twenty-three. Vernon? I don’t know. But they were hot. And they were men. That was all I needed to know.
    “I’m here on vacation,” I said, omitting with my family .
    Making more small talk, we sauntered from the adult pool to the beach.
    “Hey, why don’t you stand in the ocean and I’ll take your picture?” Vernon said.
    “Okay” was my nonchalant reply, as in Sure. I do this all the time. I’m used to it. I walked out to the ocean and turned my back on the waves. “Here?”
    “Just a little further back,” Vernon said. “Yeah. That’s it.”
    I struck my pose in the broiling sun, wishing I were in a wet bikini instead of my Ocean Pacific trunks—wishing I had a bikini. Someday.
    Then I let the pose go as we waited for a parade of souvenir vendors to walk past.
    They passed.
    “Okay?” Vernon asked.
    “Okay.” I struck the pose again and flashed my thousand-watt smile of sparkling braces.
    “Say cheese!” Kelly shouted.
    “Cheese!” I shouted back.
    “Jamie!” Dad yelled.
    My smile melted