The record rains were finally subsiding but the dark, empty clouds lingered so that evening settled in early. A soggy dusk was gathering as Peter let Rusty into the unit. So far, so good. He’d slipped into his old parking spot and then up the two floors in the elevator unobserved, as far as he could tell. All this subterfuge was highly exhilarating to him but Rusty was already looking apprehensive.
“So, here we are.” Peter almost giggled with delight at the ease with which this was unfolding. “What do you think of it so far?” Rusty was positively scowling now, and walked over to the windows.
“Is this only as far up as you lived?” he said, a little derisively, Peter thought. He hoped Rusty wouldn’t turn out to be the sarcastic type. They were so hard to understand.
“Mmm, it is a small unit but it’s got a really nice place to work out.”
“I didn’t come here to work out, did I?” Rusty hissed at him. Peter was scrambling to fathom what Rusty was here for.
“How about drinks?” Peter offered, hoping to loosen up his guest a bit, retreating into the kitchen. “There’s usually wine, brandy, or beer around. Let me check.” Rusty followed him, and as Peter swung open the refrigerator door, Rusty grabbed a couple of cans of beer from the shelf.
“This’ll do.” he muttered. Peter was pretty sure it was left over from their last party. As he rarely ever drank it, Hans would probably never even notice the missing beer.
“I’ll have some brandy. There are some gorgeous snifters. Please, go put your feet up. Relax.” The snifters were there and right beside them, the empty space where the flutes used to be. It was just too tempting Peter thought, wondering if he could get away with more light-fingered fun this trip. First things first. Rusty is first, this trip.
“So, tell me Rusty, what do you want to do here…first?” Peter said suggestively, as he sank into the couch opposite Rusty.
“How far can you get upstairs and see out over the lake?” Oooh, how romantic! Peter thought.
“Well, there’s the terrace out back, overlooking the lake. There’s a lovely view from there.”
“Nah, I mean way upstairs.”
“Well, there are penthouses, but that’s all private, so we can’t go up there. But there’s a solarium room with super big windows. It’s just one floor down from that.”
“No rooftop? How about more beer, then?” Peter was still puzzled about all this interest in the roof but decided to play along as he fetched more beer from the kitchen. Maybe Rusty had a thing about a roof and Peter was willing to learn.
“Why are you handing me beer cans in a towel? Something wrong with them?”
“Oh, I always do that. They are sooo cold, straight from the frig.” Peter gave a little mock shudder, flinging the towel over his shoulder. “You must be really thirsty.”
“OK, so let’s go up there now. I want to look.” Rusty stood up, a beer can in each hand. “Or will it be too cold up there for you?”
“Oh, silly, not too cold, but it will be too dark, and foggy now, see? Look outside. It’s always darker on the lake side at night, anyway. Good for stargazing, on a clear night. You won’t see much of anything, now.” Rapidly warming to his theme, Peter ran on. “I have an idea. There’s lots of beer left. Let’s stay overnight. Then, you could go upstairs early in the morning and see whatever you want.” Rusty was staring at him as he gushed on. “We could go for a lovely swim. Come back here, have a cozy supper. Omelets. I’m good at those.” He had already checked the egg supply when fetching out the beer. Good old Hans.
“Can’t swim.” Rusty belched.
“Oh, that’s nothing. I’ll show you how.” Peter made pawing motions in the air and pretended to swim into the bedroom. “Doggy paddle.” I’m sure I can find the swim trunks, Peter thought, going to the drawer where they used to be. Sure enough, there were the two pair from the Caribbean trip. Dear old Hans, he’s sooo much nicer than Rusty is so far. He fondled them gently before lifting them out. Maybe they would be good luck charms. Recalling his own charms, he tugged off his shirt and returned bare-chested to the living room where Rusty was cracking open another can.
“Let’s get changed, right now.” Peter was in high gear and held up each swimsuit in turn. “Which ones, Rusty? These would suit you…”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” Rusty watched as Peter slipped off his belt, shoes and socks, then made unsteadily for the bedroom, his chosen trunks in his one free hand, closing the door behind him. When he palely emerged, Peter guided Rusty, now clutching a unopened can in each hand, by the stairs down to the pool level door. He propelled Rusty into the pool room, where he stood, or swayed a bit, Peter observed. If Rusty had hollow legs, maybe that would help him to float.
“Can’t swim.” Rusty took a slug.
“Tell you what. Let’s watch TV while we’re in the water.” Peter remembered there was a TV with a long extension cord just outside, across from the meeting room. “Wait just a sec while I fetch it.” he said, whisking out the hallway door. A minute later he returned, TV cart wheels rumbling, and pulled the cart up to the edge of the pool. Fussing with the remote, he turned to Rusty, and cocked his head to one side.
“What’s your fancy? Music, a little bromance, perhaps?” He was hoping for something nice to set the mood.
“Business news.” Rusty dropped an empty by the cart. Peter clenched, then tried again.
“Right. Right. Well, let’s get in. Best thing to do is take the plunge. It’s easier than going in inch by inch. That just gives you goosebumps. Just like getting out fast is so nice, wrapping up in a big towel.”
“What towel? Don’t see no towel.” Peter looked around and in a twinkling remembered; at work, towels were supplied to members, as a perk. He’d completely forgotten that you had to bring your own here. Things were not going as planned. Fantasy was dying by the minute.
“Tell you what, just sit down in the deck chair, watch your show, and finish your beer, OK? I’ll be back in a jiff with some nice warm towels for you.” And he hurried out the pool stairs door.
Rusty sank into a deck chair and guzzled down the remainder. Bored by the show, his eyes fell on the untroubled water before him. Always wanted to do that. Like in the bathtub, only better. He let go the last empty and watched it roll to the edge of the pool. Then grunting with the effort, he lurched up and out from the chair toward the water, where, fully exposed, he relieved himself, gratified by the glimmering arc he was proudly producing.