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Authors: Terry McMillan
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you say that and I’m sitting down?”
“I can tell,” he says and now he’s looking at me like maybe he’s in a trance or something. “I can tell.”
Is he flirting with me? No. He couldn’t be flirting with me. I’m old enough to be his mother! And what could he possibly want from me that he can’t get from some young chicks around here, like that fox over there, for instance? On the other hand, he’s right. I came here to have some fun, so why not have some? “What time does it start?” I ask.
“About ten. So you’ll come?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you meet me there?”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Why? What’s wrong?” He honestly looks perplexed.
“Nothing,” I say and feel myself blushing as I stand up. I can see that he’s trying not to stare at me and when he stands up I almost lose my breath and this is scandalous just feeling like this over a young boy but as I back away from the table I do hear myself say, “I’ll see you tonight, Winston,” and he says, “Please don’t change your mind. I’m only coming because I want to dance with you,” and when I look at him he is doing the smiling stuff at me but this time he has an incredible look of wonder on his face. It is so sweet.
As I begin to walk away I hear him say, “Thank you for letting me join you for breakfast.”
All I can do is nod You’re welcome, since I am now in a hurry to get out of here because it feels like thousands of eyes are on me and I know they’re probably all wondering why I’m not on the nude beach.
S TELLA , YOU OUGHT to be ashamed of yourself for getting all shook up over some young boy. I mean really. Get a grip, girl, is what I’m thinking as I walk back to my room, but as I nod and say hello to at least twenty different hotel workers I realize something very profound: I haven’t been this aroused on the spot in about three thousand years. It feels like a miracle, because it means I am still alive inside and not dead after all! You may think you’ve lost it but it’s really just lying around dormant, waiting for somebody to come along and reignite those flames you assumed had long since turned to cold white ashes. Apparently the fire is not out. You are not over the fucking hill yet, you can still twitch and flit and flirt. This is great, I think as I run up the steps toward my room, not bothering to peek over at the nudies, and when I put the key in my door, from my tape deck Mary J. Blige is blowing “I’m Goin’ Down.” I dance on in and as I take off my jogging gear I make a mental note to thank this young man somehow for whatever it is he has done which I hope I’ll be able to put my finger on before I leave.
I shower and lay out all seven bathing suits on the bed and try to picture myself in one in particular. Three of them are two-piece but I feel like a one-piece today for some reason, so I reach for the chartreuse with that magical Wonderbra stuff inside even though I really don’t need it but it gives you a real boost in more ways than one so I put this one on and pull all my braids up into a ponytail and I put on some sunglasses and slip into a giant lemon yellow T-shirt that is really a minidress and I grab one of the ten books I brought with me, my Walkman and my suntan lotion, and I’m off.
It is a scorcher. The beach is packed. It’s not a very big beach, not like a public beach where there are thousands of people and kids. It’s not like that here. First of all there are no children hallelujah because this is an adults-only resort. It is refreshing not to see little ones with their little pails and shovels ruining the shoreline with their big potholes and not to hear their squealing and wailing. I admit their laughter isn’t bad but the fact is if you don’t hear or see any kids you don’t really miss them, at least that’s how I feel after lying on my chaise for an hour or so.
I am almost two shades blacker and my skin which is normally an olive brown is
“I can tell,” he says and now he’s looking at me like maybe he’s in a trance or something. “I can tell.”
Is he flirting with me? No. He couldn’t be flirting with me. I’m old enough to be his mother! And what could he possibly want from me that he can’t get from some young chicks around here, like that fox over there, for instance? On the other hand, he’s right. I came here to have some fun, so why not have some? “What time does it start?” I ask.
“About ten. So you’ll come?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you meet me there?”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Why? What’s wrong?” He honestly looks perplexed.
“Nothing,” I say and feel myself blushing as I stand up. I can see that he’s trying not to stare at me and when he stands up I almost lose my breath and this is scandalous just feeling like this over a young boy but as I back away from the table I do hear myself say, “I’ll see you tonight, Winston,” and he says, “Please don’t change your mind. I’m only coming because I want to dance with you,” and when I look at him he is doing the smiling stuff at me but this time he has an incredible look of wonder on his face. It is so sweet.
As I begin to walk away I hear him say, “Thank you for letting me join you for breakfast.”
All I can do is nod You’re welcome, since I am now in a hurry to get out of here because it feels like thousands of eyes are on me and I know they’re probably all wondering why I’m not on the nude beach.
S TELLA , YOU OUGHT to be ashamed of yourself for getting all shook up over some young boy. I mean really. Get a grip, girl, is what I’m thinking as I walk back to my room, but as I nod and say hello to at least twenty different hotel workers I realize something very profound: I haven’t been this aroused on the spot in about three thousand years. It feels like a miracle, because it means I am still alive inside and not dead after all! You may think you’ve lost it but it’s really just lying around dormant, waiting for somebody to come along and reignite those flames you assumed had long since turned to cold white ashes. Apparently the fire is not out. You are not over the fucking hill yet, you can still twitch and flit and flirt. This is great, I think as I run up the steps toward my room, not bothering to peek over at the nudies, and when I put the key in my door, from my tape deck Mary J. Blige is blowing “I’m Goin’ Down.” I dance on in and as I take off my jogging gear I make a mental note to thank this young man somehow for whatever it is he has done which I hope I’ll be able to put my finger on before I leave.
I shower and lay out all seven bathing suits on the bed and try to picture myself in one in particular. Three of them are two-piece but I feel like a one-piece today for some reason, so I reach for the chartreuse with that magical Wonderbra stuff inside even though I really don’t need it but it gives you a real boost in more ways than one so I put this one on and pull all my braids up into a ponytail and I put on some sunglasses and slip into a giant lemon yellow T-shirt that is really a minidress and I grab one of the ten books I brought with me, my Walkman and my suntan lotion, and I’m off.
It is a scorcher. The beach is packed. It’s not a very big beach, not like a public beach where there are thousands of people and kids. It’s not like that here. First of all there are no children hallelujah because this is an adults-only resort. It is refreshing not to see little ones with their little pails and shovels ruining the shoreline with their big potholes and not to hear their squealing and wailing. I admit their laughter isn’t bad but the fact is if you don’t hear or see any kids you don’t really miss them, at least that’s how I feel after lying on my chaise for an hour or so.
I am almost two shades blacker and my skin which is normally an olive brown is
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