We Were Strangers Once by Betsy Carter

Author:Betsy Carter [Carter, Betsy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2017-09-12T00:00:00+00:00

Meyer hated the beach. The sun made his pale skin itchy and blotchy. He hated his body, which he felt was as thick and squishy as a marzipan pig, and nothing he wanted to parade in front of his friends. Once, when he was a boy, one of his brothers had stuck Meyer’s head in the trough long enough for him to think he was going to die. Since then, water terrified him. He thought about the one time he had ventured into a lake. It had been at Helenesee, outside of Frankfurt. He and Carola had been visiting Egon and he took them to the lake. In a burst of bravado, Meyer had dared Carola to stand on his shoulders and jump off. She’d said: “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you flip me backwards.” He’d promised he wouldn’t, then ducked underwater as she took his hands and climbed on. He’d stood up slowly. His arms shook as they both tried to steady themselves. He knew he’d never forgive himself if he let her fall, so he’d fixed his eyes on the tips of her toes, which were painted tomato red. Before then, he’d only waded in the shallow end of the lake up to his waist. But on that day, the thought of his Schneewittchen climbing up his back made the possibility of drowning seem a fair price to pay. Even now, he could feel her slender feet on his naked shoulders.

When they finally got to Brighton Beach, his little group stood shyly around the perimeter of their blankets, none of them willing to be the first to strip down. Finally, Egon sat on the blanket, pulled off his shirt and pants, and stretched out in the sun. Of course it would be him, thought Meyer. That body, still a harmony of fine lines and angles. The rest of them wore their winter pallor. Not him. His skin never paled. And now he would tan. The tan would play well against those blue eyes. He’d look exotic and romantic, like a Moroccan sheikh. “Look at him,” Meyer said, gesturing to Egon. “The man is fucking Dorian Gray.”

Liesl smiled provocatively as she studied Egon’s body. The others laughed uneasily, unsure of who this Dorian Gray was. But no matter, it broke the ice, and they all slipped off their clothes and lay in the sun. All except for Carola, who sat shaded by an umbrella.

Meyer took in the sight of her, glimpse by glimpse. During the week, Carola scrubbed floors at a fancy midtown hotel. Her job required her to pull her blond hair back into a bun and wear a net over it, but today it fell softly around her shoulders. Her body, slim and graceful, filled out all the right places in her black knit bathing suit. Meyer poured himself a cup of coffee before allowing himself another look. Without their tomato-red polish, her toes seemed old and discarded, though her legs were pale and young as ever.

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