The second pool was circular and dark. It was off to Carol’s left at the edge of the property, near what looked like a small cottage for changing clothes. Greta was in the rectangular pool in front of Carol. She was swimming laps, her powerful body moving rhythmically through the water. Carol, who was an excellent swimmer herself, watched Greta for a few seconds.
“Isn’t she something?” Homer walked over next to Carol. His admiration was obvious. “She won’t let herself eat a big meal unless she works out beforehand. She can’t stand fat.”
Homer was wearing a light brown Hawaiian shirt with a pair of tan slacks. Brown loafers were on his feet, and a big drink, crammed with ice cubes, was in his hand. He seemed relaxed, even affable. Carol thought he could have passed for a retired banker or corporate executive.
Greta continued to swim relentlessly through the water. Homer was hovering over Carol and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable, as if her space were being invaded.
“Where’s Ellen?” she asked, turning to the large man and moving just slightly farther away from him.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Homer replied. “She loves to cook, especially when we have guests. And tonight she’s making one of her favorite dishes.” There was almost a twinkle in his eye. He leaned down to Carol. “She made me promise not to tell you what we’re having,” he whispered confidentially, “but I will tell you that it’s a powerful aphrodisiac.”
Ugh, said Carol to herself as she caught a whiff of Homer’s breath and listened to his leering chuckle. How could I have forgotten how repulsive this man is? Does he really think that… Carol stopped her thought. She reminded herself that people with excessive money very often lose touch with reality. Probably some of the women respond. For what he can give them. She almost gagged. The thought of having any kind of sexual liaison with Homer was totally repugnant.
Greta had finished swimming laps. She climbed out of the pool and dried herself off. Her all-white racing uniform was like a transparent body stocking. Even from a distance, Carol could not avoid seeing the full detail of her nipples and breasts as well as her clump of pubic hair through the thin suit. She might as well have been naked. Homer stood beside Carol, unabashedly staring as Greta strode across the cement.
“No suit?” Greta said just before she reached them. Her eyes were trying to bore holes in Carol’s. Carol shook her head. “I’m sorry,” said Greta. “Homer had hoped that we might have a race.” She looked at the captain with an odd expression that Carol did not understand. “He loves to see women in competition.”
“It would have been no contest,” Carol answered. She thought she saw Greta tense. “You would have won easily,” she added. “You swim beautifully.”
Greta smiled, accepting the compliment. Her eyes roamed over Carol’s body. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was doing an appraisal. “You have a good body too for swimming,” Greta said. “Maybe a little too fat on the ass and upper legs. I could suggest workout—”
“Why don’t we show Miss Dawson the other pool?” Homer interrupted. “Before you go inside and change clothes.” He started walking toward the little cottage near the ocean. Without saying another word, Greta turned and followed him. Carol took a sip from her wine. Who knows what goes on here, she thought. Those three have not had to work for eight years. They take people out fishing and diving for amusement. A strange mixture of disgust and depression started to spread in her. So they manufacture entertainment to keep from being bored.
Moments after Homer entered the cottage, a bank of flood-lights down underneath the second pool was illuminated. Homer gestured for her to hurry and Carol skipped into the cottage. They led her down a flight of steps. Under the ground was a walkway that completely encircled the large glass aquarium that had looked, in the darkness, like a second swimming pool. “We have six sharks now,” Homer said proudly, “as well as three red occi, a pair of cuttlefish, and of course hundreds of more standard species of fish and plants.”
“Occi?” inquired Carol.
“That’s the slang plural of octopus,” Homer responded with a smug, self-satisfied smile. “Actually, the correct plural is octopodes, even though everyone now accepts octopi because it has been used so much.”
Greta was standing with her face pressed against the glass. A couple of bat rays swam past. She was waiting for something. After twenty seconds or so a grayish shark appeared. The shark seemed to notice Greta and stopped, watching her, its face about five feet away from the glass. Carol could see the long sharp teeth and identified it as a mako, a fierce smaller cousin of the man-eating great white shark.
“That’s Greta’s pet,” said Homer. “His name is Timmy. Somehow she has trained him to recognize her face against the glass.” Homer watched a few more seconds. “From time to time she goes in there to swim with him. When the sharks have finished eating, of course.”
The shark remained in place, staring blankly in Greta’s direction. She began to drum her fingers against the glass in regular cadence. “Now this is exciting,” Homer said, walking over next to Greta and the aquarium. “What you are going to see is what biologists call a typical Pavlovian response. I’ve never seen it quite this way before in a shark.”
The mako began to be agitated. Greta started increasing the tempo, the shark responding by whipping the water back and forth with its tail. Suddenly Greta disappeared up the stairs. Carol thought she noticed a faraway look in her eyes when Greta zoomed by her. Carol looked at Homer for an explanation. “Come down here closer,” he gestured to Carol. “You don’t want to miss this. Greta cares for the rabbits herself. And Timmy always puts on a grand show.”
Carol wasn’t exactly sure what Homer was talking about. But she was enjoying the lovely aquarium. It contained crystal-clear sea water, obviously filtered and recycled regularly. Carol noticed several species of sponges and coral, as well as urchin and anemone. Someone had gone to great trouble and expense to re-create the conditions in the reefs just off-shore Key West.
Suddenly a beheaded white rabbit impaled on a long vertical staff, the blood still spurting from its arteries, appeared in the aquarium just opposite where Carol and Homer were standing. It was over in an instant. Driven to immediate frenzy by the blood in the water, the mako attacked, its teeth ripping half the hapless rabbit off the stave with the first bite. The second swoop captured the rest of the rabbit and snapped the rod as well. Carol barely had time to recoil and turn her head. When she jumped back, she spilled wine all over her blouse.
Trying to appear calm, she reached in her purse for a tissue to wipe her blouse. She said nothing. She had had a perfect view of the shark’s attack and could still feel the adrenaline imbalance that the fright had produced. Great way to start a dinner party, she thought. Why haven’t I ever thought of it? Dawson, these people are weird.
Homer was still excited. “Wasn’t that spectacular? Such raw, savage power in those jaws. Driven by pure instinct. I never get tired of it.”
Carol followed him up the stairs. “Good show, Greta,” she heard Homer say when they walked out of the cottage. “It was right in front of us. Two bites. Wham, wham, and the rabbit was gone.”
“I know,” said Greta. She was holding a diving mask. What was left of the staff was on the ground beside her. “I could see from up here.” Greta was staring at Carol, obviously trying to discover her reaction. Carol averted her eyes. She was not going to give Greta the satisfaction of knowing she had found it repulsive.