“Isabella is very pretty,” agreed Vito without enthusiasm.
“She’s entirely boinkable,” said Ms. Nalone.
“Boinkable, Mother?”
“The kids don’t say that anymore?” Ms. Nalone shrugged. “Anyway, she looks fantastic. I wish I had such naturally perky tits.”
“Mother!”
“What? It would have saved me a fortune.” She took a large swallow of chardonnay, then turned to Arlo. “You! Pool boy!”
“Yes, ma’am?” asked Arlo.
Ms. Nalone frowned behind her massive sunglasses. “Are you new?”
“Yes, ma’am. My first day.”
“Really,” she said in a way that made Arlo a tad nervous. “What’s your name?”
“Arlo, ma’am.”
“After the folk singer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ms. Nalone made a quiet noise of disgust. “I hate folk music. I’ll just call you Pool Boy.”
“Whatever you like, ma’am,” said Arlo, remembering Brice’s emphasis on keeping the guests happy. He could play along with this. It was better than skimming the pool.
“Oh, I do like you.” Ms. Nalone licked her red, lipstick-caked lips.
“Mother,” chided Vito.
Ms. Nalone waved her hand at him as she continued to address Arlo. “Have you met Miss Ficollo, the owner’s daughter?”
“I saw her briefly from a distance, ma’am.”
“Good enough. Would you say she is boinkable?”
Arlo looked over at Vito, unsure how to respond.
Vito sighed. “You might as well humor her.”
Arlo turned back to Ms. Nalone. “Yes, ma’am.”
“How boinkable?” pressed Ms. Nalone.
“Exceedingly.”
“And do you have anything in particular,” asked Ms. Nalone, “against inheriting billions of dollars?”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
Ms. Nalone leaned back in her chair, a look of satisfaction on the lower half of her face. “See? Pool Boy has far more sense than you do, Vito.” She tilted her sunglasses down to give him the full impact of her glare. Vito squirmed, his eyes looking around for some means of escape.
Arlo felt bad for him. It was also very informative, regarding his plan to get Brice laid, though not particularly encouraging. The fact that Vito might not be out, at least to his mother, complicated the situation.
Vito broke into a smile. “Look, Mom. The Elores are here.”
Ms. Nalone sat up in her chair. “Really?”
She jumped to her feet and moved swiftly to the wet bar. There stood a woman dressed more for a safari than a pool, in tan shorts and matching short-sleeved button-down. She had thick glasses and an exceptionally large forehead.
“Is that Dr. Elore?” Arlo asked Vito.
“Sure is.”
“Huh.” Arlo watched the two women smile and hug each other. “My boss told me to keep them separated.”
“Yes, that comes later.” Vito stood and walked off toward the golf course. “It’s the first day, so … maybe as late as dinner?”
* * *
“Her lips are like … organically grown roses. Her hair, like … gluten-free pasta.”
Having a poetic mind did not necessarily guarantee that one could compose poetry. However, this was not the first bad poem Franklyn had composed about Isabella, and Zeke had developed a tolerance. He lay on a gentle hill and ran his fingers through the carefully manicured grass while Franklyn Elore slumped on a nearby bench, pen and notebook in hand. Both sets of golf clubs lay on the grass and would see no action today.
Franklyn frowned as he examined his writing. “Not pasta. That gets a bit clumpy. Isabella’s hair is never clumpy.” He groaned and rolled off the bench to lie beside Zeke, his arms and legs spread wide. “Don’t you think Isabella is the most beautiful girl who ever lived?”
Zeke smiled and nodded encouragingly.
Franklyn held up his notebook. “It’s no use, Zeke. There’s simply no way I could hope to capture such transcendent charm in mere words.”
Again, Zeke smiled and nodded.
Franklyn narrowed his eyes. “Are you humoring me?”
Zeke shrugged.
Franklyn sighed, letting his notebook drop. “You placate me like I was a sick invalid. Is that what love is? An affliction?”
Zeke patted his head sympathetically.
“I am sick with it. And sick of it.” Franklyn closed his eyes, the afternoon sun on his face. “I wish there was some way I could tell her…” He sighed again. “No, it’s impossible. I’m sure she’s not even interested in me. How could she be?”
The two boys lay on the golf course, their eyes closed. Gradually, they became aware of the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Well, well. With all that sighing and groaning in the air, I knew Franklyn Elore had to be here.”
Franklyn opened his eyes to see Vito grinning down at him. He lifted his hand. “Will you help me up?”
“Actually, I thought I might join you down there.” Vito flopped down on the other side of Zeke. “I take it you’ve already seen Isabella.”
“She’s even more lovely than last summer.”
“She’s certainly filled out. My mother is insanely jealous.”
“Does she still want you to ask her out?”
“Of course. She could swallow any amount of jealousy with a billion-dollar chaser.”
“What if you just … you know, told her the truth?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“It would solve the problem,” said Franklyn defensively.
“I know. I’ve come close. Really close, but then…” He shook his head. “I just can’t.”
Zeke patted Vito sympathetically on the head.
Then Vito said, “You know, Franklyn, if you just asked Isabella out, that would help both of us.”
“Now you’re the one who’s joking.”
“It’s not so crazy,” said Vito defensively.
“She’s out of my league.”
“True,” admitted Vito.
“And, even if by some miracle she said yes, you know my mother would never approve.”
“Your mother’s GPA requirement is a little strict,” said Vito. “Not everyone can nail a three point seven five every quarter.”
“I actually talked her down from a four point oh, arguing that the occasional imperfect grade builds character.”
“Still, I hear Isabella gets a three point five, which is better than I ever got. She’s not exactly stupid.”
“Of course she isn’t. But trying to explain that to my mother…”
Now it was Franklyn’s turn to get a sympathetic pat from Zeke.
They lay there listening to the birdsong, the wind rustling the grass, and far in the distance, the sound of an actual golf club striking a golf ball.
“I saw Brice today, training the new pool boy,” said Vito. “He takes it all so seriously. It’s adorable.”
“You should ask him out,” said Franklyn.
“Right after I tell my mom I’m gay?”
“You could do it in secret. In the old days, people did that all the time.”
“She would know,” said Vito. “Even if she didn’t, I’d hate lying about it. Besides, I don’t even think he’s interested in me.”
“With all your muscles and things?” Franklyn reached across Zeke and poked Vito’s large bicep.
“I know, right?” said Vito. “But he never even looks at me. So maybe he just … doesn’t like muscles.”
“Which would be so unfair.”
“Love is unfair,” said Vito.
“And hopeless,” said Franklyn.
Zeke patted them both on their heads at the same time.
“Sometimes I feel guilty that Vito and I always dump everything on you, Zeke,” said Franklyn.
“Oh, Zeke doesn’t mind, do you?” asked Vito.
Zeke smiled in a self-satisfied way. Dear reader, if you have ever had to tromp around on a hot golf course for hours, lugging someone else’s ungainly golf bag filled with long metal objects, then you too would most likely prefer lying in the shade, half-listening to rich boys complain, instead.