The girl eyes me cattily. She's wearing a leotard that looks like Jane Fonda wore it for Easter. The Four Seasons' swimming-pool is a rather sordid affair, and not many turn up to get their socks off here, because either they are getting drunk at the Esplanade or punching holes in boardroom etiquette. I'm here to represent a firm, and procure internships for them. My work almost done, the HR manager told me I could splash around, unless I wanted to go skinny-dipping in which case I should go to Amsterdam. I had laughed uncomfortably and had changed to a rather tufty pair of trunks and told the concierge I would be taking calls, if there were any, at the poolside.
So, here I was, by the pool, sipping a rather innocent-looking glass of Dom Perignon (my compliments to the firm) and tanning my rather ungainly-looking body. We are the only ones here. I am not averse to uncomfortable silences in uncomfortable places, so I take it all in my stride. After a few minutes of thinking and counter-thinking, the girl decides she wants to talk to me, so she swims towards me. I look at her from the top of my glass, noticing that she isn't a shade above twenty. The water runs off the lycra and I find it hard to look away. She observes my silent appraisal of her body, and she smiles.
Her : Hello. Not seen you around. You new here?
Me : Could say so. Why, are you?
Her : Not really. Have a ballet here in the evening. (okay, so that explains the impossibly-flat belly).
Me : Oh. Not much experience with that. My two left feet already complain of under-use and I coax them every day into feeling better about themselves, like buying them a foot-massage once a month.
Her : (laughs) Oh, I was not so much into it. Was introduced to it by my mother, she was a ballerina who had unfinished dreams, so she thought her daughter should continue the legacy.
Me : Cool. Do you like what they have done with the place?
Her : Yeah. Sort of. The bar's neat, and the maître d' was nice enough to recommend a few good mojitos.
Me : I was a fiend for mojitos too, till I found out they were the easiest drinks in the world to lace. Hard-pressed to grab a few now.
She comes to sit beside me, and she looks at me. I notice that her cleavage is dripping wet, and then she does the most unexpected thing in the world. She hooks her arm around my arm and says,'Fuck all this small-talk. Let's go and make love. Too much of expectation and broken promises'.
Then, I do the strangest thing. I free myself of her grasp, get up and downing the last sip, tell her this -
I am a man-slut. I would never forgive myself if I slept with a textbook-slut. And I walk away, her eyes on mine, or so I think.
Irony has a strong voice. Could have been a soprano were it not tied down by a dimunitive reason.
