The summer day was giving way to a calm summer night and, after the dinner dishes had been cleared, we were sitting in our traveling companions' villa. The back of the villa was a wall of sliding glass doors that opened onto a private pool deck surrounded by thick, tropical hedges. The foliage surrounding the villa afforded the ultimate in privacy -- even from nearby villas on either side. Beyond the pool lay the expanse of ocean, extending from horizon to horizon, farther than the eye could see.
The four of us sat in the living room and chatted softly, mostly small talk about nothing special, nothing of consequence. The mood was serene... tranquil.
Hip trance music played softly in the background.
First, I noticed my wife's left foot at the end of her crossed legs -- how the bright orange sandal dangled nervously from her pretty little painted toes. It was a clue. Her face and toes both pointed away from me, out to sea, suggesting a defensive posture, but it was clear that she was pondering something essential. Nervous energy flowed through her body, initially expressing itself with a simple wiggle of the toes that loosened the sandal from its grasp, then an arched foot, followed by a wag of the ankle that kept time with a cadenced up-and-down motion. Her sandal hung loose, held in place mystically by only a toe, so the lovely leather footwear balanced in mid-air as if by some mysterious marionette or expert trapeze artist.
Further up, the graceful curve of my wife's thin ankle ascended to a perfectly toned calf. The bend of her knee gave way to supple, suntanned legs that disappeared beneath the slit of her silken, tropical skirt. As one leg on top of the other moved back and forth, I imagined the veiled parts of my wife's oiled thighs that awaited my gentle touch.
Noticing the uptick in the movement of her foot, I could sense that Elle was intently concentrating on a single, focused thought -- a recollection. Her eyes showed the vacant, telltale stare of a curious, distant impulse that was rolling around in her head.
I stood up, walked several steps across the room and took the empty cocktail glass from Elle's raised hand.
"Let me freshen that up for you," I said softly.
She looked up, tucked a golden strand of hair behind one ear and smiled at me. Her bright blue eyes and full lips were poetic.
On the other side of the coffee table, Jana and Will reclined in their own chairs and watched the early stages of the sunset as the brilliant orange-red orb began its plunge into the glassy, blue Caribbean.
"Can I get you two anything?" I asked, as I made my way into the villa's small kitchen.
"How about another Pink Panther?" Jana chirped happily. Her voice was lyrical.
"One more glass of wine for me," Will replied, his voice gravelly.
My wife and friends sat quietly while I busied myself with shakers, bottles and glasses. Within a moment, I returned with a tray of delicious drinks.
"For you, my dear," I said.
Elle retrieved a stiff margarita, mixed just the way she liked it. In show of appreciation, she wore a cute little grin on her face.
"And for you," I added, tilting the tray toward Jana and Will as they, too, reclaimed their drinks.
"Thank you," Jana whispered, Spanish-black bangs veiling her healthy, weathered face and smoldering eyes.
"My pleasure," I responded.
It had been a long, fun-filled day and the sun and carefree mood of our vacation were having their predictable effect on all of us. It was like a fog of sleepy, summer hallucinogens had drifted into the room.
When I took my seat, I noticed again that the trance-like glare had returned to my wife's face. This time, however, I could tell that, whatever had been perplexing her before, she finally had reached a decision. Her personality returned to the room. She grinned mischievously at me.
The foot at the end of her crossed legs stopped its motion and she slowly uncrossed her legs, all the while balancing the sandal on the tip of her toes. She gently placed the sandal on the wooden floor directly in front of her and then, continuing the graceful arc of her foot, she carefully scooted it out of the way to her left. As she did so, her legs opened gradually, little by little but deliberately, until her left foot came to a rest twelve inches or so outside the line of her left hip. Even from my chair, seated to her left, I could catch a glimpse of her silken, hot pink panties. Seated directly across from Elle, however, I could tell that Jana and Will could see even more,... more than just a glimpse of my wife's exposed underwear.
Will sat up straight like a hunting dog spying his quarry. Jana smiled at Elle. She wondered if Elle's movements were premeditated. If not, she wanted to do what every polite girlfriend would do -- say "sweetheart" and give a downward glance as a tip that something private was showing. Thinking better of it though, Jana settled on being a little amused that her friend was being so casually provocative. After all, we were at the beach and, earlier during the day, had seen one another in bikinis and bathing suits.
Without pretense, Elle kept her left foot where it stopped. In fact, she slid her right foot to her right several degrees, opening herself up still more.
"I've been thinking," Elle broke the silence, her legs opened wide, but looking away as if talking to no one. "Reminiscing, really. About my first real boyfriend, when I was in college. He had been a successful athlete. Track and field, mainly. I recall that he finished second place in the conference during his junior year in the triathlon. That's shortly after I met him. Have I told you about him?" she asked, looking for the first time directly at Will and Jana while keeping her legs opened.
"What was his name?" Jana asked.
"Robbie. Robbie Stavros," Elle answered.
"No, I don't believe I've heard this story," replied Jana. "Do tell."
"He blew out his knee the summer before his senior year and that brought his sports career to an unceremonious end. He didn't run his senior year and we broke up before he graduated."
As she spoke, Elle appeared to squirm in her seat. It dawned on me that she must have been thinking about this old boyfriend for most of the night. The thought crossed my mind that, over the years, she may have thought about him more often than I could imagine.
"Did I say that Robbie was two years older than I was? I think he moved up north after he graduated, maybe Chicago. Last I heard he ended up working as a marketing executive at a large New York firm."
Elle took a long sip from her drink.
"He was like a Greek god," she confessed.
