Lynda was lounging by the pool as the kids played; there was volleyball, Frisbee, some were tanning and a couple had paired-off to play their own adventuresome games in the deeper water. She was not the only adult at the pool but none the less, she felt alone and out of place.
Summer time at the gated community pool was a time for youthful frivolity and a reminder that anyone over the age of thirty, was just a tired, old relic of another era. The young ones were confident and at ease with their bodies. Bikinis and muscle-shirts were the norm. Her own daughter wore barely enough to be legal as she splashed at the side of the pool. And her son was lounging with his crowd of equally well-built studs.
Lynda was a widow, now for almost seven years. At forty-two, she was comfortably well-off and secure financially. She had two great kids, college grads, both. Her large condo on the golf course had a separate suite and guest cottage that the kids used and her former husband's estate provided for her every whim. The only thing missing was her youth. And it ate away at her subconscious.
She was slim and attractive. Many older fellas in the community had flirted and try to tempt her with dinner, drinks and vacation trips. But she could never escape the feeling of being an outsider. Of never being a part of things.
Her husband had been her boss and twice her age when they met. His only real demand of her was to bear his children and not cause a commotion. She was young and naïve, and this seemed a good bargain.
To jump years ahead- - He was facing federal prison time when his heart attack hit. His lawyer advised Lynda that if she played it right, her inheritance would be millions, the condo, the Mercedes, and a life of leisure. The teenagers had trust-funds and paid-up tuition to top-notch universities. Lynda's portfolio, wardrobe and jewelry box were lavish. And there had never been a hint of scandal to her name. Or any true excitement, either.
But days like this always caused her to reflect. And a sad melancholy settled over her. She never once, regretted being a faithful wife, church-goer and excellent mom. She was no prude, but she saw that her son and daughter were having more fun today, than she had had in thirty years.
Lynda was an arm-piece and a P.T.A. Mom. She had travelled but never saw anything. She attended every "opening," but never got to know anyone. She sat on committees and donated without ever experiencing a thing.
She also took Pilates, Yoga and jogged every day. Only to build a figure that was appraised and ogled but never touched.
She sipped the last of her margarita and closed her book as the shadow of a man descended across her body. It was Bob Wolfe, as always, bringing her a refill and trying again to engage her in some casual banter.
"Remember when we were the ones laughing and flaunting our bodies," he laughed. Bob always laughed, always had a corny joke and always reminisced about his youthful exploits. He was still solidly-built at fifty. A divorcee and childless. His money apparently came from the same shady source as her husband's. He wore a lot of gold, Rolexes and suede. His bushy sideburns and greying ponytail hinted at his background. And he had a proclivity for "painted" women and one-night stands.
He had always been respectful and protective of Lynda, even long after her husband had died. Bob and Lynda had not grown-up together, and had not even met until about ten years ago. But Bob had been a close associate of her husband and no doubt, led an eventful and hedonistic lifestyle.
He settled his big frame into a lounge chair beside her and casually rested his legs on the edge of her recliner. Bob seemed always at ease with his body and in control of his environment. She envied that quality. He had broad shoulders and a large chest and full belly, tanned with a thick carpet of greying body-hair. He wore colorful Hawaiian shorts with gold bracelets and rings. His thick legs gave him a fireplug appearance. And though he smiled often, everyone treated him with deference.
Lynda had heard rumors, even from her husband, that Bob was not to be trifled with. But rumors abound in small communities and Bob did seem to like her, so she always made time for him. "You know Lynda, even with all this young snatch here, You're still the best look'n broad around. Older chicks have a style, you know. I still like those tight asses, don't get me wrong. But I think an older chick knows what she wants and can please a guy better."
Lynda had to smile, and even stifle a laugh. She knew there were compliments tucked into those tortured phrases and she missed the dialects of her old neighborhood.
Bob's big paw clamped down firmly but gently on her upper thigh. "Hey Lyn, why don't we leave the kiddie-pool, and I'll take you out on the town?"
