Florence Adler Swims Forever(44)

The beach was beginning to clear, and while the beach tent was full of guards hustling back and forth, it was easy to spot Stuart, who had to be half a head taller than most of the men on the Patrol and was definitely the most handsome.

“I’ve been keeping an eye out for you,” he said as he stacked a bunch of oars against one of the walls of the tent.

“Am I late?”

“No, not at all.”

He threw a final oar on the pile and shouted to someone inside the tent, “Bernie, I’m out of here.”

Anna was surprised when Stuart started toward the Boardwalk and not the ocean. She hesitated to follow him, wondering if perhaps he was just retrieving something, but he called over his shoulder to her, “You coming?” so she hurried to catch up.

“Where are we going?” Anna asked as Stuart stopped at the base of the steps that led up to the Boardwalk to brush the sand from his feet.

“You can learn to swim in the ocean but it’s easier to learn in a pool.”

“Pool?”

“Sure,” he said, gliding his feet, still sticky with sand, into a pair of old moccasins. “You’ll save yourself being clobbered by waves, and I’ll be able to see your stroke.”

He stood then and took the stairs two at a time. Anna’s sandals were full of sand but she felt self-conscious around Stuart and didn’t want to keep him waiting while she removed them to shake the sand out. As she walked up the stairs and across the Boardwalk, the sand sprayed from the toes of her sandals like confetti from a parade float.

Stuart led them to the doors of The Covington, almost directly across the Boardwalk from the beach tent, where a man in a purple jacket with gold buttons held the door open for them. “Evening, Mr. Williams,” he said to Stuart.

“Evening, Henry.”

“Do you come here often?” Anna asked, when they were through the door and making their way across the lobby, which was very grand.

Stuart gave her a funny look and let out a small laugh, “Not if I can help it.”

Florence had said something about Stuart’s father owning a hotel, but Anna had naively assumed she meant one of the little kosher hotels that lined Atlantic City’s side streets. Well, maybe not kosher, but at least small. She had pictured a narrow, three-story building with perhaps a dozen rooms and an elderly hotel proprietor who spent his days pointing tourists toward the beach. Surely, this couldn’t be the hotel Florence meant?

“They let you use the pool?”

“Sort of,” said Stuart as he grabbed her arm and steered her toward the elevator.

“Second floor, Cy,” he said to the bellhop, when the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. This had to be his father’s hotel, Anna decided. How else would Stuart know the name of the bellhop?

When the elevator doors opened on the second floor, Stuart gestured for Anna to get out. “Cy,” he said as they stepped off the elevator, “I’m not here.”

“Didn’t see you,” said the bellhop.

Anna saw a small sign that read ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICES but Stuart led her in the opposite direction, down a long, carpeted corridor, dotted with club chairs and cocktail tables. Long, heavy curtains hung in the windows, which was too bad because they obscured the view of the beach, on one side of the hotel, and a large Italianate terrace on the other. Halfway down the corridor, they came to several sets of French doors, each of which led out to the terrace. “After you,” said Stuart, holding one of them open for her.

The terrace was lovely, nestled between the hotel’s two tall towers like a precious gem. At its center was a large swimming pool, and surrounding the pool was a little cabana and an abundance of lounge chairs, potted plants, and statuary. On the far side of the pool, stairs led from the terrace down to a lawn of perfectly manicured grass, completely enclosed by a tall ironwork fence.

“It’s hard to believe I’m still in Atlantic City,” said Anna.

“It’s a whole different world, all right.”

Scattered around the terrace were the last of the day’s bathers and a handful of people, already in their evening wear but committed to having a poolside cocktail before dinner.

“Are we allowed to be here?” Anna asked Stuart as they put their things down on a lounge chair in a quiet corner of the terrace.

“Is the pope Catholic?” said Stuart, which Anna tried her best to interpret before giving up. Sometimes American expressions made no sense at all.

Stuart slipped off his shoes, walked over to the swimming pool, and dove in. Anna worried he’d hit his head on the bottom of the pool, but he popped up smiling a moment later. “Come on in,” he called to her.

Anna’s hands shook as she went to unbutton her dress. Why ever had she thought swimming lessons would be a good idea? She was uncomfortable at the thought of standing before Stuart in nothing but a borrowed bathing suit, and she was terrified to get in the water. Surely it would have been less painful to avoid the ocean for the rest of her life. Anna pulled the dress down around her knees and stepped out of it, her back to Stuart. Then she took more care than necessary to fold the garment. When the dress was neatly put away and she’d shoved her hair into a cap, there was nothing left to do but turn around and make her way toward the pool. She kept her eyes on the pavement, not daring to make eye contact with Stuart.