The Lake

Outside, she made her way quickly down the path to the shore. The outboard was tied at the dock, the canoe beached where she had left it yesterday. She tossed her rolled towel into the canoe, then lifted the bow and pushed. The aluminum hull scraped over the sand, then slipped easily onto the calm surface of the lake. Leigh hopped in. She scurried in a crouch to the stern. There, she knelt on a flotation cushion, picked up the paddle, and swept the canoe past the dock. Her sense of impending adventure was stronger than ever. It gave her flutters in the stomach.

Fifty yards out, she turned the canoe southward. The sun blazed down on her.

Soon, her blouse was clinging to her back and she felt sweat trickling down her sides.

On her morning trips, she was always perfectly comfortable in her blouse and cutoff jeans. But she had anticipated the afternoon heat, so she was prepared for it.

Resting the paddle across the gunnels, she looked over the glinting water at the shore. She was across from Carson’s Camp. She saw people on the diving raft, a few swimming, others sunning themselves on the pier. The sounds of laughing, yelling kids and a distant, scolding mother came over the water to her. All the kids she had seen there during the past few days were young. Too young. The oldest boy she’d spotted seemed no older than twelve or thirteen.

Which did not necessarily mean that a guy closer to Leigh’s age wasn’t among them.

And maybe watching.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the buttons of her blouse. She pulled the damp blouse off, dropped it across her knees, and struggled out of her cutoff jeans.

She was wearing her white bikini, not the one-piece suit that Mom had bought her at Macy’s. The sun felt hot on her bare skin, but there was a mild breeze that felt very good.

She took a deep, shaky breath, bent forward, and slipped a squeeze bottle of suntan oil out of her rolled towel. She forced herself not to look toward shore as she spread the oil over her shoulders and arms, over her chest and the exposed tops of her breasts.

She felt her nipples harden, a low tremor, and moving, liquid heat.

Suddenly, she understood.

Those restless feelings. That sense of expectation.

What she was expecting was to meet a guy while she was out here alone in the canoe.

A guy on vacation, most likely staying at Carson’s Camp. Someone lean and tanned and handsome to spend her time with. Someone who would fall for her. The lake and woods were so romantic, especially at night. She needed a boyfriend, a lover, to make it all perfect.

So where are you? she wondered, looking toward shore.

How come you’re not swimming out to meet me?

Here I performed this nifty striptease for your benefit.

You’ve got to be there. Right? So where are you?

She saw only kids, a few older guys who no doubt had wives and kids in tow. She didn’t want an older guy. That would be scary. And wrong. She wanted someone her own age, or close to it.

Leigh picked up the paddle, dipped its blade into the water, and sent the canoe sliding forward.

Maybe he was watching her right now, wondering about her, wanting to meet her.

She couldn’t expect a total stranger to come swimming out like Tarzan or something. Though that, she supposed, was exactly the type of adventure she’d been anticipating all along, even if she hadn’t realized it until now.

More likely, he would arrange an “accidental” meeting. Position himself out here in a boat, tomorrow, pretending to fish while he waited for her to come along.

Dream on, she thought. This is Boondocks U.S.A., and the chances of running into Frankie Avalon out here are about zip.

Frankie Avalon isn’t such a…Troy Donohue, he’d be more like it. Since you’re dreaming, dream big.

She smiled and shook her head at the irony of it. Hey Mom, hey Dad, get a load of your reactionary kid paddling around a lake with visions of Troy Donohue dancing in her head.

Nearing the southern shore, she turned the canoe around and started back. How come I’ve suddenly got boys on the brain? she wondered. It wasn’t that way at all, back in Marin. She hadn’t gone regularly with a guy since Steve when she was a sophomore, and that hadn’t been any great romance.

She would still be a virgin if it weren’t for that time she got high with Larry Bills last November. They shared a joint in his station wagon after leaving the Charles Van Damm. She hardly even liked Larry Bills. But that night, she was feeling lonely and horny, and the grass made her very horny, and it just happened. It wasn’t too bad, either. But she’d made up her mind, after that, not to get it on with anyone unless she really liked him. A lot. She found plenty of guys she liked, and scads of them who obviously wanted to make it with her, some calling her uptight when she refused, but she’d found no one special enough. Which had suited her fine. The need just wasn’t there.

So why is it here? she wondered. How come I’m suddenly hot and bothered, and scouting the shores for a handsome prince?