LEONARD WHITTIER STOPPED walking. The white-haired woman about thirty paces in front of him called back, “What’s the matter? Why are you stopping Leonard? What are you looking at?”
The seventy-year-old observed the mass of humanity crowding the beach. Bright colored umbrella’s mushroomed under the scorching sun, failing to prevent major sunburns. White noise of children’s laughter blended into the soothing softness of ocean sounds. He’d fall asleep easy, if he had a chance.
The beach was rarely this packed in mid-summer. He swept his eyes over throngs of beach-goers. Some lay flat, many sat up with silly expressions on their faces, and others failed at attempts to look alluring.
His wife joined him, “I told you to put your teeth in before our walk. What are you looking at?”
She followed his gaze. “Ah, I see her. Close your mouth Leonard; you’ll begin to drool in a minute.””
“Do you see that, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Leonard. I see her.Times have changed. She must be about thirty-five years old. Looks like she’s getting ready to go home. And WOW! I’ll never get used to seeing a woman take off her bathing suit and expose herself like that in public.”
She watched the naked woman, unhurried, step into a pair of shorts. Next, she donned a loose-fitting shirt.
“Did you see that? She looked like she was wearing a two-piece white bathing suit. Boy, nice tan.”
“The hell you talking about honey? I just spotted the string of little houses. You know, the portable toilets. They put them farther away each year. They’re up there, to the right of the dunes. C’mon. I gotta pee like a mule.”