The Seersucker Whipsaw by Ross Thomas

could learn to trust.
    She was all girl. Her breasts formed tan half-moons where they peeked out above the top of her bathing suit. Her stomach sank flatly back from her rib cage and then rounded out nicely to her thighs. Her legs were long and she would stand at least five-seven in heels. It was all there, nicely shaped and molded, in almost perfect proportion, and she seemed totally unaware of it.
    When she was twenty feet away she made the smile warmer and said: “Hi, there.”
    â€œHi,” I said.
    â€œWould you mind watching my things while I go in? The last time I was here a couple of the kids made off with them and I had to drive back in my suit.” She spread the black and red towel on the sand and dropped the bag down on it.
    â€œI’m Anne Kidd,” she said and extended her hand. I took it.
    â€œPeter Upshaw.”
    â€œYou American?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI couldn’t tell by the way you speak, but then I haven’t given you a chance to say anything, have I? But your hat’s a dead giveaway. I haven’t seen a hat like that since Daytona.”
    â€œIt’s been in the family a long time.”
    She smiled at me. “I’m just going in for a little while. Please don’t go away.”
    â€œI’ll be here.”
    She ran towards the water, and she ran well in the sand. She caught a wave and dived through it and then began to swim with a smooth, effortless Australian crawl. She swam as if she had spent a lot of time in the water. I liked to watch her. She swam for fifteen minutes and then she came running back up the beach, just a little pigeon-toed, but not much, her sunbleached hair hanging wet and straight to her shoulders. She remained lovely.
    â€œYou remind me of a fish I once knew,” I said.
    She laughed and picked up the towel, shook it, and began to dry the water from her body. I watched with interest. “When I was three,” she said, “they threw me into the pool at home. It was during a party. My parents thought it was fun. I learned to swim for self-protection.”
    â€œYou weren’t frightened.”
    â€œI didn’t have time to be, I suppose. Daddy jumped in and my mother followed him, fully dressed, and then all of the guests jumped in and they passed me back and forth like a beach ball. It was hilarious, they tell me. I don’t remember it.
    I offered her a cigarette after she had spread the towel out and was sitting on it, her knees tucked up to her chin. She refused, but said; “Could I have a swallow of your beer? I’m terribly thirsty.”
    â€œIt’s warm—I’ll be happy to get you one from the stand.”
    â€œI’m used to it warm. All I want is a swallow.”
    I handed her the green bottle and she drank and handed it back.
    â€œWhere do you drink your warm beer?” I asked.
    â€œIn Ubondo.”
    â€œYou live there?”
    â€œI teach there. I’m with the Peace Corps.”
    â€œI never met a Peace Corps before,” I said. “Do you like it?”
    â€œAfter a while you don’t think about whether you like it or not. You just do it.”
    â€œHow long have you been here?”
    â€œIn Albertia?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFifteen months. I came down to Barkandu to have my teeth checked. The Baptists have a good dental clinic here. How are your teeth?”
    â€œMy own.”
    â€œSomebody told me once not to think about yourself anymore than you do about your teeth. That started me thinking about my teeth all the time. Do you think about yours often?”
    â€œEvery morning; also every night.”
    â€œI like my teeth,” she said. “They seem to be the most permanent thing about me.”
    â€œHow many Peace Corps people are in Albertia?”
    â€œAbout seventy. Some are up north. There are about twenty of us around Ubondo and there are about forty-five over in the east. You haven’t been here long, have