Swim Where 12
“What are you planning to do with those?” That evening after making love, Belinda’s eyes fell onto his four medals hanging haphazardly on the bedpost. During her time with Scott, he hadn’t touched them or even seemed to notice they were there.
“At first I thought I’d use the gold to replace some lead in my weight belt. But having them there might lead to the theft of some treasured scuba gear. Lately, I’ve been contemplating whether they would net more on Ebay if I sold them singly or as a complete set.” He crawled to the foot of the bed and grasped all four. “Offer me a good price.” Scott Wagner placed the Olympic medals around the girl’s neck. “And maybe you can take them before the bidding opens.”
“None of those are going to happen.” Belinda sternly warned. She had seen him on the computer earlier: he was drafting a message to someone. She hadn’t encroached on his privacy by trying to read it, but had noticed he was messaging from an Ebay account. “Those are the material emblems of your Olympic glory and your publicist absolutely requires you to have them physically available whenever she feels they need to be seen, either in the background or around your stiff neck.”
“I’ve already struck a tentative deal with a power seller.”
“You’ll immediately back down from it. Pay him off with some cash to unruffled his feathers if needs be or give him something else of yours to sell instead. The medals are now utterly OFF the auction block. Am I crystal clear on that?”
“Yes madam.” He acquiesced in the same meek tone of voice that a schoolboy might employ when telling the teacher that he wouldn’t throw rocks again.
“This is putting my audience to sleep.” Belinda tossed her pad aside, and her pencil followed next. Her body was draped over an inline bench in the bedroom he had outfitted as a home gym. “It’s making me nod off periodically too.”
“What is?” Scott paused in his push-up set. “My working out?”
“No. This boring crap that you’ve been reciting into my notepad over the passed ten days.” Belinda shrugged. “Sorry, I couldn’t think of a less insulting way to say so.”
“I thought you wanted the all my life’s details.” His voice sounded wounded.
“A journalist only really wants the exciting, controversial and the unique parts. We do have to listen to the other dross though, to sluice out the goodies.”
“Pardon me for wasting my breath by prattling off worthlessness.”
“It’s not really completely useless.” She consoled. “A biographer needs this kind of filler to expand your memoirs into the size of a book, as opposed to the pamphlet a journalist would compile on you.”
“You’re hired for that too.”
“Good lord!” Belinda stood and fired a towel at him. “I’m your reporter, playmate, and publicist all rolled together. I laundered a basket of your smelly socks, t-shirts and underwear yesterday. And now I’m to pen your biography as well. Are there any other positions around here that I’m qualified for?”
“Yes.” He answered quickly. He saw Belinda look quizzically under her eyebrows at that snap retort but he didn’t elaborate. “Why didn’t you say something nine and a half days ago? We could’ve used the time to more valuable effect.”
“I could copy down that bland stuff without thinking about it,” Belinda brightened, “and my mind was free to plan out something else. Truthfully, the exercise kept you from unduly interfering with my background project.”
“Oh that makes my ego feel loads better.” Scott’s voice oozed with sarcasm.
“You won’t be moping after you see what we’re going to accomplish tomorrow.
Swim Where will continue….
Russell Twyce is the Author of Shiva’s Messenger