Ch.3: Cooler Beaches
All night Cassie dreamed of rhythmic ocean waves and sand between her toes. In the morning Maggie insisted that she take time to shower before they go to the beach. Cassie applied make-up, fixed her hair, and pulled an adorable wraparound skirt over her bikini. Maggie pronounced her purse unfit for a tropical arena, but promised to buy her a more appropriate one.
Brad had taken the Highlander to check in with his firm’s downtown headquarters, so Maggie and Cassie walked to a nearby smoothie shop, then hailed a cab and rode along Ocean Drive to the very southern end of South Beach. Cassie sipped her banana smoothie and gazed, wide-eyed and eager, out the window at every passing sight—-primarily hotels and condos—-nodding at intervals while Maggie lectured her regarding the virtues of antioxidants and the reasons why she was not too young to start putting blackberries and green tea extract in her smoothies to retard the aging process.
At length a greenway appeared to the left, dotted with palm trees and clusters of gnarled Southern grape trees that Cassie thought might be Florida sycamores. Maggie corrected her: “You’re such a silly! Sycamores don’t grow this far south. They’re cypresses.” The driver held his tongue, sensible to having not yet received his tip.
Very soon they hit 5th Street, paid the driver, and crossed over to the beach. Hearing the driver call after them, “Southern grapes!” they were extremely puzzled. They were able to speculate as to why he might have called them grapes, but how could he think they were Southern? “Well, I certainly hope I never see that driver again, calling us grapes, and after I tipped him! Maybe a Northern woman is a Southern grape. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.” However, Maggie quickly forgot this line of thought and turned her mind to the business at hand.
As it was still morning, the first order of business was to sunbathe before the sun grew too strong. Maggie led the way to a pair of lounge chairs with umbrellas, and she rented them for an hour. To be safe, Cassie reapplied her SPF 15 sunscreen that she had just applied an hour earlier, while Maggie relied on the staying power of the SPF 4 that she had applied before leaving the condo. As soon as Maggie had covered Cassie’s back, she lapsed into what appeared to be a deep coma.
Cassie was bored lying perfectly still, although she tried not to show it. She stared at the umbrella, looked around, studied the fanciful, candy-colored lifeguard huts, listened to the indifferent rumble of the surf, counted palm trees, but eventually couldn’t stand it any longer and attempted to engage Maggie in conversation. However, the latter was unresponsive. Finally Maggie whispered softly, “Cassie, honey, if I talk, my chin will move and I’ll get an uneven tan on my neck.”
Cassie regretfully turned over onto her stomach and began examining the fine sand, comparing sizes and colors of individual grains. After about ten minutes of that, she practiced surreptitiously observing the people on the beach. She noticed that many of the passersby were looking around too. A number of men seemed to glance at Maggie and herself with a curious expression that she could not at first place, although it did not seem to be desire or interest. As she had nothing better to do, she thought about it until she remembered that Maggie looked at her that way when her make-up was just right, her hair was reasonably behaved, and she wore well-chosen clothes. It was a businesslike approval: satisfaction at a job well done. The attention implied no further interest, but Cassie fairly glowed from the realization that, as long as she stuck close to Maggie and didn’t talk, she fit in. Still, she hoped she might find someone to talk with later in the day.
Thus engaged in speculation, she no longer noticed the passing of time. Maggie rose promptly at the end of their hour, and Cassie was surprised but pleased to find out it was time to stroll along the beach and find a spot for lunch. Cassie was thirsty, but Maggie promised it would not be long until they reached a cafe, so she waited.
True to her word, after only a short distance over sand, Maggie turned Cassie toward the street and past a sand volleyball court: “Surprise! This was the last place Versace ever ate!” Cassie was duly impressed. They asked for an outside table and settled in to wait. Maggie pulled out a fashion magazine and perused it with Cassie, oohing and aahing over what she liked, and pursing her lips and tsking over what she disliked. They carried on a lively debate over whether short gloves might be worn with minidresses, until their table was ready and they went out to sit at a small round table for two, generously shaded by a green awning, and affording them an equally generous view of the greenway across the street. They could hardly keep their eyes on the menu, so eager were they to see what people were wearing, how they did their hair, and what the latest trends were for fitness: which muscles were lean, and which were bulky this year.
They drank water and tea, and ate salads with grilled chicken. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we knew some of these people here?” asked Cassie wistfully.
“Yes, I suppose that would be nice.” Maggie paused and smiled slowly, “Do you want me to introduce you to someone?” she teased.
“No!” Cassie looked horrified. “No! I just wish we maybe already knew people in Miami, so we could wave at them and say hello, and maybe, like, join them for lunch.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose that would be nice. If I knew anyone, I’d introduce you right away, of course.”
Cassie returned her attention to her salad, and Maggie went back to examining physiques for areas she could work on. “Just look at that woman’s upper abs! How unusual! I wonder what her secret is.”
When they had finished eating and had drunk refills until they could no longer justify their presence at the table, there were already few people out on the street. They reluctantly left the shade of the umbrellas and ventured tentatively onto the uninviting walkway. Heat rose from the sidewalk in waves. The sun beat down on their bare heads and arms, and they could feel the hot concrete through the thin soles of their sandals.
Maggie grabbed Cassie’s arm and hauled her bodily into a nearby air conditioned shop. They pretended to be interested in the bathing suits, and they tried some on while the bubbly store clerk provided a running commentary:
“Oh, yes, that’s one of our sportier suits, you can swim in it!” (said of a racer-back one-piece, the swimsuit equivalent of two rubber bands strung across one’s front and back)
“Wow, that looks so good on you; you really have a great figure for that one.” (a low-slung black bikini with clear plastic shoulder straps)
“Yes, for you I think it’s better to have a more...interesting suit.” (to Cassie wearing a colorful bikini with elaborate strings all tied into neat little bows)
To the dismay of the perky saleswoman, they left without buying anything, and continued their retreat from the heat at a long succession of shops and cafes. They quickly exhausted the small supply of shops on Ocean Drive, but there were plenty of places located only a block or two from the beach. Maggie would go no farther than that from the oceanfront: “I swear, people grow a full hip size with every block!” Cassie got her new purse, and Maggie acquired some skincare products formulated for hot, humid salt air.
Finally Maggie said, “Cassie, darling, it’s been a long and lovely day, and your old aunt Maggie needs to sit down.” They gratefully plopped down on a bench in the shade, and they sat there for a full thirty seconds before Maggie spotted the aerobics studio across the street. Class started in half an hour. She had just enough time to buy a pair of sneakers and exercise pants. Would Cassie come too?
As much as she wanted to please Maggie, Cassie also wanted to sit down and rest, so she volunteered to take Maggie’s packages and meet her at the studio at the end of class. She waited for Maggie to comment on her health or figure, so she would have to immediately relent and attend the class. However, Maggie handed over her bags and delightedly bounced off down the street without another word. Surprised but relieved, Cassie looked for a quiet place to rest.
Before long she spotted a used bookstore, and she thought, “Where could it be quieter than a bookstore? And they’ll have magazines!”
Brad had taken the Highlander to check in with his firm’s downtown headquarters, so Maggie and Cassie walked to a nearby smoothie shop, then hailed a cab and rode along Ocean Drive to the very southern end of South Beach. Cassie sipped her banana smoothie and gazed, wide-eyed and eager, out the window at every passing sight—-primarily hotels and condos—-nodding at intervals while Maggie lectured her regarding the virtues of antioxidants and the reasons why she was not too young to start putting blackberries and green tea extract in her smoothies to retard the aging process.
At length a greenway appeared to the left, dotted with palm trees and clusters of gnarled Southern grape trees that Cassie thought might be Florida sycamores. Maggie corrected her: “You’re such a silly! Sycamores don’t grow this far south. They’re cypresses.” The driver held his tongue, sensible to having not yet received his tip.
Very soon they hit 5th Street, paid the driver, and crossed over to the beach. Hearing the driver call after them, “Southern grapes!” they were extremely puzzled. They were able to speculate as to why he might have called them grapes, but how could he think they were Southern? “Well, I certainly hope I never see that driver again, calling us grapes, and after I tipped him! Maybe a Northern woman is a Southern grape. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.” However, Maggie quickly forgot this line of thought and turned her mind to the business at hand.
As it was still morning, the first order of business was to sunbathe before the sun grew too strong. Maggie led the way to a pair of lounge chairs with umbrellas, and she rented them for an hour. To be safe, Cassie reapplied her SPF 15 sunscreen that she had just applied an hour earlier, while Maggie relied on the staying power of the SPF 4 that she had applied before leaving the condo. As soon as Maggie had covered Cassie’s back, she lapsed into what appeared to be a deep coma.
Cassie was bored lying perfectly still, although she tried not to show it. She stared at the umbrella, looked around, studied the fanciful, candy-colored lifeguard huts, listened to the indifferent rumble of the surf, counted palm trees, but eventually couldn’t stand it any longer and attempted to engage Maggie in conversation. However, the latter was unresponsive. Finally Maggie whispered softly, “Cassie, honey, if I talk, my chin will move and I’ll get an uneven tan on my neck.”
Cassie regretfully turned over onto her stomach and began examining the fine sand, comparing sizes and colors of individual grains. After about ten minutes of that, she practiced surreptitiously observing the people on the beach. She noticed that many of the passersby were looking around too. A number of men seemed to glance at Maggie and herself with a curious expression that she could not at first place, although it did not seem to be desire or interest. As she had nothing better to do, she thought about it until she remembered that Maggie looked at her that way when her make-up was just right, her hair was reasonably behaved, and she wore well-chosen clothes. It was a businesslike approval: satisfaction at a job well done. The attention implied no further interest, but Cassie fairly glowed from the realization that, as long as she stuck close to Maggie and didn’t talk, she fit in. Still, she hoped she might find someone to talk with later in the day.
Thus engaged in speculation, she no longer noticed the passing of time. Maggie rose promptly at the end of their hour, and Cassie was surprised but pleased to find out it was time to stroll along the beach and find a spot for lunch. Cassie was thirsty, but Maggie promised it would not be long until they reached a cafe, so she waited.
True to her word, after only a short distance over sand, Maggie turned Cassie toward the street and past a sand volleyball court: “Surprise! This was the last place Versace ever ate!” Cassie was duly impressed. They asked for an outside table and settled in to wait. Maggie pulled out a fashion magazine and perused it with Cassie, oohing and aahing over what she liked, and pursing her lips and tsking over what she disliked. They carried on a lively debate over whether short gloves might be worn with minidresses, until their table was ready and they went out to sit at a small round table for two, generously shaded by a green awning, and affording them an equally generous view of the greenway across the street. They could hardly keep their eyes on the menu, so eager were they to see what people were wearing, how they did their hair, and what the latest trends were for fitness: which muscles were lean, and which were bulky this year.
They drank water and tea, and ate salads with grilled chicken. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we knew some of these people here?” asked Cassie wistfully.
“Yes, I suppose that would be nice.” Maggie paused and smiled slowly, “Do you want me to introduce you to someone?” she teased.
“No!” Cassie looked horrified. “No! I just wish we maybe already knew people in Miami, so we could wave at them and say hello, and maybe, like, join them for lunch.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose that would be nice. If I knew anyone, I’d introduce you right away, of course.”
Cassie returned her attention to her salad, and Maggie went back to examining physiques for areas she could work on. “Just look at that woman’s upper abs! How unusual! I wonder what her secret is.”
When they had finished eating and had drunk refills until they could no longer justify their presence at the table, there were already few people out on the street. They reluctantly left the shade of the umbrellas and ventured tentatively onto the uninviting walkway. Heat rose from the sidewalk in waves. The sun beat down on their bare heads and arms, and they could feel the hot concrete through the thin soles of their sandals.
Maggie grabbed Cassie’s arm and hauled her bodily into a nearby air conditioned shop. They pretended to be interested in the bathing suits, and they tried some on while the bubbly store clerk provided a running commentary:
“Oh, yes, that’s one of our sportier suits, you can swim in it!” (said of a racer-back one-piece, the swimsuit equivalent of two rubber bands strung across one’s front and back)
“Wow, that looks so good on you; you really have a great figure for that one.” (a low-slung black bikini with clear plastic shoulder straps)
“Yes, for you I think it’s better to have a more...interesting suit.” (to Cassie wearing a colorful bikini with elaborate strings all tied into neat little bows)
To the dismay of the perky saleswoman, they left without buying anything, and continued their retreat from the heat at a long succession of shops and cafes. They quickly exhausted the small supply of shops on Ocean Drive, but there were plenty of places located only a block or two from the beach. Maggie would go no farther than that from the oceanfront: “I swear, people grow a full hip size with every block!” Cassie got her new purse, and Maggie acquired some skincare products formulated for hot, humid salt air.
Finally Maggie said, “Cassie, darling, it’s been a long and lovely day, and your old aunt Maggie needs to sit down.” They gratefully plopped down on a bench in the shade, and they sat there for a full thirty seconds before Maggie spotted the aerobics studio across the street. Class started in half an hour. She had just enough time to buy a pair of sneakers and exercise pants. Would Cassie come too?
As much as she wanted to please Maggie, Cassie also wanted to sit down and rest, so she volunteered to take Maggie’s packages and meet her at the studio at the end of class. She waited for Maggie to comment on her health or figure, so she would have to immediately relent and attend the class. However, Maggie handed over her bags and delightedly bounced off down the street without another word. Surprised but relieved, Cassie looked for a quiet place to rest.
Before long she spotted a used bookstore, and she thought, “Where could it be quieter than a bookstore? And they’ll have magazines!”
Labels: Cassie
posted by Margo at 9:24 AM
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