The Deep End

Yes, the rumors were true. Aren't they always?

Joanna lost herself in memory, now seeing 141 Lagoon Boulevard, its freshly painted white bricks, the master bedroom's side window. In the summer breeze, the SOLD sign swung gently back and forth, waving goodbye.

He'd come to her there. Must've been '88.

That first summer in Harbor View, Joanna was particularly lonely. When they'd discussed the move with their two daughters, she recalled how the eldest, Nikki, had prophesied, "Everything is going to be terrible. This is going to ruin everything!"

It almost had.

"C'mon, Nikki. We're gonna have our own beach club with an amazing pool," Ken said in his best salesman voice—the one that got Joanna to agree to their first date and almost everything else in their marriage.

"Yes, and then in a few months we can all learn to shovel snow," Joanna quipped as she cleared the dinner plates in their California kitchen, the French doors wide open in early March. She'd been an Angeleno her whole life, never even owned a pair of boots that weren't stilettos.

Ken's family business, The Mint Family Jewelry Company, had rapidly expanded to the East Coast. It was the eighties, and life was all about sparkles and status. Joanna (who had once been an aspiring model) knew better than to let weather interfere when opportunity knocked. They'd be crazy not to expand to sell directly to Wall Streeters, even if it meant moving across the country.

Back in '79, Joanna booked the Mint Family Jewelry's catalog shoot and was introduced to Ken Mintner (the owner's eldest son), who was immediately the most exciting, cultured man she'd ever met. He wore designer clothes, hung real art in his Malibu apartment with a nose for finer things, Jean Paul Gautier's Le Male Elixir, Givinchey's Gentleman, and lots of great cocaine. He took her to record label parties, the ballet and her first airplane ride to Hawaii, where he'd bought her seven different white bikinis for every day of their trip. It would start Ken's styling on most of Joanna's clothing (he was in fashion after all).

"You're my muse, Jo Jo-" he'd sighed. "The most gorgeous girl of the summer."

It was on that trip that Joanna got pregnant with Nicolette. Ken's family, desperate to keep their reputation as a "family business," insisted they marry before the baby arrived.

Switching from "muse party girl" to "mommy and wife in the burbs," Joanna vowed not shut down the sexual forces that were just awakening. It certainly helped that she'd been one of those magical creatures with a body that looked even sexier after having kids. She was able to regain her toned stomach, long, lean legs still intact, and boobs bigger than ever. Now, even at thirty, she could still wear those Honolulu bikinis and turn every guy's head in ogling range.

Ken, the complete opposite of a jealous husband, absolutely loved the attention his wife got from men and told her how much it turned him on. After the kids, the voyeurism got even more intense. Grandma would watch the girls overnight, and the couple would party at clubs (like the old days) where Ken delighted in seeing Joanna get hit on by randos and dance with them while he watched from the side.

Later, they'd be in the car, the sun coming up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

"Did you like his long black hair? I bet he has a massive—" he'd whisper as he entered her.

Back in those earlier years, it all felt like a party game—something to keep things interesting, that was all.

But in the following years, as the jewelry line grew, Ken's business trips and timelines didn't add up. However, money was really rolling in, and she was slammed with motherhood, so Joanna pushed it out of her mind. She knew at her core that she was the only woman in Ken's life.

Men, however, now may have been a different story.

Entering Harbor View Club for their first Long Island summer, the family was approached by the season's head lifeguard and pool manager, a chiseled twenty-two-year-old named Sean Donovan. Joanna was attuned to the fact that both she and her husband let their eyes linger a bit too long on this incredible shirtless specimen.

"Gotta run to a client event now," Ken kissed Joanna goodbye as a taxi rolled up to drive him back to the city. "Sean, my man, make sure you give my wife the full tour. She's quite the aquatic enthusiast."

"Can we swim, Mom?" Like her mom, Nicolette never missed a chance to get in the water.

Once a California girl…

Joanna's eyes met Sean's, "We got here so late, I think they're locking up soon, hon."

"No problem, Mrs. Mintner. I'm closing tonight," he grinned, revealing a little dimple. "I can hang out for a while," he openly took in her body from under the sheer YSL dress she used as a beach coverup. "I see you're already wearing your suits."

"If you insist," Joanna said gamely, tossing her bags on the nearby bench. She felt the eyes of the potbellied husbands and the frizzy-haired wives as she stripped down to one of her white bikinis and strutted straight to the diving board.

Bounce. Bounce. Plunge.

When she emerged to the surface, a few men applauded, and Sean gave her a salute from high in his lifeguard perch.

Ken would've loved that.

Over the next few weeks, Joanna took the girls to the beach club every day. She barely bothered to unpack the dishes and the boxes.

Save it for September. This was summer and unlike Cali, it wouldn't be endless.

Joanna stood out from a sea of mothers in demure Lands End one-pieces and frumpy Laura Ashley dresses. She wore tribal kaftans and blew out her long hair and bangs in her best attempt at Elle McPherson. She'd settle in the lounge chair directly under the lifeguard stand, lose the caftan and pretend to nap or read. She peeped up at Sean from under her white cat-eye sunglasses every few minutes and got a sudden rush if he met her eyes back, and winked.

"Adult Swim" came at 1 p.m., and the old ladies would yank on their bathing caps as the kids groaned. Like clockwork, Joanna, tanned and oiled from her morning routine, sauntered to the diving board.

Bounce, bounce, plunge.

She could always find Sean watching for her, just as she had been watching for him. They circled each other in this way for the first two weeks.

It was the 4th of July when Ken had urgent business in NYC, so he'd said. Joanna may have been new to the East Coast, but she had already figured out no one would willingly be stuck in the city on a holiday weekend unless-

She put this thought out of her mind like so many others. She had plans of her own. Yesterday, someone had slipped a note into the paperback she'd been pretending to read.

Tomorrow - During the fireworks, meet me in the pump house. I'll give you a much better show - S

Joanna had read it over a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours. She knew what this meant: She'd be breaking the (unspoken, as far as she knew) marriage rule, turning the fantasy into something more.

Joanna agonized at the club's July 4th BBQ, waiting for the sun to disappear. She'd worn her favorite Halston dress. It was tight and didn't breathe too well, but worth the silhouette it gave her. When they announced that the show would start, she clocked both her girls sitting on the top of the monkey bars, giggling and happy.

As an insurance policy, Joanna asked a mom she'd loosely befriended, Tricia, to keep an eye on the girls as she feigned a headache. "I'm just going to look for an Exedrine or something back in the clubhouse," Joanna explained.

She felt herself jump with every explosion as the sky started to light up, checking back to see if anyone saw her. Her heart thumped in the Halston as she made her way to the end of the property. She pushed through the overgrown cattails and beach grass and breathlessly tugged open the ramshackle cabin's crooked door.

"You came," Sean beamed with the straightforward happiness reserved for men with their whole lives ahead of them.

The pump house was smoldering, the air thick and heavy with July's mugginess and the steam pipes' emanating heat. Sean moved close, he smelled like pure summer sex, musky sweat and sunscreen (nothing of her husband's French colognes) and when he leaned in to kiss her.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Fireworks, as promised.

Despite their dance club nights, Joanna hadn't been kissed like this by anyone other than Ken. Long dormant parts of her brain lit up as she ran her arms up and down his broad shoulders, places she'd been aching to touch since the first day.

Suddenly, whether it was the heat, the adrenaline, the tight dress or the fact that she'd been too nervous to eat since finding the note, Joanna's vision started to spin and fade.

She came to on the bay's edge with a small crowd gathered around her. Someone handed her a kid's juice box.

Sean was there with the First Aid kit, making up some story about how Joanna had been looking for something she'd lost on the beach and suddenly getting overheated.

"My earring," Joanna fumbled to corroborate, "they're one of a kind…from our new Spring collection."

No one had the heart to tell Mrs. Mintner that both hoops were still firmly clasped. From the corner of Joanna's view, Tricia (the mother keeping an eye on the girls) turned and whispered something into a nearby woman's waiting ear.

Later at home with the kids in bed, Johanna showered off her humiliation, lying in bed spiraling with shame, lust, wondering what the families at the club were saying, wondering where the hell Ken was right now?

Tap. Tap Tap.

Joanna froze. Her eyes darted to the side window.

As if she'd mentally conjured him, there was Sean. He'd climbed the rod iron trellis up the side of the house and motioned for her to open the window.

"What are you doing here?" she jumped to her feet, helping to pull him in.

"Your address was in the member directory. I wanted to be romantic. Given you're the swooning type," he leaned in-

Boom Boom Boom.

Sean kissed her neck hungrily as they fell into each other, mouths and hands. It was even better than the first time - now that she could breathe.

"This wasn't the first time I passed by your house and thought about climbing up that thing," he whispered as he explored her curves with calloused working man hands.

She was flattered, "I suppose you've been stalking me this summer, then?"

"You've been on a stakeout yourself," he laughed. "It was only a matter of time."

"I just love watching you yell 'NO RUNNING' at the kids," Joanna impersonated him perfectly.

"And I love watching you dive. No putting a toe in. No testing the water. All confident, everyone watching. That's a stone-cold fox move if I ever saw one."

"I have a few other moves, I can show you."

She can feel Sean pressing through his pants, the force and urgency of it reminded her of prom night when she'd stupidly decided to be a good girl.

Not this time.

"I can't believe you drove past. What if Ken recognized your car?" She knew Sean's orange Camaro was just as conspicuous as her husband's red Corvette in a neighborhood of maroon Buicks and gray Oldsmobiles.

"Don't worry, I'm very good at being stealthy," Sean smirked. "Besides, since you two are doing the whole open thing, how can he be jealous? You both get to take turns?"

The whole open thing?

Joanna sits up as if she's been slapped with a live wire right in the small of her back.

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Ken, you have an understanding, right? Not like the other couples here, that's for sure."

"An understanding?"

"Hey, I get it," Sean put a hand on her arm, "My dad used to tell me some crazy beach club stories. Back in the '70s, wild parties, lots of drugs. The husbands are throwing their keys into the deep end of the pool, and wives are jumping in to find sets that didn't belong to them, pairing up. Even the dudes would, too. We all know Ken's into that."

"Sean. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Joanna, you don't have to pretend. You're husband's gay, right?"

There it is. Her instincts confirmed.

You're husband's gay, right?

Over and over again, the stinging truth rang through her.

Sean tried to backpedal. "Nevermind, I got it wrong. Forget I said anything. It's just stupid gossip from the jealous ugly wives." Sean tried to hug her, but Joanna pushed him away. The humiliation poured over her like melted sour ice cream.

"You better go out the way you came. People are going to talk. Sounds like they already have been."

Joanna watched as Sean lowered himself back down the trellis with a pained expression, like nothing she'd ever seen to cross his beautiful, untroubled face.

From the ground, she heard him whisper, "For what it's worth, please know that one's ever kissed me like that. I'm never going to forget you, Joanna, my stone-cold fox on the diving board."

Joanna can't help but move to the window to say something back, but below were only her crushed flowerbeds in the darkness.

After that, Joanna and Sean were strangers. Joanna would drop the kids in the morning and pick them up at dinner. Using the rest of the summer to do "lady of the house" projects, the closets, the furniture selections, Joanna designed every detail to distract herself from the storm of secrets and rumors swirling around the family.

By Fall, she and Ken eventually had it out. She wanted all the cards on the table if she was going to stay in New York. Together, they decided to be open officially and agreed upon the rules. They deepened their friendship, less sex, and more "must-see" TV, much like every other middle-aged marriage, sans the other men being allowed (on both sides).

Years later, Ken agreed to move back to California when the girls were finally out of the house. Happily dumping bags of heavy coats and woolen hats at Goodwill, Joanna couldn't wait to return to the land of endless summer, where she belonged.

Now every time Joanna is about to dive into the new gated community pool, she can't help but glance over to see who might be keeping watch high in the lifeguard chair. She knew it would never be Sean, but that brief glance just before she plunged in, her little private ritual that she couldn't shake.

When she'd rise to the surface, if Ken were with her, she'd see him smiling.

He still always remembered to watch.