Mia toweled off.
Behind her, Linda cajoled the lead grip. She gripped her towel to her chest. The straps were undone on the halter top of her swimsuit. As Mia watched, the sun-brown boy spread oil on his hands and massaged her shoulders.
Carmen sat down beside Mia, her knee just barely grazing Mia’s thigh. The two women didn’t have to look at each other. The DP held up a light meter and told them to smile. They did so with practiced ease, displaying twin porcelain crowns. He moved on. Linda’s laughter stabbed at their backs.
Amy sat down. She’d been having waterproof makeup airbrushed over a cesaerian scar. Her mermaid tail hung like a dead fish on the bench beside her. It had been Linda’s until Linda complained that it was too big for her hips.
Now the three women looked at each other. One held a scalpel. One a steak knife swiped from the buffet table. One an exacto knife.
Firing squad rules.
When they finished, they grabbed up their own equipment and hit the water. Linda, as always, was last in.
The others didn’t need to look up as she joined them with a splash. It was not a sight worth note.
After all, air hoses broke all the time, didn’t they?