01.2 The Silverside Club

A beautiful autumn day, all the guests were sleeping after a very late supper. Behind the fence, the saltwater pools remained fairly drained and resting quietly in sparkling green. Nobody dipped in there. You could hear a pin drop at the hour.

She climbed down the stairs under the pergola to catch the light of the day. A tote bag on her shoulder, in a white pair of sneakers, wearing sunglasses and a red brick tunic shirt with a tribal pattern.

Andrés noticed those yellowish legs as she crossed under the trees towards the gate. Marina looked up and down the road and took a turn left.

Andrés entered the club office and told the manager, “She’s gone out!”

And the manager said to keep an eye.

She walked some five hundred metres and seeing the swings under the trees, crossed to the shore. Surprisingly, she found the shore lying bare with silt and water depleted. Marina removed her shoes. Holding them in one hand, she climbed down to catch the tide some three hundred metres out.

The two contributory river systems of Parana and Uruguay bring down an immense quantity of silt down the estuary into the body of water known as Río de la Plata. The muddiness of the water is increased by the tides and winds that encumber the deposition of silt on the bed. When sediments settle, minerals and organic matter form great shoals, banks and sandbars. The Argentine coast of the estuary is low-lying with banks of marine debris and coarse sand.

Jamal Carreon sat there on the ribera, watching the kiters and taking photographs on a Canon AE-1 with a smooth-action zoom. A couple of fishing dinghies lay aground.

She rose from the thin layers of water, weighing down a shoulder slightly on the left and climbed up the beach, arms flapping and hips rising in a white pair of bikinis. Marina wished for a freedom bath and misjudged the ebb. When she got married to Zaid Falak, many years ago, she had excellent opportunities to travel and enjoy the resorts around the Red Sea coast but not this much freedom. Marina was disappointed and the water turned out to be little too cool. She then decided to spend a moment on the beach.

Jamal Carreon caught those voluptuary movements of this gorgeous woman in strapless bra and thong. Then for a while his notice was drawn to the backdrop. When he glanced back, she was gone. Jamal traced the shoreline on his zoom and soon noticed her lying on the beach with a white bag under her hair. He got up on his feet, brushing sand from his back, and made his move towards her.

She was lying bare naked on the silt. A towel with tan brown and white stripes under her body. Her eyes closed. One arm under her head and a leg thrown out, like a starfish, with a knee slightly bent. Covered in suntan lotion and shaved to a sheen.

Jamal Carreon stepped away from her and headed towards the remnants of an old pier section that stood isolated in water. He paused to capture the scenario and zoomed in on the woman. Jamal caught those images in comprehensive detail.

Marina opened her eyes. She felt a chill and clutched the bag to pack. That moment, someone approached as she fastened her bra.

“Hello beautiful!” he engaged, “You are new around!”

“I do not know you,” Marina murmured getting on her feet, gathering her stuff into the bag. Her buttocks that surprised him most; in flawless curves, hanging off the T-back and a pair of stunning legs. He clicked a photograph.

Marina protested, “Are you taking my picture without my permission?”

“I’m afraid, I did,” he responded, “I am Jamal. What is your name?”

“Excuse me!” Marina pulled on her shirt and buttoned up pausing with a knee pressed on a thigh. Left shoulder drooping slightly as she fussed with her long black hair.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

She put on her sunglasses and replied, “Morocco.”

“That’s interesting,” he said, “I’m from the States. May I offer you a drink!”

“No thanks,” she picked the towel.

“Come on! Don’t say no,” he scowled.

“I said no,” she grabbed her beach bag and sneakers.

“That is not fair,” expressed Jamal who craved for women and of rare beauty, “Tell me your name!”

She glanced at the camera and the tall man with a scratchy beard, grizzly hair, in a worn-out navy-blue polo shirt. He could be in his fifties. She knew he was not an easy type to tail off. “Marina,” she mumbled.

“Is this your first time here?” he asked out of habit.

She nodded with a smirk and her eyes behind dark sunglasses.

“Perhaps, I can show you around,” was his idea, “Where do you stay?”