My first morning, I headed for the beach: cloudless blue sky, golden sand and emerald sea with small white crests lapping the shoreline, just what the doctor ordered. I lay down on a lounger and opened Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, one of those books you’re supposed to read, but never have time. I was through a chapter before I stopped and looked around, and here are the three things I noticed - me being a star New York Detective with fifteen years on the force. One, not many people were renting the loungers, most layon towels. Hey, I’m normally a tough-guy, but I was in recovery, so cut me some slack. Two, about twenty per cent of the people on the beach were naked. Three, about half of the naked people were male couples.
Okay, so now you want to know my reaction, right?
The next morning things got weird.
I was lying on my blue lounger listening to the latest offering from Rain Forest Parrots and willing the sun to dull the pain in my shoulder. I watched her swimming a long confident crawl out towards the horizon. When she faded from sight I turned to my book.
I was lost in engines when a voice said, ‘Would you mind awfully if I joined you?’
I turned towards the sound and was staring straight into the glistening, well, you know of Max. I coughed, looked up, tried to think of myself in a bath of ice and said, ‘Feel free.’ It wasn’t on purpose. It was the first thing that popped into my head.