Outsourced

12

Gordon set his alarm for six and was on the road by a quarter past. By eleven-thirty he was pulling into the Asbury Park Beach. A couple of teenagers leaning against a Mustang convertible and playing gangsta rap on a boom box smirked at him as he made his way by. Gordon ignored them, ambled along to an empty spot on the beach, and plopped himself down on the sand. He started to take his shirt off, noticed how white and flabby his stomach looked and slipped his shirt back on.

After feeling the sun on his face for a few minutes, he pushed himself into a sitting position as two girls walked by. Both were around eighteen, thin, long-legged and darkly tanned. Both were wearing string bikinis. One had long black hair that fell past her shoulders, the other had bleached her hair blond.

Gordon called out to them, asking if they were Brazilian. They stopped, their mouths falling open as they stared at him. “What you saying to us?” the bleached-blond demanded. “What you mean by that?”

“Nothing at all.” Gordon could feel himself start to sweat. “I’m about to date a girl from Sao Paulo and I just wanted to ask if you were from Brazil.”

“We look like we’re from Brazil?” the dark-haired girl asked angrily.

“I don’t know. You’re both thin and tall and beautiful. I thought maybe you were.”

“We were born here in New Jersey, asshole!”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

The dark-haired girl turned to her friend. “I think this old fat pendejo is trying to pick us up.” The bleached-blond snickered and slowly licked her lips as she stared at Gordon. “Is that true?” she asked. “You think we would want anything to do with a pajero like you?”

“First of all,” Gordon said, jutting out his chin. “I resent being called old. I don’t have a single gray hair or wrinkle. For all you know, I could be in my thirties.”

The dark-haired girl shook her head. “Can you believe this guy?” she asked. The bleached-blond just kept staring at Gordon, licking her lips in an exaggerated motion. “You didn’t answer my question, stud,” she said. “You think you have a chance with either of us?”

“Well, I don’t know. What if I were rich?”

“He thinks we’re whores,” the bleached-blond said to her friend. Then to Gordon, “Who you try to fool? You don’t have no money, but even if you did I would never let you touch these.” She cupped her breasts, staring defiantly at him.

“I could have a lot of money,” Gordon said. “More than you could imagine.”

“Look,” the dark-haired girl said as she pointed at Gordon’s crotch. “This old pajero has a stiffy. I think he’s going to start fingering himself.”

“I don’t have an erection,” Gordon insisted.

“Creep! Pendejo!” the bleached-blond yelled as she grabbed her friend and pulled her away. The dark-haired girl spat in the sand. As they walked away, Gordon made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and shot imaginary bullets through their thin beautiful torsos. He was still doing it when they stopped to talk to two muscle-bound guys in their twenties. The guys stared in Gordon’s direction and then started moving fast towards him.

“Oh, jeez,” Gordon murmured to himself, then got the hell out of there.