Duel at the pool
By the Masked Writer
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Beside the sun -drenched pool, two women lounged in the heat, physically as different as can be.
Eleanor at 40, was a long-limbed vision of modern discipline—standing at 5'9" with the sinewy muscle tone of a Pilates devotee. Her honey-blonde hair, secured in a high ponytail, reflected the sunlight like a halo. At 135 pounds of carefully maintained weight, her body told of hours spent in the gym - from her defined shoulders to the faint six-pack visible beneath her $400 Zimmermann bikini. Her skin had a golden tan, result of weekly spray sessions supplemented by judicious sun exposure. Her fac was adorned with high cheekbones and a subtly upturned nose , result of a discreet rhinoplasty a few years ago.
Opposite her, Brenda, 63 and 5'4" of pure middle-aged defiance, represented a different kind of strength. Weighing in at 170 pounds, her pear-shaped body was soft in the places Eleanor was hard – ample, comfortable belly and strong forearms. Her gray hair, streaked with remnants of auburn, was piled into a messy bun. Her floral one-piece swimsuit stretched comfortably over curves earned through a life that included plenty of cigarettes, whiskey sours, and zero fucks given about people’s stare. The skin of her décolletage showed decades of sun worship, dotted with freckles and the beginnings of age spots.
The only sounds were the gentle lapping of water and the occasional flip of a page. Eleanor was reading “The 10 Minute Morning Routine That Will 100X Your Life”, her brow slightly furrowed as if enlightenment required intense concentration. Brenda, meanwhile, was deep into The Duke's Forbidden Passion, her lips quirking at the scandalous exploits of the shirtless lord on the cover.
Then, the first crack in the peace appeared...
Eleanor shifted slightly, angling her body to catch more sun, her bikini top straining enough to emphasize her perky breast. With a delicate sigh, she adjusted the strings.
Brenda didn’t even glance up. "Trying to signal passing ships, dear?"
Eleanor froze. She forced a smile. "Just getting comfortable, Brenda. Is that alright with you?"
Brenda chuckled. "Just saying, you always act like you’re posing for a magazine, or are just desperate to do so…”
The smile vanished. "And you, Brenda, are acting like you’re envious."
There was a silence. Brenda finally lowered her book, peering over her cat-eye sunglasses. "Envious ? My curves, at least, are all natural."
Eleanor sat up, her spine rigid with indignation. "Natural ? With all the tobacco, alcool and junk food you’ve ingested ? Without mentioning that cream you’re using to battle cellulite and smell like mothballs.”
The insults flew faster now, years of hidden disdain surfacing.
"Oh please, Eleanor, the only thing tighter than your abs is your ass."
"At least I don’t sound like a steam engine just going up a flight of stairs, Brenda."
Then—the tipping point. Brenda reached for her diet cola, her elbow knocking over Eleanor’s green smoothie. Sticky, vibrant liquid splattered across Eleanor’s pristine white bikini top.
Eleanor shrieked, leaping to her feet. "You did that on purpose!"
Brenda blinked. " It was an accident. Don’t get paranoid"
"Don’t you patronize me," Eleanor hissed, grabbing a towel and dabbing furiously at the stain.
Brenda scoffed. "Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to look like a supermodel, you’d notice things around you, such as… I don’t know, gravity?"
Something snapped.
With a snarl, Eleanor lunged for Brenda’s book, intending to hurl it into the pool. But Brenda was quicker than she looked. Her hand shot out, clamping around Eleanor’s wrist with surprising strength.
"Get off me, you botoxed Barbie!" Brenda roared, yanking Eleanor off-balance.
The fight erupted for good.
Brenda struck first. With a surprising burst of strength, she lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Eleanor’s white bikini top, yanking her off-balance. "Let’s see how perfect you look with a little dirt on ya!" she cackled, shoving Eleanor backward.
Eleanor stumbled, her heel catching on the edge of a sun lounger. She crashed onto the tiles with a yelp, her skin stinging from the impact. Brenda loomed over her, triumphant—until Eleanor’s leg shot out and swept Brenda’s feet from under her.
Brenda hit the ground hard, her breath whooshing out of her in a painful sigh.
Eleanor scrambled up, her hair half out of its ponytail, her chest heaving.
Brenda wheezed a laugh, rolling onto her knees. "What’s the matter, princess? Can’t handle a real fight?" She charged again, this time tackling Eleanor around the waist.
The two women crashed into a patio table, sending sunglasses, sunscreen, and Brenda’s trashy romance novel flying. Brenda, fueled by sheer spite, managed to pin Eleanor down, her meaty hands gripping Eleanor’s wrists. "Say uncle!" she crowed.
Eleanor thrashed, her muscles straining—but Brenda was heavier, stronger.
So far Brenda had the initial advantage—her thick arms, hardened by decades of lifting children and heavy grocery bags, clamped around Eleanor's torso in a bear hug that forced the air from the younger woman's lungs.
Eleanor gasped as her ribs creaked, but her long limbs were her salvation. She twisted, her yoga instructor’s flexible spine bending nearly sideways to slip free.
Brenda landed a solid slap across Eleanor's cheek—the kind of ringing blow that only someone who'd raised teenagers could deliver. But as Eleanor staggered back, she noticed Brenda's breathing was already labored, her face flushing an unhealthy red. Forty years of tobacco and whiskey, Eleanor realized with dawning satisfaction.
Seizing her chance, Eleanor twisted free and shoved Brenda with all her might. Brenda staggered back—right to the pool’s edge. Her arms pinwheeled, her eyes wide.
"Oh shi—"
SPLASH.
Brenda fell heavily the water, sending a wave over the deck. Eleanor dove in after her.
In the water their battle became slower, more brutal. Brenda came up gasping, her silver bun unraveling into a soggy mess. "You little—"
Brenda's initial explosion of strength quickly waned. The water became her enemy—every move cost her twice the energy, her waterlogged curls dragging at her neck. Eleanor, with the grace acquired in twice-weekly aqua aerobics classes, easily ducked beneath Brenda's wild swings.
Eleanor grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her back under.
Brenda's meaty hands clawed at Eleanor's wrists as the younger woman forced her beneath the chlorine-smelling water again. Bubbles exploded from Brenda's nose as she thrashed, her floral swimsuit billowing around her like a deflated balloon.
One second ... Two seconds...
Eleanor counted silently, her biceps trembling with exertion. At three seconds, she relented - just enough for Brenda's crimson face to break the surface.
"Had enough yet, you miserable old -"
Brenda's response was a guttural roar as she launched herself at Eleanor, water sloshing over the pool's edge. Her nails raked down Eleanor's shoulder, drawing thin red lines that bloomed pink in the chlorinated water.
"You BITCH!" Eleanor shrieked, the pain fueling her rage. She ducked Brenda's wild swing and tackled her beneath the surface again.
This time she held longer.
Four seconds... Five...
Brenda's struggles grew more frantic. Her knee connected with Eleanor's thigh, but the blow was weak as the force was dissipated by the water. When Eleanor finally let her up, Brenda came up hacking, her mascara running in inky rivers down her bloated cheeks.
"I'll... kill you..." Brenda wheezed, but her voice lacked its earlier conviction. This second dunk had left her wheezing between threats
Eleanor's only answer was a glacial smile.
The next dunk lasted six seconds.
Brenda's movements became sluggish, her attempts to fight back growing weaker. When Eleanor dragged her up this time, Brenda's eyes rolled back for a terrifying moment before focusing. A thin stream of water trickled from her gaping mouth. By then, it was obvious that: Brenda's body was betraying her. Her smoker's lungs burned for oxygen after just six seconds underwater. Her hands were too weak to maintain a grip on Eleanor's slippery limbs.
"P-please..." Brenda gasped, her fingers weakly plucking at Eleanor's wrists.
The pool water rippled, suddenly very quiet. Eleanor studied Brenda's bloated face - the burst capillaries in her cheeks, the way her lips were starting to tinge blue. She felt Brenda's pulse hammering wildly beneath her fingers.
With a final, contemptuous shove, Eleanor released her.
When Eleanor finally released her, Brenda barely rose at all. Clinging to the pool edge like a shipwreck survivor, her once-ruddy complexion had gone ashy. A string of saliva and pool water hung from her lower lip as she gasped with the ragged sound of a woman who'd smoked a pack a day since disco times.
Eleanor stood waist-deep in water, barely winded. "You're lucky I didn't hold you under ten seconds," she said, watching with clinical detachment as Brenda's fingers trembled against the concrete. "Your lips were already turning blue at eight."
As Brenda crawled onto the deck coughing up chlorinated water, one truth became undeniable: she was beaten.
Eleanor swam a lazy circle around her prey. "Remember this moment," she purred, "the next time you think about insulting me."
She hauled herself from the pool without a backward glance, leaving Brenda shaking in the water - a broken, gasping wreck.
The afternoon sun glittered mockingly on the disturbed water as Brenda finally dragged herself out, heavily, collapsing on the deck in a shuddering heap. Somewhere nearby, the Duke's Forbidden Passion floated face-down in the deep end, its pulpy pages slowly dissolving into mush.
The end
