The light tubes in the corridor buzzed. The carpet absorbed all our footsteps. The poolside was packed, the air thick with sunscreen and water vapor.
A young mother stood in the general-area queue, holding her child. A bag hung from her wrist. Diapers, a water bottle. She looked down at her child, not at the pool.
The VIP area sat on the other side of a glass partition, rows of empty loungers with folded towels. A seagull perched on one chair back, observing.
I changed into a white triangle bikini, a transparent cover-up unbuttoned. Barefoot. Dianzi changed into a light pink bikini, a light pink cover-up. Barefoot. She placed the squirrel by the pool.
A staff member jogged over. "You two, little misses, this way please. VIP area."
"No need. This side is fine."
"But the queue."
"We like the lively atmosphere."
He left. Dianzi spread her cover-up on the tiles and sat.
The floating interface lit up, the livestream activating. It panned the general area. People pressed together, checking watches. Then the VIP area: empty chairs. The seagull shifted. The camera lingered.
[chat] Why is the VIP area empty? 🤔
[chat] Tickets too expensive, probably
[chat] It's not about the tickets
[chat] That seagull is so free
Near the shallow end, a cluster of foreign tourists had gathered.
A family from the Southern Continent stood at the front. Their skin was bronze from the sun. The children wore woven sea-silk swimming costumes dyed in stripes of ochre and turquoise. The father hoisted a little girl onto his shoulders so she could see over the crowd.
Beside them, two women from the Archipelago Isles, their hair wrapped in bright printed scarves, were pointing at the VIP partition and laughing. Their bracelets of polished shell clinked as they gestured.
A young man with the pale complexion of the Northern Reaches stood slightly apart. A worn leather journal was tucked under his arm. His eyes moved between the pool and his notes. They had all come aboard at different ports, their languages a low murmur beneath the poolside noise. Now they stood in the same queue, waiting for the same thing.
"Today, this girl here will be dancing a belly dance, inspired by the ocean waves."
Dianzi took the phone, camera aimed at me. She leaned close and whispered.
I didn't turn. "We don't scam you out of money, we don't scam you out of lust, we don't scam you out of feelings. If you mind, stay away." I began twisting my waist.
The sea breeze lifted my cover-up. I looked down at the white bikini glaring under the sun. In the crowd, some filmed, some stared blankly. VIP loungers empty. The seagull flew to the general-area railing. Music flowed. Strings, no drumbeat yet.
[chat] No money scams, no lust scams, no feeling scams, pure eye candy ❤️
[chat] Hahaha, wifey is so savage
[chat] Eye candy is all that matters 👀
[chat] Irrelevant people, get out
The Middle Eastern drumbeat rose. I closed my eyes, arms lifting, sunlight through my fingers. Hips pushed out. The white fabric stretched. Breasts pressed inward and upward without support, swaying with each thrust.
——That man's reaction was a hundred times more real than the applause of the crowd.
Dianzi glided in, half a beat slower, softer. We stood face to face. Palms hovered above the water, not touching, warmth passing between them. Hips thrust together, pulled back together.
From the corner of my eye, a man in a gray T-shirt stood at the crowd's edge. He stopped, left, returned. Phone in hand, a recruiting app's chat interface open. Ten seconds, then gone. Less than a minute, back again.
The front row hadn't moved. Gazes locked at the same height.
The young mother was no longer in line, child awake on her shoulder, expression more relaxed. But her right hand kept touching her collar button, below the collarbone. Touch, release, pause. Repeat. She wasn't watching a performance. She was waiting.
The drumbeat's second verse had a delay. Less than half a second. But the crowd's applause began and ended in perfect unison, as if by a switch.
I kept dancing. Dianzi's hands on my shoulders. The music stopped.
I faced the camera, catching my breath, the bikini darkened with sweat.
"Darlings, belly dance. Did you learn it?" I smiled, shaking my head.
[chat] Learned absolutely nothing 😂
[chat] So beautiful
[chat] Encore!
[chat] Wifey is too talented
"This girl here is worn out." I took the interface, turning. Dianzi nudged me from behind.
My bare foot slipped on the wet non-slip mat. I pitched forward, directly into the gray T-shirt man.
My chest collided with his face. White bikini against nose and mouth, cleavage fitting the bridge of his nose. He froze, hands hovering beside my waist. My wet hair whipped across his face.
"Ah!" I scrambled, slipped again, and collapsed back heavier. His face buried deep in my chest, the tip of his nose pressed into my cleavage. His breathing turned rapid, erratic.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I steadied myself, hands covering my chest. "The floor is too slippery. She nudged this girl."
I spun to glare at Dianzi. She stood two steps away, hand frozen mid-reach, mouth an O, eyes reddening.
He stood flushed from neck to ears, a red bikini-fabric mark across his nose bridge. He stared at his phone. "Read" still at the bottom. His finger swiped mindlessly.
"Are you okay? Should I call a doctor?"
His gaze flicked from my face to my chest and away. "N-No, I'm fine." He shoved his phone away and left, nearly tripping over his flip-flops.
Dianzi leaned against me, face in my shoulder. "Sister."
"I'm listening." I covered her hand, thumb stroking her knuckles.
"That man was under so much pressure. When Sister sat on his face, he didn't even react. No attention left for himself."
"So?"
"When consumed by joy, at least he was looking at a beautiful girl. Better than being consumed by pain. We made him look up, even for a few seconds."
I pinched her earlobe. "You calculate things so precisely."
"Of course." She buried her face deeper.
"The nudge was just right."
"This girl knows. Force, timing, angle. All just right."
She picked up the squirrel, its black-bead eyes fixed where the man had vanished.
The dance was over, crowd dispersing. The young mother stood at the far edge, child asleep, her position shifted from left to right. As I passed, she looked up with a strained smile.
VIP chairs empty. General area line still there. The empty things more jarring than the full.
Dianzi followed, tucking the squirrel away. In the corridor, sea breeze through a porthole. She held the squirrel to her eyes.
"Lychee, do you think that mom will come looking for us again?"
The squirrel didn't answer.
"This girl thinks she will. Her button is still there. As long as it's there, she hasn't found a reason to stop touching it. Coming to us is more useful than waiting for an interview notice."
She caught up to my pace.