100 People in a Hot Tub

by Frank Santo

When I saw two more couples squeezing in, I was just like, huh? That’s a lot of people cramming into one hot tub. I mean, it’s a pretty big hot tub, as far as hot tubs go, but that’s still way too many people.

The hotel pool area overlooked the ocean. In the distance, the sun sank through a haze of deep purple clouds. My wife lay next to me on a pool chair, reading 50 Shades of Gray, looking as fit and pretty as the day we met. You see this shit, Christine? I asked her, when I saw another couple walking toward the hot tub hand in hand. What’s going on over there? They were really packed in there, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, like on a crowded bus. You ever seen that many people in one hot tub? I asked Christine. Am I crazy, or is that way, way too many people?

My wife rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses and gave her little laugh. She never takes me seriously. I’m just saying, I said. She let out a big sigh and turned back to her book. Honey, she said, we came all this way, didn’t we? Why don’t you just relax?

The waiter came over. A good-looking kid. Tall. Muscular. What a life it must be for a kid like that! I thought. He must really have it made. Hey buddy, I said, do you see what’s going on over there? A hot tub is not designed to hold that many people. I mean, you’re really asking a lot out of that pump, filling it up like that. The waiter smiled. Man, what I’d give to be that age again, to have some summer job. Sir, he said, would you like me to get you another Coconut Splash? I stared at him a moment, like what? What the fuck did you just say to me? I asked him. The kid nodded toward my drink. Would you like another one? Yeah, yeah, ok, sure, I said. Hey, sorry for that just now, ok? I thought that you said something else.

A squad of people walked over from the tiki bar. Oh no, I thought. Oh Christ. You have got to be fucking kidding me. They all wore a pink t-shirt that said that only the strong survive a Garnold family reunion. There must have been seven, eight Garnolds. I’d always wanted a big family like that. If only Chrissy and I could have met ten years earlier. But I wouldn’t have been ready then. I would still have been partying. I guess that’s life. When the Garnolds reached the edge of the hot tub, one of them, a middle-aged woman with a USMC tattoo and orange Oakley sunglasses, turned to a man with a tan stomach in a bathing suit with blue and orange flowers. She made a squeezing gesture with her hands that seemed to ask – do you think we’ll fit? He made a hand gesture like a loaf of bread expanding in the oven. Like everyone was welcome, no matter what. Yeah, he said, climb on in.

I couldn’t look anymore. It was too crazy. What were they hoping to accomplish? Slowly, my wife stood up. She took off her hat and sunglasses. Hey, Chrissy, I said, my voice cracking slightly, what are you doing? I just want to check it out, she said. It looks like fun, doesn’t it? She handed me her sunglasses. Hey, babe, I said. Hey, Chrissy. Hey, honey bee. Hey, don’t leave me here, ok? Please. Please don’t leave me alone. But she didn’t take me seriously. She took off her sandals and left them in a pile. I looked back at her wet towel, bunched up on the pool chair. I love you, I called after her. She turned and smiled, hair waving in the ocean breeze, eyes brimming with that happy look I fell in love with. We had such a nice time together these past few years, didn’t we? I love you, Chrissy, I said again and again. I love you. I love you.

It was getting dark out. A harsher wind came in off the ocean and shook the palm trees in the pool area. The hot tub party was in full gear now. The music was so loud. I couldn’t see my Chrissy anymore. I guessed she wasn’t coming back. The waiter came over with my Coconut Splash. I’d never felt so lonely. While I wrote down my room number for the bill, I started talking. Can I give you some advice, pal? I asked. The waiter nodded politely. I handed back his pen. Don’t waste too much time chasing girls around, I said. When you get a good one, you make sure you treat her right, ok? The waiter just kept smiling, but I could tell he didn’t get it. He was just waiting for his turn to talk. Well, he said at last, I think you’d better join them, don’t you think, old man? He nodded toward the hot tub, toward the wall of bare backs sitting around the edge and facing inward. A beachball lofted up from the center and tipped across a couple hundred outstretched hands. I drank what was left of the drink he’d brought. OK, I said. I guess it’s time.

***

Frank Santo is a writer from Boston. His first novel, The Birthparents, will be published by @tortoisebooks in September 2023. Preorder it here.