A whirlwind summer it was not. The cool breeze swept over the windshield and formed a miniature squall inside the convertible. My left elbow was propped on the doorframe and my right hand gripped the top of the wheel. I glanced over at Leslie, her long auburn hair churned, creating a nest of tangled strands. I looked into her pale blue eyes and felt no connection.

We cruised down the tree lined Parkway through Wantagh, the gateway to Jones Beach. The leaves were still green, but the autumn weather would soon turn them to varying shades of saffron, apricot, and crimson. The brilliant colors would dazzle all who lay their eyes on them until the trees cast their dead away for the final resting-place on the ground. A lone woman wearing a warm-up suit and roller-blades affixed to her feet skated on the path next to the road.

"Do you think it's too cold?" Leslie asked.

"Not at all."

We passed the first bridge and the trees thinned out. They were replaced by shrubs and the brown stalks of cattails swaying in the strong breeze from the nearby ocean. The smell of salt in the air reminded me of the fishing trips with my dad when I was a boy.

"The Bluefish should still be running," I said.

She did not reply.

I felt the wheels of the car hum as we drove across the grate of the Goose Creek Drawbridge. Pleasure boaters and anglers were out on the channel, relaxing in the sun's decaying rays of summer.

"Look!" Leslie leaned forward and pointed. "There's the theater." She sat back. "Remember Rod Stewart?"

I had been to better concerts, but did not give much thought to why I felt that way. I struggled to say something. "I liked the old theater better."

"What?"

"The one with the moat in front of the stage. It would have kept those women from fawning over Rod." I felt a smirk grow across my face. "Come on! He's got to be in his fifties."

"So what. It was a great show."

I did not reply.

Leslie stroked the back of my neck and I shifted in my seat.

"You're jealous," she said.

"Of Rod Stewart?" I laughed. "You can have him."

White anchors marked the entrance to Jones Beach State Park as we approached the tall pencil-shaped water tower. The red brick structure, pointing at the sky, sat in the middle of a traffic circle. I shifted the car into low and made my way around.

"I hope Field 6 is okay with you," I said.

"Sure."

We approached the Field attendant who held a clipboard. He jotted down my Empire Passport number and waved us through. Seagulls were dropping shells on the pavement for the tiny morsels of food inside. The sand dunes were topped with grass and hid the view of the ocean from us. I parked near a break in the dunes bordered by red, slatted snow fences and put the top up. Leslie took the beach gear and I grabbed the cooler.

We made our way through the dunes to a secluded area of the beach. The wind was strong and the waves crashed on the shoreline. The tide had rolled out, leaving an assortment of seashells, jellyfish, and seaweed behind. There were few sunbathers and even fewer swimmers. I kicked off my sandals, removed my tee shirt, and grabbed a beer. Leslie spread out the blanket and secured the corners.

"Would you like one?" I asked.

"No thanks. Let me put on some suntan oil."

I cracked open the bottle and watched Leslie undress down to her bathing suit. We had met in the beginning of the summer at a beach party full of Ivy Leaguers--mostly Yale types. I hate arrogant Yale graduates. I am glad my high school guidance counselor steered me toward Turnpike Tech. It was all I could afford, but I was able to build a large business for myself without the prestigious degree. Anyway, I was on the rebound from my divorce and Leslie caught my eye at the party with her deep bronze skin, sort of like the color of an ancient Hindu deity statue. She had a fun-loving laugh too. Now both seemed artificial and contrived. Her dark tan was maintained in a tanning salon bed during the off-season and I found her laughter index went up in direct proportion to the social stratum of the company we kept. Her daddy was rich and she did not have to work--and she did not. She finished applying the oil and she shone like the "gem" she was.

"Can I have the frozen margarita I packed at the bottom, please?" she asked.

I fished out her drink and shook it up.

"There's a glass, lime and margarita salt in there too," she directed.

I moistened the mouth of the glass with the lime and dipped it in the salt then poured. I handed it to her.

"Way too much work for a drink if you ask me. A beer bottle with a twist off suits me much better."

She responded with one of her phony laughs. I tilted back my beer and guzzled. Why was I still with her? Granted I was lonely after the breakup of my marriage and Leslie was great between the sheets, but she possessed the same social climbing attitude my ex-wife had, which nearly led me to ruin. I should have known my ex-wife embezzled from the company to support the lifestyle she wanted, but finances were not my strong suit and I hated dealing with them. And here I was on a beach blanket with a clone of my ex-wife. The only difference--Leslie was tactless. Last week at a party a man I knew proposed a business deal to me. Leslie heard what the conversation was about and embarrassed me by ingratiating herself toward the man. I felt like someone pulled my pants down around my ankles in the middle of the gymnasium during a school pep rally. I needed to end this, but this was not the right place. I popped open another beer and drank, staring at the waves rolling in.

"I'm going for a swim."

She did not reply.

I jogged down to the shore with the cool sand squeezing between my toes. Reaching the water, I waded in up to my knees before diving into a breaking wave. The salt water washed over me like a warm velvet blanket in a winter's bed. I emerged on the other side and torpedoed through the next rising swell. Paddling my arms and legs, I wondered if swimming to Bermuda was a viable option to get away from Leslie. I rolled over and did the backstroke. Clouds whisked by one at a time and I studied them as I swam. The first looked like a white knight falling on his sword. The next formed an unfettered Mustang, galloping across the sky. I wondered what Freud would have said. I continued my atmospheric Rorschach test and found the next one to be a traffic cop, waving at the next cloud to pass by. A whistle blew and I thought for a moment I had gone mad. The piercing noise came again and I stopped swimming to look around. I was at least 150 yards from the shore and had drifted beyond the red flags that marked the end of the protected swimming area. The lifeguard was standing on his perch pointing toward me and waving his arms. Bermuda would have to wait.

I inhaled deeply and high-tailed it back to the water's edge. The lifeguard glared at me with piercing eyes as I passed the stand. I arrived back at the blanket out of breath, soaking wet, and red faced. Leslie sat up.

"Leave it to you to cause a scene."

"There's not much of a scene here to be seen with," I said.

I thought of making another attempt for Bermuda, but it did not seem far enough away. The Bahamas now seemed more appealing or perhaps Aruba. I toweled off, grabbed a cold one, and sat, thinking of what to do about Leslie. Maybe now would be a good time for the breakup. The sun began to set, casting a purple glow across the sky. Some stars began to twinkle in the dim sky and the moon had a blood red hue.

"Isn't this beautiful?"

I could not do it now. "Very," was all I said.

"Have you given much thought to that man's business venture?"

"That man" had a reputation for shady dealings. I turned toward her. "Not now. My current situation is status quo."

The sun-weathered lines in her face became more pronounced and her lips formed a tight button.

"It sounded so lucrative."

"I don't think it would be appropriate," I said.

We sat silently and watched the sun disappear. A few teenagers built a fire in the sand far up the beach and away from where they would get into trouble.

"John, I've been thinking," she said, "maybe you need more time for yourself. Do you want to take a break from us?"

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as I cracked open another beer. I took a sip. Here I was, stomach churning over this bad relationship, but too sensitive and chicken-shit to do anything about it just yet, and Leslie saves me the trouble. I should have felt relieved, but not in control was more like it.

"Figures," I said.

"What?"

"Never mind."

I drank my beer and contemplated my future without Leslie. I decided a beach blanket breakup, regardless of the instigator, was apropos of a nothing relationship after all. Someday I will look back on this and write it off as a frivolous summer romance sprung from a guy on the rebound.