They were lying in the sun. Simon had just finished applying another coat of tanning oil. His absolute favorite thing. She was particular that every inch be covered. No tan streaks. He was meticulous. He did it very slowly so as to be sure he missed nothing. He was pretty sure he could do this all day. This secluded clothing optional beach on the Adriatic Sea, South of Rimini, was generally quiet on Mondays, and it was today. Tourists were nursing hangovers and the locals were back at their labors. Waiters were delivering drinks to the sun bathers and seasonal staff were delivering and gathering assorted water toys. This had become one of Simon and Lainie's favorite pastimes. As busy as they were, they always made time for this. They were both raised in the sun. Lainie was wearing an invisible thong she had scored at our favorite lingerie shop in town. This was as far as she would go. Simon was long convinced most beachgoers he had observed throughout the season should have opted for, at the very least, full one-piece bathing suits... and never remove their beach wraps... and stay under their umbrellas. There were, thank God, several notable exceptions. For that he was truly grateful. But something was rotten in San Marino.
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