“The florid face of Nat Plasky was just a shade lighter than the crimson slash of swim trunks that separated his hairy mass into seemingly equal parts. He leaned against a poolside cabana, a sweating glass of iced liquid held carelessly and seemingly forgotten in a massive paw, engaged in quiet conversation with an eye-jerking blonde young woman in an almost nonexistent bikini. Several other dazzling Miss Universe types, displaying various ideas of the nude swimwear look behind fishnet, nudie pa...nels, and enchantingly strategic placements of mini-materials, sprawled here and there beside the pool. Nobody appeared to be wet, nor inclined to get that way. A suave man of about fifty, carefully attired in white duck trousers, canvas sneakers, and a polo shirt sat at an umbrella table with a younger man who wore slacks, a turtle-neck shirt, and a light sports jacket. Several other men wandered about aimlessly, almost blending into the background of sunning platforms, plastic flotation devices, and colorful cabanas-bodyguards, was Bolan's quick impression.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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