Super Hero Rhapsody: 1975

Two weeks later, Los Angeles feels like a reward. The afternoon heat shimmers over a private pool, and the city noise stays politely far away. Sally and Amilia stretch out in 70s-style bikinis, all bronze sun and slow breathing.

A folded towel, two glasses of iced water, and an untouched stack of legal envelopes sit on a side table under an umbrella. For once, the evidence is safely out of sight, and the only thing pressing in is the sun.

Sally lowers herself into the water, kicks once, and drifts back to the pool edge. Her shoulders loosen as the cold water meets the heat on her skin.

Amilia tips her head back on a lounge chair, eyes hidden behind large gold frames, one hand resting near her drink. The lawyer in her looks half-asleep, but the guarded part of her still keeps one ear open to the world.

A breeze stirs the pool surface and flips one corner of the top envelope on the table. Amilia glances over, then smiles faintly toward Sally.

Sally flicks a little water from the pool with two quick kicks. It arcs in a bright sheet and splashes Amilia’s chair, cooling her shins and the edge of her book.

Amilia laughs anyway and sets the book aside, pushing her glasses up with one finger. She slips one heel off, then the other, and toes the pool edge like she is weighing the law against the heat.

She rises, folds her night-dark legal stack into the towel with careful hands, and catches sight of the partially exposed envelope stamp before covering it again. Then she slides into the pool with a quiet splash, shoulders dropping as the water takes her weight.

Amilia comes up smiling, a little breathless, and reaches out to steady herself near Sally. The calm between them holds, and for once the legal envelope stays forgotten on the side table.

Amilia laughs softly and reaches for the knot at her shoulder, shaking water from her glasses. The legal envelope stays on the side table, but her attention leaves it for the first time in minutes.

She steps out of the wet suit jacket, folds it over the chair, and then eases off her skirt with practiced calm. The move is so efficient it feels like a courtroom objection turned into a costume change.

A moment later, she slides into the water beside Sally, exhaling as the pool takes the weight off her shoulders. The splash sends ripples against the ladder and the towel stack.

Amilia drifts closer, one hand brushing Sally’s wrist for balance, and her smile turns small and honest. For a few seconds, the courtyard holds only sun, water, and the quiet between them.

Sally flicks the joint to life, the ember catching bright against the pool glare. A couple of easy drags later, she passes it over, and the smoke hangs thin above the water as Amilia reaches for it with a tired little grin.

Amilia takes the joint with a slow, deliberate breath, then leans back in the water as the ember dims between her fingers. Her shoulders sink. The smoke slips from her mouth in a lazy silver sheet and breaks apart over the pool.

She blinks at the drifting haze, then laughs under her breath, a little delayed and a little brighter. The water around her sways in soft rings, nudging her against the tile edge.

Amilia tips her head toward Sally, eyes glassy with amusement and relief. Her grip loosens on the joint like she is remembering, very far away, that this is allowed.

She exhales again, slower this time, and the last ribbon of smoke curls across the sunlight before thinning out. For a few seconds, the courtyard stays quiet except for water against tile and Amilia's soft, unfocused chuckle.