Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  Insane. She must be completely insane. She'd met Mike maybe a week ago and now they were sharing a suite overlooking San Francisco in a hotel that she had reserved in her head for celebrities and socialites. But Mike was a celebrity, she supposed. And yet, amidst the ridiculousness that was the past couple of days, not to mention the impulsive past few hours, she'd never felt more relaxed or at home in her life.

  She rolled her eyes at her own concocted cliché. But it did feel like they'd known one another for a lot longer. It was easy. He laughed at her jokes, for crying out loud. No one did that. Most of the time she felt oddly peculiar and slightly out of place. It was easier to keep her mouth shut and let people believe she was shy and reserved, or go the other way and assume she was a cold-hearted bitch. But with Mike, she was allowed to be peculiar, because he was a little peculiar too.

  She dug a hair-tie out of her pocket and pulled her hair into a high ponytail. Watching her actions in the reflection of the window, she wished her hair had more of a fun color to it. It wasn't quite brown, but it wasn't quite blonde. She didn't have the creativity or courage to color it, but now she had a desire to try something new. Was it vacation? Or was it who she was vacationing with?

  ***

  Mike watched Clarke messing with her hair and he took a breath that he could only describe as finally finding respite.

  He hadn't been lying to her, he really didn't have a plan. He'd simply had an impulse and acted on it. He knew she liked the classics, though finding out that Bogie was a soft spot for her was definitely a nice surprise. And her humor. Good grief, but she was full of surprises. The more time they spent together, the more relaxed she became and her former self-consciousness dissolved. She was always mumbling dry one-liners that had him trying hard not to laugh out loud in public. Her sarcasm was perfection and he loved it.

  “Are you hungry or anything? I mean, I know you polished off that bucket of extra buttery popcorn all by yourself, but I can order us some food if you want.” He took great pleasure in seeing her irritated glare swing in his direction.

  “Are you judging me? Because your tone is little judgey.” She propped one hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows at him. Oh the sass, he loved that, too. She was so not afraid to be herself around him.

  “Listen, I'm hungry and I plan on ordering some food, I was just wondering if you were going to eat all of it again.” He was trying desperately to keep a straight face, but the horrified look that crossed hers was priceless.

  “Oh, I see how it is.” She scowled at him, but it was halfhearted. “Ha, ha, I get it, I eat like a bear.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sauntered towards him, stopping a foot away. She looked to the side and said very softly, “Yes, I would eat again.”

  Mike picked up the phone, dialing his favorite pizza place in the city. He ordered more pizza and wings then he thought they really needed and grinned at Clarke's wide eyes as she listened in. About the time he hung up the phone, their requested supplies arrived at the door and Clarke went to answer it. Mike followed her and handed a tip to the kid who couldn't take his eyes off of her. She didn't even notice.

  “So, surfing tomorrow? Here, or back at the home base?” he asked as she set up the supplies in the bathroom.

  “We could go here, but it's colder. We'd have to get wetsuits. And the water is choppier, so I'd probably be worried about your life the entire time.”

  “We can go surfing later in the week if you want to wait 'til we get back,” he offered.

  She looked up and caught his eye in the mirror. “Since we're here, could we see some stuff before we leave? I never get to visit San Fran.”

  “Absolutely. I was just going to suggest the same thing.” He let his gaze drift over her as she unpacked the toothbrushes and toothpaste. He truly could not have designed a more perfect getaway. Here's to being impulsive.

  ***

  Clarke rolled onto her back and rested her hands on her stomach lightly. “Holy crap, I don't think I have ever been this full.”

  “You didn't have to eat as much as you did.” Mike leaned back on his elbows next to her and kicked his feet out in front of him.

  “Yes I did. You don't understand. That was the most delicious pizza I have ever had in my entire life.” She closed her eyes and groaned. “Oh man, I think I'm going to give birth to a pizza-BBQ-wing hybrid. It'll take over the world and destroy us all.”

  She heard Mike snigger next to her and she smiled in satisfaction.

  “I wonder how things are going with Shane and Greta,” she mused more to herself than to him.

  “Greta knows what she's doing,” Mike said quietly.

  Clarke turned her head to look up at him. “You've said that before. What makes you so sure?”

  “I've known her and her family for a long time. She may seem a little unconventional, but she's got a good head on her shoulders.”

  Clarke looked back to the ceiling. “Yeah, I suppose you're right. I just hope she doesn't get hurt. Shane can be a real dick.”

  “So I've heard. But knowing what Greta's been through, she can handle Shane no problem. Plus, their chemistry is off the charts. I never know if they're getting ready to kill each other, or rip each other's clothes off.”

  Clarke frowned. That didn't make sense. “What do you mean? What has Greta been through?”

  “Oh, you know, that thing back in Boston with the guy. The real reason she came to Cali.”

  Clarke felt like the rug got pulled out from under her. What kinds of things did Mike know? “Greta doesn't talk about that. Ever. Not even Harrison knows. How do you know?”

  Mike sighed regretfully. “I shouldn't have said anything.” He poked her side with his finger and changed the subject. “You wanna get some good walking in tomorrow?”

  Clarke groaned and rubbed her belly again, letting it go. “Yes, please.”

  ***

  “Who was she?”

  “What? Who was who?” Mike asked. Ilsa reared back, eyes wild, hands waving in front of her, palms out like she could not believe what he'd just said.

  “The woman at the bar? How many times have you slept with her?”

  Mike rolled his eyes and ran both hands through his hair. So she was on this again. Whatever. He turned to the living quarters of their suite and flopped onto the sofa. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away. Or at least shut up.

  “Why won't you answer me?” she yelled at his back.

  “Because you're crazy?” Mike asked sarcastically.

  He probably shouldn't be pushing her buttons. But they had had this argument just hours ago.

  “I can't believe you would say that to me,” she whispered just behind him.

  Mike twisted on the couch to face her, one arm along the back. “Really, Ilsa? We just had this fight. I told you I don't know the woman! She was being nice, that's all.”

  “You expect me to think that a beautiful woman who is all over you means nothing to you?” Ilsa's voice pitched higher.

  Mike swore under his breath. “She asked me to sign a napkin. I'm famous, it happens!”

  Now he was getting mad. He hated getting mad. She just wouldn't stop. She never stopped. It was the same paranoid bullshit all the time. He stood up and stalked across the room to the front door, picking up his jacket off of the chair. He knew he should have cut her off earlier. She reached incredible levels of insanity when she'd partied too much. Why couldn't she partake in something more relaxing? Why did it always have to be vodka? And why did it always have to be explosive?

  “Where are you going?” she shrieked.

  “Can you hear yourself?” Mike shouted at her. “Why would I stay here when I'm getting screamed at?”

  He slid his arms into the sleeves and turned his back to her. In those few seconds she ripped the lamp cord out of the wall and hurled it from the balcony. Mike heard the crash on the sidewalk below and he stared at her.

  Her blue eyes challenged him to do something about it. He rushed to the open
balcony door and looked at the shattered pieces below. People were looking up at them and he was certain he saw a camera flash. Perfect.

  Spinning back around, he found her right behind him, a blank look on her face. He grabbed her by her arm and forced her back inside. She struggled and let out a loud yelp of exaggerated pain. Of course.

  He closed the door behind him and then lost his temper.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?! You could have killed someone!”

  Ilsa's chin began to quiver and large tears formed in her eyes. “I just want you to notice me!” she yelled.

  “How could I not?” Mike swung his arms out to the sides. “You make the biggest frickin' spectacle—Oh my God, stop crying!”

  She covered her face with both hands and crumpled to the floor just as someone knocked on the door. Because that's what hotel staff did when a guest threw a lamp out the window. And they normally brought security.

  “Are you happy now?” Mike yelled. She sobbed loudly at his feet.

  Mike sucked in air as he awoke. He sat up on the couch, his body on fire, shirt soaked with sweat.

  It was just a dream.

  Running a shaky hand through his hair, he tried to calm his erratic breathing. Finding it difficult, he swung his legs to the floor and stood up. The moon outside the large suite filled the living area with blue shadows that were too dark for him to handle. He went to the balcony, unlocked the door, and stepped onto the cool stone.

  The chilly night air reduced his body temperature quickly and his breathing began to return to normal.

  He had forgotten why he avoided staying in hotels. He'd gotten so caught up in the excitement of being with Clarke and being on an adventure for the first time in forever that he forgot to be careful about stupid things like his triggers.

  Now that he was awake, he realized it was going to be okay. The trapped feeling of the nightmare was evaporating. It was over. It never had to happen that way again. That life was so far away from where he was, the fear was irrational and he knew it.

  He went back inside and paused in the open doorway to the bedroom. His shoulder found the door frame and he allowed himself the small reprieve from his thoughts that being in Clarke's presence created. Even asleep, her calm permeated the room. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow behind her, her legs askew in the bed, covers a tangled mess. He watched her for as long as it took. Long enough to feel like he'd reached a cool enough temperature to get back to sleep.

  Mike pushed away from the doorway and returned to his bed on the couch. He pushed the nightmare memory from his mind and focused on what tomorrow would bring.

  It had been a long time since he'd looked forward to tomorrow.

  ***

  The plan was to spend the day in San Francisco and head back that night. But Mike had never been very good at following plans when no one was expecting him to. So their day trip turned into a weekend.

  Clarke was the best traveling companion he could have hoped for. She was clever and quick on her feet. So when they missed the bus that caused them to miss the last entrance to a traveling art exhibit, she simply grabbed his hand and hopped onto another bus. Destination unknown.

  They ate and laughed their way through the city. Mike had never spent much time in the Bay area, but it was becoming a fast favorite.

  Harrison called to say he had to rent another car, but he didn't seem to mind. He was a little curious about what Mike and Clarke were doing, and Mike reassured him that he was still sober and they'd be home soon. Maybe. She was hard to let go of. He was enjoying her cavalier attitude while she was away from home.

  “I think we need to go to Alamo Park next,” Clarke declared, wiping her mouth with a napkin and then shoving the bundle into a garbage can.

  Mike nodded, pushing the tail end of his ice cream cone into his mouth. She headed down the sidewalk and he grabbed the belt loop on the back of her jeans, tugging her to a stop. She whipped her head around, to question him. He merely pulled her into a consignment shop that she would have totally blown past.

  She argued with him as he bought her a couple of retro long-sleeved shirts and a pair of designer jeans that were so ridiculously cheap, Mike struggled to avoid rolling his eyes at her.

  “I have clothes,” she said, grabbing her shirt at the hem and stretching it out in frustration.

  “Well, now you'll have more clothes. Besides, I saw that sweet leather jacket through the window for myself and I know how you girls are. You'll get all cold and pouty and I'll have to give you my coat in order to be a gentleman.” He handed his credit card to the cashier. They exchanged a meaningful smile and he turned back to Clarke. “This way, you'll be covered and I won't be expected to give up my coat. San Francisco is chilly in November.”

  She considered this for a moment, her eyes going to the ceiling and her mouth twitching with unsaid words. Then she relented. “Fine, but I want to be able to pay you back.”

  “Knock yourself out, babe.”

  After Alamo Park—where Clarke made more Full House references than Mike thought was possible for one afternoon—they had to eat again, not surprisingly. They hiked over to Alamo Square Seafood Grill.

  “So what makes a girl like you want to work an office job?” Mike asked after they had placed their order.

  “That's kind of a loaded question.” She looked up at him through her lashes and swirled her straw in her glass of water.

  “I mean, you love being outside. You love being active. You love surfing. The desk job doesn't seem to fit,” he tried to clarify. He was hoping she would give him a little more insight into how she had changed from the sister that Paul had described to him years back.

  “I don't know. It pays really well and I'm good at it.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “I had hopes of being a fitness model at one time, but found I lacked the required confidence. I was working an internship at Billabong and Shane came in a lot. I got to know him a little bit and he offered me a job. I would have been stupid to pass it up. Shane Brookings is huge in the industry and whatever that guy does is successful.”

  “Fitness model, huh?” Mike raised an eyebrow. “That explains your build. And your appetite.”

  She grinned. “I still work out a lot. Mostly with Greta. But I'm not as intense about it as I used to be. I try to keep in shape by surfing when I can, but...”

  “But life hasn't afforded you that opportunity lately,” Mike finished for her.

  “Yeah, something like that.” She let out a small laugh. “Not until now.” She took a deep breath, let her eyes travel around the interior of the restaurant.

  Mike took a calculated risk, hoping that if he remained quiet, she wouldn't.

  “This whole trip is out of my comfort zone, really. I don't do daring or exciting things anymore.” Her eyes flicked up to him. “I have no idea how you know so much about me already. Truthfully, I'm afraid to ask. I'm not sure I want to know the details.”

  Mike held her gaze steadily, but didn't reply. If she asked, he would tell. But he wasn't going to force that on her. She looked down at the candle in the center of the table and continued speaking.

  “But I've come to accept that you know all the dark spots in my past. I suppose that's why I don't feel the need to keep those things separate from you. So thanks for that.” She swallowed. “Thanks for this. This weekend. Showing me that it's okay to be a little more relaxed than I have been lately.”

  Mike caught both of her hands in his, and when her eyes came up he tried to give her a reassuring smile, but was afraid it showed the conflict that he was struggling with.

  “I told you, whatever you want to know, all you have to do is ask.”

  She nodded. Then their food arrived, dispelling the moment.

  “We have to head back tomorrow.” Mike announced suddenly, and she looked at him swiftly.

  “Sick of me already?” she joked, but he heard the real concern in her question.

  “Heck, no!” He grinned wh
en he had finished swallowing. “It's time to get you out on the water. We don't have much time before Shane will suck you back into the blackness of Soaring Bird, and I don't want to pay for surf lessons from some jag with no sense of humor who won't try to drown me a little bit.”

  Clarke burst out laughing. Mike reveled in the sound. He wanted her laugh more often.

  ***

  “Twins, huh?” Mike asked, only half listening to Paul as he watched Ilsa strut into the ladies room.

  “Yeah, but not identical or anything.” Paul pressed his lips together tightly. “You guys must have worked it out then?” he asked, nodding his head in the direction Mike was looking.

  Mike nodded the affirmative. “What can I say, it's love.”

  “Yeah,” Paul mumbled. Mike caught the end of his eye roll and he chuckled.

  “What?”

  Paul shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothin'.”

  “No, really. What?” Mike's grin widened. This should be good.

  Paul took a deep breath and stared at his feet as he thought about it. He finally shrugged. “I don't know, man. She's just so... I mean, should love be that much work?”

  Mike laughed. “All love is work. No one is easy to get along with all the time.”

  Paul's mouth twitched. “All right, but shouldn't you get along like at least half the time? Or maybe twenty-five percent of it?” He pushed his shaggy caramel hair out of his eyes and gave Mike a serious look. “Last night she threw a lamp off of a balcony because she thought you were flirting with the waitress.”

  It's was Mike's turn to roll his eyes. “She's a very passionate person—”

  “No, dude,” Paul interrupted. “My sister is passionate. You should see her on the water. Getting up at dawn to get a good drop-in, rearranging your entire schedule to make a wave, not missing a competition because of a stuffy nose—that's passionate. Throwing light fixtures out of hotel rooms to smash onto the parking lot twelve stories down is crazy.”

  Mike laughed again. Paul was right, but he didn't know Ilsa like Mike did. She probably looked a little unstable to those who weren't used to her. She was just very expressive.