On Ocean Boulevard

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “That’s Annabelle,” Linnea informed her. “From the beach. By the way, Pandora—you just cut in line.”

  “That’s it!” Pandora exclaimed, eyes on Annabelle. “You cut in line. You’re the one who snaked Linnea.”

  Annabelle’s hands stilled.

  Linnea intervened. “Ancient history.”

  “So, you’re a bartender?” Pandora asked Annabelle.

  The tone was mildly insulting. Seeing Annabelle’s flush, Linnea jumped in. “Annabelle, I desperately need some extra money. Could you fix me up with this gig?”

  Pandora looked at Linnea, mouth agape, but Annabelle’s smile was grateful. “Sure thing. They’re always looking for help. Do you bartend?”

  “I can pour wine.”

  Annabelle laughed. “How about serving?”

  “I can do that too.”

  “You never gave me your number. Here, write it down on this napkin. I’ll call you.” She handed a napkin and a pen to Linnea, who quickly complied.

  “Thanks,” Linnea said, handing the napkin to Annabelle. “And I’ll skip the chardonnay and try a pinot grigio.” She heard grumbling from behind and added, “Before we get trampled. The natives are getting thirsty.”

  “You’re going to tend bar?” Pandora hissed in her ear as they walked away.

  “Sure, why not? I need the money.”

  Pandora didn’t respond. Instead, her face lit up with delight as she spotted someone in the crowd. “Gordon!” she called, and raised her hand in a quick wave. “Over here!”

  Linnea swung her head and recognized the handsome redheaded surfer. Only tonight, he’d switched his wet suit for a beautifully fitted blue blazer over a crisp white shirt. He moved smoothly through the crowded room to their side.

  “There you are,” Pandora exclaimed when he approached. “I wondered if you’d gotten lost.” She offered him her drink. “Bourbon?”

  “No, thank you,” he replied as he leaned forward to kiss Pandora’s cheek in greeting. “That’s yours. I’ll find my own.”

  “Good luck, darling. There’s a long line. And stay away from the chardonnay.”

  “I usually do.” He turned his head and met Linnea’s gaze. His eyes sparkled with mirth. “Surfer girl,” he exclaimed, pleased to see her. “We meet again.”

  Linnea was caught in the magnetism of his dazzling blue eyes. Framed in pale lashes, they shone out from his narrow, chiseled, tanned face.

  “You two know each other?” asked Pandora, not sounding pleased.

  “He knows my brother’s truck,” Linnea teased. “I’ll bet you don’t even remember my name.”

  Gordon leaned closer and said in a seductive tone, “Linnea.”

  She was pleased he remembered and was sure her smile revealed that.

  Pandora tugged at Gordon’s arm and said, “Quick, darling, let’s rush to the bar. There’s a break in traffic.” She wiggled her fingers in farewell to Linnea and led Gordon away.

  Linnea felt a twinge of disappointment and, yes, jealousy, watching Pandora walk off with the one man she’d found attractive. Gordon was Pandora’s dishy friend, she thought, watching the pair sidle up to the bar. She couldn’t help but think that, as handsome as he looked tonight, he looked even more attractive in his wet suit.

  Sighing with resignation, Linnea strolled through the room checking out the other guests. She knew most of the men and women. Old friends now with fiancés, husbands, or wives. She stopped to talk often, catching up. By the time she reached the guest bathroom she’d finished her wine and was dismayed to see there was a long line. Linnea set her glass on a passing tray, then detoured to the hall where an elegant winding staircase led upstairs. Her path was blocked by a man in a servant’s uniform. Luckily, she recognized him.

  “Andy! How are you? It’s been ages.”

  Andy, an older man in his sixties, had been with the Middleton family for as long as she’d known them. Over the years, Andy had served as waiter, handyman, butler, and now apparently guard for the family.

  His face lit up. “Miss Linnea! It sure is nice to see you back in this house again.”

  “Big occasion,” she said.

  He leaned closer and said, “Not the way we thought it’d turn out.”

  “No,” she agreed with a wry smile. “But the way it should have, right?”

  “Yes’m,” he replied politely.

  “Listen, there’s a long line at the bathroom. Can I sneak up the stairs? I’ll be quick. I promise.”

  Andy stepped aside gallantly. “Of course. For you, Miss Linnea.”

  She hurried up the elegant wood staircase and walked down the hall she knew well. Passing Darby’s room, she peeked in and saw his four-poster bed strewn with a towel—his mother would be appalled—and clothing. By his bed was a photo of Ashley. She moved on, perusing the family photographs on the wall. They had one framed photo of every Christmas since Darby’s birth. She smiled as she followed his growth from baby to adulthood. Linnea paused at one photograph where she spotted herself standing next to Darby, beaming happily into the camera. They looked so young, she thought. So full of dreams. She remembered that Christmas, how she’d been called into the photograph by Darby’s father. Mrs. Middleton had frowned, seeing as how Linnea and Darby were not even engaged. But Mr. Middleton had insisted, and there Linnea was, forever on the family wall of portraits. It turned out Mrs. Middleton was right, she thought with chagrin. She shouldn’t have been included in the picture.She was sure it had to be hard for Ashley to see this photo, and Linnea felt badly for her friend.

  There was no way she could be photoshopped out of the image, since Darby’s arm was around her shoulders. Linnea thought for a moment that she could steal the photo, thus sparing Ashley years of angst. Then she thought of Andy and decided she couldn’t put his job in jeopardy. With a sigh, she walked on to Darby’s sister’s bedroom and ducked in. Gervais’s bedroom was much as she remembered it, the same twin four-poster beds but bearing new linens. She used to sleep in this room when she’d spent the night. It was clear Ashley was sleeping in the room now. Linnea went to the bathroom and was careful not to snoop through Ashley’s cosmetics or jewelry, trying her best to be discreet. She was quick and hurried to the stairs to escape before Andy got into trouble for letting her up.

  Her fingers slid along the mahogany railing as she made her way down the stairs. Andy smiled up at her, but her gaze was caught by the man standing next to him. She thanked Andy, then turned to the handsome young man.

  “Gordon,” she said, smiling with surprise.

  “You are difficult to track down,” he said. He handed her a glass. “Chardonnay. Pandora told me this was your choice.”

  She took the wine, trying not to laugh at Pandora’s barb. “You’re a friend of the family?” he asked as they strolled toward the party.

  “Very old friend. I’ve earned bathroom rights.”

  His smile was quick, yet it always struck her as a bit shy. Gordon was reserved, even bookish in manner. Not at all the flashy sort she’d have expected Pandora to go for.

  “I haven’t seen you on the beach,” Gordon said.

  Pleased he’d been looking for her, she said, “I haven’t been surfing much since turtle season began.”

  He stopped walking to face her. “You’re one of the people who monitor sea turtles?”

  “I am.”

  “Good on you. Actually, I’m keen to study the sea turtles here.”

  “Really?” Linnea wondered if it was a lame pick-up line. How many men were interested in studying sea turtles? “Why turtles?”

  “I work in marine science in England. It would appear we’re well-met.”

  Gordon suddenly zoomed in her appreciation. A live band started playing in the ballroom, and with a rush, couples moved from the piazzas to the dance floor, rushing past them.

  Linnea almost had to shout to be heard. “You’ve come to the right person. I’ve been on the turtle team since I was a child. My grandmother started th
e first teams on Isle of Palms and Sullivan’s Island. How can I help?”

  Gordon leaned close. “The noise is so loud I can barely hear you. Want to get out of here?”

  “The veranda is just over there.”

  “I mean, how about we cut out?”

  She looked into his eyes. The word yes hovered on her lips. “But we can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m with Pandora. I mean, I drove her. And… didn’t you come with her?”

  He shook his head. “She invited me to the party. Not quite the same thing.”

  “How do you know Pandora?”

  His lips twitched. “The Pan?”

  Linnea held back her laugh. “As in Peter Pan?”

  He took a sip of his whiskey, eyes twinkling. “We call her that because she flutters about and is unpredictable. And fanciful,” he added.

  Yes, she could see Pandora as the child who refused to grow up.

  “We’re both surfers,” he continued, moving to the left to make room for a couple heading for the dance floor. “We bump into each other on various beaches. The last one was in Australia.”

  “You’re not a couple?”

  He shook his head, amused. “God, no. It’d be like dating my sister.”

  Linnea doubted Pandora thought of them as brother and sister. Looking over his shoulder, she caught sight of Pandora walking toward them purposefully.

  “Here comes Sis now.”

  “They’re dancing,” Pandora announced with enthusiasm. “I’m dying to dance. Come on, Gordon.”

  “I hate to dance,” he told her.

  “But you know how,” Pandora said, determinedly grabbing hold of his arm.

  He lifted his brows and smiled with resignation toward Linnea as Pandora pulled him toward the ballroom where couples were dancing.

  Linnea took a sip from her wine, frowned at the taste, then caught a passing waiter to set her glass on the tray. She took a final glance at the dance floor where Pandora, of course, danced fabulously. Beside her, Gordon looked pretty good too. More couples were heading to the dance floor as the party kicked up a notch.

  It was time to go. Feeling like a third wheel, Linnea quietly ducked out of the party, grabbing her purse and shawl from the attendant at the coat station. A couple was just arriving as she made her way down the porch stairs. On the sidewalk, she looked back at the grand house. Couples lingered on the piazzas, music wafted through the open doors. The party was at full tilt.

  Linnea ducked her head and began walking. She’d never felt so alone.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Linnea drove the Gold Bug toward the aquarium two days later, she was getting the hang of the stick shift. She only stalled out twice. The ragtop was down and the breeze ruffled through her hair as she soared over the river. She was driving her own car on her way to her new internship. Reaching the apex of the bridge with the city and river sparkling in the sun beneath her, the blue sky overhead, she felt on top of the world.

  She parked in the garage and walked through the park, already busy as school buses unloaded groups of uniformed children to tour the aquarium. She stopped at the security office to collect her name card and badge, then walked into the aquarium as an official employee. The gleaming surfaces and tanks on the main floor seemed to shine with even more brilliance. Groups of children clustered around a guide carrying a red-tailed hawk on her arm. Others crowded around the touch tank, a few up on tiptoes to better see the aquatic world. She held her shoulders back, proud to show off her badge that marked her as an official, someone who belonged to this lofty institution. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  Following the guard’s directions, Linnea took the elevator to the third floor where all the offices were. Her pass card unlocked the security door, and she walked down the narrow, book-lined hall to where the floor opened to reveal the top of the Great Ocean Tank. She stared down into the edge of the three-story tank as various fish, sharks, and the resident loggerhead, Caretta, swam by.

  Past the tank were the offices. Everyone who worked there shared the limited space with great camaraderie. The directors of departments, the PR and marketing team, the conservation program, and animal husbandry clustered together in the rabbit warren. It was a cheery place with high ceilings, shining with light. The halls were lined with large, framed photographs of the local marine life—release of sea turtles, dolphins in the waterways. People smiled as they passed her, most wearing blue polo shirts bearing the logo of the South Carolina Aquarium. Linnea made her way past three cubicles to the one with a window and peered in. Cara sat behind her metal desk working on her computer. Silver-framed photographs of Hope and David sat atop the desk, along with stacks of papers and files.

  “Knock-knock,” Linnea said, given there was no door.

  Cara looked up from her computer and smiled. It was odd to see her aunt at work. Cara bristled with an aura that seemed crisper, even more self-assured than when she relaxed at home. Cara wasn’t in uniform. She looked chic in her dark pencil skirt and crisp white blouse with pearls at the neck. Her dark hair fell neatly behind her ears to her chin, accentuating her long neck and early tan, and she wore little makeup. She didn’t need much, her dark eyes naturally framed by thick lashes and striking brows.

  Linnea had dressed carefully this morning, wanting to make a good impression. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a stylish, high ponytail. She wore a cotton green-floral sundress and white wedge heels, and her only jewelry were the gold loops at her ears and a bracelet. Next to Cara’s sleek style, she felt a bit girlish, and made a mental note to ask if she should wear the uniform too. She smoothed out her dress and stepped inside.

  “Welcome to the team,” Cara said, smiling widely and gesturing to the two metal chairs before her desk.

  Linnea sat on the cushioned seat, nervously anticipating her job description. She knew that not only was her reputation on the line, but Cara’s was as well. After some brief chitchat, Cara got down to business.

  “Let me bring you up to speed on the primary focus of what it is we do here in the conservation program. Then I’ll narrow things down a bit to what I specifically need your help with. In time, you’ll catch on to everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “We wear a lot of hats here. We are developing the Good Catch sustainable seafood program. For that, we advise and consult with restaurants and create dining events at cooperating venues. We also work with the Resilience Initiative for Coastal Education, working to arm coastal communities with information and tools to understand rising sea levels. And our big project now is to develop strategic plastics initiatives to reduce the negative environmental impacts of plastic pollution. And that,” she added with emphasis, “is the area I’d like you to focus on.”

  Linnea nodded. The sustainable seafood program sounded like fun and she loved anything to do with education, but plastics was the hot topic in conservation today.

  “One of our big pushes this season will be educating the public about plastic in the ocean and engaging public support in cleanup of the beaches and waterways. Our first big Beach Sweep takes place in a few weeks. After the Fourth of July, naturally enough. There’s always a lot of litter on the beaches then.” She smiled wryly. “Patriotism can be very messy. I’d like us to come up with clever ideas that will inspire the public to care. To get involved. To pick up the plastic voluntarily and, even better, to stop using single-use plastic.”

  “Right,” Linnea said. “I, uh, I actually have an idea already.”

  Cara’s face showed her surprise, and a touch of disbelief. “Really?” There was an awkward beat before she said, “Well, all right, let’s hear it.” She folded her hands on her desk.

  Linnea licked her lips. “I don’t know if you knew this, but the past few weeks I’ve been walking the beach in the morning with a garbage bag, picking up trash.”

  “No, I didn’t know. Makes me happier in my choice for a new intern,” Cara said with approval.


  “It’s shocking how much trash is left lying on the sand. But more to the point, it all started because I was inspired when I saw this woman doing the same. She was alone, walking the beach with a big plastic garbage bag. So I started doing it.” She paused, getting to the point. “I’m wondering, if I was inspired, what would it take to inspire others?”

  “Go on.”

  “I really admire the marketing of this company called 4ocean. Their purpose is to clean plastic from the world’s oceans. They have those bracelets made from recycled plastic from the ocean. They pull a pound of plastic out for each bracelet sold.” She lifted her arm to reveal a bracelet made up of tiny plastic balls around a green band. Cara leaned close for a better look. “They make dozens of colors, one for each animal species they select. Green is for turtles.”

  “I’ve seen the bracelets,” Cara said.

  “They also have bags made up from recycled ocean plastic to sell.”

  “Do they?” Cara’s interest focused.

  “Here’s the thing. Often, when I’m walking the beach with my bag, someone asks me what I’m doing. So, I tell him or her. People ask if they can help. They just need to be shown what to do. How they can make a difference. I got to thinking, what if we had bags made up of recycled plastic and put the South Carolina Aquarium’s logo on them? We could sell them, with all the proceeds going to the sea turtle hospital. That makes it cool. People can start walking with their aquarium bag and inspire others, and so on and so on. A ripple effect. We might not be able to go out into the oceans and clean up the plastic, but we can buy a bracelet to support those who can, and we can make picking up trash in our own neighborhoods a real, physical sign of caring—whether on the beach, at a lake, a creek, a river, wherever. Even people on vacation can join in.” She finished and looked at Cara expectantly.

  “I think it’s brilliant!” Cara exclaimed. She leaned back in her chair, her palms on her lap. “I have to admit, I’m stunned. This is exactly what I was hoping for. It’s not easy to make plastic warm and fuzzy. It’s a scourge, is what it is. But your idea of putting our logo on the bag and making picking up trash a badge of support may just accomplish that.” Her fingers tapped on her thighs. I’d like to think of ways we can expand this idea, to bring in the community. Sweeps for beaches, of course. But also for parks, creeks, rivers.” She smiled. “Community wide.”