“Mademoiselle. Monsieur. Please put on your seat belts,” someone said. “Heavy turbulence.” It was the flight attendant.
Gemma rose slightly, trying to remember where she was. Her neck was tight, and a heavy headache weighed her down. Medication always disoriented her. She noticed her hand. That wasn’t her stuffed dog… that was his hand.
Andre woke up. “What’s going on?” he asked, but did not release her hand.
“Turbulence,” she whispered.
He nodded then squeezed her hand. “We’ll be fine.”
Their chairs rose while the plane jolted. Gemma rubbed her temples and turned her head this way and that, hoping to release the tightness in her neck.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Ugh. I think so. My neck is frozen stiff and I have a headache.”
“Face me and scoot closer.”
She did without hesitation.
He laid his hands on her temples and applied a gentle pressure. First light, then stronger. Her eyes did not break from his. His long fingers slid down her jaw, to her neck. She blinked and leaned a bit closer to him as his hands found the back of her neck, then the base of her skull. She was no longer sure if her head hurt, or if her neck was tight. What she wanted was to grab his face and press her lips to his.
“Gemma?”
“Yes?” she muttered.
“You’re drooling.”
“So are you, love.”
He laughed then pulled her into his chest, embracing her completely.
“This is a good day,” she whispered just as the plane shook again.
When breakfast was served, Andre glanced at his watch. They had less than two hours before landing. He thought carefully about what he wanted to say next. He wanted to see her again, but his life was too complicated–and so was hers–and, in any event, that’s not what he wanted. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he loved talking to her. Well, maybe love was too strong a word. Really liked? Really-really liked? Whatever it was, he knew he could talk to her freely, because like him, she had also given up youth. Like him, she was trying to make sense of the crazy world they now lived in. They were more alike than different.
“Are you staying in LA, or is this a layover for you?” he asked.
“Staying for a few days, then I’m heading back to London,” she said, forking her fruit salad.
“Are you here for a match or an appearance?”
“No, nothing like that. I just needed to get away for a couple of days. Needed to collect myself before my upcoming matches.”
“So the tabloids were right. You are having a nervous breakdown.”
She poked his hand with her fork. “Careful. I can get nasty.”
He rubbed his hand. “Clearly. So, you’re staying at a hotel, a resort–”
“My home in Malibu.”
“You have a home in Malibu?”
“Yes, Malibu and London. When I’m not traveling, that is. I stay in LA maybe six weeks out of the year. About the same in London. The rest of the time I’m in hotels or on planes.”
“Then your travel life is as bad as mine. That must take some of the fun out of the game. I know it kills me,” he said.
“The travel is dreadful. Absolutely hate it. Some months, like this one, are criminal. French Open, then to another match in the U.K. next week, then possibly the Netherlands, followed by the big one, Wimbledon. Back to back.”
“How does your body hold up with this type of grind?” he asked. When his words registered, he turned beet red. “Wait. What I meant…”
“Very well, thank you very much.” She punched his shoulder.
It was now or never. “Look, since you’re in LA for a couple of days, maybe we can catch up again. I don’t know, maybe get coffee or something, if you have time.”
She stopped eating. “Your bastardized, savage English confuses me. What are you asking?”
“I was just saying that… you know… we should hang out while you’re in LA.”
“So you’re asking me to hang out? On a proper date? With you?”
“If you want. If you have time.” Sweat broke out on his forehead. He picked up his coffee and drank it all.
“I’ll think about it. After all, the way you put it sounded so enticing, I fear my stay in LA would be dreadfully dull if I don’t take you up on that offer.”
“Nice. Laugh at the geek. What’s the score? Gemma two, Andre one?”
“Pitiful attempt, really. By the way, you haven’t scored any points yet.”
He eyed her. She smirked.
“I’ll try harder.”
“I’m sure you’ll try.”
“Well, if you want to break away from your solitary confinement, give me a call.” He wrote his cell phone number on the Air France napkin and handed it to her. “I’m no Leonardo DiCaprio, but I have watched most of his movies.”
She almost snorted again. “That nearly sounded like a normal invitation.” She took the napkin. “I’m curious. That last pitiful invitation notwithstanding, for someone who is a certified geek, you are a balanced chap. I would have thought someone with your background would have been… what’s the word? Less social?”
“Wow. Hold on, I’m updating the scoreboard. If you have any more insults prepared, this may be the time to deliver them.”
“I meant that in a positive way.”
“Obviously. Excuse me while I call my therapist. Note to self, do not accept her Facebook invite.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a geek. It’s just that you’re an atypical geek.”
“There’s another one. Gemma fifteen, Andre zero. Will I score any points?”
“Doubt it.” She sank deep into his eyes. “By the way, it’s love.”
“Sorry?”
“In tennis we don’t have zero. We have love,” she said as she laid her hand on his. “Gemma fifteen, Andre love.”
At the plane’s final descent, Andre stole glances, anticipating the end. The flight had been the best eleven hours he had ever spent. But she would be gone soon, and like it or not, he’d have to accept the impending emptiness that would follow her departure.
When the plane landed and reached the gate, Gemma turned to Andre. “I’ll be escorted off first. Part of the celebrity thing. So let me say bye for now,” she said.
When they rose, she kissed his cheek and then hugged him. “I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”
Her soft lips were like a whisper on his skin. Her body warm and strong. He didn’t want to let go.
She pulled away, her eyes trained on his. “Bye.” She gave him a warm smile, slid on her sunglasses, and followed the flight attendant.
In that moment he had a distinct feeling he understood how sunshine impacted plants. He felt rejuvenated and unstable all at the same time, but he was certain this instability was the source of life. The uncertainty made life worth living.
He wanted the warm pressure of her hand on his again, the hand he held during the flight. He pictured her holding tight, not letting go even during turbulence.
“We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.”
~Orson Welles
he customs agent processed Gemma’s entry quickly. He also took a picture with her and asked for, and received, her autograph. When she arrived at the gate, an explosion of yells and flashbulbs disoriented her. Gemma froze, scanning for her security. Had they not been told? The crowd converged on her, and she took a tentative step back.
“Out of the way,” someone commanded. The sea of bodies parted as her security staff closed around her, building a protective human shield. They marched her through fans, reporters, and paparazzi.
She was inundated by the voices, the inane questions…
–Is it true? Are you quitting tennis?
…Odd requests…
–Can you sign my car?
…Pleas for surprisi
ng details.
–Is it true you and Johnny Flauto have rekindled your romance?
On that one she wanted to deliver a few choice words, but she kept her composure and maintained a steady gait until she slid into her waiting car. The locks engaged.
“Xavi, you didn’t have to pick me up.”
“I wanted to pick you up,” he said with a warm smile. “To welcome you home.”
“It’s lovely to be back.”
“The bastards got word about your flight hours ago.” His eyes hardened. Always her protector and guru.
With the help of her security team and airport police, the car rolled away.
“How’s Mari?” she asked.
“Now that you’re home, she is happy. She is preparing Crema Catalana for you.”
The mere mention of the Catalonian dessert made her salivate. “I can’t wait.”
“We will eat, then over coffee and dessert, we will talk.”
Finding Xavi and Mari three years earlier had been serendipitous. She had been searching for information on her birth parents when she’d met them. Like her birth father, they were also from Spain. They had been friends with her birth mother before the tragedy that left newborn Gemma an orphan. In no time, they became part of her extended family, and when Xavi and Mari’s son started college in Los Angeles, Gemma purchased a home in Malibu and transplanted them there. She trusted them with everything–home and soul. They offered unconditional love and respect. When she came to Malibu, she was home.
“Yes, there is plenty to talk about,” she said. But the urgency for visiting seemed to have vanished. After the French Open loss, she’d felt dizzy again and her insides churned, just like in Australia. She had wanted to curtail the anxiety before it spun out of control. Somehow, it was all but gone. Was that because of Andre? In so many ways, his story was her story. Had she found her kindred spirit?
She removed the napkin with Andre’s number from her purse and took a whiff, hoping the scent of his cologne was still detectable. She wanted–needed–to see him again.
Andre didn’t wait for Roger. He rushed off the plane and practically ran to the customs gate, beating the large crowd. He walked past the awaiting company car, toward the taxi station. He was in a great mood and didn’t want Roger to irritate him.
“Where to?” the taxi attendant asked.
“Santa Monica.”
He rolled down the window in the cab. The dry afternoon heat rushed in, practically choking him. And although the air-conditioner blew cool air, he needed real air. Each city had its distinctive smell, but all airports and the surrounding areas smelled the same: like fuel. He longed for the scent of the ocean.
He texted Roger. “Sorry, had to run. Talk to you later.” He hoped that would keep the man at bay.
Andre entered his condo with a singular goal in mind: get fresh ocean air. Fast. After a quick shower, he took Pacific Coast Highway. Convertible top down, he inhaled the warm rush of the air and exhaled slowly. The scent of the sea always took him back to his youth in Spain. His safe haven.
He parked his car at Zuma Beach, the north end of Malibu. It was early Sunday afternoon and beach-dwellers littered the coast, sunbathing and swimming. Farther north, a film crew marked off an area. A typical day at the beach.
He sat on the sand, absorbing everything around him. A large wave crashed, and the white wash came up to his feet, sinking his toes. Seagulls drifted overhead, their cries hoarse. After a few waves, his feet were completely submerged in the wet sand. One wave at a time, he was sinking deeper and deeper. In trouble, on many levels.
He wanted to spend more time with Gemma, but time with her meant time away from work, jeopardizing his contract, his bonus, his sanity. None of which he was willing to risk. Not after all this time. But she was different than all others. She understood him and his chaotic life.
He studied his cell phone. Five missed calls. One text message. All from Roger. Andre willed the phone to ring, willed her to call him. As if on cue, the phone rang. Not Roger, not Gemma, but a call he would gladly take.
“Hello, sir,” he said.
“After all these years, will you stop with the ‘sir’ business? Just Jeffrey,” the man said.
“Some habits are hard to break,” Andre said.
Since the passing of his uncle, this man had stepped in to fill the gap in Andre’s life. Jeffery was more than just a close family friend—he deserved all the respect Andre could give.
“I understand you were in Paris. Why didn’t you fly up to London to visit?”
“I apologize. Something happened that I couldn’t pass up.”
“Let me guess, another critical project that could not wait?”
“No, a personal break. I actually had fun.”
“Well, call the Pope and have the bells rung at the Sistine Chapels. This is fantastic news,” Jeffrey said. “Speaking of chapels, why haven’t you confirmed your attendance for my daughter’s engagement?”
“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it to Emily’s engagement. I’ll be on a classified project during the same time.”
“Another classified project. Can’t you schedule a few days off? We are practically family. It would mean a lot to have you with us.”
“As much as I want to–”
“If you wanted to, you would. You are driven by the wrong motivational forces. You need to pace yourself. Take the foot off the accelerator.”
“The finish line is near.”
“That’s rubbish and you know it. The finish line is not real. Enjoy life. You’re young. Your uncle would have told you the same. I realize I’m not your uncle, no one is, but someone has to tell you.”
“Six more months and the worst will be over.”
“And then what happens? Does M&T actually let you walk away? Even if they do, how much of your life will you have forsaken in the process?”
“I need to see it through. I want my bonus.”
“Forget the bonus. It’s just money.”
“I’ve worked too hard to leave that on the table.”
“And if you burn out before that? I hear things, Andre. I worry about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
A beat. “I do apologize.”
“Don’t apologize, use your brains to find a way to join us.”
How much more would he have to forfeit from life? How much had he lost already?
Thirty minutes later, he took the winding canyons through the Malibu hills to Agoura to his parents’ home. He didn’t visit them often, but felt the need today because his uncle was on his mind. He helped himself in. Good to see his key still worked. The house was silent, which meant they were in the yard.
He found his father on his knees, tending to his tomatoes.
“Hola, flaco,” he said even though his father’s midsection hadn’t been flaco in more than a decade. But that was his nickname. The one his uncle had always used.
Gabriel straightened. “Your mom’s not home. Yoga or Pilates or something like that.” He rose slowly and turned to face Andre.
Typical. The dry business executive through and through. Hi Dad, I missed you too. He brushed it off. “Will she be long?”
“Don’t know,” he said as he tugged at his soiled gloves. “When did you arrive?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
“Came for Memorial Day?”
“Came to spend time with Linda. To be here for her.”
Gabriel was about to say something, then the significance of the weekend registered. His eyes dropped. “I’d forgotten. Tomorrow would’ve been their anniversary.”
“That’s right. Have you called your niece or sister-in-law lately?” Andre asked his dad.
Gabriel opened the outdoor fridge and got two bottles of beer, offering one to Andre. “Your mom has, I think.”
“I didn’t ask about Mom. I asked about you.”
Gabriel stared into Andre’s eyes. “I’m not goi
ng to get into this with you again.”
“This has nothing to do with me, Dad. It’s about you and your late brother. It’s about–”
“It was always about you, Andre. You can’t be so naive to not see the issues my brother and I had were always about you.”
“Your brother didn’t have any issues. You were the one with a chip.”
Gabriel guzzled half the bottle. “That’s right. He had no issues. He just felt it was okay to parent you and go against what we wanted for you.”
“He wanted me to choose.”
“You were too young to make good choices. A gift, Andre. You were born with a gift and he was trying to talk you out of using it.”
“He wanted me to be happy.”
A foreign concept for his dad. Happiness meant wealth. Andre had that, and what brought him joy was not his bank statement.
“That’s right, happiness. That’s what he called it. ‘He’s a kid, he needs to experience youth and be happy.’ What he was trying to create was division between us.”
No, they had done that all on their own, he thought, but didn’t say.
“I didn’t come to argue about the past–”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Gabriel said, then drained his bottle. He grabbed another one. Andre had yet to take a sip of his.
“It’s been five years since he passed. Almost six. You need to remember you still have one niece left and a sister-in-law. You need to get over yourself.”
The sliding door opened. They both turned. Andre’s mom. As fast as his dad seemed to be aging, she was somehow turning back the clock. She looked great.
“Andre, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have prepared something.” Which actually meant she would have ordered delivery or made reservations somewhere.
He rose and kissed her cheek. “Didn’t want to create work,” he said.
“What’s wrong with your dad?”
He turned to face him. He wore a scowl, accented by a flushed forehead and cheeks.
“I pissed him off. Again.”
“You didn’t piss me off,” Gabriel mumbled.
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