California Summer

by Anita Hughes

  “It’s to your left.” The valet pointed towards the beach. “Just follow the path and you can’t miss it.”

  The whole coastline lay before her and the Channel Islands were like sparkling emeralds. There was a long, low building with sliding glass doors and art deco furniture. The floor was blue and gold tile and there was an oak bar and a sitting area with potted plants. Waiters in white jackets carried silver trays and there were vases filled with tropical flowers.

  She ventured out to the pool and shielded her eyes. Ben sat at a round table and she almost forgot how handsome he was. Sunglasses were perched on his forehead and he wore a sports shirt. He waved and she walked uncertainly towards him.

  “Rosie, it’s good to see you.” He stood up and kissed her on the cheek. “You look beautiful. You’re all tan and fit; being in Montecito agrees with you.”

  “Thank you,” Rosie answered, wondering if she should be pleased. Was Ben giving her a compliment or was he implying she didn’t belong in LA?

  “Isn’t it incredible.” Ben waved at the Olympic-sized swimming pool and white cabanas. “Can you believe you and I are sitting by the pool at the Coral Casino? I’ve already seen Sean Penn and Channing Tatum. And I swear that was Damien Chazelle in the changing room. I didn’t say anything in case I was wrong, but I wanted to shake his hand and say La La Land is one of the best movies I’ve seen.”

  Rosie sipped a glass of ice water and blinked into the sun. It would be so easy to slip into their old habits and talk about everything: who was the hottest director in Hollywood and which were the films to watch before next year’s Academy Awards.

  “It’s lovely here,” she agreed. “I’m glad I came.”

  “I ordered for both of us, I hope you don’t mind,” he said as the waiter set down two platters. “Most of the dishes are to share and you know how I get when I’m hungry, I start forgetting my own name.”

  “It all looks delicious.” Rosie nodded and noticed Ben had ordered her favorite dishes: house-made quesadillas and burgers with Monterey Jack cheese and applewood bacon and avocado. There was a chicken salad and mahimahi tacos with tahini and cherry tomatoes.

  “You really do look wonderful,” Ben said approvingly, eating a bite of his quesadilla. “And you’ve been so productive. I thought you’d come up here and learn to play tennis and instead you’re about to become a fish taco mogul.”

  “Hardly.” Rosie laughed. “I’m opening a little store in town.”

  “Estelle said you had a secret recipe and I tried your tacos at the party. They were amazing,” he complimented her. “Mary Beth and I drove by the shop; it’s in a prime location in the village.”

  “You drove by my store?” Rosie felt flattered and strangely unsettled at the same time. As if Ben and Mary Beth had peeked in the cottage window when she was taking a bath.

  “The shop looks terrific.” He nodded, wiping salsa from his mouth. “In fact, I brought you this.” He reached down and put a briefcase on the table.

  Rosie glanced at the crocodile skin and gold clasp and wondered if it was a present from Mary Beth. They had seen that briefcase in the Asprey catalog and Ben laughed it was the price of his first car.

  “What’s this?” she asked when he handed her a neatly clipped stack of papers.

  “I had a lawyer draw it up. Even though you started the fish taco shop with funds from our joint account, it says I don’t receive any monies from the profits,” he said and his smile was boyish. “It’s all yours, Rosie. You deserve it.”

  “I don’t know if it’s going to earn anything yet,” Rosie said. “But, thank you.”

  “And you can sign this at the same time.” He dug into the briefcase and handed her a paper.

  Rosie scanned it quickly and looked up. “What’s this? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s standard industry language,” he explained. “You release any claim to intellectual property that might be used by MB&B Productions. Not that you ever would, but say MB&B Productions develops a project that you think is similar to an idea we had together. It keeps it simple so there’s no misunderstandings.”

  The date on the paper danced before her eyes and she gasped. The sun seemed too bright and the sound of people splashing in the pool was deafening.

  “This is why you wanted to come up and see me.” She waved the paper in front of him. “Not because you wanted to get back together, because you wanted to be sure I didn’t interfere with your new venture.”

  “Relax, Rosie, it’s not a big deal.” He sipped his water. “When we started out we were so young we didn’t put anything in writing. But we’re grown-ups now and we’re talking about big percentages. It makes sense to have a contract.”

  “You lied to me about having a woman in our bed and you lied about wanting to come up here to see me and you lied about looking for me at the party,” she retorted. “You even lied to Mary Beth about liking Schnabel. Who knows how long you’ve been lying. Maybe you never loved me at all.”

  “You’re being unreasonable. I have to think about Mary Beth too; she’s putting all her resources into our new projects.” He looked at Rosie pleadingly. “You and I have just outgrown each other, it’s no one’s fault. Of course I loved you, and I’m so grateful for our time together. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  “I don’t want to hear about what I did for your career.” Her cheeks flushed. “I want you to say you couldn’t live without me. But I guess I was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosie.” His voice softened. “You didn’t just make me a good director, you made me a good person. But I can’t pretend to have feelings if they aren’t there anymore. I hope we can still be friends.”

  Rosie looked at Ben’s designer sunglasses and leather watchband and wondered how she could have imagined they still had a future together.

  “I have plenty of friends.” She scribbled her name on the paper. “Good luck with Mary Beth, you belong together. I don’t want to see you again.”

  She stumbled past a woman in a floppy hat who she was positive was Cameron Diaz, and made a beeline for the entrance of the Four Seasons. It wasn’t until the valet had delivered her car and she drove out of the circular driveway that her legs stopped trembling. Then she headed inland towards the Pullmans’ estate and the air finally left her lungs.

  * * *

  It was midafternoon by the time Rosie got back to the house, and all the guests had left. Rosie jumped out of the car when she reached the house and found Estelle in the rose garden, kneeling in the dirt. She had changed into yellow capris and a broad straw hat. She was patting seeds into the ground and talking in a calm, coaxing voice.

  “Am I interrupting?” Rosie asked.

  “I always talk to my new roses when I plant them.” Estelle squinted up at Rosie. “I want them to feel loved.”

  “I can come back another time.” Rosie hesitated.

  “Morris left me a pitcher of iced tea.” Estelle pointed to a tray sitting on the lawn. “Come join me. We missed you at brunch today. Everyone was raving about your fish tacos at the party.”

  “I had somewhere to go.” Rosie poured a glass of iced tea. “Ben called and invited me to brunch at the Four Seasons.”

  “Ben? At the Biltmore?” Estelle repeated.

  “Mary Beth went back to Los Angeles this morning but Ben said he wasn’t leaving until tonight,” she continued. “I thought I should go and see what he wanted to talk about.”

  “You mean find out if he wanted to get back together?” Estelle prompted.

  “Not exactly.” Rosie shielded her eyes from the sun. “Mary Beth was rude to me last night and Ben practically ignored me. I don’t know what I wanted, I just thought I should see him.”

  “What happened?” Estelle took off her gardening gloves.

  “We ate at the Coral Casino. I’ve always wanted to go there and at first it seemed so easy. Ben ordered my favorite foods and we talked about actors and directors. Then he handed me a signed paper that he do
esn’t get any profits from the fish taco company even though I started it with money from our joint account.”

  “That’s thoughtful of him.” Estelle nodded approvingly.

  “It was to appease me!” The anger welled up inside her. “He wanted me to sign a paper that said I give up rights to any intellectual property that might be developed by his new production company. The paper was dated three weeks ago. The only reason he came to the Fourth of July party is so I would sign it. He was afraid I’d sue him for the profits of any upcoming movie!”

  “Oh, Rosie,” Estelle breathed. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”

  “He told me he was coming to the party to listen to what I had to say.” She gulped. “But the only thing he wanted to hear was me saying he and Mary Beth could do whatever they liked. I told him I never want to see him again.”

  “That is dramatic.” Estelle nodded. “How do you feel?”

  “At first I couldn’t get air in my lungs but the closer I got to the cottage, the better I felt. I love Montecito and the fish taco store, but there’s something else. Something I need your advice with.”

  “I’m listening.” Estelle leaned forward.

  “Josh kissed me at the party last night and it was lovely,” Rosie began. “But then I said something and he thought I was still missing Ben. I don’t know what to do now.”

  “Tell him the truth, that you had brunch with Ben and it’s over.”

  “What if he thinks he’s just a rebound,” she wondered. “I enjoy being with him and I don’t want it to stop.”

  “Hmmm, men can be sensitive, just like my roses.” She stroked a yellow rose. “I know, invite him to dinner.”

  “You want me to ask Josh on a date?” Rosie asked.

  “It’s the twenty-first century, it happens all the time.” Estelle chuckled. “Tell him he can pick the restaurant, that will appease his male ego.”

  “I suppose I could.” Rosie ran her fingers over her glass.

  “Do it today while the kiss is still fresh in his mind,” she counseled. “After all, what do you have to lose?”

  * * *

  Rosie hurried across the lawn and noticed a male figure standing in front of the garage. She walked closer and realized it was Josh.

  “I was looking for you earlier,” Josh said. “You weren’t at brunch.”

  “Ben called and asked me to meet him at the Biltmore.” Rosie gulped. She had to be completely honest with Josh or they didn’t have any chance at all.

  “And you went?” Josh stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “I had to.” Rosie looked at Josh. “He wanted me to sign some legal documents relinquishing any claim to his new production company. It’s over. I told him I don’t want to see him again.”

  “I see,” Josh said, and his shoulders relaxed.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner,” Rosie continued before she lost her nerve. “I’m sure you’re busy clearing up after the party but maybe tomorrow night.”

  “You’re asking me on a date?” Josh’s eyes widened.

  “It’s the twenty-first century, I hear it’s done all the time,” Rosie bantered.

  “I’m free tomorrow night.” Josh nodded. “On one condition, I pick the restaurant.”

  “It’s a deal.” Rosie grinned and thought Estelle should start a dating service. “Why don’t you pick me up at the taco shop after work?”

  * * *

  Rosie stood behind the counter of the fish taco store and waited for Josh. The last few hours she had spent glancing at her watch, checking her hair in the mirror, applying another layer of lip gloss.

  She couldn’t remember feeling this nervous about a date since she went to the movies with Peter Harper in the eighth grade. Then she devoured Seventeen magazine, reading what to do if he put his arm around her, or worse, what to do if he didn’t. She didn’t feel much different now. What if they ran out of things to talk about or what if Josh didn’t kiss her again?

  The bell tinkled and Josh appeared at the door wearing navy pleated slacks and a striped blazer. His shoes were black and shiny and his hair was neatly combed. Rosie wanted to giggle and tell him he looked like he was going to church, but he seemed so serious she kept silent.

  “Hi.” He pecked her on the lips. “You look lovely.”

  “Thanks.” Rosie had tried on every cotton dress she owned, but none of them seemed right for an intimate dinner. She finally chose a purple dress she used to wear to cocktail parties and hoped it didn’t scream “Hollywood.”

  “I thought we’d take my car.” Josh ran his hands through his hair. “We’ll drop off my surfboard at my place first.

  “My boss recommended the restaurant,” Josh said, opening the door of his hatchback. “I hope you like French cuisine.”

  “As long as we don’t eat escargots.” Rosie slid into the passenger seat. “I can’t swallow them without picturing the snails in our garden.”

  “Why don’t you come inside for a minute.” Josh pulled up in front of a ranch-style house a few blocks from the beach. “I’ll put the surfboard in the garage.”

  Josh had never talked about his house and she didn’t know what to expect. It was a low ranch-style house painted yellow and surrounded by a picket fence. The front door had a brass knocker and the windows were covered in shutters.

  The entry was narrow, with a low table covered with envelopes. Rosie walked farther into the living room. The floors were dark wood and the walls were painted yellow. There were leather sofas and a brown rug that stretched across the room. Rosie walked to the back door and found a small patch of lawn and a fountain.

  “Your house is so … nice,” Rosie murmured.

  “You thought I lived in one room that smelled of pizza and stale beer?” Josh came in the garage door.

  “I didn’t really think,” Rosie admitted.

  “It was my grandmother’s,” Josh said. “I’ve added a few things: the leather sofas, the flat-screen TV. I installed the fountain; it sounds like the surf at night.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Rosie asked.

  “Five years,” Josh said. “It’s perfect for me. It’s close to the beach and there’s enough space for my baby.”

  “Your baby!” Rosie repeated.

  “C’mon.” Josh took her hand. “I’ll show you.”

  Rosie followed Josh to the garage. His hand felt warm and familiar. She felt the prickle of excitement of their skin touching and remembered kissing in the Bentley.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Josh flicked on the overhead light.

  There was a fire engine–red convertible with a maple dashboard and bucket seats. The hood was open, revealing a gleaming silver engine. The steering wheel was polished maple and there was an old-fashioned glove box.

  “It’s a 1952 MG roadster.” Josh ran his hands over the paint. “Many collectors consider it the perfect British sports car. I rebuilt it from scratch.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Rosie breathed, noticing the spoke wheels and the silver MG emblem on the hood.

  “I’m going to sell it at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in August.” Josh got into the driver’s seat. “If I get a good price, I’ll have enough to buy the Classic Car Showroom. Hop in, the seats fit like a glove.”

  Rosie sat in the passenger seat and admired the rounded gearshift. Josh pointed out the analog clock and the antique pedometer. Rosie looked at his face: open, animated, and suddenly she wanted him more than anything. She reached over and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  Josh kissed her back and whispered, “We could stay here for a while. I’ll show you the kitchen and the bedroom. The reservation isn’t until eight p.m.; French restaurants always serve late.”

  Josh led Rosie through the house into the bedroom. There was a potted plant and a chipped dresser. He turned to her and pulled her gently towards him.

  “Come here,” Josh breathed. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
>
  “I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she said and ran her fingers over his shirt.

  He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. His shoulders were broad and his chest had a deep tan.

  “Are you sure this isn’t too soon?” he asked. “We can wait.”

  “Perfectly sure.” She unzipped her dress and it fell to the floor. He scooped her up and lowered her onto the bed.

  “I’m falling for you, Rosie,” he breathed, kissing her neck and her breasts.

  “I’m falling for you too,” she gulped, her body twisting under his.

  He lowered himself into her, and Rosie clung to his back, her body opening and blooming. His chest was smooth against her breasts and he moved faster, burying his mouth in her hair. She came first, the liquid warmth enveloping her. Josh moaned and rolled onto the mattress.

  “We’re going to miss our dinner reservation after all,” he said finally, glancing at the clock on the dresser.

  “Confession time: I secretly hate French food,” she admitted guiltily. “One of the producers, Adam Stein, adores French food. Every time we went to dinner it was fondue or soufflé or duck l’orange.” Rosie tucked her body against his. “French restaurants are always the same. The waiters are pretentious and the chefs use too much butter.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” he asked. “I wanted to take you somewhere special, the kind of dinner you’re used to.”

  “I didn’t want to spoil it,” she said and smiled. “It was so sweet of you to make the reservation. And you looked as nervous as if you were on a job interview.”

  “You looked like you were going to a movie premiere.” Josh pointed to the purple mini tossed on the floor.

  “I didn’t have anything else to wear,” Rosie countered. “I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

  “We can go to Sam’s Shake Shack,” he suggested. “And have burgers and milk shakes.”

  “Why don’t we stay here.” Rosie reached forward and kissed him.

  “I could rustle up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” He kissed her back.

  “I’m not in the mood for peanut butter,” she gulped.

  “What are you in the mood for?” he whispered, his fingers stroking her nipples.