California Summer

by Anita Hughes

  “All of a sudden I can’t think of a thing.” Rosie groaned as Josh spread her legs and rolled on top of her.

  * * *

  “I’m starving.” Rosie sighed. They had both dozed off, pressed against each other like kittens. It was dark outside, and a light fog trickled in through the window.

  “Let’s see what we have in the kitchen.” Josh stood up and reached for his shirt.

  “Isn’t that a little formal for eating out of the fridge?” Rosie waved at the striped blazer and pleated slacks.

  “You’re right.” He walked to the dresser and took out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “But what about you, I don’t want you to get anything on that dress.”

  “I can stay naked or you can lend me a t-shirt and sweats,” Rosie suggested.

  “Naked is tempting,” Josh flirted. “But a little distracting in the kitchen.”

  He tossed her a t-shirt and sweatpants. “Let’s go, before I eat a whole box of Cocoa Puffs.”

  Rosie slipped on the sweatpants and followed him to the hallway. “Cocoa Puffs sounds a lot better than French onion soup and spinach soufflé.”

  * * *

  They assembled turkey and Swiss cheese and avocado. Josh chopped onions and sliced tomatoes. Rosie spread mayonnaise on bread and found a packet of chips and some salsa.

  “I can’t believe you eat white bread!” she exclaimed when they sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

  “When I was I kid I’d bike over after school.” Josh bit into the sandwich. “My grandmother made me the same sandwich every day: white bread, processed turkey, and American cheese.”

  “At least she didn’t feed you SPAM.” Rosie grimaced. “My brother lived on SPAM when we were teenagers.”

  “I’d wolf down the sandwich and head to the beach.” Josh wiped his mouth. “I kept a surfboard hidden in her garage.”

  “Your mother didn’t know you surfed?” she asked.

  “She thought it was dangerous.” He shrugged. “She’d show me articles about shark attacks and guys getting concussions from their surfboards.”

  “I knew you were a rebel.” Rosie grinned.

  “I was in love with the ocean.” Josh put down his sandwich. “It’s like believing in God; I couldn’t fight it.”

  “Your place is so homey.” Rosie glanced at the bread box on the counter. The counter was orange Formica and there was a welcome mat at the back door.

  “You mean it’s different from the places in LA. Everyone has a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows or a mansion with miles of Italian marble,” Josh commented.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Rosie said hurriedly. “I like your house, it’s warm and friendly.”

  “It may not be a four-acre estate with a tennis court and a swimming pool like the Pullmans’ but it has everything I need: a garage to restore cars and a hose in the garden to wash off sand from the beach and a closet for my wet suits,” Josh replied.

  “You forgot what else it has,” Rosie said, eating turkey and cheese and mayonnaise.

  “What’s that?” he asked, wiping mayo from his mouth.

  “A bed with a very firm mattress.”

  “I hadn’t really appreciated it before, but you’re right.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Maybe we should try it again, just to make sure it’s still firm.”

  “That’s a great idea.” She kissed him back. “But first I need a glass of milk to go with this sandwich.”

  * * *

  Rosie and Josh sat at a booth in Sam’s Shake Shack, sharing a banana split. It was late and the shop was almost empty; a couple of teenagers held hands in the booth next to them. Rosie nibbled walnuts and watched Josh’s face as he talked. She loved the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

  After they finished eating their sandwiches and made love again, they walked along the beach, bundled up in Josh’s fisherman sweaters. They talked about the grand opening of Rosie’s Fish Tacos that was in five days and Estelle’s Irish setters.

  “I love big dogs,” Rosie said and dug her toes in the sand. “I’ve always wanted an Old English sheepdog or a collie. Some breed that you have to spend your whole life grooming.”

  “We had two Afghan hounds when I was a kid.” Josh twined his fingers around Rosie’s. “They had more hair than most of my mother’s friends. When they stood on their hind legs they looked like women in fur coats.”

  “I’ve never seen an Afghan hound.” Rosie wanted to ask Josh more about his parents, but she was afraid the smile on his face would disappear.

  “I like dogs but I’m not very fond of cats,” Josh admitted. “They look at you as if they know everything.”

  “I completely agree,” Rosie murmured. She tucked her arm in his and the future seemed as bright as the stars in the night sky.

  * * *

  “The Concours d’Elegance is the most important car event in the world,” Josh said now, sitting across from her at the Shake Shack. He ate a spoonful of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. “People come from everywhere: princes from Europe, lords from England, bankers from New York. The cars drive up 17-Mile Drive—it’s one of the most dramatic spots on the coast. It’s always foggy and the waves crash right below you; it feels like you are on an ocean liner.

  “Then they have this crazy, formal reception in Pebble Beach. It makes a Hollywood premiere look like burgers at Johnny Rockets. There are sautéed prawns and beluga caviar and whole tents of prime rib and salads and desserts. I try not to eat for a week beforehand.” Josh grinned. “I want to sample everything.

  “After cocktails people make the rounds of the other tents, looking at the classic cars. Lamborghinis and vintage Jaguars and Bugattis. It’s like walking into the pyramids and discovering the tomb of some ancient pharaoh.” Josh paused and ate a bite of banana and whipped cream.

  “The dinner is served by waiters in white jackets: seven courses paired with the finest wines. The organizers want everyone to get a little drunk so when the auction starts they bid high.” Josh’s eyes sparkled. “This year my MG is going to be there. She’s going to be the belle of the ball.”

  “It sounds amazing.” Rosie licked chocolate syrup from her spoon.

  “Maybe you can come with me,” he suggested. “As long as you don’t wear that purple mini.”

  “Jennifer Lawrence has that dress!” she exclaimed, scooping up nuts and ice cream and bananas.

  Josh reached over and kissed Rosie’s lips. “I bet Jennifer Lawrence doesn’t look as good in a t-shirt and sweats.”

  Ten

  “I wish we could be there for the opening of Rosie’s Fish Tacos,” Angelica’s voice came over the phone. “Dirk and I are having dinner with an executive from Bravo. They’re making a reality show about a British movie star falling in love with an American actress; maybe they’ll choose us!”

  “As long as they don’t check Dirk’s passport to see if he’s really British,” Rosie said out loud, pressing the mute button.

  “I ran into Colby Young at Whole Foods,” Angelica continued. “He is so sweet: he wrote my parents a thank-you card for the party. He asked when your fish taco store is opening.”

  “He remembered?” Rosie balanced the phone on her shoulder while she wiped the counter for the tenth time.

  “He’s crazy about fish tacos,” Angelica replied. “I told him the grand opening is Saturday, and he said he’d try to drive up the coast. He was with his manager, Ryan Addams. I think Ryan is sweet on you. When Colby mentioned your name, Ryan nudged Colby in the ribs.”

  “I met Ryan at the Fourth of July party,” Rosie recalled. “They were talking to Ben and Mary Beth. Ben and Mary Beth probably told him terrible things about me, like I was an axe murderer or just spent a month in rehab.”

  “You’re being paranoid. Ryan had a starry look in his eyes,” Angelica insisted. “I think he’s sexy in an earnest Hollywood-exec way. He reminds me of those other cute Ryans: Ryan Seacrest and Ryan Gosling. It must be something in the
name.”

  “I have to prepare a hundred tortillas, sauté ten pounds of cod, and make twenty pounds of guacamole.” Rosie glanced at her watch.

  “You’re going to sell out in the first hour.” Angelica blew kisses into the phone.

  Rosie hung up, feeling guilty she hadn’t told Angelica about Josh. But Angelica would have told everyone she met at the Coffee Company and Whole Foods. Their romance was too young to be turned into instant Hollywood gossip.

  In two hours the store would open and Rosie’s first customers would walk through the door. The past five days she had worked feverishly: timing herself until she could prepare a taco in three minutes, passing out “buy one get one free” flyers, and stopping by every store on East Village Road to invite shopkeepers to a post-opening party at the Pullman estate.

  * * *

  “It’s not a movie premiere or a book launch.” Rosie frowned when Estelle suggested holding a grand-opening party. They were in the Pullmans’ kitchen and Estelle wore her gardening slacks and a wide straw hat.

  “What better way to build local support than to host a soirée!” Estelle sipped a cup of Earl Grey tea and nibbled a macaron.

  “Mrs. Pullman is having her annual post Fourth of July letdown,” Morris groaned, polishing silverware at the kitchen table.

  “If I am, there couldn’t be a better cure than holding a party.” Estelle finished her tea and placed the cup in the sink. “We’ll serve sangria and Peg’s Mexican chocolate cream pie. I’ll buy chocolate fruit cupcakes from your friend Rachel, and we’ll have centerpieces of my peach-colored roses.”

  * * *

  “It is a good idea,” Josh agreed when Rosie told him about Estelle’s plan to have a party. She brought him a plate of macarons and sat in the garage while he tuned Oscar’s 1969 BMW. “If you get the support of other business owners, you’ll have a terrific start.”

  Rosie watched Josh work and felt the familiar sexual tug. Since their dinner date, they had been inseparable. Rosie rose early so she could meet Josh at Butterfly Beach. She ran the length of the beach while he surfed. Then they ate scrambled eggs at the Village Diner or grabbed smoothies and bagels from the Orange Juice.

  In the evening they shared deli sandwiches and Josh worked on Oscar’s cars while Rosie checked her to-do list. Late at night, they crept to Rosie’s cottage and sank under the down comforter. After they made love Josh kissed her forehead and quietly got dressed. In the morning, she found his imprint on the pillow.

  * * *

  Now Rosie tied her apron around her waist and glanced around the fish taco shop. Estelle had stopped by early in the morning with a vase of roses. Morris presented Rosie with a painting of a girl perched on a surfboard, drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola. Josh brought her a cup of milky coffee and promised he’d return in the afternoon with a pack of hungry surfers.

  Rosie turned on the stove and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. What if she had invested all her money in the shop and it sank like an albatross. She was surrounded by people who believed in her: Estelle, Morris, Rachel, Josh. What if she had been coasting on Ben’s genius for ten years and alone she was a failure?

  She remembered when she and Ben took their movie to Sundance. The day they arrived in Park City they strolled down Main Street and ate truffle mac and cheese at Robert Redford’s restaurant, Zoom, and even attended an after-party at O.P. Rockwell, where they drank craft whiskies and tried not to gape at James Franco and Keira Knightley.

  But on the night of their movie’s screening, Ben was suddenly too nervous to leave the hotel room. He sat hunched on the bed, flipping through the program and drinking cups of stale coffee.

  “You haven’t showered yet.” Rosie opened the door.

  She had gone out to buy a pair of stockings, and when she returned Ben was still sitting on the bed. They had spent almost their entire savings on the trip and their room was the cheapest in Park City. The bed filled the entire space and there was a space heater and a chipped mini fridge.

  “I didn’t realize so many films were scheduled at the same time.” Ben waved the program. “What if no one comes to the screening?”

  “Of course people will come.” Rosie sat cross-legged next to him. “It’s the best film you’ve done.”

  “I know that and you know that, but it’s being shown at the same time as films by Sofia Coppola and Paul Rudd.” He sighed. “We’ll go back to LA without a buyer and never afford to make another film.”

  The vintage Pucci dress she had saved up for was hanging over the shower. She slipped it on and hurried out of the room.

  Rosie sat in the lobby bar of the Waldorf Astoria and fiddled with a glass of water. It was where all the A-list actors and producers stayed, and there was that incredible buzz of money and power and fame. Ron Howard and Brian Grazer of Imagine Entertainment sat in one corner, and she was sure she had seen Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson.

  Her hands were clammy and she wondered if this was going to work. But then she pictured Ben sitting on the bed like a boy who was afraid to ride the school bus because no one would talk to him and picked up her phone.

  “Please tell Mr. Cameron that’s a very generous offer, but Mr. Ford can’t make any decisions until after the screening,” she said loudly into the receiver. “I did see how many zeros were in the offer but that doesn’t change his mind. And no, I can’t reveal the identities of the other potential buyers,” she said with a little laugh. “Surely Mr. Cameron knows how important discretion is in Hollywood.” Rosie glanced around to make sure people were listening. “Mr. Ford will make his decision after the screening tonight. He’ll be at Ben Affleck’s party at the Riverhorse on Main. Please thank Mr. Cameron for the champagne and caviar he sent over, it was very thoughtful.”

  Rosie pressed end and wondered if she had gone overboard with the champagne. Would James Cameron send champagne to an unknown director because he wanted to buy his film? It was too late now. All she had to do was get Ben to put on his suit and go to the screening of his own film.

  * * *

  “Did you hear the audience when the final credits came up?” Ben asked. It was almost two a.m. and they were finally walking back to their room. It had been an incredible night. The screening was packed and Rosie had recognized Barry Levinson and Javier Bardem. When the lights came on, Ben got a standing ovation and people flocked around him for his autograph.

  “It felt like doing an endless loop on Space Mountain at Disneyland. And the after-party was insane.” He turned to Rosie. “That was us, Rosie, talking to George Clooney. And I’m pretty sure Imagine Entertainment is making an offer. Brian Grazer said we would hear from them in the morning.” He paused. “Brian did say something strange. He asked if James Cameron really sent over champagne; he only does that with the hottest new directors. I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

  “I may have let it drop that James Cameron was making an offer,” Rosie said casually.

  “You did what?” he asked.

  “You were afraid that no one would come,” she answered. “I ran down to the Waldorf Astoria and pretended I was taking a call from James Cameron’s assistant.”

  Ben wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

  “You’re amazing, Rosie,” he said when they parted. “I’m nothing without you.”

  “It’s the film that is amazing,” she said, and her smile was as wide as the mountains. “I just made sure everyone would come and see for themselves.”

  * * *

  But now she was selling her own fish tacos and what if no one liked them? Rosie dribbled olive oil onto a skillet and inhaled the pungent fish smell. She sliced tomatoes and shredded heads of lettuce. She added more cottage cheese to the guacamole, the tension rolling off her shoulders. The next time she glanced at the clock an hour had passed and she felt excited and ready. She washed her hands and stood at the front door.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to throw up a ‘gone fishing’ sign and quit before it’s too
late?” Rachel appeared at the door holding a paper bag. “This is for you.”

  Rosie took out a golden horseshoe and turned it over. She looked at Rachel and was puzzled. “What’s this?”

  “It’s an old Jewish tradition,” Rachel explained. “You put it over the door and it brings good luck to all who enter.”

  “Aren’t you talking about a mezuzah?” Rosie asked.

  “I’m trying to make my traditions more universal.” Rachel sighed and walked into the store. “There’s no reason why Catholics and Jews shouldn’t share the same ideals.”

  “Is this about the meeting with Patrick’s grandmother?” Rosie asked. “Did she grill you about whether you eat kosher and celebrate Hanukkah?”

  “Not quite, but she did ask what I thought of the names Christian and Mary,” Rachel groaned. “Then she made me promise if Patrick and I got married I would not have our son circumcised.”

  “You just started dating.” Rosie smiled.

  “I felt like I was making a pact with the devil.” Rachel sat on a stool at the window. “She was about to make Patrick pull his pants down so I could see the lovely foreskin on his penis.”

  “I’m trying not to picture that,” Rosie giggled and closed her eyes.

  “He does have a lovely penis,” Rachel mused. “But not displayed over tea and scones with his grandmother.”

  “Is it bad to feel sick to your stomach at the opening of your own store?” Rosie sat on the stool next to Rachel. Her eyes scanned the counter and she admired the old-fashioned napkin holders and the bottles of salsa.

  “When I opened Gold’s Chocolates my hands were so sweaty, the chocolate melted before I could ring it up,” Rachel recalled. “The store looks great. I love the roses and the advertisement for Coca-Cola.”

  “Morris said it was ‘retro-chic,’” Rosie said. “I don’t even sell Coke or 7Up, but it was sweet of him to bring a gift.”

  “You’ve got a great team behind you.” Rachel nodded. “How are things with Josh?”

  “We’ve been together every day this week,” Rosie said slowly. “But I’m still afraid he’s going to wake up and realize he can’t do this.”