The Surfer Solution

by Cathy Yardley

  He sighed, and to her shock, he actually got into the small dressing room with her.

  “Hey!” she protested, scooting back... or at least trying to. The neoprene of her wet suit caught the floor, effectively sticking her there. “What do you think you’re—”

  He put his fingers on her lips, startling her into silence.

  “You and I need to have a little talk.”

  His tone was serious. He didn’t look threatening or lecherous. If anything, he sounded tired, or maybe concerned. His soul-searching eyes seemed to look right into her.

  “I’m a little underdressed for a serious conversation,” she said inanely, crossing her arms over her bikini top. Not that he was ogling. She just, well, she had serious conversations in her business suits. That was the whole point to wearing the things. To be taken seriously.

  She got the feeling this was going to be more than just surf instructions, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

  “Humor me,” he said. “Why do you need to learn how to relax?”

  She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, she really hadn’t. Now she sat up carefully, scooting to the other side of the

  dressing room, which was still close enough to feel his presence, mountainous and close. She surveyed him carefully. “It’s complicated.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just stared, waited.

  She took a deep breath—or at least, as deep a breath as she could. She could feel the frayed edges of panic, forced herself to stay at least a little calm. “Listen, it’s nothing. I’ve got a big presentation coming up. The biggest presentation of my career, I think. If I land it, I’ll be account supervisor by the time I’m thirty, which is what I’ve wanted since I was in college.”

  “You knew what you wanted that early?”

  She looked up at him, distracted by the interruption. “Of course. Why? Is that odd?”

  “No. Never mind,” he said, shaking his head, even though she could tell that he obviously thought that it was. She felt a little sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Well, of course, planning-type people probably seemed like freaks to dedicated, super-relaxed surfer types like Sean.

  “Please go on,” he said, and he looked like he was really interested. Like he had absolutely nothing better in the world to do than hear what was bothering her.

  “It’s nothing,” she muttered, staring at the floor, flustered. “I just...wanted to loosen up a little. Bring my A- game. That’s—”

  He leaned over, cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. His touch was incredibly gentle, the feel of the slight calluses on his fingertips a marked contrast to her own skin. She felt her breathing go shallow.

  “I shouldn’t have interrupted, and I don’t want you to think I was judging,” he said. “I’ve been worried about you since you walked through this door. And I know that there’s something you’re not telling me. I really do want to know what’s going on.” And he stroked her cheek, an almost unconscious gesture, before removing his touch from her completely. “I don’t think I can help you unless you’re honest with me.”

  Maybe it was because his voice was so comforting. Or maybe it was because nobody that she could recall had asked her really and truly what was wrong. For whatever reason, she found herself telling him everything. About the meeting, about the panic attack, about the emergency-room visit. His eyes had gone reassuringly wide at that point.

  “So the doctor advised that I had to go on meds, and I said I wouldn’t,” she told him, fearing the tears again and unconsciously wiping them with the back of her hand. Her makeup was probably a mess, but after this point, she’d already gotten as close to emotionally naked as she’d ever gotten, especially with a relative stranger in a dressing-room cubby, for God’s sake. A little ruined eyeliner between confidants hardly seemed worth stressing over.

  “Then they told you that you had to learn to relax without meds, huh?”

  “He suggested a hobby,” Allison said. “So, I’ve been busting my ass trying to find a hobby.”

  “Wow,” he said, and this time she wasn’t insulted. “I can see now why, well, why everything.”

  She waited for what he was going to say next. She prayed that it wasn’t going to be some previously unmentioned surf rule that crazy people couldn’t be trusted out in open water. She’d be forced to kill him. A jury of her type-A peers would definitely understand. Although her peers would figure out a way to get out of jury duty.

  Sean stood up, and smiled at her. He put out a hand, helping to her feet. He didn’t let go, just looked into her eyes until she felt her stomach go sugary. She smiled.

  Then he grabbed her ass.

  “Excuse me!” She started to shove him, and to her amazement, he blushed.

  “Sorry. That was a bit abrupt,” he said, and pointed instead to her wet suit. “I should’ve warned you. Getting a wet suit on the first time, especially dry, is probably one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. But trust me, you’ll get used to it.” He smiled at her, almost shyly. “And I’d suggest that you put some soap on, maybe, to help get it on before we go out in the water. Here, suck your breath in a little.”

  Like she’d taken a breath since he started talking! She sucked in a tiny bit more and held it, and he reached down. She barely felt the back of his hand before the suit went where it was supposed to, covering her butt with a small swwokkk noise.

  “Now put your arms in, and I’ll zip you up.”

  She did, and turned so he could pull the zipper up. “Snug, isn’t it?”

  “That’s the point. It’s winter, and you’ll be cold even with the suit on.” He nudged her back, and smiled more easily. “But you’ll find that out soon enough.”

  “Really?” She felt happiness pulse through her like sunshine. “And... after everything I’ve said, you’re still okay with teaching me?”

  “Are you kidding me?” He chucked her under the chin. “You need a hobby.”

  “Thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “Thank you thank you thank you...”

  He hugged her back, chuckling. She could feel it through her chest. Which brought up the fact that she was in his arms, in a tiny dressing room. With nothing but a few thin layers of neoprene and spandex between them.

  She backed away hard enough to hit the opposing wall. “Ouch. Oops. Sorry. It’s been an emotional day...”

  “No reasons needed,” he said. “I’ll give you some privacy, and I’ll get your stuff together—your board, all that.”

  She nodded, still smiling.

  He winked before he shut the door. “Oh, and I have to tell you: it’s going to take a little while for you to take that suit off. Consider it a learning experience.”

  She opened the door, stuck her tongue out at him, and shut it again.

  He was still going to teach her—despite her outbreak of emotion, despite her crying, despite everything. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt better than she had in years.

  So taking off the suit was going to be a little challenging. Learning surfing was going to be a little challenging.

  In her life, just a little challenging was a nice change.

       

  SEAN HEADED BACK to his new apartment. It was only about eight or so. He’d helped Allison get outfitted, and promised that he’d start teaching her tomorrow night—indoors. In her house, of all places, which she’d been surprised by. Then he’d gone out for a quick surf in the winter moonlight. It was bitterly cold, a real shock to the system, but after spending time with Allison, it was a welcome jolt.

  He got the feeling he was going to be going for a lot of night surfs if Allison was going to be his student.

  Allison. He closed his eyes for a second, picturing her sprawled out on the floor of the dressing room at Tubes, trying with desperate fury to tug on that wet suit. He laughed at the image. She never did anything by half measures. And he’d bet that she wouldn’t ask for help in any ordi
nary circumstances, even if she were on fire and he had an extinguisher.

  But she ’d asked tonight.

  The picture of her wet-suit shenanigans was eclipsed by the thought of her face, staring up at him, her velvety brown eyes wet with tears, and her normally tense face softened in a pleading expression, asking for his understanding.

  He shook his head as he walked up Mrs. Tilson’s driveway toward his new apartment. Despite Gabe’s good advice, there was no way he was going to abandon Allison now that he knew why she needed him.

  As he got closer to his apartment, he noticed two things. One, that he hadn’t turned the outside light on, and the stairs to his apartment over the garage were pretty dark. Two, that there, in the dark, were things on the stairs.

  “Sean! ’Bout time you came home, man!”

  Not just things, he realized. He was surrounded by Hoodlums.

  Sean closed his eyes again, this time in a plea for patience. “What, is the gang all here?” he asked as he began to make out faces in the dim light. Gabe and his wife, Charlotte, Gabe’s sister, Bella, and her husband, Brad, and the rest of his surf crew—Ryan, Mike and millionaire-turned-surf-bum Jack Landor. The Hoodlums was a pretty goofy name for grown men, but for whatever reason, it suited them. Especially when they pulled stunts like this. “To what do I owe this invasion?”

  Gabe cleared his throat. “Let’s say I activated the phone tree.”

  Sean made his way past everyone and unlocked his door, trying to contain his irritation. “Wish you hadn’t done that,” he murmured to Gabe.

  “You’re family,” Bella said with a tone of enthusiasm that Sean frankly hated. “Besides, brainstorming is right up my alley.”

  No, “butting in” is right up your alley, Sean mentally corrected, then felt instantly guilty. They really did mean well, even buttinsky Bella. “I appreciate it, but I just don’t think this is full phone-tree-emergency worthy, that’s all.”

  “You had to move, you might lose your job, and your whole life’s about to change...and that’s not worth a shout-out to your friends?” Jack asked, his tone implacable as usual. He was so laid-back, he made Sean look like Allison, Sean thought. It would probably take a class-five tornado to fluster the man.

  Sean sighed. “Well, when you put it that way...”

  He didn’t even try to stop them as they all filed into his apartment, which wasn’t tiny but certainly wasn’t quite big enough to accommodate all of them... at least, not with boxes and stuff in the way. He heard Charlotte let out a low whistle.

  “As long as we’re here, we might as well have an unpacking party,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “And talk as we work.”

  Sean sighed. Within moments, it seemed, there was a flurry of activity. Boxes were torn open, books were placed on shelves haphazardly. And everyone, it seemed, began talking at once.

  “So, first off, we have to figure out what you want to do,” Gabe said, grunting as he lifted a box of pots and pulled it into the tiny kitchen.

  “No,” Bella countered. “What we need to do first is figure out what he’s going to do short term, if he’s got to look for a new job.”

  “The thing is, Tubes doesn’t have to go under,” Sean replied. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it, and the problem is, Oz has just been cruising on autopilot for years. We haven’t made any improvements, haven’t done anything resembling marketing for years. We’ve had the same customers spread the word forever. Our rep is amazing.” He grinned. “Allison found out about us through somebody’s else’s web site. We’ve definitely got credibility.”

  The sudden quiet at the mention of Allison’s name made him realize, abruptly, he’d opened a completely different topic of discussion—one he didn’t want to touch. “So if Tubes just had its own Web site,” he continued hastily, “and maybe did some publicity...and if we repainted the place, spruced it up...”

  “Allison, huh?” Charlotte was grinning madly.

  Here we go. Sean took a deep breath. “She’s somebody I’m giving surf lessons to. You know, we could really expand our surf lessons, too, get some extra income that way as well as helping out new surfers. And we might need to—”

  “What’s Allison like?” This from Bella, who was absolutely insane for matchmaking.

  Before Sean could head her off at the pass, Ryan interjected, “She’s a babe. Very high class, though.” He shrugged when they all switched their attention to him. “Gabe, Mike and I met her on Friday. She stopped by.”

  “Really?” Bella’s voice was rich with speculation. “Stopped by your house, huh?”

  “It’s not like that,” Sean said sharply. “She got me this apartment, I’m teaching her to surf. That’s it. The woman who owns this place is her godmother. Or great-aunt. Or something.”

  “So why don’t you ask your landlady about Allison, then?” Bella persisted.

  “Because she scares the hell out of me,” Sean stated.

  “Bull,” Mike said, laughing. “Nothing scares you, man.”

  “You haven’t met her,” Sean replied. “You don’t even want to know what it was like to interview for this place. And yes, I mean interview.” He shook his head. “Thought I was going to need to give a blood sample, I swear to God.”

  “What sort of lease did you sign, Sean?” Charlotte suddenly asked, frowning. “Because when you get a new job, who knows where you’ll be. You might move to another city or something.”

  “Another city?” Sean felt a ball of ice form in the pit of his stomach. He’d moved plenty before his mother had settled him and his sister in Redondo Beach. “I’ve lived in the South Bay almost all my life. Why would I want to move?”

  “Because you’ve lived in the South Bay almost all your life?” Jack suggested gently, with an easy smile. “You never know. You might want to move to Hawaii, or Sydney. Or someplace else with really choice waves.”

  “And really choice babes,” Mike put in, causing Ryan to laugh.

  Sean sat down on the futon couch that was finally free of boxes. “I’ve got plenty of choice waves here.”

  “The babe in your life right now is pretty choice, too,” Ryan pointed out. “Although if you don’t want her...”

  Sean’s attention snapped to Ryan. “What?”

  “Hey, I’m just saying, if you’re not signaling this wave, I’d love to have a ride.”

  Sean was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, his blood boiling.

  Ryan grinned. “I love doing that. If you’re going to keep saying she’s just a student, you’re so full of crap, pal.”

  The rest of the group broke into loud laughter. Sean immediately felt sheepish—and set up. He’d need to think about this.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “What, did you guys photocopy flyers for this party, or what?” Disgruntled, embarrassed that Ryan had trapped him into thinking about Allison that way, he quickly opened the door.

  Mrs. Tilson stood there, wearing a very prim charcoal suit and a string of pearls. She looked like she was visiting a lawyer, not calling on a tenant.

  “I don’t know if I made it clear when I allowed you to move in here,” she said, and her voice could have cut glass, “but I’m making it clear now. I will not allow you to have wild parties in this unit. You will keep the noise down to an acceptable level at all times. Especially after dark. Am I understood?”

  Sean looked over at his friends, who had fallen quiet and were now looking at each other with expressions of chagrin.

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Tilson,” Sean said, pretty much meaning it, although he hadn’t felt quite this foolish in one night since he was fifteen or so. “This wasn’t a party, it was just my friends helping me to unpack.”

  “Well, if your friends keep up this ruckus,” she warned, “they’re just going to have to help you pack up again.”

  He nodded, feeling anger and humiliation bum.

  “And I don’t care how cute your ‘ass’ is,” she said. “I mean it.
Good night, Mr. Gilroy.”

  Now humiliation made way for a burning blush. “’Night, Mrs. Tilson.”

  He closed the door behind her, and then paused for a moment, not wanting to turn around and face the rest of the Hoodlums. When he finally did, it was as he expected—they were all staring at him.

  Charlotte was the first one to laugh. Pretty soon, every single one of them was laughing hysterically...and trying equally hard trying not to make a sound. They were all turning purple with the exertion. Bella had actually stuffed her head in a pillow.

  Jack, for the first time Sean could remember, looked shocked. “That woman looked eighty if she were a day.”

  “Eighty-four, actually,” Sean said.

  “And... she thinks you have a cute ass?” Jack asked, bewildered.

  “It’s a long story,” Sean said, “which unfortunately, I can’t share with you right this second. Thanks for helping me unpack, gang, but it looks like this party’s over.”

  Gabe wiped at the tears of laughter in the comers of his eyes. “Well, we’re not giving up on this, pal. You do need to find a new job...and maybe a new place to live. And when you do,” he added, grinning, “we are going to have one hell of a party. Who knows? Maybe your next landlady will be some hot woman who actually lets the cuteness of your ass sway her judgment.”

  Sean smiled uncomfortably as they all exited, chuckling.

  The problem was, he didn’t want to change jobs. He didn’t want to leave Manhattan Beach. He thought of Allison. Especially not now.

  But the bottom line was, everybody else seemed to know something that he didn’t: that he ought to give up hope and move on when it came to Tubes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “TRY IT AGAIN.”

  Allison gritted her teeth. She was lying on the carpet in her living room, with an outline of a “surfboard” made out of string lying in front of her. She felt a little ridiculous, but compared to the great pottery debacle, this was a walk in the park. She focused, crawling forward a little, and jumped up.