by Gary Jonas
Then I went for my morning … well … afternoon walk. I’d missed it yesterday, but most days I liked to take a nice leisurely stroll along the beach. I walked out to the water and waded in about knee-deep. Then I trudged along toward the jetty. Waves splashed around me and the water shifted from colder to warmer every few steps as the currents shifted.
I had to come out of the water to go around the jetty. Too many riptides for swimmers and waders to deal with there. So I walked over the little ridge built with railroad ties and covered with sand. The jetty itself had been built with big stones. People fished from the end.
No Swimming signs hung on white twine with orange pennants flapping in the soft breeze to mark off the dangerous area.
Beyond the markers, I moved back into the water and continued toward Pleasure Pier with the amusement park rides keeping tourists entertained. It was a ways off, and I rarely walked that far. My plan was to go to the next jetty then turn around and walk back. It was my time to think. I called it my hour of power.
Families combed the beach for seashells and other gifts from the Gulf. The real treasure hunters came in the early morning hours, but kids were happy with any shells or unearthing a hermit crab.
The water felt good as the sun beat down on my shoulders. The waves were gentle that afternoon, eternally rolling in and out to lap on the shore. A large Caterpillar excavator sat in the sand near the seawall.
As I trudged along, I noticed a lovely young woman heading toward me, also wading through the water. She stared down at the sea foam as she walked. Her long brown hair cascaded over her tanned shoulders. She wore shorts and a sleeveless blouse. A pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head, and she carried a pair of sandals in one hand.
She nearly ran into me, but I put out my hands and caught her shoulders so I could go around her.
“Oh, sorry,” she said.
“No worries,” I said, letting her go.
“I should watch where I’m going.”
I shrugged and moved to go on.
“Are you local?” she asked.
“I’ve been here a few months,” I said. “Not exactly local.”
“Well, that’s a few months more than me. I’m just visiting, though.”
“I hope you enjoy your stay.” I started to go.
She reached out and almost touched me. I turned to face her.
“Something I can do for you?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You look nice, and I don’t know anyone here. Can I walk with you?”
“It’s a free country.”
“Unless you’re an immigrant.”
I sighed. “If you want to talk politics, you can just keep walking.” I moved away.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, catching up. “I’m not very good at small talk. My father told me talking religion and politics is never a good idea, and yet I always seem to lead with one or the other. As you might have guessed, I’m a liberal feminist, and I’m a pagan. I’m also a writer, and I came here to finish my novel.”
“Then you should be in your hotel tapping the keys.”
“I’m staying at a lovely little Airbnb.”
“No offense, lady, but I don’t know you.”
She stuck out her hand. “My name is Olivia. Olivia Dartmoor.”
“I wasn’t really asking your name.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “I’m asking yours.”
I sighed. “Brett.”
“Brett what?”
“Masters.”
“And what have you mastered?”
“Clearly I haven’t mastered avoiding strange tourist girls.”
She laughed. I liked her laugh.
“I promise to spare you my political opinions. We don’t have to agree in order to be friendly as we walk along the beach. Right?”
“I’m fixing to turn around and head back the other way,” I said.
“Good. The home I’m staying at is back this way anyway.”
“Figures,” I said.
She moved around me to walk closer to the shore. “I want to stay in the shallows,” she said. “Sharks have been known to attack in knee-deep water.”
I laughed. “Shark attacks are rare, Olivia. There have been two people killed by sharks in Texas since 1911. Don’t go swimming in a school of fish and you’ll be fine.”
“Sharks bite people sometimes.”
“At a rate of maybe one a year? If that?”
“But I’m tasty,” Olivia said.
“I’ll bet you are.”
“You’re cute, but that wasn’t an invitation.”
“Tell that to the sharks.”
“You’ll protect me, though. Right?”
“You bet,” I said. “You’re safe while wading with me.”
She put her arm around my waist as we walked, and before I knew it, I slipped my arm around her, too. It felt right. As we wandered down the beach, she leaned closer and that felt even more right. And she didn’t bother with conversation, so we walked in silence and everything seemed right with the world.
When we walked by the excavator, she pointed. “What’s that thing doing out here?”
“Rusting,” I said.
She gave me a playful push. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, I guess the paint is too fresh for it to be rusting already.”
“You don’t know why it’s here, do you?”
I grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do know. Galveston is a barrier island, so erosion is a problem. To fight that, the park board does occasional beach expansion projects. We’re at the end of one now.”
“Beach expansion? You have sand trucked in?”
“They dredge it up from the ship channel on the other side of the island.”
“How odd.”
“Helps to protect the seawall from storm surges and such.”
“Why do you live in a place that’s prone to hurricanes?”
I gestured at the Gulf of Mexico so she could take in the beauty of the sea stretching out to the horizon.
She nodded. “Point taken,” she said.
“This is where I take your leave,” I said. “My shoes are over there.” I pointed toward the stairs.
“You could buy me a drink.”
“I didn’t bring any cash.”
“Then I could buy you a drink.”
“No politics.”
“Cross my heart,” she said. “Though you don’t strike me as a conservative.”
“I’m not political,” I said.
“In democrat and republican terms or does that include the job? Seems to me politics pervades everything.”
I thought about Poe leaving the band. Maybe she was right. “I try to steer clear,” I said. “Sometimes it’s not possible, but there you go.”
“I’m not really political either,” she said.
“Liar.”
She laughed. “All politicians lie.”
“I thought you were a writer.”
“All fiction writers lie too. Politicians just get bigger paychecks for it.”
I sat on the steps and put on my shoes. “There are some good places to grab a drink right across the street.”
We climbed the steps to Seawall Boulevard, and she pressed the button to get a walk signal. While we watched traffic go by, she leaned into me again.
The walk sign illuminated, so I pulled away from her. My head spun as I crossed the street, and I glanced at Olivia. She stared straight ahead as the numbers counted down the seconds until the light changed. She wasn’t movie star beautiful, but she was definitely an attractive girl-next-door type. She caught me staring and she blushed.
“What?” she said, pushing my arm.
“Nothing,” I said. But it was something.
We went to a small joint with picnic tables on the side, and she bought us a couple of drinks. When she set a lemonade in front of me, I frowned.
“Drinks should have alcohol,” I said.
“It’s three-
thirty,” she said.
“So?”
“It’s too early for alcohol. Taste it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I lifted the drink to my lips. The lemony refreshment stimulated my taste buds and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Needs Everclear,” I said. “But it will do.”
“Can I ask you some questions?”
“You just did.”
“That was one. I want to ask a series of them.”
“You have until I finish my lemonade. You may fire when ready.”
“What kind of woman do you find attractive?” she asked, and gestured toward herself.
“I like women who are hot, of course.”
“Am I hot?” she asked pointing to herself again.
“It’s ninety degrees out,” I said. “Everyone’s hot.”
“Cute,” she said pointing at me. Then she hooked a thumb toward herself. “Do you like smart women?”
“Of course.”
“Opinionated women?”
“Depends.”
“On whether or not you agree?”
“On whether or not they have an informed opinion or an emotional one.”
“Could be both.”
“True.”
“Do you like loyalty?” she asked gesturing toward herself again.
“Did you just get back from a Tony Robbins seminar?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You keep mentioning good qualities and then pointing at yourself to anchor them. You say things like cute and point at me to suggest you find me attractive. I think you’re supposed to be more subtle about it.”
“I’ve been here a whole week,” she said. “Cooped up in a bedroom trying to write a novel and I’ve hardly spoken to another living soul. I just want a connection. Someone to talk to. Someone who might like me.”
“You’re trying too hard.”
“So you don’t like me?” Her face clouded, but she was clearly faking it.
“I don’t even know you, Olivia.”
She reached over and touched my arm. “Would you like to get to know me?”
“Are you inviting me to your room?”
She blushed again. “No!” she said a little too fast. Then she laughed. “I mean, no, as in not right now. I can’t say what the future will hold.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re cute, and you seem nice, and you’re around my age, and I get a good feeling about you.”
Now she seemed open and honest. I found that attractive.
“So I’m only cute? That’s not really a writer’s description.”
“I didn’t say I was a good writer.”
“Tell me about your book,” I said.
She dismissed the thought with a wave. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
“Sure I do.”
She sighed. “It’s a romance. A paranormal romance.”
“Chicks sleeping with vampires? You know that vampires would see these chicks as food, right?”
“Not vampires.”
“What then?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“I won’t laugh.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s a werebear romance.”
“A what?”
“A shifter. A man who turns into a bear.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “That’s a thing?”
“They’re very popular.”
“Chicks want to hook up with bears?”
“They hook up in human form. But when the moon is full, the man turns into a bear. Sometimes the woman does. Sometimes both.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Why bears?”
“Because they’re strong and powerful.”
“Alpha stuff.”
“You think it’s silly, don’t you?”
“Does a werebear shit in the woods?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Are there polar werebears?”
“Yes.”
“Are they called werebrrrrs?” I asked rubbing my arms and shivering.
“Laugh it up, fur ball.”
“Women buy those?”
“I’ll have you know I earn a very good living writing them.”
“You write under your own name?”
“I use a pen name.”
“I should hope so. Does your boyfriend or husband know about your secret desire to mate with a bear?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband, and I don’t want to mate with a bear.”
“Good.”
“To which?”
“All of the above. I’m just curious about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you do your research at the zoo?”
“Keep it up.”
“You know I will.”
“And on that note, I should probably get back to it. I have to get my heroine out of a mess. She walked into the wrong biker bar and her bear hero has to go rescue her.”
“Billionaire Bears on Bikes,” I said. “Coming soon to a bookstore near you.”
“In spite of your ridicule, I’d like to see you again,” Olivia said. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Going to a show at The Hideaway. It’s in the Strand District.”
“I’ll find it,” she said.
She slurped the last of her drink then leaned across the table to plant a kiss on my cheek. Her lips were cool.
“See you tonight, Slugger,” she said.
Slugger? I managed a nod. I finished my drink as I watched her walk away. As soon as she was gone I found myself wanting to see her again. Her perfume lingered and I tried to not be too obvious as I sniffed the air to fill my lungs with her scent.
And no, I wasn’t going to say like a bear.
But maybe like a werebear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
You know that feeling you get when things are about to take a swan dive into hell? Maybe you can teach that to me then because the night at The Hideaway started great, but took that plunge off the high dive and I didn’t see it coming.
Our first set was terrific. Sabrina turned out to be a natural performer. Okay, natural is the wrong word. She used magic to make herself seem like a natural performer. Simple spell to handle nerves and to cast an appreciation net over the crowd to get going on the right foot. Poe entered the joint with his latest fling toward the end of the set. They took up a position at the end of the bar. We had people dancing, which was always nice, and lots of heads nodding and feet tapping to the beat.
The crowd at The Hideaway was mostly tourists. The bar’s location was perfect there on the Strand tucked in among gift shops and restaurants. The bar had a nice patio roped off to let the music flow into the night. As they served mixed drinks, customers had to stay inside the ropes. In Galveston, the gift shops sold beer and wine because customers could take those with them as they walked and shopped. But the beer and wine couldn’t come from a regular bar.
Between sets, I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. The Strand was bustling with tourists. Traffic on the street wasn’t bad, but pedestrians sure made up for it. Across the street, I heard the sound of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” as a man with long blond hair and a black trench coat led a group of forty people on a ghost tour. He had a headset microphone and when he spoke, it cut off the music so he could tell people about Civil War era ghosts who were often seen in the buildings.
I’d seen some of those ghosts myself, so I knew he wasn’t blowing smoke up their asses. I hadn’t seen the father and son who shot each other, though, and I found myself drawn into the story until someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned.
“How am I doing?” Sabrina asked before taking a sip of red wine.
“Not bad for a newbie,” I said.
Over her shoulder, I watched as Teddy moved to the bar and struck up a conversation with Poe, but I couldn’t hear th
em above the din of the tourists and the ghost tour guy weaving a web of supernatural storytelling over a crackling speaker.
“I know it’s not really your kind of music,” Sabrina said.
I shrugged and scanned the crowd as Olivia stepped into the bar.
“I hate it when people do that,” Sabrina said.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Stare past me looking for someone more interesting to talk to.”
“Then say something more interesting,” I said. “Excuse me.”
It was a dick move, but my dick was driving me toward Olivia.
“Asshole,” Sabrina said.
She’d forgive me. She was family so she had no choice.
Olivia looked around and her eyes lit up when she saw me. Her smile brightened the room.
“Brett!” she said.
I gave her a nod, trying to act cool. “Welcome to the music capital of Galveston,” I said.
“Your turn to buy me a drink,” she said.
“I would be honored,” I said and took her hand. I led her through the crowd to the bar, making sure we weren’t near enough to Poe that he’d try to talk to me. “Name your poison.”
“Open Up and Say Ahh!” she said.
“What?”
“My favorite Poison album.”
I grinned and managed to keep from rolling my eyes. This girl was trying way too hard. “Tell me what you want to drink and we’ll have nothing but a good time,” I said.
“Only if your mama don’t dance.”
“My mama is like you. She’s a fallen angel.”
“Is that why every rose has its thorn?”
“Could be,” I said. “Do you want some love on the rocks?”
She smiled. “You can look but you can’t touch. I’ll take a virgin margarita.”
I stopped and looked at her. “No alcohol?”
“It’s probably best I keep a clear head around you. At least for now.”
I ordered her drink, thankful she didn’t want to do more song play because otherwise I’d be tearing down the walls to get to her good love. You may have to be bad to be good, but they’ll send you back to the rocking horse if you’re not careful. I got myself another Jameson, and I hadn’t even found a place to sit when Michael caught my attention.