“Don’t we need to walk to the international terminal?”
“We’ve got plenty of time.” Quincy’s phone rang. She held up her index finger to stop Marta’s response and looked down at the screen. Percy. “Gotta take this. Hang on.” She stood and walked over to the nearest window, knowing this would not be a good call. She clicked the answer key.
Before she could say hello, a voice in her ear said, “Quincy? That you?”
“Yes. It’s me. What’s wrong, Percy?”
“I told you to take the Lear.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there Perce. I’m not two years old, and I won’t be talked to like I am.”
“Sorry, darling, but I wanted you to take the Lear. Make it easier on yourself.”
“The way you’re talking, seems more like it would make it easier on you, somehow. What’s the big deal? You know I have contractual obligations.”
“I know you do, but I want to keep you safe.”
“Hate to break it to you, but commercial flights are actually safer than private flights. More private planes crash in a year than commercial.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to hear about statistics. I want you to fly on the Lear.” He paused as if to wait for her to respond. When she didn’t, he added, “Will you at least let me fly you home after you win? Please. You’ll be tired, and I can get you home faster. And I think I’ll be able to get away soon. We almost have all the pieces for this next auction. I can be in Los Angeles and come the rest of the way home with you. Wouldn’t that be lovely? We could dine in the city while the fuel is loaded.” His voice lowered and became husky, “And we could make love in the bedroom of the Lear. I miss you so much.”
She smiled at the thought of him joining her in Los Angeles. Maybe seeing him again would chase the thoughts of Finn from her mind. She’d thought too much about the rat on the flight as it was. “Sure. That sounds good. But you know, I might not win. I don’t always win.”
“You win more than you don’t. I’m sure you’re going to win this one, too.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. By the way, my agent is flying to Bali with me. Can I bring her back to Los Angeles in the jet?”
He didn’t answer for what seemed like a whole minute.
“Percy? Hello? You there? Did you hear me?” She shook the phone. “Did I lose you?”
“Yes. I did hear you. Sorry. That’d be fine. No problem since the pilot will have to refuel there anyway. And, if I’m able to meet you there, she’ll be off the plane before it becomes our love nest.”
She laughed at his reference to a love nest. “Thanks, Percy. You’re a doll.”
“Glad you think so. I gotta go. Merv’s waiting with some invoices.”
“Sure, darling. Love you.”
“You remembered to say it. I’m glad. I love you, too.” Percy hung up.
Quincy looked down at her phone. Disconnected. “I hope I can remember I do love you. Seems like my heart’s forgotten.” She steeled herself for more prattle from her agent and walked back to where she’d left Marta. “C’mon, let’s get it in gear and get to the right gate. We can talk about BongoMongo when we get over there. We need to hoof it now since that call took so long. I remember how hard it is to walk and talk in this kind of crowd, so don’t even try.”
* * * *
When Marta and Quincy got almost to their gate in the International hall, a tall, buff man with sun-bleached blond hair wearing long running pants and a tank top ran down the concourse toward Quincy and grabbed her in a huge hug. Although he’d run at her in a blur, she knew exactly who he was. Craig Miller. Her nerves already raw from her meeting with Finn and the hurt of two years ago fresh in her mind, she stiffened and pulled back.
“What’s wrong, my sweet?” He asked in his sexy Australian accent as he held his sinewy arms around her waist. He gripped her tightly, not allowing her to escape.
“Nothing.” Her face was impassive.
“It’s clear you’re upset about something. What’d I do now? I promise, I haven’t been talking to the media again.” He let go of her waist but stood close to her as they remained in the middle of the walkway, in the way of other travelers.
As people made their way around them, she said, “I know you haven’t. At least I hope so.”
“I learned my lesson last time. Besides, I thought we were past all that.” He stared in her eyes, searching for the truth.
“We were. Just had a reminder of it in the last couple of days. I know you apologized, and I’ve agreed to forgive you. Just sometimes, it hits me again and I get upset all over again. Sorry. Don’t mean to take it out on you.”
He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go sit down and you can tell me all about it.”
She shook off his arm. “Nothing to tell. Besides, I’m going to be sitting with my agent, and we have loads to talk about. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Fine,” he simpered and walked away.
Quincy turned to Marta. “How no one else sees he’s gay is beyond me. It seems so obvious. Always has.”
“He’s gay?” Marta’s eyes got large.
Quincy snorted. “You couldn’t tell?”
“With that buff body, blond hair, and boyish sex appeal? To say nothing of that luscious accent.” She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t tell. What a waste for womankind.”
“Yeah. A waste.” Quincy couldn’t help thinking about how her future with Finn was wasted when Craig pulled his stupid stunt. When he talked to that reporter. The one who’d ferreted the story out of the cabana boy that Craig had taken back to his room in Australia. The reporter he’d told that Quincy was his lover. She knew he did it to save his sponsorship contract and to keep the secret of his sexual orientation. But it still was wrong of him to do it.
The reporter had gone off with the story of two surf champions having a secret affair. The story spread into all media, and that was the end of Finn and Quincy’s relationship.
The women walked over to the closest set of connected seats and sat down. “So, what’s up with you coming to Bali?” Quincy asked.
“BongoMongo wants you to be their new ‘face’, and they’re splurging for me to come with you on this trip so we can have a sit down meeting to discuss the parameters of the deal. The head of the company is going to be at the competition. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Have you looked at the other contracts? Are there any issues with exclusivity? I know they have a line of clothing as well as the boards and waxes. You know I have an exclusive with Silver Liquid to wear their sweats, wet suits, and swim wear.”
“I know, and I told them that. They want to talk about a buy out of that contract. It was one of the reasons for the sit down.”
“I don’t want to give up that contract, Marta. I love that company. They were my first sponsors and have been great. Treat me well.”
“Honey, it’s all about money. This is huge. Huge. You could get more money than you could ever need. And you know they make a great board. I hear the president molds his own. He could do some special for you.”
“I do know they make an awesome board. I’d love a selection of their boards without having to buy them, but I can’t give up my first sponsor. Don’t ask me to.” She stopped a second and took a deep breath before she added, “And besides, I’m getting married to a man with all the money I’ll ever need. He’ll provide quite nicely for me.”
“Girl, you always need your own money. I’ve never met your Percy, but I’ve never met a man who supported a woman that didn’t ask her to account for every penny. And once he gets you dependent on him, he’ll try to control you. With money. By withholding it or giving it, depending on your performance.”
Quincy stared at her agent, agape. “You have personal experience in this? Sure sounds like it. I’m sorry you had this happen to you, but I’m sure Percy isn’t like that.”
“They all are. Believe me, they all are. Once you marry them, they change.”
“You’re awfully c
ynical.”
“Nope. I’m just realistic. I’ve seen it too many times to count. But, think about it. We go to the dinner with BongoMongo and see what they say. Decide after the dinner. We talk about it over a nightcap in our room.”
Quincy laughed out loud. “You ever been to Bali? There is no room.”
“What do you mean, no room?”
“The surfers stay in huts on the beach. We don’t stay in the hotels.”
“I certainly hope these people have me a room, for God’s sake. Oh, man. You’re gonna make me fret on the whole flight till I see what they’ve done to me.” She looked like she was going to cry.
Quincy patted her knee. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see. The huts aren’t too primitive.”
Marta shivered and frowned. Before she could open her mouth, the gate agent called for the first class passengers. They stood and Quincy whispered in Marta’s ear. “You’ll be fine. Don’t stress.”
“I’ll try.”
They boarded the plane and stopped at their seats. Quincy was upset to find that she was in the seat directly across from Craig. His sponsor must have sprung for first class as well. It’d be a long flight with him next to her. He’d give her no peace with his incessant chatter. And with Marta yapping on the other side of her, she’d have a migraine before they ever took off. She made a big production of pulling out her MP3 player and headphones, stowed her bag, sat and buckled in, put on the head phones, and closed her eyes, hopeful that they’d take the hint and leave her alone.
No such luck. As soon as the plane left the tarmac, she felt a poke on her upper arm. She turned her head toward the offender, opened one eye and glared at Craig. Faced back forward and felt another poke. Her headphones ripped off her head, she growled. “What?”
“Wanna talk about what’s wrong?”
“Do I look like I wanna talk?” Her hand indicated her headphones and MP3 player.
“I thought maybe you were avoiding me with those on.”
“I was avoiding everyone, really. Getting my head on for the competition.”
“Really? Already?” He looked at her like she was insane. “I was under the impression you always had it together and didn’t need anything to get yourself in the mode. I thought you only had to do a few stretches on the beach fifteen minutes before paddle out.”
“I’ve changed.”
He snorted. “No, you haven’t. For some reason, you’re mad at me all over again and don’t want to talk to me. I want to know why.”
“And you’re not gonna leave me in peace till I tell you. Are you?”
“Right. I’m not.” His grin was boyish and very charming. His greatest asset when he chose to use it. And he chose now.
She sighed. “Fine. Here it is. I’m engaged. When it was announced in the Miami papers, I got a visit from my old boyfriend. You know, the one you messed me up with your dumb ass interview?”
“I remember the bloke. He was a right bastard as I recall. Good looking, oh my, yes, he was good looking. But he dumped you when the pictures and the article came out. So, you still mooning over that Seppo whacker? After the way he treated you? And after all this time?”
“What the hell is a Seppo whacker, you stupid Australian?”
“An American idiot, mate. In the vernacular, of course.” He smiled with his most charming smile, white teeth shining against his tanned face. “And why are you still mooning over him when you have a fiancé? Seems a little unfair to the bloke you plan to marry, doesn’t it?”
She made a face “Yeah. It is. Haven’t figured out just yet how to deal with it. He showed back up just as I was getting ready to come to Indonesia. I’m confused. He came back just as I was going to marry, and now, I’m in knots.”
“Not that you asked for my opinion, but I’m giving it to you anyway. The man dumped you over some magazine article and a picture of us on the beach. We weren’t even doing anything but standing there with my arm around your shoulders. Any man who would throw away your relationship over something that trivial has some deep seated problems you don’t need to deal with. I’m telling you, forget him. Move on. Be happy with the fiancé.”
“That’s what my mind is telling me. Really, it is. But my heart is in turmoil ever since I saw him.”
Craig reached across the aisle and patted her hand. “I can relate. Telling your heart to shut up is hard. Been there.”
“Thanks for listening. I guess I really should be grateful for what you did. It broke my spirit for a while after he left, but I guess it was better that it happened when it did. I needed to know he didn’t trust me. Couldn’t trust me. I think you did me a favor.” She paused. “Just don’t do me any more.”
“I’ll try not to, and I’ll dance at your wedding to old what’s his name, the fiancé.”
“His name is Percy Hicks. And you’ve been sent an invitation. His mother sent them earlier this week.”
“He’s a Brit?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Name like that, he’d have to be from the Motherland.”
“Ha, ha, funny. I hope you will come to the wedding. It’ll be in Merry Olde England. His family owns a large auction house in London.”
“Sounds good. Maybe I’ll bring my new love.”
“Coming with a fake date? When you gonna quit the charade?”
“Have done, love. I’m living with an architect. A man. Name’s Mark. I’m not hiding anymore.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. It is a new world, you know.”
“Yeah. I finally told my agent and told him to deal with the fallout from my sponsor and surprise me, there was none. So, I really do regret screwing up your love life two years ago. It was unnecessary.”
“Like I said, I think you did me a favor. Now, can I get back to my music and maybe a nap?”
“Yeah. Now that I’m sure you aren’t mad at me, I can do the same. I do love you, hun. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I do. Thanks, Craig.”
They each went back to their own thoughts until they arrived in Indonesia. Marta asleep at her side, Quincy thought about Percy and Finn. She knew Craig was right. She needed to get Finn out of her mind and be fair to Percy. She wanted to make a real marriage with Percy and let Fennimore Smith crawl back into whatever hole he’d emerged from when he heard of her engagement. Only thing, it was easier said than done.
* * * *
When the plane landed at NgurahRaiAirport and they got inside the terminal, Marta and Quincy made their way to baggage claim. It seemed to Quincy that no matter where in the world she was, every airport looked the same. They all had walks past lots of gates, restaurants, booksellers and other kiosks. They all seemed to go on forever. The walk to baggage claim always took forever, but no matter how long it was, she always got there before her luggage. It was one of those paradoxes of life. As usual, they had to wait a few minutes at the carousel for their bags to make it.
The BongoMongo people sent a limousine for Marta, and the Silver Liquid people had sent a truck for Quincy. She’d brought three boards with her. She always traveled with at least two in case of a chip in the fiberglass or fin breakage. Quincy grabbed her bag and one board, and the truck driver grabbed the other two boards.
Marta stood beside her own bags. “You going to the hotel? The limo driver said he was told to take me to the Palisades Hotel. He’s gone to get the car.”
“No. Told ya. No hotels for the surfers. I’m going to my assigned tent on the beach, and then I’m going to wax my board. After that, I’m going surfing. Test the waters before the competition.”
“But we have the BongoMongo dinner tonight.”
“I know. I’ll be there. Don’t worry. I’ll meet you at your hotel. Go get some rest.”
“Don’t get too wrapped up in the surf and forget to come. It’s very important that you be there.”
“Chill, Marta. I’ll be there.” Quincy turned to the truck driver. “Let’s get to the beach, man.” They walked off leaving
Marta standing there, surrounded by her bags.
* * * *
Once she’d been dropped at her quarters, Quincy changed into a red and white polka dot bikini and grabbed her second favorite board and a block of Sex Wax. She tucked the board under her arm and walked out to the shore line. Once there, she shoved the end of the board into the sand and started to wax it.
As she worked, a group of small boys gathered around. They crept closer to her as they watched her work. One of them, who looked to be five or six, finally asked, in English, “What ya doin’, lady?”
“Waxing my board. You’ve never seen someone wax a board?” She was shocked as this was a surfer’s Mecca. Surely these kids had seen a board being waxed before.
“Yes. We have. Never seen that stuff, though.” He indicated the box.
“It’s just a brand of wax.”
“But it says s-e-x on it. Why? Isn’t that a bad word in English?”
“I dunno. It’s just what it’s called. It’s a brand name. Sex is not a bad word, though.” She smiled at him. “You read English?”
He had a gap toothed smile. “Yes. Some words. You part of that group for tomorrow, lady?”
“Yes, I’m competing tomorrow.” She continued to wax down the board with long strokes of the wax block.
“You make lots of money?”
She stopped waxing and looked at the boy. He was a waif. Very thin. They all were. “Why do you ask?”
“If you do, I would work for you. For pay. I would watch your boards all night so no one steals them.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Oh yes.” He nodded. “There are lots of thieves on this beach.”
All the kids laughed at his statement. They poked each other. The boy who’d spoken glared at them said something she didn’t understand, and they straightened up.
“I don’t think I need a guard, but thank you anyway.” She turned back to her board.
She looked back around when she heard him crying. “What’s wrong?”
Chantal, Jillian - Surfer Bride (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 5