Chantal, Jillian - Surfer Bride (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

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Chantal, Jillian - Surfer Bride (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 6

by Jillian Chantal

“I need the money. My mother, she is very ill. I have to make the money for her medicine.”

  Quincy felt sorry for the little boy and threw down her wax. She knelt down beside him. “I’ll help you. Can you take me to her? I’ll put my board away and we’ll go.”

  He nodded, and she walked back to her tent, trailed by the group of boys. She went in and grabbed some money. When she’d put her board away and pulled on her warm up pants, she went back outside. She held out her hand to the boy. He took it, and she said, “Let’s go.”

  They walked down the beach for a little while, and Quincy heard her name shouted from behind. She turned and saw Craig Miller running toward her. She stopped and waited for him to catch them.

  “Where ya going with that kid, Quince?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Yeah. It sort of is. You’re my friend, and that makes it my business.”

  She sighed deeply. She let go of the boy’s hand and crossed her arms. “What now?”

  He pulled her aside. “I was told that because of the extreme poverty around here that children are being used to lure tourists away from safe spots and then gang members rob the unsuspecting victims. I’d suggest you not go with this kid.”

  “He said his mom is sick.”

  “Quincy, I wouldn’t do it. If you want to give him a few bucks, fine but don’t walk away with him. Does he know you’re a competitor?”

  “Yeah. I told him, and he asked me if I made a lot of money—”

  “See? They may try to ransom you. Best to stay in the safe areas.”

  She walked over to the kids. “Listen, I’ve gotta go back to the beach. I’ll give you some money for your mom’s medicine, but I have to go.” She reached into her pocket and handed the kid a twenty dollar bill. American dollars.

  The kid looked at the money and back at Quincy. “This isn’t enough. I’ll be in trouble.”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Craig interrupted. “In trouble with who?”

  At his words, the children all ran off.

  Quincy turned to him. “Guess I owe you one.”

  “And you hate the hell out of that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. You know me too well, my friend. I do hate it. I’ve been all over the world. You’d think I’d learn not to be so naïve. Just that he was such a cute kid, I got suckered in. Pretty dumb, I know.”

  He just laughed as he grabbed her arm and escorted her back to the tourist area of the beach.

  * * * *

  When Quincy got back to her hut, she stripped off the warm ups, ran out of the cabana, and grabbed the waxed board she’d left. She didn’t stop until she reached the water and then slogged into the spume and waded out past the break point.

  When she was in the water to her waist, she flopped the board down, laid on it on her belly, paddled out to the deeper water, and sat up on the board, straddling it with her legs. She waited. A set would be coming soon. It was a matter of waiting for the one with her name on it. She could feel the pull of the tide and feel the surge coming. She’d been a surfer since she could toddle as her dad put her on a board almost before she could walk. She was one with the sea. It was in her soul.

  Sitting with her body facing the shore, she turned her head to look behind her at the swells. In just a few minutes, she spotted her wave. Quincy hopped up on the board into a standing position and rode the crest. The wave was huge. Exhilarated, she rode into the cone of the wave. When she emerged from the pipe, she could see people on the shore watching her. She sketched a salute and a small bow. The audience clapped, and she rode in to shore.

  Many more paddle outs were necessary in the next hour for Quincy to get a good feel for how the waves set up and how they broke. Getting a feel for the water before a competition was vital. Exhausted after her exertions, she paddled out one more time for her cool down. Part of her practice routine was to float for a while on the board to keep the tidal motion in her psyche for the night ahead. She could feel the movement of the ocean in her sleep. It helped her relax in the heat of battle, which was how she preferred to think of the professional surf tour.

  Quincy lay back on her board with her hair around her in the water like Ophelia’s. She closed her eyes and sighed. Her arms floated off the side, and her feet were on the board as it was longer than she was tall. As she relaxed, she felt a sharp tug on her arm. Her arm jerked back on the board. Shark?

  Act cool. Be still. If it was a shark, it was better to be still. A little frightened, she peeked out of one eye and saw something worse than a shark. Craig Miller. She sat up. “You creep, you scared me to death. What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I was thinking how glad I am that I’m a dude and you’re a wahine. What a set you just surfed. Glad you’re not in the men’s division.” He grinned like a maniac as he straddled his own board.

  “I meant, what were you thinking grabbing my arm like that? I thought you were a shark.”

  “Honey, if I weren’t gay, I’d be a shark after you for sure.” He bared his teeth and winked.

  She splashed him. “Go away. You got me in trouble with your ceaseless flirting before. I’ve got no time for you.”

  “Even after I saved you on the beach earlier?”

  “I’m not so sure that was a save, now that I’ve had time to think about it.” She flung her hair over her shoulder.

  He reached over and dumped her off her board. “Bitch.”

  She came up for air. “Look who’s talking.” She got back on her board and added, “Catch the next one in. I’ll be there before you.”

  They raced back to shore on the next crest. She made it to the spume first and ran toward the shore. He was right behind her. He caught her up to her, tossed his board to the sand and tackled her.

  As he landed on top of her, both of them laughing, a photographer snapped a picture.

  Chapter Five

  “Who dares wins”

  Motto of the British Special Air Service regiment (from 1942)

  Quincy met Marta at her room at the hotel that the BongoMongo executives booked for her. It was a beautiful hotel with the standard open atrium for a lobby. The builders in Indonesia had learned over the years how to best erect structures to take advantage of the natural breezes of the islands. She’d tagged along to the resort in a cab with a couple of the other surfers who wanted to go into town for the evening. The cabbie offered to come back for them before dark. He told them that it wasn’t safe for tourists to be out at night. Robberies were common.

  She wore a paisley print sun dress in an ecru and pale blue floral pattern. She had a white cardigan in case there was a chill in the air later. She’d twisted her hair up in a bun with a large clip.

  Marta had chosen a navy blue business suit, panty hose and pumps for the evening and as soon as Quincy saw her, she raised her eyebrows. “You do know this isn’t Los Angeles, right?”

  “Yeah, but one of us needs to look professional.”

  “Technically, the professional look for me is a wet suit. Would you like me to wear that to dinner?”

  “No, but I’m an agent. I need to look like an agent.”

  “We’re in paradise, on an island, and you look like you’re going to a high power meeting in Manhattan.”

  “Leave me alone. You’ll see. You’ll be the one who’s under dressed.”

  “Don’t think so. You have any idea who the chief executive officer of BongoMongo is?”

  “No. Some guy named Karl Murray is all I know. A man who makes surf boards.”

  Quincy pulled her agent toward her and looped her arm through Marta’s. “C’mon, let’s walk to the restaurant, and I’ll tell you about Karl on the way.”

  They left Marta’s room and stopped at the front desk for directions to the restaurant. When they reached the street corner, they turned left and happened upon a group of men kneeling on the ground in two rows. The rows consisted of eight men and there was a runner of carpet between them. Every man worked on a block of wood.
Each man carved a different statue. One of them finished his carving and was painting it with shoe polish. Marta stopped, transfixed.

  They watched for a few minutes and Marta finally said, “Wonder if they’d sell me one?”

  “I’m sure they would.”

  A man walked over and said, “Ladies. You see my factory? You want to buy a statue?”

  Quincy nodded. “What are they?”

  “Some are Buddhas, some are Surya, the Sun god, some are dancers, and some are Balinese women. They are all made of Jempinis wood. Very nice. You like?”

  “I’ve seen statues of Buddha before, but this one looks different from the ones I’ve always seen,” Marta said.

  “Ah, yes,” the man said. “Our Balinese Buddha is much more beautiful than the laughing Buddha with the big belly you’ve seen. That Buddha is not from here.” He picked one of the statues up and handed it to Marta. “Look at the head. Isn’t it lovely? Lots of work in that piece, lady.”

  She took it and ran her hand over the intricate carving of the headpiece of the statue. “I want it. I’ll take it.”

  Quincy gasped because Marta didn’t even ask the price. This could be bad. The man might try to cheat her since she’d made no secret that she loved the thing.

  “Lady, for you, it’s only fifteen dollars. United States Dollars.” The man smiled.

  “That’s not enough.” Marta said.

  Quincy poked her in the ribs. “Shh. Just pay him and let’s go.”

  Marta paid him, and she carried her new treasure in her arms. She nattered on and on about how beautiful the sculpture looked. By the time they arrived at the restaurant less than a ten minute walk away, Quincy was ready to smash the dang thing on the ground. You’d think the woman had never bought anything before.

  At the door to the restaurant, Quincy said, “Marta. Can you stop yakking about the statue long enough to make sense in this meeting?”

  Tears welled in Marta’s eyes, and a couple slid down her cheeks. “Yes, I can do my job. You know I can be too excitable, but I always come together for the meetings. I’m always professional when I have to be. You know that.

  I’m just enjoying my new purchase. It’s not hurting you. I’ll stop yakking as you say as soon as we get inside. And besides, I’m thinking since Percy is letting us use his jet, I might buy some more. You know, knock out my Christmas shopping here in Indonesia. Wouldn’t these be great gifts?”

  “Sorry, Marta. I’m just a little antsy about this dinner. Didn’t mean anything. Can you forgive me?” She stopped and smiled when Marta nodded. “Tell ya what. After the competition, we can go back to this ‘factory’ and load up on statues. I’ll even help carry them if you promise not to buy me one.”

  “Promise. You’re off my Christmas list.”

  “Don’t go that far.”

  Marta’s eyes twinkled. “Gonna get you one of those fertility gods for a wedding present. Since I can’t get you one for Christmas, I’ll get one for a wedding gift.”

  Quincy raised her hands in front of her face. “Stop. Stop.”

  She reached over and opened the door, and they went in. They approached the maitre d’s stand. Quincy stopped. “We’re here for dinner with Karl Murray.”

  “Ah. Yes. You are expected. Follow me, please.” The man led the way into the main dining room and to a table along the back wall. There were five men seated at the table, and Quincy recognized Karl Murray right away.

  Karl was a former long board champion from South Africa who had learned to shape his own blanks. He’d won many championships with the boards he made himself. Once he finished his competitive career, he opened his own board company called BongoMongo. The logo was an antelope, and the company name came from the Bongo antelope from Africa and the indigenous people of the same continent called the Mongo. Although Murray himself was a blond from South Africa, he chose the name of his company to honor all of Africa.

  Karl had on clothes that befitted a former champion surfer. He wore a pair of khaki shorts, a polo shirt with his antelope logo embroidered on the breast, and a pair of flip flops, also made by his company. He wore his hair long and pulled back in a pony tail in honor of the occasion, his body still tanned and muscular.

  When the ladies arrived at the table, Karl stood and indicated the two chairs across from him. “Please, be seated. Quincy, I’d recognize you anywhere. I assume this is your agent, Marta Grier?”

  Quincy leaned across the table and shook his proffered hand. “Mr. Murray. Nice to meet you. I also recognize you. Your blond hair still looks the same as when you competed. And yes, this is my agent.” She turned to Marta. “Marta Grier, this is Karl Murray, the best long boarder who ever lived.”

  He let go of her hand after kissing it lightly on the knuckles. “Seems to me that you just may be the best long boarder yourself.”

  “Not so sure about that.” She pulled out her chair, sat, and looked over the menu.

  The waiter came in a few moments and everyone ordered. It seemed like everyone was in a seafood mood. Quincy passed on the wine since she was competing in the morning, but the others drank copious amounts. Over the dinner of fresh lobster and salad, Karl told Quincy his plans for an ad campaign for her. He wanted her to be the new face of his company. He had a plan to provide her with all the boards she needed and to design the ones she’d use to her own specifications. Part of the deal would require her to wear only his clothing line when on tour. He had never produced clothing for women before and planned to release the line as part of the ad campaign introducing her as the BongoMongo wahine.

  Quincy kicked Marta under the table a few times during the course of the meal. Whenever Karl touched on something that Quincy didn’t like, she made contact with Marta’s shin.

  After the meal ended and they took their leave from the men at the table, Marta hissed, “I have a massive bruise on my leg now, thanks to you. I knew all the things that were bugging you, and I could’ve done without all that poking.”

  “Sorry, but I thought I’d scream when he kept on about buying out my contract with Liquid Silver. I told you how I felt about that.” They walked out the door of the restaurant and made their way to the car that BongoMongo had waiting to take each of them to their destinations.

  “I know. I know. Listen, you need to stop fretting. I’ll deal with all this. I know how you feel. You need to concentrate on tomorrow’s competition and let me talk to these guys while you worry about your job. You know, that job that entails you winning surf competitions?” Marta shook her Buddha statue to emphasize her point.

  “But Murray said he wanted to announce it after the winners are chosen tomorrow.”

  “He can announce that we’re in negotiations. That he’s releasing a women’s clothing line. That’s all he can say. We aren’t going to be rushed into signing a contract.”

  They got in the car, and Quincy slid across the seat. “We don’t even know how much money they’re offering. He never said.”

  “I think it’s significant. Quince. They paid to fly me here, and they want an exclusive. And they want to buy out the other contract. They have money to throw at this. For sure. I’ll find all that out while you’re surfing tomorrow. I meet privately in the morning with the two lawyers that were at the table tonight.”

  “Don’t sell me out. I’ll be worried.”

  Marta tapped her on the knee as the car pulled up to the hotel entrance. “Don’t you dare worry. You need to win tomorrow, so I can use that as part of the negotiations.”

  “So, the pressure’s on?”

  “You got it.” Marta opened the door and got out of the car. Before she shut the door, she leaned in and said, “Sleep well and I’ll see you after your win.”

  “See ya.”

  The driver left the hotel and drove Quincy back to the beach. She got out of the car and made it back to her cabana without running into anyone. She was glad. Sleep was calling her name.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Quin
cy was on the beach early to warm up before the competition. After she signed in and got her number, she started her stretching exercises. The sand was a light brown and warm to her feet. The water, clear and a beautiful shade of blue mixed with green, called to her. The clouds were puffy in the azure sky. The smell of salt water hung in the air and Quincy inhaled deeply. To her senses, sea air mixed with suntan lotion provided the best oxygen in the world. She loved the ocean air, no matter what country she competed in. She loved the Indian Ocean the most. The surf usually broke in her favor.

  She got an early start on her warm up because the women always surfed first. Sometimes that made Quincy mad as it seemed to her that the better waves came later in the day. She was a better surfer than some of the men on the tour, and the fact that there were no mixed competitions also annoyed her. She bucked up, though, and got to the business at hand. As she stretched on the sand, the same boy from the day before approached her. She said, “Good morning. How’s your mother today?”

  “Not so good. I wish you’d have come to see her yesterday.”

  “I couldn’t. My friend needed me.” She leaned over and touched her toes.

  The boy mimicked her actions and touched his own toes. “No, he didn’t. He told you I was a criminal, and you got scared.”

  She stood and looked at the kid. “Yeah. That’s right. I did. I’ve heard there’s a lot of crime on your island, and I have to be careful.”

  “I’m gonna watch you surf today. If you win, will you come see my mother?”

  “No. I won’t, but I’ll give you a hundred American dollars if I win. Show you we’re friends. How’s that?”

  “Not good enough for my mother, but I’ll take it. We can buy some food with it.” He shrugged his small shoulders.

  She held up a finger. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.” She jogged over to her cabana and went inside, grabbed the box of high energy breakfast bars she always had in her suitcase and left the tent. Jogged back over to the boy and held out the box of bars. “Here. Take these. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

 

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