“I don’t think so.”
Dan pulled a face. “Alex, do you have any idea how foreign all this is to me?”
Scott said, “He’s right, Alley cat. You both need a day off. I could do with one too. We’ve all been going at this hard. One rest day won’t hurt and you could both do with cutting lose and doing something different.”
Alex sighed. “Ok, one day.”
“I mean it, girlfriend,” said Scott. “Your instructions are to have tomorrow off with Dan. He gets to say what you do and you’re to have fun. I’m mandating it.”
“You’re kidding me?” Alex glared at Scott who shook his head. She turned to Dan, “I’m not hanging out with you while you do your laundry.”
He laughed. “No, like I said, it’s Saturday so we do Saturday things. An early surf, a slow breakfast with the boys, then we’ll take Jeff out, he’d like that.”
Alex’s face dropped. “You have a kid?”
“Four legs. Waggy tail.”
She relaxed. Ok, he wasn’t a single dad. This might be alright. She could probably make some excuse to skip off after breakfast, avoiding the need to bond with the furkid and make small talk all day. Avoiding the fact that the idea of spending a day with Dan was just a little bit exciting, a little bit dangerous, was much harder to do. It was like Scott had specifically instructed her to eat a whole chocolate cake and enjoy every bite, and she wasn’t even allowed to feel guilty.
“I usually work part of Saturday, but I’ll skip it tomorrow in honour of you. Then how about I cook you dinner and we see a movie?”
Alex couldn’t hide her surprise. “You cook?”
“No, I mostly eat raw meat I’ve hunted and clubbed to death.”
Scott snorted and Alex dropped her head. “Sorry.”
So Alex swapped her dance gear for beach gear and found herself sitting on a towel on Bondi Beach at 7am the next morning, about to watch Dan, Mitch, Fluke, and Ant surfing. She wore a long-sleeved cotton voile shirt over her black one-piece swimmers, a huge black hat, and sunglasses that took the edge off the sharpness of the sun.
The early start was enough to get her heart racing, but Dan in a wetsuit was another story altogether. It left almost nothing to her imagination. He’d arrived at their meeting place with half the wetsuit on, his thighs encased in fitted black neoprene, the rest of it dangling from his hips, leaving his stomach, chest, and arms bare. Every muscle and ripple of his body was available for viewing and Alex was glad for the reflective lenses of her sunnies – she could look at him without him knowing exactly where her eyes were wandering. She let them wander. He was a fine, fine specimen and what he couldn’t do on the dance floor would be camouflaged by the gorgeous nature of his body.
“Good morning.” He grinned, handing her a take-away cappuccino, a selection of types of sugar, a Paddlepop stick stirrer, and a newspaper.
“You’ve done this before.” He looked at her quizzically. “Brought your adoring public sustenance,” she said, toasting him with the coffee cup.
Dan laughed. “Ah, not exactly. I’m not really a morning relationship kind of guy.” He ran a hand through his hair and Alex thought he was embarrassed. She would’ve asked him what that meant, but Mitch and their other friend Ant arrived, both of them wearing the same half wetsuit look so Alex was treated to a veritable feast of male muscle – this early in the morning it was hard to take. She wondered where Fluke was to even things out.
“You’re the dance teacher,” said Ant, by way of introduction. He was a bigger guy than either Dan or Mitch, slightly softer round the middle, with close-cut black hair. He was wearing dark glasses which Alex assumed he was using to thoroughly check her out.
“You’re the other musketeer.”
He laughed. “Ant, Anthony Gambese.”
“You didn’t want to learn to dance?”
“Not till I met you and only if you give private lessons.”
“Surf’s up,” said Dan. He sounded like Scott, dry and impatient, as he wriggled into the top half of his wetsuit.
“You’ll have to give me your fee schedule later,” said Ant, making it sound like something far less innocent.
Alex opened her mouth to tell Ant what he could do with his notion of a fee schedule, but Dan got in first. He flat-palmed Ant in the back of the head saying, “Don’t mind him. Caveman. No manners,” this time positively aping Scott.
Then the three of them were off, jogging through the soft sand to the ocean, leaving Alex with a mound of towels for company. She figured she’d settle in with the paper, but she found herself watching the boys join the larger pack of surfers. Once they did they were almost unrecognisable, three dark haired guys in wetsuits, but Dan’s board was bright blue and Mitch’s was apple green so once they were up on a wave she could pick them out.
She watched them float about, sitting astride their boards, try a few small waves, and then settle to wait. She knew they were watching the sets of waves as they rolled in from deeper ocean, watching for just the right one to give them the perfect ride.
When Dan chose, suddenly folding forward on his board and paddling furiously towards a forming wave, Alex stood to get a better look. Dan’s wave was a huge, arching monster, forming over half the length of the beach and attacking the shore at an inexorable pace. Just the relentless fury of it made her pull her feet from the soft sand and back up a few paces, but Dan was attacking it without fear. From its top lip he raced it, half a length ahead of its angry foamy curve. He danced his board this way and that, cutting across the surface of the water like he had wings, like he was made of wave himself. He whipped up and down the monster’s jaw, avoiding its white teeth and laughing down its throat.
Alex’s heart was in her mouth as she watched him dance on water. He was surefooted, sleek, the image of strength, balance, and bravery, and he was right, surfing was like dancing. He held his body in position, he kept his head up, he worked the rhythm of the ocean. Every time it looked like the demon wave would swallow him whole, he skipped away leaving Alex full of wonder at his dexterity and control.
And then, all of a sudden, he was gone, dropping into the sea, plunging under the crashed lip of churning spume and sand and shocking a gasp out of Alex with his sudden disappearance.
“He’s great out there, isn’t he?” said Fluke, now beside her.
“He’s amazing. I’ve watched surfers before, but I guess I never really appreciated the skill in it.”
“Yeah, he’s half fish. A complete natural, he can read the wave like no one else I know. Mitch can too, but Ant and I have to work at it, it’s not so easy for us,” said Fluke, pointing to Ant now up on a wave of his own. “Oh! See that – Ant just got wiped out. Aw that woulda hurt.”
“Can I ask you something, Fluke?”
“Sure.” Fluke dropped his board in the sand. “If I didn’t think they’d give it to me for wimping out, I’d rather stand here with you anyway. It’s gnarly out there today.”
“Why do they call you Fluke?”
“That’s your question? I thought it was going to be all deep and meaningful.”
“Not on one coffee. I need to warm up to D&M.”
Fluke grinned. “My mum named me Fluke when she was pregnant with me. She was told she couldn’t have kids so I was what you’d call a surprise. I was also the reason for a wedding. I’ve got three younger brothers and a sister so I wasn’t such a fluke after all, but the name stuck.”
“Why the dancing, Fluke?”
“Ah, there it is. That’s the one I was waiting for.”
Alex grinned, an old fashioned Hollywood starlet in her hat and sunglasses, the light breeze blowing her shirt back against her body so Fluke could see the outline of her swimwear and the muscles in her thighs.
“If I tell you, you can’t tell Dan you know. He wouldn’t want you to know.”
“Ok,” she said cautiously.
“We did it as a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Ant bet the thre
e of us we couldn’t last a term of ballroom dancing.”
“How much?”
Fluke hesitated. It was one thing to tell her about the bet and another altogether to mention the money.
“How much, Fluke?”
Fluke bent for his board, might be a good time to make a quick exit. “Ant pays each of us two grand if we last the term.”
Alex didn’t look the Hollywood sophisticate anymore, she looked more girl next door as she whipped off her hat and shades and laughed, open-mouthed, at him.
“What’s so funny? I figured you’d be pissed.”
“The three of you walk away two grand richer for putting up with Scott and me for twelve weeks.”
“Yep.” Fluke took a couple of steps towards the sea.
Alex jammed her hat back on again. “That’s brilliant. There’s no way any of you are dropping out, is there?”
He turned back to her, “Nope,” and before he took off to the water’s edge, he thought he heard her say, “Brilliant.”
25. Shuffle
When Dan trotted back up the beach, dripping wet, his hair plastered back, water droplets sparkling on his chest and shoulders, Alex had to remind herself she was with Phil, had to stop herself from running her tongue over Dan’s bicep to taste the muscle under the salt. “You’re amazing out there,” she said, to give her tongue something else to do.
He flashed a smile. “Ta, been doing that since I was a kid. If I can do it till I die, I’ll be happy.” He stood beside her, dripping into the soft sand, and they watched Mitch, Ant, and Fluke. She thought how simply Dan defined his happiness: a board and a beach. He appeared to have no ambition at all.
“You didn’t have to come back. You were right; it’s beautiful here. I’m fine on my own.”
“I’ve had enough for the morning. I’m hungry,” he said and Alex would have placed money that Dan meant more than just the most straightforward meaning. He wasn’t looking at the sea now, he was looking at her, and his eyes were so blue behind spiky wet lashes and his smile so open and his perusal of her so calmly obvious, it made her hotter than the early sunlight warranted.
This was a very bad idea. Dan’s sheer physical magnetism was mucking with her senses. It made her feel edgy, nervous about standing beside him wearing almost nothing, which was idiotic considering how much time she’d already spent in his arms.
“What’s next?” she said. Suddenly she saw this scene for what it was – role reversal. Now Dan was the teacher, cool and in command, and she was the student, hopeful and ill at ease. She just wished she knew what the lesson was about.
That they were regulars at the café was no mystery: their coffee orders were delivered minutes after they sat, barefoot and half dry in assorted beach wear. That Dan was a favourite with their waitress was also no surprise. Alex thought she might’ve abandoned taking orders and sat in his lap if he’d let her.
She’d just witnessed Dan’s mastery of the sea and couldn’t help but be impressed. Now she was being treated to his talent with the opposite sex and tried to hide how awkward that made her feel. He didn’t even have the grace to look uncomfortable when the waitress ruffled his hair.
“And here I thought you guys were monks,” the pigtailed waitress said, turning to Alex for the only breakfast order she didn’t know off by heart. “They’ve never brought a girlfriend for breakfast. Who are you with, honey?”
“Me,” said Dan, and Alex turned to pin him with a stare. She spoke quickly to correct him, “I’m just...”– saying his teacher sounded stuffy and partner would confirm what everyone was now wondering, and she wasn’t Dan’s friend, so she said, “passing through,” and from the look on the waitress’s sun-tanned face and the snickering from the boys, she knew that was worse. She’d just made it sound like she’d been his one-night-stand.
“Alex is my teacher,” Dan said, rescuing her from the description that had made four sets of eyes pop. He had a wicked smiled plastered on his face.
“Don’t you want to know what she’s teaching him?” said Ant. The bubble of laughter popped when Fluke answered, “If we’re lucky, humility.”
“Play nice, Flukey. We have company,” said Mitch. “Don’t mind him, Teach. He’s mad at Dan, but we’re hoping he’ll thaw out eventually.”
“What are you mad about, Fluke?” asked Alex. She was slightly mad herself. Why had Dan spoken for her, said ‘me’, like he owned her?
“We don’t want to get into that,” said Dan, with was authority in his voice. It had no impact on Fluke; he said, “We might.”
“It’s old, Fluke,” said Ant, and Alex found herself somewhere she’d rather not be, with her playboy partner and his mates, in an argument about God knows what. This wasn’t fun anymore, it wasn’t exciting, it was stale chocolate cake and she didn’t want another bite of it.
“I think I’ll go,” she said, sliding some notes on the table to cover her coffee, toast, and eggs.
“Don’t, Teach,” said Mitch, pushing the money back towards her. “We’ll behave, won’t we, Fluke?” Fluke was making a pyramid out of the sugar satchels. He tossed one of them at Mitch. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t trust them, Alex,” said Dan dryly. He’d been irrationally pleased about having a whole day with Alex, a day where he wouldn’t have to worry about treading on her, yet that’s just what he’d done and they’d not even made it past breakfast.
“Alex, will you stay if we entertain you with embarrassing stories about Dan?” said Ant.
Dan groaned. “No, she won’t. She’s smarter than that.” He looked at Alex. “She’s nicer than that.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” she said. She turned to Ant, “Dish.”
He did. And Alex needed another coffee to get her through the list of misadventures and pranks that were part of Dan’s history. They told her how he’d blown up letterboxes, stolen fresh baked bread, got caught and let off with a warning for drag racing, and, in one inspired event, managed to talk a group of twenty guys into targeting a small beachside street in the dead of night with the aim of shuffling all the cars.
“By shuffling we mean moving them from where they were parked,” said Ant.
“You had to break into them?” asked Alex, not sure if she was about to learn Dan had a criminal record for theft. She glanced at him hesitantly, but he looked perfectly at ease.
“Nah, we just picked them up,” said Mitch. “Some we left in the same spot, but turned to face the other way, some we moved to the other side of the street.”
“You picked them up?” she gasped incredulous.
“We moved, how many cars, Dan?” asked Ant.
“Fifteen.”
“That’s right, fifteen,” said Ant and he pounded on the table with mirth. “Fifteen!”
“And that’s not even the funniest thing,” said Mitch, shoving at Ant to quiet down.
“It was pretty friggin’ funny,” Fluke choked out. He was red-faced from laughter, his freckles faded in his heightened skin tone.
“Ask Dan what the funniest thing was.” said Mitch, and Alex turned an enquiring eye on Dan. He was sitting back in his chair, a sprawling posture, relaxed despite the best attempts of his mates to, as Fluke described it, ‘heap shit on him’. He’d taken it all in his stride, speaking up not in his own defence, but to correct a detail here or there. There was something oddly admirable about the fact he didn’t squirm or try to duck. He stayed open in a way that said, ‘do your worst’ without protecting himself from whatever was coming, as if he had nothing to hide.
Dan let the laugher stall, leaned forward, looked around the table. He was building the suspense with his slow response. “The funniest thing was there was a cop shop in the street and we rearranged the cop cars too.”
“And,” prompted Mitch, the word strangled with his laughter.
Dan looked around, paused. “We went back and it did again the next night.”
Ant thumped the table, Mitch thumped Ant, and Fluke almost swallowed
his own tongue. Alex watched them fall about the table, buffeted by the memories of those two strange nights and a hand of shuffled cars. Dan looked on, the benevolent leader, humouring the troops.
“How did you get away with it?” Alex said when she could make herself heard above the shouted laughter.
Dan shrugged. “The hardest thing was trying to keep everyone quiet. Bastards kept giggling like little girls and I was sure we were going to get caught before we were finished. And it’s important to finish what you start,” he grinned.
Alex shook her head in disbelief and Fluke said, “There’s more.”
“He was the only kid at school who’d ever slept in a bus shelter,” said Ant.
Alex spun to look at Dan, the laughter exchanged for horror. “You slept in a bus shelter?”
“You don’t know my old man,” he said. They weren’t the words he wanted to say. He wanted to swear at Ant to shut the fuck up. Instead he was thinking about another night not so long ago and a bus shelter and some plate glass and what it had shown him about who he was.
“How old were you?” Alex said, aghast, and Dan had to drag his thoughts back into the room.
“How old was I, Mitch?” he said, rubbing his jaw, trying to deflect the question by fuzzing the memory. He’d been ten and he’d slept in a bus shelter for four nights before Mitch’s father had picked him up and Mitch’s mother had cooked him dinner.
“Old enough to still think it was fun,” said Mitch, in a tone that told them this wasn’t a story to joke about.
“He was the only kid who could drive before he was old enough to sneak into the pub,” said Fluke, trying to shift the mood.
Dan could see from their expressions that Mitch and Fluke were remembering how often he’d come to school with bruises and would never say where he got them and how he’d had more hot dinners with their families than he had with his father. Particularly Fluke’s family. They were virtually brothers.
“How old were you when you could drive?” asked Alex.
That was less embarrassing, less a potential sob story. “Twelve.”
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