The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA

by Belinda Jones

  She digs her surfboard in the sand and shakes our hands. 'You ready to rip up those waves?'

  'We'll give it a go,' I offer, feebly.

  'We're not expecting you to turn pro in a couple of hours, we just want you to enjoy yourselves,' she encourages. 'Our motto at Surf Divas is: "The best surfer in the water is the person having the most fun!"'

  'Isn't that great?' Helen twinkles, clearly dying for us to get a taste of what has become her ultimate pleasure.

  I’ll give it a go for her sake but at the same time I suspect that one woman's euphoria is another woman's snot-streaming nose and salt-stinging eyes.

  As Isabelle takes us through the basics, I wonder if this is a deliberate ploy to distract us from dwelling on what we've just agreed to do with The California Club – there's so much more to take in than I anticipated: when entering and exiting the water do the jellyfish shuffle (shuffle the sand between your feet so you don't splodge down on one of the slippery suckers and get stung); don't pull the board by the leash; if you lose it shout, 'Loose board!' to warn other surfers but don't feel obliged to be a board caddy if you see someone separate from theirs; no tailgating; no tea parties (sitting round chatting in groups); always keep your eye on the horizon so you know what waves are coming your way …

  But before we even get in the water we have to master the vital art of 'popping up' – going from lying stomach flat on the board to jumping into your classic crook-kneed surfer pose. Not nearly as easy as it looks. I've got the board anatomy down pat – the 'deck' is the part you stand on, the 'rails' are the sides, the 'nose' 'tail' are self-explanatory – but I can't pop-up for the life of me. Isabelle tries telling me that as a girl I should understand that getting ready to go out is half the fun but my legs are getting all wobbly from the exertion.

  Despite this bit being on dry land, Elise still won't join in, preferring to tell us what we're doing wrong: 'Lara, you're too far forward/Lara, you've got something just above your knee – oh it's cellulite!' That kind of thing.

  Isabelle discovers my problem is that I'm 'goofy', which isn't slanderous, merely the name for people who should have their left foot forward, as opposed to their right.

  ‘Come on, go again!’

  As one we all ‘pop up’. We look like a group of superheroes adopting our fight-ready pose.

  ‘Yes!’ she cheers.

  Finally it's time to get wet.

  ‘We want you to stay good-looking when you're fifty so lather on the sunscreen,' Isabelle instructs, inviting us to press down on an industrial-sized pump. 'Don't forget your hands and the tops of your feet,' she adds, slicking such a thick layer on her face she could do a passable impression of Casper the Ghost.

  'Let's go!'

  'What am I supposed to do?' Elise whines.

  'You can set up camp and guard our clothes.' Helen refuses to pander to her sulk. Instead she dives straight in and powers out to sea, turning the board over and ducking under the waves she can't glide over. I still can't quite get my head around her being so skilled at something I've never even see her try before. It makes me wonder what hidden talents we all might have if we were just given the chance to try something new every week. Perhaps I missed my calling in stone-sculpting or falconry. You just never know…

  We’re barely waist deep in white wash when Sasha gets hit on by her first surfer dude. We make out the words 'narly' and 'hot' but advise him to take his sharking elsewhere because we don't speaka da lingo. Poor Sasha – she's not even safe from suitors out at sea. As we get into deeper waters I half expect Neptune himself to rise up and ask her for a date.

  For at least an hour we mess around paddling like fury, only to tumble before we've even got semi-upright. Isabelle and Helen make great cheerleaders, encouraging us to get back out there but only Elliot has any real success. I watch him catch a wave and then fall back and break its glassy arch. Seconds later he surfaces, a little disorientated, shakes his head to right his internal compass, and clambers back on his board. This time he pulls it off and looks absolutely triumphant. It's the most active I've seen him in years and it's undeniably sexy.

  ‘He's doing a great job, isn't he?' Helen paddles over to me.

  'Amazing,' I beam, unable to take my eyes off him.

  'Still?' Helen says simply.

  I look back at Helen. 'Always.'

  She takes a deep breath and flips on to her back so she's using her board as a lilo. 'I don't know why he can't see it's you.'

  'Me?'

  'You,' Helen repeats. 'I thought he was nearly there and then Elise comes along.’

  ‘Nearly there? What do you mean?' I swish closer.

  'It was just a feeling I had. Before I left, you two seemed to be closer than ever.'

  'We were.' I feel a twinge of sadness. 'Then she …' I tail off. 'So, you were the first to know about the engagement!' I have to bring this up.

  'Don't read too much into that, they had a reason for telling me, I just can't say what.'

  Oh god I pray they’re not planning on getting married out here. No, it can’t be that. It wouldn’t happen so soon after the engagement, surely?

  'It feels weird, him having so many secrets from me,' I confess.

  'Well, hopefully you'll get a chance to talk on this trip. Get back to how you were.’

  ‘Do you think that's even possible now?'

  'Anything's possible,' Helen insists.

  I sit quietly for a moment.

  ‘What do you think of her?' I venture, trying to sound casual though Helen has always been able to see straight through me.

  'You want me to say something bad, don't you?'

  'If you could!' I joke.

  'I'm not going to,' Helen sets me straight. 'I made a No Negativity pledge to The California Club.'

  'Oh. Okay.' I look down at my board, feeling a little bit told off.

  'But if I did have to …'

  'Yes?’

  ‘I'd find it really easy!' she teases.

  I grin back at her. That's all I need to know. I gingerly match Helen's belly-up position – it feels like I'm lying on an extra firm water bed. Every time a wave sloshes me, I spasm like I'm about to tip up but Helen just rolls with it.

  ‘You look so comfortable out here,' I note, shaking off the latest dousing.

  'It took me a while but Reuben has been amazingly patient. He used to be a lifeguard so I felt in safe hands.'

  ‘A lifeguard, really? Did he teach you any tricks of the trade?’

  Helen thinks for a moment. 'Well, if you do try and rescue someone you first have to acknowledge that you are seriously putting your own life at risk – most times they'll grab on to you in the panic, pushing you under so you have to pretty firm with them and get them to follow your instructions or they'll drown you both.'

  'How firm?'

  'Splashing water in their face or bending their thumbs back to breaking point if they continue to grab at you—'

  'Oh god!' I gasp.

  'It's a life and death situation,' Helen asserts. 'I think the best trick if someone has locked their arms around you is to push them upwards by the elbows and you go down deeper into the water – they're not going to follow you there, they want to get up!'

  'All this just to get them to behave – then you have to rescue them too!' I shake my head.

  As Helen explains the various procedures, I watch the sun sneak behind the one cloud in the sky. It's chilly without the direct rays but I'm reluctant to go in, wanting to prolong the anticipation of wrapping a warm towel around me.

  'Do you ever pinch yourself – you know, that this is your life now?' I ask.

  'Every day,' Helen affirms.

  'Really?'

  'Sometimes twice a day.’

  ‘And it's all because of The California Club?'

  'Well, a lot of this was here already …' Helen flicks me with seawater to make her point.

  'I know that!' I swipe her back. 'But it really works, this program or whatever it is?'
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  'It does if you believe in it.'

  I think for a moment. 'Do you think I could have chosen a better wish?'

  No reply.

  ‘Helen?’ I look over and find her sights eagerly trained on a guy in khaki shorts loitering on the edge of the parking lot. There's something weird stuck to his leg… I try to focus – oh, it's a tattoo – one of those jagged Maori tribal prints running the length of his right calf. I'm about to comment on how that design has been done to death when I notice the delight in her eyes.

  'Is that Reuben?' I ask.

  'I'll be back in ten!' is her reply as she slides on to her stomach and swooshes back to the shore.

  'As in Hang Ten?' I call after her.

  No reply.

  I continue to bob on my board as a daddy surfer skims past with his three-year-old son on his shoulders then return my gaze to Helen and the tattoo guy – they seem deeply engrossed. He's wearing sunglasses and the hood of his sweatshirt is up so I can't get a good look at his face but he definitely looks cool. I wonder if it is her boyfriend. Let's see if they kiss.

  'Yikes!' There's a thud-jolt as Zoë's board collides with mine.

  ‘I think my hair is dreading,' she frets, with good cause. 'Me and Sasha are going in. You coming?'

  'Where's Elliot?' I twist around, scanning the swell.

  'Way over there.' Zoë points to where the current has lured him south. 'Maybe you should go and round him up?'

  'Okay,' I smile, enticed by a vision of the two of us floating into the sunset together. What a life we'd have: taming seahorses, diving for sunken treasure, playing Frisbee with the starfish…

  I glance back at Elise, still hunched grumpily on the shore even though Helen is now by her side, her khaki-shorted friend nowhere in view. Can't have been her boyfriend then or she would have introduced him.

  Flipping onto my stomach, I start propelling myself through the water towards Elliot. I'm just thinking how chilled he looks sitting there – staring out to where the dark green waters meet the streaky orange sky – when his spine straightens and he looks strangely alert. Uh-oh – I fear the mother of all tidal waves looming on the horizon but no, it remains sloppy choppy as far as the eye can see. All the same, I get a nervous shiver. I don't like coming this far out to sea.

  I throw another glance back at the shore. From my long-distance squint it looks like the girls are tucking into some goodies. I want to get back to safety and snacks but the pull to be with Elliot is stronger. I'm nearly with him now, just twenty or so meters to go.

  Head down I paddle on until, amid the sloshing water and my grunting efforts, I realize I can hear my name, 'Lara! Lara! LARA!' getting louder and more frantic. I scramble into a sitting position. Where's Elliot gone? His board is dragging sideways but I can't see him. My heart batters at my ribcage. All of a sudden I spot his contorted face straining out of the water, 'Get help!' he yells. His panicked eyes meet mine and then he disappears under the slapping waves, forced down by a heavy hand.

  Where he sinks, an old man rises up, wild with fear. Limbs thrash and flail. For a moment I think Elliot is being attacked but as their positions reverse, I realize he is trying to save some old geezer and the old geezer is trying to use him as a float, just as Helen predicted. Helen! I swivel around and call and wave frantically towards the shore but the wind just blows my cries back into my face. Even if they did hear me, they're too far away to act fast enough. One more look at Elliot and I've plunged into the water, tears mingling with the salt. Got to get to him and do the elbow push-up shove and then break the old guy's thumbs! Is that right? Oh god! What if I cack-handedly elbow someone in the throat or concuss them with the surfboard I'm dragging behind me?

  For the first time in my life I ask myself, 'What would Pamela Anderson do?' Not having a body double to hand, I enter the fray grabbing for something – anything – to pull up to the surface. What the hell is that? I gasp for air. Eurgh – old man's bottom! I splutter as I come face to face with Elliot.

  'Quick, pass your board over!' he gasps.

  I pull it between us.

  'Grab on to that!' he urges the old man, wriggling free of his desperate grasp.

  The old man grips the board as if he's hanging from a window ledge, not entirely convinced he's alive.

  'Reach across,' I guide him, using all my strength to push his saggy-skinned legs up to the surface so he can lie out flat.

  Now I'm panting. Through stinging eyes I look for Elliot. He's nowhere to be seen. Milliseconds before cold dread sets in he appears on the other side of the board.

  'Are you okay?' I gasp.

  'Yeah, you?' he chirrups, jaggling his ears with a level of blasé-dom reserved for the seriously in-denial.

  I decide to play along with him and shrug, 'Never better!'

  'Great! Hop on!' Elliot motions for me to slide on to the back of the board.

  As he holds the front steady, I take my position. 'If only we had something to paddle with, it'd be like Hawaii Five-O!' I declare.

  'Meets One Foot in the Grave,' Elliot mutters before politely enquiring, 'Are you all right, sir?'

  Three successive blinks apparently means the old man is fine.

  'Okay, your turn,' I tell Elliot, patting the board.

  'I can't.'

  'It's okay, I'm sure it'll take all three of us.'

  'No really, I can't.'

  I frown confusion.

  ‘He pulled my trunks off in the struggle,' Elliot whispers.

  As my eyebrows raise, my eyes drift downwards.

  'Don't look!' he exclaims, frantically swirling up the water around his groin.

  'I'm not looking!' I lie.

  I can't believe I've just had a near-death experience and yet my face is plastered with a silly grin.

  Chapter 11

  ‘Don't be surprised if there's a news report tomorrow saying half your ocean is missing.' Elliot collapses on the sand, still spitting seawater.

  'If the news says anything it'll be "Jet-lagged hero saves saggy-bottomed old man,"’ cheers Helen.

  'Followed by "Raven-haired beauty saves jet-lagged hero."' Elliot winks at me.

  'Wash your mouth out with this.' Elise thrusts her lukewarm bottle of Evian at Elliot.

  I smile to myself. I know it's the compliment not the salt she wants him to swill away.

  'I've got something better than that.' Helen rummages in her rucksack, producing a bottle of José Cuervo tequila, a stretchy-string bag of limes and a penknife. ‘Thought we'd have a few shots to revive us.'

  ‘Hair of the pero!' Zoë enthuses.

  'Did you bring any salt?' Elise reaches over to nose in Helen's rucksack but Helen is too quick for her: 'Just lick your skin!' she grins, whipping her bag out of reach. 'Suck, swig and bite the lime!'

  'But my skin's not salty,’ Elise complains. ‘I haven't been in the water.’

  'I know!' Zoë whoops. 'Let's do it so we lick each other!'

  A collective 'Ewwww!' greets her suggestion.

  'I think it works better when there's more than one guy present,' Helen notes.

  'I don't mind,' jokes Elliot.

  Elise finds this hysterical. In a parallel universe.

  'Well, just for one round, then,' concedes Helen. 'We'll spin the bottle to see who licks who.'

  'And where!' Zoë whispers under her breath.

  Half an hour later I've tasted Sasha's collarbone, Helen's bellybutton and the inside of Zoë's left knee, twice. Though I'm horribly dismayed I didn't get to lick any part of Elliot, I am at least grateful that my tongue is the type that can become a spear-like point at the tip – when it came to licking Elise's toe I was keen to make only a pinhead point of contact. And even that – Urgggh! I shudder at the memory.

  'Oh buggering bollocks!'

  I look up to find Zoë wrenching angrily at her hair.

  'What's the problem?' I ask.

  'I can't get the comb through it – it's gone all matted and weird. Feel that!' She extends a t
endril to me.

  'Zoë, that's a piece of seaweed,' I sigh, yanking it free.

  'Oh.'

  I smack her hands away and use the now empty stretchy lime bag as a band to tie her hair up on her head where she can't mess with it any more.

  'Thanks,' she smiles, seemingly satisfied with the bunched wheatsheaf look.

  A comfortable lull settles. I wonder if now might be the moment to tell everyone about the B&B? I'd rather not make the announcement in front of Elise but if we're going our separate ways tomorrow I can't really put it off much longer.

  'Um,' I shuffle up on to my haunches. 'I've got something to tell you all…’

  'Hold on!' she halts me as her cellphone starts ringing.

  Saved by a Surfin' USA jingle.

  She 'mmmm-hmmm's into the phone and then flips it closed.

  'He's back,' she announces. ‘Time to get your assignments.’

  Alex is already in position in La Sala when we bundle in and take our seats.

  'Who shall we start with?' He shuffles through our paper wishes.

  'Elise!' we chorus, curiosity getting the better of us.

  'Ah yes,' he says and then reads: 'I want to gate-crash a self-help group and tell them to get a life!'

  We all burst out laughing. All except Elise. That'll teach her to be so judgmental!

  'Don't tell me you're going to have me walk in on one of Oprah’s stadium events and tell her to get a life!'

  ‘We wouldn’t make you do that,’ Alex smiles beatifically. ‘You’d get lynched.’

  Mild tittering.

  ‘We think you could benefit from getting a little inside knowledge of the self-improvement groups you are so scathing about. You might be dismissing something that could really help you.'

  'I don't want to be helped!' she protests. 'I'm fine as I am. I certainly don't need to get all pally with my inner child or summon my spirit guide!' Elise strops off towards the door then skulks behind a pillar, not quite bold enough to exit altogether.