The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA

by Belinda Jones

  I sit awhile, reading the room service menu and wondering if I've got time for a French onion soup, then move on to the directory of services and facilities. I didn’t realize the hotel had a collection of on-site bungalows - apparently when they say no one walks in LA this includes stairs. I then learn that Elizabeth Taylor spent six out of her eight honeymoons in a bungalow here! How gloriously unimaginative. It's like returning over and over again to the scene of the crime, determined to make it right this time.

  I start thinking about the B&B, what fun it would be to do up a honeymoon suite with pictures of the world's most-married celebrities - Zsa Zsa Gabor, Joan Collins, Jennifer Lopez … Maybe it could double up as the divorcee suite! I'd give a special rate to women who could show me their divorce papers and then tell them where they could go to pick up a Brighton hunk to celebrate their newfound freedom. I chuckle to myself and then go cold. The B&B isn't mine to have dreams for. Any day now it will become someone else's prerogative and pleasure.

  I feel a wail of internal panic – I can't let it go. I get to my feet with a sudden sense of purpose – I must do something! I turn to look for a phone and find a naked and glistening Eddie looming before me.

  My first thought is: 'Uh-oh – he’s coming for me now!' I must look absolutely terrified because he's quick to assure me: 'Don't worry, I just need some water …'

  Entirely unconcerned with his nudity, he strolls to the fridge and avails himself of two bottles of Evian still doing a convincing impression of Jake the Peg, diddle-liddle-liddle-lid …

  A few minutes later Zoë stumbles from the bedroom wrapped in a towel. She looks shell-shocked with the kind of backcombed, fright-night hair only found on couture catwalks, but seems relieved to be reunited with her clothes.

  ‘What have I done?' she mutters as she wriggles into her trousers.

  'I think it's more a question of who have you done?' I snigger, rather unhelpfully.

  'I'd better go and say goodbye.'

  'Are you going to see him again?'

  'We have no immediate plans,' she admits.

  'Well, in that case I'd rather we just leave,' I urge, revealing the booty in my bag.

  'Lara!' Zoë gasps.

  'Sshhh! No names! We don't want to leave any clues – I've already dusted the place for fingerprints.'

  'Not where my hands have been, you haven't!' Zoë winces.

  'Come on!'

  We belt down the corridor, aftershaves clinking, and throw ourselves into the elevator. My heart is pounding and my adrenalin zinging. Please don't let me get a taste for this, I pray. I don't want to get deported before the week is up.

  When the elevator door opens again it's on to an unfamiliar scene.

  ‘This isn't the lobby,' I frown.

  'Look! There's a sign for the pool – shall we just have the quickest peek?'

  I look uncertain.

  'He's out for the count, don't worry.'

  Stripy sunloungers, cool cabanas and canvas umbrellas line the 75-foot-long pool. And we've got the whole thing to ourselves: 6am and we're the only fools awake.

  'This is where Raquel Welch was discovered,' I inform Zoë.

  'How do you—'

  'Towels, ladies?' a pool attendant interrupts, raring to do his thing.

  I go to decline but Zoë reaches across me. 'Yes, thank you.'

  'What are you doing?' I hiss as he prepares two loungers for us.

  'Look, I've got to be at work in two hours. If I have a swim it might wake me up a bit and then I can shower here and go straight to the diner.'

  'How are you going to manage on no sleep?' I fret.

  ‘I'll be fine, the memory of all this will keep me going.'

  I'm not convinced.

  'Seriously. I wouldn't miss this for the world, I can get all the sleep I need when I'm back home.'

  'What are you going to swim in?'

  'Bra and knicks, there's no one else around.'

  'I think I might join you,' I say, tempted by the aqua waters.

  'Ten laps!' Zoë enthuses, whipping off her top. Yet again.

  Although the water is a pleasant temperature there's no sun shining on it so I have to stay swimming to keep warm. Thoughts of the B&B continue to race through my head but my initial freak-out has subsided. It's out of my hands. Really, what can I do from here? I feel spacey and entirely unconnected with reality. I wonder if modern-day miracles like this are exclusive to LA?

  Zoë seems to read my mind. 'Things like this just don't happen in Hertfordshire,' she muses as she floats out on her back.

  I sigh, feeling a strange sense of serenity wash over me. Some people never get to have experiences like this. I feel as if we've found a little portal into the dream. We can't stay but we can enjoy a brief taster.

  'I wonder what the others are doing today?' Zoë asks.

  I'm just about to say they're probably not up yet, but Sasha will already be starting her chores, I know Elise had a sunrise yoga session scheduled today and Elliot certainly wasn't getting any lie-ins in his new role as a park ranger. All the same, I think I'll wait a couple of hours before I call them.

  'Shall we move to the Jacuzzi?' Zoë suggests.

  It's almost too hot at first but soon I adjust to the bubbling massage.

  'Can you believe we've got the whole place to ourselves?' Zoë coos. 'What could be better than this?'

  'Well there was this one Oscar winner …' I gossip. 'To celebrate she asked for her bath to be filled with the finest champagne and then went for a dip!'

  'I think that's what they call a bubbly bath!' Zoë quips.

  I giggle. '$30,000 worth of bubbly – can you imagine?’

  ‘No!' Zoë gawps. 'How do you know all this stuff?'

  'I was reading while you were …' I tail off.

  Zoë cringes at the memory.

  'Was it really that bad?' I ask.

  Zoë bites her lip. 'Actually I just wanted to keep laughing!' she giggles as she presses her foot against one of the water jets. 'I couldn't believe it was him!' She wipes the steam from her face, spreading her smile even further. 'All the times I've swooned over him and there he was getting all worked up over me!'

  ‘That's trippy!' I acknowledge.

  'I'm glad it happened. I've done it now. Maybe that's all you need with Elliot – a one-night stand to get him out of your system?'

  'I'd be willing to give it a try,' I concede.

  'And if it didn't work the first time you could just try, try again!' Zoë laughs.

  'Exactly.'

  'It's a funny thing getting what you want,' Zoë sighs. 'It's not that it doesn't live up to expectations exactly but almost immediately you want something else.'

  'So what do you want most of all now?’

  ‘Other than breakfast?'

  I nod.

  'I haven't decided yet. I feel like I've got all the pieces of my life laid out on a big table and I'm not sure which bits I want to keep and which bits I want to let go of.'

  'Aren't we lucky that we have those choices?' I marvel. 'Some people are so trapped in their lives.'

  'Like my mum,' Zoë whispers. 'She can't see a way out. But the door is always there, she just can't walk through it.' Zoë shudders, dredging herself out of the human hotpot. 'It's far too early to be getting this deep, Lara. We're supposed to be on holiday!'

  While I continue to bubble and steam, Zoë does the full works in the changing rooms, emerging fifteen minutes later looking as if she's had a ten-hour sleep in an oxygenated pod. I'm starting to feel woozy-groggy from lack of sleep and early hangover symptoms and can barely manage to comb my wet hair off my face. But I do smell lovely – Eternity for Men, courtesy of the Eddie Powers Fragrance Collection.

  We stumble back into the hotel and find our nostrils flaring excitedly the minute we're in the door. We follow the scent of bacon and maple syrup along the corridor to the cute Fifties-style Fountain Coffee Shop.

  'We've got time,' Zoë insists, hopping up on to a pi
nk bar stool just long enough to tell waitress Nora her order, before disappearing to the Ladies.

  ‘You’ve just been-‘ I protest.

  She doesn’t reply.

  I feel slightly nervous sitting by myself. What would I do if Eddie lurched in looking for sustenance?

  A stunning employee comes in for a bagel. Her hair is flicked to perfection and her eyes are like exquisite jewels. Suddenly I feel self-conscious with my wet hair and last night's clothes.

  'She's so pretty,' I sigh as she leaves.

  'She's the one who gets sent up to a guest if they've got a complaint,' Nora confides. 'Nobody can stay mad when they're looking at her.'

  Good strategy!

  Next in is a languorously glamorous blonde with the longest, slimmest legs I've ever seen.

  'How's our employee of the month?' she beams as Nora presents her with a latte.

  'Who was that?' I gawp after her trouser-suited chic.

  'That's our PR lady, Wendy. She's a star.'

  'She looks like Veronica Lake.'

  'One of our "special guests" adores her,' Nora whispers. 'He calls her Wendacious!'

  'She is!' I confirm. 'Is she going to run off with him?'

  'She's already married, husband works for Rolls-Royce.'

  What a team!

  When Zoë returns to her stool, she raises her orange juice and cheers, 'Happy Birthday, Lara!'

  'Oh my god! I'd forgotten!'

  Then she hands me a paper bag. Inside is a pink rubber duck complete with Beverly Hills Hotel logo.

  'The gift shop was just opening – do you like it?'

  'I love it! Oh Zoë!' I give her a hug. When we separate there are two of the most luscious stacks of pancakes before us. And my stack has a little birthday candle!

  'Pretty good start to the day, wouldn't you say?' Zoë grins, tucking in.

  I lick the hot cherry sauce from my fingertips. ‘This is already the best birthday of my life!’

  Chapter 32

  My first birthday wish is to get some sleep so I can make the most of the rest of the day. I'm just sinking into the pillow when the Batphone rings.

  'Hello?' I can barely open my mouth, let alone my eyes.

  'I've got an audition!' Zoë toots. 'Sasha's director guy with the fleshy earlobes, he wants to see me!'

  'Wow, when?' I croak, still coming to.

  'Tonight! I know it's your birthday but—'

  'Don't be silly, you've got to go.'

  'I want you to come with me. It's actually a few hours up the coast from here so I thought if we got the train we could sleep en route and—'

  'When are we leaving?' I'm feeling caught unawares.

  'In an hour!'

  'Oh my god!' I ping upright.

  'I need you to pack a bag for me, the shiny-pink tube dress and my J-Lo trackie to travel in and all my overnight bits.'

  'Overnight?'

  'Well, you never know what it'll take to get the part!'

  'Zoë!'

  'Kidding! Just hurry up and get here, they're letting me off work early.'

  'Does The California Club know?'

  'Yeah, the boss checked with them and they said provided I made up my hours later in the week, it's cool.'

  'Where exactly are we going?'

  'He's faxing over the details, we just get the first train bound for San Francisco.'

  On the way to Union Station I try to call my posse but there's no reply from Sasha, Elliot is mid-bear talk and Elise is embroiled in homework from her Shamanic Healing seminar. Just as well, I'm too tired to have coherent conversations.

  'Over here!' Zoë pogos along Platform 10 trying to get my attention.

  As I approach her I'm daunted by the size of the angular silver contraption we're about to board.

  'I've never been on a double-decker train before,' I marvel as we take the stairs to the upper level. 'It's so spacious and spanky-clean. Are we in business class?'

  'Nope, just "coach" as they call it,' Zoë notes, taking her seat without any of the usual armrest-up-your-bottom contortions.

  Suddenly I'm revived by the novelty factor of my surroundings and attempt to fold down my tray table – no mean feat considering the seat in front is so far ahead of me: it's like an elaborate Meccano project of slotting joints and extending limbs to get the table all the way over to my lap.

  'I'm setting the alarm for 5.45pm,' Zoë tells me as she simultaneously programs her mobile phone and reclines her seat.

  'What stop do we need?' I ask.

  'I've got it all written down but it's at the bottom of my bag …' Zoë waves vaguely at her feet. 'Just make sure you give me a shout before 6pm.'

  As we leave LA behind I watch the vegetation change from jutting dark green poplars – so precision pointy they look like the super-glued spikes on a punk's Mohican – to hanks of long grasses and then strange yellow stacked-rock formations.

  'Isn't this surreal?' I turn to Zoë. She's out for the count. I thought she was uncharacteristically mute.

  The train conductor, however, has something very interesting to say: 'Late lunch is being served in the diner car.'

  More interesting still, it appears to be being served in another era. Some time in the late Sixties, I'd say. The décor is authentically retro with squishy brown leather seating and rough-textured orange curtains. I so wish I was wearing a polyester dress and a backcombed hairpiece. I’m halfway through my chicken pot pie when I get a sudden urge to call Joel and tell him about the crazy birthday I'm having, then realize I can't. Ever. I don't have his number. I don't know where he works or even where he lives. In the rush to get to Sasha I forwent any of the traditional number exchanging and promises to meet again real soon. Besides, I was expecting to see him again that evening.

  I suppose he could always contact me through Zoë at the diner. She's there for another two whole days. I shake my head - how did I let this happen? Unless – maybe he passed on his number to Zoë when he came back with the tickets and she just forgot to tell me. I quickly pay for my lunch then hurry back to Zoë, only to find her even more comatose, now lying across my seat as well as hers.

  Maybe it's for the best. What will be, will be. And what won't, won't.

  In searching the carriages for a free place to sit I happen upon the viewing carriage. After the dining car, this looks positively space age. The chairs are groovy molded plastic and the windows curve up to the ceiling. I settle into one and get a full-frontal of glistening blue ocean. So this is why they call this train the Coastliner. The light glinting on the waves dazzles as if all the fish have been given little mirrors to angle at the sun. Who needs diamonds – here's the real bling-bling in this world.

  I close my eyes to daydream, loving the feeling of the sun on my face. Almost immediately my thoughts turn to Elliot and our parting conversation at the Ahwahnee. What with zooming around with Joel, confronting Ty and partying with Zoë I haven't had much time to process my feelings for him. I realize now that his revelation about missing me and saying he felt he was losing me has made me feel all the more close to him. It's as if we've shared an honest moment amid all the mixed messages. Initially he was huffy about Joel, seemingly peeved that he'd been ousted from being my number one guy, and in turn I was running with the Joel situation for all it's worth to somehow punish him for not loving me the way I want. But ever since he showed himself to be a little vulnerable, I feel we're subconsciously working together on finding a new way to be with each other, adjusting to the new circumstances in our life.

  Even if he's never mine exclusively, I know now I matter to him. It seems foolish considering all we've been through but I had been having doubts – ever since Elise came on the scene I'd felt replaced. Now I don't feel threatened by her, or anyone who might come after her. I feel like he's made me a guarantee that he'll always have a place for me in his heart, and that makes me feel less needy, more loved.

  I open my eyes again and find the sea has been replaced by dusty earth with rows
of mystery plants creating lines of fuzz in the soil like the strips on the bottom of a Hoover. I wonder where we are? I look at my watch – just half an hour to go. I'd better go and wake Zoë.

  This time I find her splat against the window so I'm free to slot back into my seat. As I do, she stirs and blearily asks the time.

  '5.30pm,' I tell her.

  'Okay! Let the beautification begin.’ Suddenly she's wide awake. 'You might want to think about sprucing yourself up too.’

  ‘Do I have to pretend to be your agent or anything?'

  'We'll just play it by ear. Back in a mo!'

  As Zoë dips to the restroom, I pull out my make-up bag and contemplate my face. Why are my nostrils always the first place foundation disappears from? I dab beige over the pink and then sparkle up my eyelids, melon gloss my lips and further clog my lashes to please Zoë. Now what? I return to gazing out the window.

  'Hey, look at those rusty old oil drills!' Zoë rejoins me. 'They look like they're nodding at the ground.'

  'Do you think there might be an oil theme to the movie?' I ask.

  'It's all top secret,' Zoë shrugs. 'I haven't been told anything. All will be revealed when we get there.'

  'I'm sure it will,' I agree, amazed by how Zoë can arrange her cleavage in such a way that it gives the illusion of teetering over the edge of a precipice.

  'San Luis Obispo!’ she exclaims, jumping to her feet. ‘This is us!’

  While Zoë summons a cab I study the old mission-style station. It doesn't look like the kind of place geared up to accommodate Hollywood divas and coke-snorting movie execs. A teenager in beige shorts and a white T-shirt scutters by on a skateboard, no doubt on his way to appear in a Gap ad. Suddenly I feel like giving birth to 2.4 children and bagging myself one of the quaint clapboard houses painted a soothing mint green.