House of the Blue Sea
Page 6
“Ten-thirty would be better. You see, I’m already messing with your plans.”
“If delaying me by half an hour is the worst you can do ...”
“See you tomorrow then.”
Sandra turned and made her way from the patio to the guest room hallway. She knew that thousands of women would give their right arm, possibly the left too, for a day in La Paz with Mark Jeffery, but she would honestly prefer a day to herself. La Paz—peace. It wouldn’t live up to its name tomorrow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The wave travelled halfway up Sandra’s calves as it made its way to shore. She stopped for a moment and closed her eyes, breathing in the moist, salt air. February. Her fifth time in Mexico for part of the winter and still it seemed unreal that this could be a February evening. Four years ago Baja had melted the ice she felt in her veins, like the winter had moved into them and could only be evicted by such a place as this. A tear ran down her cheek without any advance notice—no tightening in the throat, no burning eyes. The pain was less and yet the tears still came easily, like the trail had been blazed by so many before them that they could come without warning, without hindrance. She opened her eyes and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her capris, drying her face. The lights of Mar Azul were starting to come on in the distance as the sky darkened. Its warmth beckoned and yet she didn’t feel ready to be with people.
The breakfast with Mark Jeffery had rattled her and the feeling had stayed with her through the day. Was it his celebrity, his outburst or simply the fact that he was an attractive man? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she didn’t want to travel to La Paz with him tomorrow. Trisha would say she was just nervous, but this didn’t feel like a case of nerves, this stone in the pit of her stomach. She walked further out into the surf, the warm water now reaching her knees, soaking the bottoms of her pants. Turning her face to the sky she raised her arms in the air, placed her right foot to the inside of her left thigh in tree pose and waited for the calm to wash over her.
***
“So, what do you think of my famous friend?” Paul asked from behind the bar.
Sandra licked some salt from the rim of her glass and let the tart, icy beverage follow it onto her tongue. “You’re getting almost as good as Arturo at mixing a marg. Where is Arturo anyway?”
“He’s in the kitchen, and you didn’t answer my question.”
“Well ... he’s a bit on the moody side I’d have to say. It’s like dancing with a porcupine, all charm until you bump into him. Is he always like that?”
“He’s always been impetuous, but the short fuse to anger is new. He’s going through something of a rough patch right now. Career and ex-wife both giving him grief.”
“He didn’t mention his ex-wife but I gathered he’s less than thrilled with his career at the moment. Wasn’t he married to Serena Rhodes?” Sandra held her hand at chest height. “Legs up to here?” Paul reached over and slid her hand up closer to her neck. “Oh, thanks.” She laughed. “I think I saw something about her in some magazine or other recently. I never buy them but I do indulge my curiosity when I’m in line at the grocery store.”
“Serena, that’s her, the ice queen. And what you probably saw is that she recently remarried.”
“Why would that upset him? Aren’t they many years divorced?” She leaned forward as if in confidence. “You know, it’s strange to know so much about someone I’ve just met.”
“Definitely a downside of fame, everyone knowing your business.” Paul was slicing lemons, placing them in a blue and yellow flowered bowl on the top of the bar. “They have been divorced for quite a few years now but when every move you make is followed by the press, you appreciate a little heads-up when something’s going to happen. He found out about her marriage from an entertainment news show on the telly, and right after that the reporters were ringing for his reaction.” He took another lemon from the bag and sliced into it. “I always thought she was a bit of a bint, like every other woman he gets involved with. I’m one of his closest friends but I don’t recall her ever making a point to talk to me.” Paul leaned forward and opened his eyes wide. “Self-centered cow.”
“Paul Hutchings! I’ve never heard you trash talk someone before. There’s another side to our friendly hotelero.”
“Only when it comes to Mark’s girlfriends.”
“I see. He’s invited me along to La Paz tomorrow. I’m afraid I said yes.”
“Just keep the conversation away from ex-wives and work and I’m sure he’ll be as charming as I am.”
“Maybe half ... if he works at it.” Sandra took another drink from her over-sized margarita glass.
Paul’s gaze jumped to the bar entrance. “Ian, welcome!” Sandra turned in her stool and waved as Ian approached. He was dressed in floral board shorts and flip flops. “I’m guessing by your attire you won’t be taking the stage tonight.”
“Not tonight, no. Just dropping by for a beer and some enchanting conversation.” He ordered a Dos Equis and hopped onto the stool beside Sandra, turning toward her. “And you’re looking very nice this evening.”
Sandra glanced down at her wet-bottomed capri pants and pink v-necked shirt. “I thought you had a better sense of fashion than that, being a Montrealer. I just came back from a beach walk.”
“Exactly my point—colour in your cheeks, windblown hair, sand between your toes—what could be more attractive?”
“You’d compliment me if I were wearing a burlap sack and hadn’t washed my hair for two weeks.”
“Ooh, fetching. You might be right.” He really could be quite enchanting, which is why he often had a lovely woman on his arm. “So how’s the painting coming along?”
“Very good, actually. I’m well into a second piece and, get this, sold the first one.”
“Sold one? I thought you didn’t do that.”
“Okay, well technically I gave it away, but to someone who was willing to pay me for it, and pay well I might add.”
“And who, may I ask, was this person with impeccable taste in art?”
“A friend of Paul’s, Mark Jeffery. Have you met him?” asked Sandra.
“Briefly, here at the hotel a few weeks ago. Is he still here?”
“Not here at the hotel but in the village. I think he bought a house.”
“In San Leandro? Now why would he do that? Doesn’t a big shot like him want a fortress closer to civilization?”
“Apparently not,” said Sandra. Paul set down a brown bottle with two red Xs on its label. “Paul, did Mark buy the house in San Leandro?”
“I think he’s leasing, not sure for how long.”
“There you have it. I didn’t think there were any movie-star-worthy properties in the area.” Ian poured the amber beer into his glass.
“I think he’s here because Paul’s here.”
“Maybe,” Paul said, “but more likely because it was a convenient place to camp for a while. Excuse me.” He left the bar to attend to a couple standing at the please wait to be seated sign.
“So anyway, Mr. Jeffery was here one morning, saw my painting, and offered to buy it to hang in his new house. Exciting, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. Good for you. Now,” he tilted his head and raised his brows, “can you tell me why you gave it away when he offered to buy it?”
“It’s a long story that has to do with Jane Eyre.” Sandra waved her hand dismissively. “How are things going with your song writing?”
“Quite well. But don’t think I didn’t notice that quick change of subject. We’ll come back to Ms. Eyre. There is a rather well-known artist looking at recording one of my songs on his next album.”
Sandra clapped her hands together and extended them to Ian. “That’s great!” He took her outstretched hands in his. “And who is this rather well-known artist? Someone I listen to?”
“I doubt it, but you’ve likely heard of him. Chet Morgan.”
“Country! Since when do you write country music?”
“Can I hear the song?” Sandra sat back on her stool and pulled her hands onto her lap.
“When I’m here on Friday I’ll play it for you. It won’t sound like the version Chet will release, but I like it.”
“And when will you know if he’s putting it on his album?”
“He and his producer should be making those decisions now. It’s been recorded. Now it’s just a matter of whether or not it makes the cut.”
“Well that is exciting news. Congratulations, Ian.” Sandra lifted her glass toward him.
“It’s what I’ve been working toward.” He clinked his glass to hers. “Seems we both have something to celebrate. Paul—bring our artist another margarita!”
***
Sandra set her empty glass on the bar. “Okay, I need to go to bed. Three margaritas is one more than my limit and two more than my usual. If they weren’t so darned big.”
“Can I walk you home?” Ian lowered himself from the stool and extended his arm.
“You can, but only after I stick my toes in the ocean.”
“You want to go to the beach? Now?”
“I do, just ankle-deep. It’s such a gorgeous night.”
“You know that ankle-deep can become thigh deep when the waves are right.”
“And so I’ll get wet. C’est la vie!” Okay, she was a little drunk, but she felt good tonight. The stone in her stomach was reduced to a pebble, there was no sign of a tear ambush and Ian was here. She threw a fist in the air. “To the beach!” Paul looked up from where he was sitting with one of the other guests. “Oops,” Sandra leaned in and whispered to Ian, “that came out a bit louder than I intended.”
“Okay Margarita Mary, let’s go before you get us thrown out. You can shout all you want outside.”
The sand was still holding some of the day’s heat and the water felt warm on her feet. Sandra stopped and turned her face up to a half-moon surrounded by a spray of stars. “I love it here. I feel so liberated.” She let go of Ian’s arm and extended her hands to the night sky. “Do you feel that way about this place?”
“It’s why I stayed. Have you ever thought about it? Staying in Mexico?”
“That’s the second time you’ve brought that up. Are you selling real estate these days?” They’d started walking again, the waves pulling sand from under her feet, taking it to the sea.
“Me? Certainly not. Just curious. From what you’ve said you haven’t been happy, back in Alberta.”
“I wasn’t. You’re right. But that’s changed now.” She linked her arm with his. “Things are good. I’m good.”
“Well, glad to hear it. So, what’s changed? New man in your life?”
“No! No man—new or old. What’s changed is me. It just took some time.”
“Ah yes, time heals all wounds—whatever they might be.” Ian paused as if waiting for Sandra to reveal more. She remained quiet. “But so can the Sea of Cortez ...” Ian fanned his arm toward the open water and gave Sandra a look of invitation.
“All right, you’re on!” Sandra released his arm and began walking into the waves.
“I meant healing to be near, not in!”
“Come on super-Canuck! The water’s warmer than any Canadian lake in mid-August!” She was hip deep in the dark water, the waves splashing up around the bottoms of her shoulder blades.
“You have been drinking, Ms. Liberated, and should not be swimming in the dark,” he called over the sound of the surf.
“Oh don’t be such an old curmudgeon, come join—.” A large wave swept over Sandra’s shoulders, drowning out her last word. She laughed and spluttered, “—me.”
“Okay, you win. I’m coming out to get you before you drown.”
As Ian began wading toward her, Sandra moved further out into the water. “Sandra. I mean it. You need to stop there.”
“You sound like my father, and I rarely listened to him.”
He stretched his hand toward her even though she was still twenty feet away. “I know you can swim but tequila has a way of hampering athleticism ... and dulling common sense.”
“I heard that!” Sandra got the words out just before a wave crested her shoulders and swallowed her head. When it passed, she was underwater, imagining Ian scanning the surface for her, calling her name. She could feel the surge of the sea pushing her toward the beach and then pulling her into its depths. Four years ago she would lie in the water and let the current pull at her, tempted to let it take her out, lacking the will to drag her weighted body back to land. It seemed the years had changed that, she no longer wanted to drift away, the shore had won out. She swam underwater in Ian’s direction, knowing he’d be moving to where he last saw her. She guessed at the distance and launched herself to the surface right next to him, sending salty spray into his face. “Gotcha!”
He stood there waist deep in the rolling water, glaring at her, water dripping from his nose and chin. “What the hell, Sandra? You scared the crap out of me!”
“You are a curmudgeon. When did that happen? I’m sure you weren’t like this last year when I was here.”
They stood in the dark water, the surf continuing to roll by at shoulder height. Ian’s back was to the beach, his face shadowed and grave. She flashed him her best “come play with me” grin. And then he started to chuckle, his chin dropping to his chest, shoulders bouncing. Sandra laughed with him, accepted his outstretched hands and turned a circle there in the sea. She wished she could wrap this moment up and tuck it away so its joy could be pulled out to light up her darkest thoughts. He held her hand firmly in his as they left the water and ambled back to the hotel, a trail of salt water drops behind them on the sand, the echoes of their laughter blending with the crashing of the waves.
CHAPTER NINE
Sandra sat in Sukhasana, her hands resting on folded knees, palms facing up into the faint orange of the morning sky. She closed her eyes and still saw the glowing horizon on the backs of her eyelids. She was the only one on the rooftop and couldn’t believe she alone was taking advantage of this perfect time of day. Even the gulls were silenced by the morning’s blissful tranquility.
She stood and brought her feet together and reached up into the growing light, raising her eyes to the coloured canopy. Peace. I will maintain peace through this day. I will maintain peace through this day. Her arms panned wide as she swan-dived into a forward bend, fingers touching the bumpy green surface of her yoga mat. I am an island of calm. I am an island of calm. Her hands dropped onto the mat and she stepped back into Downward Dog. She smiled as she thought of Rufus mirroring her position, his tail wagging in an invitation to play. Despite the freedom it afforded, she missed his constant presence in her day. Maybe she’d talk to Paul about bringing him again next year. He loved the beach.
She lowered her forearms to the floor and kicked her feet up into a headstand. Mark would be here in a few hours. Was there any chance of maintaining peace through this day? She thought of the ease and fun of last night with Ian. Why did it have to be different spending the day with someone like Mark Jeffery? Why couldn’t she just be herself? Because he was famous? She supposed that was the reason. And there was that porcupine thing he had going on. Tiptoeing around someone never made for relaxing conversation. She brought her feet and shins back down to earth and pushed her arms forward into Child’s Pose. If only she could stay here all day.
***
Sandra heard a knock on the door as she was putting on her make-up, and then Paul’s voice. “Sandra, Mark is here for you. He’s waiting outside.”
“Thank you. Tell him I’ll be right there.” Okay, here goes nothing. She’d Skyped with Trisha over breakfast and, between that and a lengthy yoga session, was feeling better prepared for her road trip with Mr. Rich and Famous. She just wanted to get through it with her self-esteem intact. Of course, Trisha had placed a whole other level of signific
ance on the day.
“You lucky thing, spending the day with Mr. Rochester.”
“He’s not Mr. Rochester, Trish. He’s an aging actor with a tendency to bite heads off.”
“Oh, you’ll cheer him up. You always do that for me when I’m in the dumps.”
“Yes, but I feel comfortable with you. With him I’m worried I’ll say exactly the thing that will set him off.”
“Well set him off then. Maybe he needs a good rant to get it out of his system.”
“I’d rather not, thanks. I thought he was going to come at me from across the table yesterday morning.”
“Just don’t get him all riled up when he’s behind the wheel. Wait until you’re sitting somewhere.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to be sitting anywhere with him. We’re driving in together and when we get to La Paz I’ll be going my own way until it’s time to head home.”
“If only I could inhabit your body for a few hours.” Trisha closed her eyes and let out a sigh through her upturned nose. “What a different day it would be.”
Having Trisha inhabit her body for the day wasn’t a terrible idea. But, with the laws of nature against that happening, Sandra inhaled deeply, grabbed her bag, and regretfully left the serenity of her room behind.
***
“Hola, Señorita.” Mark was leaning on the hood of a cobalt blue BMW convertible. “Your chariot awaits.”
Although still bearded, today he was looking more like Mark Jeffery from the big screen, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “Isn’t this a little fancy for Baja roads?” she asked.
“Admittedly, yes, I have discovered it’s not entirely practical for dirt roads, but it’s got great suspension and it’s only five miles to the pavement.” He went around the car and opened the passenger door. “Hop in and I’ll show you how a BMW handles these goat trails they call roads down here.”
She couldn’t deny it was a gorgeous vehicle. She slid into the soft leather bucket and pulled the seat belt over her shoulder. As he climbed in beside her his cologne met her nostrils, something spicy and very masculine. Oh boy.