Paul dropped his duffel bag into the back seat of the BMW. “So it was the chair at fault.”
“I didn’t say that. I said they’re light. And, to answer your earlier question, no, I didn’t throw any furniture in La Paz.”
“Well, good. I’d rather you refrained from frightening my guests.”
“Although ...”
“Oh sod. What did you do?”
“I may have lost my temper and rather ... banged my hand on the table, a bit harder than I planned to.”
“Mark ...” Paul shook his head as he settled himself in the passenger seat.
“But I apologized, as I did for my breakfast outburst. She doesn’t strike me as the delicate type.”
“She isn’t, but she’s a good soul who probably doesn’t want to spend her holiday hanging out under your dark cloud.”
“I will endeavor to not frighten her but I enjoy her company.” Mark put the car in gear and started up the long driveway to the road.
“So you’re telling me you’re interested in Sandra?” Paul asked. “She doesn’t strike me as your type.”
“Not interested, no, and she’s not my type. I’m simply enjoying her company at the moment. She’s a bit like ... vanilla ice cream—not terribly exciting but predictable and rather refreshing.”
“Not sure I like the sound of that.”
Mark stopped at the top of the driveway and regarded Paul over the top of his sunglasses. “Look, my life has been rubbish this past month and I’ve found a bright spot amid the crap. Is that so bad?”
“Not bad for you, no, but she is a living, feeling person. I’m not sure she’d be happy knowing that you’re using her.”
“I’m not using her, I like her. I’m finding it pleasant to spend time with someone completely outside my normal circles.”
“Okay, but if you hurt that lovely woman ...” Paul leaned toward Mark and opened his eyes wide. “I’ll have your guts for garters.”
“Right.” Mark chuckled. “I promise to do my best, but ...” Mark grinned as he pulled onto the road toward San Leandro.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I know I’m predictable but I’ll have the fish special again, Elena.” Sandra closed her menu and handed it to the waitress.
“And I will have a plate of your fabulous fish tacos.” Ian slid his menu on top of Sandra’s.
“Such a beautiful girl,” Sandra sighed as she watched Elena’s retreating back, the burgundy highlights in her hair reflecting the lamp light. “If only I did portraits ...”
“So, you’ve been painting?” Ian asked.
“I have, and, you’ll be shocked to learn, I’m exhibiting two, maybe even three pieces in La Paz next week.”
“And just how did that little miracle come about? Has someone threatened you?”
“No, not threatened exactly, more ... convinced.”
“Seriously? How many times have I tried to get you to exhibit in that show? Apparently, I need to take some lessons from—who was it, Paul?”
“No, Paul’s friend, the one who bought my painting. Mark Jeffery.”
“Ah, so that’s the catch. I’m not famous enough to be convincing? Or maybe not sufficiently handsome?”
“No, nothing like that. He and Pascual ganged up on me at the art supply store in La Paz. They made it impossible for me to say no.”
“Mm ... I see. Well, however it came about, I’m pleased. It’s about time.” Ian lifted his glass. “Here’s to your success then.” Their wine glasses clinked together.
“So you went to La Paz with Mr. Jeffery?”
“I did—a couple of days ago. He offered me a ride and I found it hard to say no, even though I would have preferred to take the bus.”
“I see a pattern developing. You realize that “no” is quite a short word, very easy to say. Let’s try it—” Ian’s eyes jumped to the beach entrance. “I believe your convincing friend just walked in the door. Careful, or he’ll have you ordering a glass of Scotch and maybe the octopus appetizer.”
Sandra gave Ian a gentle punch before glancing over her shoulder to see Mark walk up to the bar. “That’s a first. I’ve never seen him in here.”
“I have, but not for weeks.”
“I thought it odd he never comes, since he and Paul are old friends,” she said.
“So you’ve been watching for him.”
“You don’t have to watch for someone in a place this size to notice they’re never here.”
“Best practice that difficult two-letter word. He’s coming this way.”
Sandra turned to see a smiling Mark moving toward their table. “Sandra, hello.” Mark held out a hand for her to shake. He turned to Ian. “And ... I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Ian. LeRoy.” Ian extended his hand.
“Of course. I apologize. I’m terrible with names. May I join you?” He was already pulling out one of the two empty chairs.
“Be our guest,” Ian said, the annoyance obvious in his voice. Sandra gave him her best be nice look.
Mark didn’t seem to notice as he settled into his seat. “So, are you playing this evening?” he asked Ian.
“No, not tonight. There’s a flamenco duo in from Cabo.”
“Excellent. Nothing quite like live music. Rather lifts the spirit, wouldn’t you say?” Mark looked from Sandra to Ian and back again.
“Yes ... absolutely.” Sandra said.
Elena approached the table and took Mark’s order. When she left, the three sat in silence. Mark spoke first. “Soooo, Ian ... did Sandra tell you she’s showing in the La Paz art show next week? It took some persuading but I think it’s a good thing. What is the point of art if not for the enjoyment of others? It would be like you, playing music solely in the privacy of your own home, or me, reciting lines from Shakespeare in front of my bathroom mirror. What would be the point? We artists are destined to express ourselves for the enjoyment of others. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Ian hesitated. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s true, but there is also an aspect of creating art for one’s own enjoyment and satisfaction. Wouldn’t you agree, Sandra?”
Ian had a tone that Sandra recognized, that slightly mocking, ready-for-a-debate tone that was entertaining under the right circumstances, but unnerving in this situation.
“I’d say you’re both right and it’s just a matter of personal preference and comfort, and probably talent, that determine how much of our art is for ourselves and how much for public consumption. And yes, I did tell him how you and Pascual coerced me into showing three pieces in La Paz next week.”
“Three? Aha,” Mark pointed his finger at Sandra, “I knew you’d be keen once you were committed. She’s a reluctant exhibitionist, this one.”
“It’s not really in her nature to show off.”
“Show off? Is that what you think it is to display her work?”
“No, I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with not being an exhibitionist. Some of us are quieter about our talents.”
Well, isn’t this shaping up to be a fine evening. Sandra stood. “Ian, can I get you another glass? I’m headed to the bar.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave them alone at the table, but maybe she’d be lucky and they’d take it outside before she got back. She, for one, needed more wine.
***
Elena cleared away the empty plates. “Everything was very good?”
“Tell Paul that everything was delicious, Elena.” Mark said as he placed his napkin on the plate.
“Excuse me.” Ian rose from the table and headed toward the baño sign at the back of the restaurant.
Mark turned to Sandra as soon as Ian was out of earshot. “I have exciting news, and I have you to thank.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You inspired me, dear lady, to do something I should have done a long time ago.”
“I did notice that you’ve pressed your slacks.”
“You must be getting your material from Paul. I ta
lked to my agent yesterday—”
“You took the documentary part.”
“Oh God no, I’m not an idiot. But I did give him an earful, refused that piece of rubbish he sent me, and demanded he find something better or I’m taking my business elsewhere. This morning he called, and he’s got something. I don’t have the script yet but he assures me I’ll love it and that it’s in the bag if I want it.”
“Well that is good news. Did he give you a sense of what kind of movie it is?”
“No, not really, but he guarantees I’ll be pleased so I’m imagining it’s something of the calibre of film that fell through.” He leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his glass of burgundy wine. “He knows I won’t be happy with much less.”
“Well ... good.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I don’t know your agent so I have no business passing judgement.”
“Perhaps not, but tell me what you’re thinking.”
Sandra hesitated, not wanting to spoil his good mood, and not wanting a repeat of the last two times they’d dined together. “It’s just that his idea of what suits you and yours seem to be travelling in different directions.”
“That is true, but, I was quite clear.”
“I’m sure you were.” Sandra could see Ian making his way back to the table. He stopped half way to visit with two women he seemed to know. Although, with Ian, it was possible they were strangers soon to be friends. “I’m only suggesting you save the celebration until you see the script.”
“Such a pessimist. I’m surprised.”
“I’m not a pessimist, just inclined to caution.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saturday morning. Sandra had only been at Mar Azul for a week but it felt longer; so much had happened in such a short time. She took in the view of the water from her perch at the edge of the rooftop. The horizon glowed molten orange beneath a barge of grey cloud and the waves floated golden coins on their crests, gleaming in the sun and vanishing as they made landfall. The yoga sessions were helping to keep her grounded but she was losing some of the calm she’d come to associate with being in Mexico. It was Mark and she knew it, his attentions rattled her, left her feeling conflicted. Last night in Pablo’s he’d hung around for the entire evening, much to Ian’s disappointment. It was obvious Ian didn’t like him. She’d have to find out why. Maybe something had happened between them before Sandra arrived or Ian knew something about Mark that she didn’t. Mark seemed oblivious to Ian’s uncharacteristic sharpness but Sandra knew Ian well enough to recognize his irritation at their uninvited third.
When she’d first come to Mar Azul four years ago she’d immersed herself in the peace of the place and had been resuscitated. She couldn’t come here without remembering her excruciating sorrow but, more profoundly, the healing that succeeded it. Mar Azul had become like a magic elixir taken once every year to sustain that healing. This year she’d had one day of the elixir before Mark entered the picture. If she listened to Trisha’s advice she’d be all over him, but she didn’t trust the draw she felt. He was so not her type, so not Nick. The attraction was purely a movie idol crush and that just wasn’t her style—it seemed a setup for embarrassment, or pain.
Last night he’d been so buoyant. They’d even had a dance while Ian fumed alone at the table. Despite his background in music, dancing was not one of Ian’s ways of enjoying it. The duo had played some salsa numbers and, despite her apprehensiveness, Mark took her hand and led her to the small dance floor. She knew only the very basic back and forth steps of the footwork but Mark obviously had experience with Latin dancing and guided her through more complicated moves. It was exhilarating. For those two dances she let herself go and enjoyed being propelled around the floor by a good looking and accomplished dancer. His right hand felt strong pressing into her shoulder blade, and his left incredibly warm wrapped around hers—
“You look lost in thought.”
Sandra started and turned to see Paul at the top of the stairs. “I suppose I was. Good morning.”
“Can I interrupt?”
“Of course.” She patted the empty bench beside her. “Come and sit.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Why do you ask?”
“I usually see you down for breakfast before now. Just checking in.”
“Above and beyond the call of duty, that’s our Paul. Nothing’s wrong. I finished my yoga and got to staring out at the sea. It’s a beautiful colour this morning. Sometimes the blue is so vivid and deep. I keep trying to capture it on canvas.”
“So you were thinking about painting?” Paul asked, eyebrows raised.
“All right, what is it you really want to know?”
He sat down next to Sandra. “I saw you dancing with Mark last night. Another realm where he always showed me up—rotten bastard.” Paul smiled.
“He does know how to bust a move. I’ll give him that.”
“And you’re no slouch either.” He nudged her with his elbow.
“Well thank you. But you didn’t come up here to compliment my dancing.”
“No, I didn’t.” Paul inspected his hands.
“Well, out with it. I’ve not known you to beat around the bush.”
“Okay, this is none of my business but I’m going to butt in anyway. I’m concerned about you spending so much time with Mark, about your feelings for him.”
“We’re friends, that’s all. When he’s not brooding he can be fun.”
“I know that. I’ve been his friend for almost forty years. And I also know that a lot of women fall for him and that he can be ...”
“A bit of a jerk?”
“Well yes, that too.” Paul chuckled. “But what I was getting at is that he can be a bit oblivious to others’ feelings. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt, that’s all. He’s a great guy but he’s only here sorting some things out and then he’ll be back to his film star life and his celebrity girlfriends. San Leandro is far from his kind of place. He’s usually good for a week before he starts whinging about how dull it is. I’m surprised how long he’s stayed this time, and that he’s leased a house, but I know it’s just the funk he’s in. It won’t last.”
Sandra put her hand on Paul’s. “Thank you, but you don’t have to worry. I’m quite aware that I am not his type and even more aware that he’s not mine. I’d be happy if he’d find something else to occupy his time, to be quite honest. I consider myself pretty grounded, but hanging out with a movie star has been messing with my equanimity.”
Paul was quiet for a moment, squinting out at the sparkling waters of Cortez. “You know, even though he’s been down in the dumps recently, he’s seemed more honest, more the Mark I knew before he became famous. He was a good guy, still is under all that obsession with getting the right roles, connecting with the right people, and looking good for the media. He didn’t used to be so superficial.”
“I think he’s just torn between what he wants and what he thinks he needs in order to maintain this life he’s created.”
Paul looked at her, a soft smile touching his lips. “Very insightful, Ms. Lyall. You might be right.”
“And so you’ll cease to worry about me falling head over heels and having my heart trompled on by Mark Jeffery?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“So, how about that breakfast? I’m famished!” She rubbed her stomach and glanced down at her watch. “And, I’m late for a Skype session with Trisha.”
***
“Where have you been?” Trisha asked. She was sitting at her kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.
Sandra’s laptop rested on the table, the umbrella overhead allowing her to see the screen with the brightness turned on high.
“Good morning to you too.” Sandra responded as she settled herself in a chair facing the monitor and the sea. “I went a tad long in my yoga session this morning. Sorry about that.”
“No prob, but I can’t talk
long. I have to get to the gallery. Where are you anyway? It looks like you’re outdoors.”
“I’m on the breakfast patio. I normally talk to you from my room but I needed breakfast and Paul only serves until ten. I’m afraid you’ll have to watch me eat.”
“Tell you what. I’ll throw a couple of slices in the toaster and join you.” Trisha disappeared from the screen and Sandra could hear her movements around the kitchen. “Go ahead. I can hear you. What’s been happening?”
“I finished my second piece for La Paz, and today I’m starting my third.”
Trisha’s face leaned sideways into view. “That is fantastic. Are you going to the opening?” She disappeared again, the kitchen sounds resuming off-screen.
“I am. It’s on Wednesday and Ian has agreed to come with me, for moral support. I’m nervous.”
“Of course you are. You should be. The public can be ruthless.”
“Oh thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.”
Trisha returned to her chair. “I’m kidding. They’ll love your work. Your style is unique but not out there far enough to turn people off. Which is why I’ve been trying to convince you to exhibit in my gallery for the past, oh, let me see now, eight years is it? I’m thrilled you’re doing this but I may never forgive you.”
“I promise I’ll think about doing something at home. It’s easier here where no one knows me.”
“I understand that, but I still won’t forgive you until I have a Sandra Lyall showing at my—” Trisha’s eyes left Sandra’s face and were directed over her shoulder. “Well, hello there, this must be your actor friend.”
Sandra turned her head and looked up into Mark’s cleanly shaven face.
“Good morning,” he said.
On an impulse, she reached for the laptop to pull the lid down.
“Don’t you dare, missy,” Trisha said. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Sandra still hadn’t said anything. “Right, of course. Trisha, this is Mark Jeffery. Mark, this is my friend, Trisha Delaroche.” The words spilled out in rapid fire.
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