House of the Blue Sea

by Teresa van Bryce

  “This is Mark Jeffery, the British sacrifice—,” she made like she was placing a noose over his neck, “or I mean friend—I told you I’d invited.”

  Mark stepped forward and shook hands with Doug and then Jeremy, the owners of the house, and then Ian. “Mr. LeRoy, nice to see you again.” It wasn’t, but it seemed the polite thing to say.

  Ian greeted him with forced pleasantness, no doubt for Sandra’s benefit. “And you also, Mr. Jeffery. Sandra wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  And you were probably hoping I wouldn’t, he wanted to say. But instead said, “Wouldn’t have missed it. So many friendly people in one place, and poutine. How could I say no?”

  “Indeed, how could you?” Ian said, his smile vanishing and his words tinged with sarcasm.

  Sandra was back at the kitchen counter. “I’m drinking strawberry margaritas. Would you like one? Or, there’s also Labatt’s Blue—a Canadian beer that Ian found down in Cabo—and Corona, since it’s in almost every bar cooler in Canada. And there’s wine, from California, which is on the way to Canada.” She held a bottle of red wine off to her side, Vanna White style.

  “Well, that’s quite a selection. But tell me, what part of a margarita is Canadian?”

  “Ah, fair question. It’s a strawberry margarita, so, the red part and, of course, the ice.”

  “I’ll have one of those then, easy on the tequila please.”

  Sandra filled a shot glass from a bottle of gold-coloured tequila and poured it into a cocktail glass, topping it up with a frothy red mixture from a pitcher and a split strawberry placed over the lip.

  The three men continued to finish up the food preparations and Mark stepped closer to the counter to have a look. Ian was pouring light brown gravy onto two large piles of chips and cheese curd, Jeremy pulled the lid from a baking pan that was filled with what appeared to be small cabbage rolls, and Doug was slicing up a ham and pineapple pizza. In the centre of it all, a cloth-lined basket filled with tiny doughnuts.

  Sandra handed Mark his drink. “Well, what do you think of the buffet?”

  “Rather fascinating. If I’m not mistaken, the only truly Canadian dish of the lot is the poutine. The others are, let’s see—Ukrainian, Italian, and American I believe,” he said, pointing to each one.

  “True, multi-cultural like those of us who live there, but all distinctly Canadian.”

  “I’m surprised there’s nothing you’ve borrowed from the British.”

  “We would have, if you had better food.” She lifted her eyebrows at him before she turned toward the door to the verandah. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some of my countrymen and women.”

  Mark thought he could feel Ian’s eyes on his back as he followed her outside.

  There were more people on the verandah than when he’d arrived, guests arriving via the beach from San Leandro. The crowd was like a jumbled Canadian flag, everyone dressed in red and white. Mark hadn’t thought to ask about dress code and was wearing khaki trousers and a blue and white flowered shirt. He felt a bit like a lone goose in a flock of flamingos.

  Sandra introduced him around to everyone she knew, most of whom she’d met in the first hour of the party. Warren and Terri farmed in Saskatchewan and left their grown children in charge of things while they spent the winter in Baja. Barbara and Jennifer, the two women Sandra had been sitting with in Pablo’s the week before, were vacationers from Winnipeg, staying at Mar Azul and scheduled to leave in two days. Mark wasn’t clear whether they were single friends travelling together or a couple. They didn’t give off that couple vibe somehow. Carrie, Mike and their son Leo were enjoying their first winter in Mexico, now that Leo was finished high school and not yet committed to the next phase of his education. They were from somewhere in British Columbia that Mark hadn’t heard of, which could have been almost anywhere since Vancouver was the one city he knew in the province. He’d stupidly asked whether their town was close to Vancouver and Mike had chuckled and replied, “Quite close, yes, just one day’s drive.”

  Mark had been to Canada twice, the first time as a young boy and only to Ontario when his father was attending a conference in Toronto. They’d taken a side trip to Ottawa the final two days because Dad felt it important to visit the capital of any country you visited. Mark remembered being surprised that the capital city wasn’t Toronto, since it was the largest and most known in the country. It seemed only logical to him, with London the capital of England and Paris the capital of France. But something about Canada had captured his imagination back then, so in his thirties, when one of his ex-wife’s films was being shown at the Toronto International Film Festival, he’d jumped at the opportunity to return. Before the trip he did his homework on Canada, learning more of its history and political make-up. More than anything, he hated coming off as some narrow-minded git who knew nothing outside his own borders. He hoped the long-ago education wouldn’t fail him tonight. Perhaps he should have done a bit of brush-up.

  It was hard to believe Sandra had known these people just an hour, since she remembered their names, where they were from, and usually a little something else. When he had her alone for a moment he asked, “So how do you accomplish that, remembering so much about people you just met?”

  “Practice, and a bit of trickery.”

  “Trickery? A nice girl like you? What sort of—”

  “Sandra, you have to introduce us!” A tall bleached blonde was dragging a reluctant-looking gentleman toward them. Apparently Mark had been recognized.

  “Lorna, this is Mark Jeffery. Mark, Lorna and her husband Kevin,” Sandra said quickly as Lorna pushed past her to shake Mark’s hand.

  “I love your movies. I didn’t realize you were Canadian. You have such an excellent British accent,” Lorna gushed.

  “Well, you see, I’m actually not—”

  Lorna squealed. “Don’t you agree, Kevin? Doesn’t he sound British?” She was still holding Mark’s hand. “You were absolutely fabulous in Missy’s Fortune, and of course Jane Eyre from years ago. What are you doing in Baja? Are you on vacation or do you live here now? I can imagine it’s a relief to get away from all the hubbub of Hollywood, fans bothering you everywhere you go. Do you find that? Do you find it quieter here in Mexico or are you here working?” She opened her mouth in a gasp. “You are, aren’t you? You’re here making a movie. Kevin, isn’t that exciting?”

  Sandra was standing off to Mark’s side barely maintaining her serious expression as he started to open his mouth in answer to Lorna’s questions but never managed to get a word out before she was on to the next one. Poor Kevin hung behind her, smiling and nodding where it seemed appropriate.

  “So where is your movie set? Surely not right here in quiet little San Leandro?” She turned to Kevin, her eyes wide. “Maybe we can go to the set, honey. Wouldn’t that be exciting?” She turned back to Mark. “Do you think that could be arranged? Could we visit the set? I just love movies and to watch you work would be such an amazing experience. I guarantee you we’d be no trouble. You wouldn’t even know we were—”

  “I’ll see what I can arrange. It was lovely to meet you. Shall we get another drink, Sandra?” Mark offered his arm to Sandra and turned for the open door to the house. He could hear Lorna still chattering brightly. “Isn’t his accent remarkable. You’d never guess he wasn’t British.”

  Sandra burst out laughing as soon as they were in the kitchen and out of earshot. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her.”

  “And spoil her fun, and apparently yours?”

  Sandra lowered her eyebrows at him. “Well, aren’t you the mischievous one. Now, can I get you a refill?”

  She filled their glasses and they returned to the party, heading for the opposite end of the verandah from where Lorna was no doubt spreading the word about the movie being made in San Leandro by the famous Canadian actor, Mark Jeffery.

  Before they were drawn into another conversation, Mark said, “I have news. Can we go down to the beach a moment?�
��

  Her eyes met his and he saw the question there. “Sure.” She pulled off her heeled sandals and left them sitting on the bottom stair before taking Mark’s arm and stepping into the sand.

  They walked to the edge of the light, just beyond the flag that was waving gently in the evening breeze. She let go of his arm and turned to him. “Well, enough suspense, out with your news.”

  She seemed a different Sandra tonight, bolder, more accessible somehow, and she looked dazzling in her red dress that rippled around her legs in concert with the flag behind her. She’d done something new with her hair; it fell in waves around her face and touched the tops of her bare shoulders. He realized he was staring.

  “I called Nate yesterday after you left. I told him I wouldn’t take the part and ... I fired him.”

  Sandra’s eyes widened. “You did? That’s huge. I’m ... well, I’m surprised.”

  “But not pleased?”

  “It’s not for me to be pleased.”

  “Well, I’m relieved, and I haven’t had such a good night’s sleep in a long while.”

  “Well then, I am pleased, for you.” Sandra extended her glass toward Mark. “I’m sure that wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

  Mark held up a hand. “There’s more.”

  “Okay.” Sandra lowered her glass.

  “I’ve agreed to narrate my friend’s documentary.”

  “On Mali. The child mortality film,” Sandra said.

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Precisely. You remember.”

  “I do. I looked it up. It’s a huge issue.”

  “It is. Norman was thrilled to have me on board. He thinks it will help him get financial support for the project.”

  “I’m sure it will. Quite a coup for a small organization. And, all of this makes you happy?”

  “Terrified, but yes, also happy.”

  “Well, most definitely congratulations are in order then. To your future; may it shine like the Baja stars.” She touched her glass to his and turned her face to the sky.

  His eyes rested on her upturned face before following her gaze to the glittering canopy overhead.

  ***

  Ian was standing at the top of the verandah stairs watching them as they walked back toward the house. “Sandra,” he called, “we need your assistance.” He signalled her to follow him.

  She stopped on the stairs and put on her shoes before turning to Mark, still standing in the sand. “Well, again, I’m happy for you.” She took the two remaining steps.

  “Thank you,” Mark said to her back.

  She turned. “You don’t have to thank me for being happy for you.”

  “I’m not. I’m thanking you for being a good friend to an arrogant old sod and guiding him through the forest of his declining career.”

  “Well that sounds a lot more dramatic than it was.”

  “Perhaps, but—”

  “Sandra.” Ian had stepped out onto the verandah again. “We need you.”

  “Gotta go, duty calls.” She shrugged her shoulders before spinning and walking through the open door. She left him with an image of swirling red fabric and flawless legs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  He’d had glimpses of Sandra for the past hour but not an opportunity to talk to her again. Now that Ian had her in his clutches he wasn’t letting go. “Just a friend” indeed. It was obvious his intentions went beyond friendship. Why else would he steer her away from Mark at every opportunity? Unless, of course, he thought he was protecting her from the ogre who invited her to dinner and then attacked her. That was a distinct possibility.

  The initial call to the kitchen was to prepare the second round of food for the guests who’d arrived late. Then it was drinks, and now it seemed to be some kind of music selection. Sandra and Ian were going around to each of the guests, taking requests for favourite Canadian songs.

  Doug and Jeremy brought out more strings of lights and hung them from the verandah to the palapa out on the beach, over to a pole they’d placed in the sand and back to the other corner of the house. It appeared the party space was expanding. Because of the music requests and the speakers propped on the stairs, he assumed the new area was for dancing. Perhaps it was time to leave. Being the single guy in a party filled with couples was plain uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to drink as much as it would take to make it easier.

  Mark wandered out toward the water, leaving the voices to fade into the sound of the crashing waves. He thought again of the night he and Sandra walked on the beach at Mar Azul, the moonlight shining all around them. He’d felt their relationship turn a corner that night, or thought he had. But maybe all of his hope had been misguided and she was just being kind. It wouldn’t be out of character.

  He turned to look back at the house as the music grew louder. People were spilling down the steps onto the beach and dancing as soon as their feet touched the sand. He could see Sandra’s red dress in the crowd, jumping and twisting to the fast tempo. It was difficult to tell who she was dancing with but he thought he saw Ian’s reddish-blonde head of hair in her vicinity. He was a good-looking guy, seemed the intelligent sort, and was, admittedly, talented. Mark could see how a woman would be attracted to him. He was also about Sandra’s age and from the same country. She loved music and he seemed to appreciate art. Mark wondered if it would be the most generous thing to take his leave and let Ian make his best move.

  He looked down the beach in the direction of San Leandro and his empty house. He groaned as he took a few steps toward home but then stopped and looked up at the points of light twinkling at him from the darkness overhead. Go big or go home; wasn’t that what he’d said when he struck off for Rancho Azteca? “Right then. So sorry Mr. LeRoy, but I’m not going to give up that easily,” Mark said aloud to himself as he turned back toward the music and the party.

  Walking past the throng of dancers, he felt a woman’s hands on his arm. He turned with a smile and was disappointed to find a grinning Lorna attached to him, pulling him into the bouncing mob. Oh well, it beat sitting solo on the sidelines, and he could keep a closer eye on Sandra and Ian. He spotted them over Lorna’s shoulder, dancing in a foursome with their co-hosts, all singing along with the well-known lyrics, something about the summer of ‘69. Ian and Jeremy were playing air guitars while their companions bobbed their heads back and forth to the beat. Just then he was grabbed again and pulled in a circle by his partner, his back now to Sandra and her friends.

  “I’m onto you, you know,” Lorna shouted over the music.

  “Are you now?” Mark couldn’t help smiling.

  “You are British!” Lorna threw her arm in his direction and pressed her finger into his chest.

  He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands from his sides. “You caught me.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “In Baja or at the party?”

  Lorna thought for a moment. “Both.”

  “I’m in Baja on holiday and a Canadian friend invited me to the party.”

  Lorna danced in closer and leaned toward him. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not Canadian either.”

  Mark mocked surprise. “You’re not?”

  She grinned and leaned in again, her head bouncing close to his swaying shoulder, her hair swinging into his face. “I’m actually American, but I’ve lived in Canada since I married Kevin. So, you see, we’re both strangers in a strange land here tonight.” She winked at him.

  Being in any kind of alliance with Lorna made Mark uncomfortable. When the song ended he thanked her and went off in search of the loo.

  ***

  The music had gone up and down in tempo, from folk to rock to country. Some of the songs and artists Mark recognized, others not at all. He’d been back on the dance floor only once since he’d danced with Lorna, when she’d again dragged him into the fray to partner with her new friend Melissa from Nova Scotia. Melissa was also apparently a big fan, but thankfully a much less effusive one. She and her husban
d were in Baja on holiday, just up from Cabo for a few days, and had met Lorna in the village. Melissa said nothing to him beyond hello when they first met and then continued to smile at him and turn a little pink every time he looked at her. They danced two songs before her husband came to collect her, shaking Mark’s hand and then putting his arm around his wife and pulling her close to his side. Mark backed away from them wondering if he was viewed as some kind of playboy home wrecker here on his own.

  He sat down on the steps and watched the moving red and white mass of bodies. Dancing was such an odd thing. Take a room full of sane, even conservative adults, put on a rock and roll tune with a good beat, add a few margaritas, and watch the inhibitions fall way. There were at least forty people in the sandy square of dance floor now. He couldn’t believe they were all Canadian. How could a country with such a small population have so many people in one place at one time? If it was like this in San Leandro, he could only imagine the numbers in Cabo and the rest of Mexico. Who was minding the store?

  As he sat musing about the percentage of the Canadian population present on fifty square metres of Baja beach, he saw Sandra emerge from the crowd at the end of a song and come toward him. She smiled as she walked the few steps from the group of dancers to where he sat. “You’re not dancing.” She sat down beside him on the step. He could feel the warmth emanating from her.

  “No, I was concerned I’d have some Canadian lumberjack clobber me for dancing with his wife.”

  Sandra laughed. “I don’t think there are any lumberjacks here.”

  “Perhaps not, but the guy who collected his wife after the last dance was big enough to be one, and he was wearing plaid.”

  “That seems like an excuse. What’s the real reason you’re not dancing?” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a questioning look. “Don’t like our Canadian tunes? Can’t dance without your stunt double? Maybe had your heart broken by a Russian ballerina?”