“It’s time you learned how to surf,” he says in his deep voice.
God he’s handsome. I suppose I’m not meant to notice things like that because he’s my father – but I’m not blind. Cecile must be crazy about him however much she’s in denial.
“What happened between you and Cecile?” I ask, ignoring the surf request. He has been pushing that one on me for as long as I can remember.
“I tried, sweetie, I tried.”
“Why did she come running back to New York so soon then? What did you do?”
He lets out a sigh. “The way I see it? She was scared. Scared by her strong feelings for me. Cecile is a woman who has always been in control of situations. She’s a tough businesswoman, a negotiator. She wanted to negotiate me, didn’t want to lose herself in me.”
“So you were hard on her?”
“Not at all. I felt that she was trying to manipulate me into being somebody I wasn’t.”
“She’s so beautiful,” I say.
“She’s that, alright.”
I frown. “Poor thing. The hurricane has really knocked the wind out of her. I was going to go back to New York to help her in any way I could, but she wants just to be with her family.”
My dad answers sadly, “I’ve called her several times to try and comfort her but I guess she’s just not willing to talk about it. She still won’t return my calls.”
I sit there pensively, his hands still cupping my shoulders. The view is spectacular – a carpet of emerald green stretching to the deep blue of the ocean ahead. Coconut palms sway like ballet dancers in the gentle breeze and a cockerel crows for the fourth time in a row. An early morning mist is rising almost like smoke it’s so thick, dissipating into the air as it ascends into the cobalt blue of ice-clear sky. It’s just after dawn. As usual, I couldn’t sleep, and my father has gotten up early so he can get in some surf time.
“Come with me, honey. Come and surf. Surfing will clear your mind – it’s the zen of life. Surf and all your troubles will melt away.”
“It’s your addiction, isn’t it?”
“It’s my sanity, Arielle.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
And then he does something that he has never done before with me. His voice deepens into a commanding, strict tone. He suddenly sounds like an old-fashioned father from the Victorian age who might spank his children or put them to bed with no supper. “No, Arielle. I’ve had enough of you moping around like some lovesick, surly teenager. You are coming surfing and that’s the bottom line.” He clutches my hand and pulls me up out of my chair with a strong jerk.
I stand there stupefied.
He barks, “You are my daughter and I’m going to make you a surfer, once and for all. When you next see that Brit boyfriend of yours you can show him just how good you are. Give him something to be impressed about. You think he’d like to see you like you’ve been all week, hunched over in that chair staring at waves all day long? Or making work calls? No, honey, he was attracted to an active girl full of joie de vivre when he met you – a woman who went rock climbing on that first date. Show him what you’re made of.”
“It’s no good, Dad. It’s over between us. He doesn’t want me now. He’s not going to give me another chance.”
“Nonsense. You’re coming surfing, young lady. Soon you won’t even be brooding about him anymore anyway – you’ll have better things to occupy your mind.”
I pull back, but he keeps yanking me toward him. “Besides, have you seen the talent out there?” he continues. “Have you set eyes on the bodies along that beach?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, still surprised by his sudden air of authority.
“There are, like, at least ten dudes on that beach who are good enough to compete around the world. You think your English guy’s handsome and can surf? Wait until you set your eyes on this bunch of kids.”
“Kids?”
“There are some good-looking young men out there, some in their twenties and early thirties – perfect for you. A few of them interesting too. Everybody thinks surfers are dumb, but we’re not, we have the key to the secret treasure box, the potion to the essence of life.”
I’ve heard all this before but I listen anyway. I watch him as he continues with his spiel.
“Meanwhile, most other people out there are too busy running around in a rat-race in some concrete jungle somewhere, so preoccupied with ‘ambition’ and getting ahead that they can’t appreciate what real living is all about. We surfers know – we have the wisdom.” He tells me this with an ironic smile, although what he says he truly believes from the bottom of his heart.
“Surfers with brains?” I tease, although my dad is extremely smart. He can tell you anything about philosophy or astronomy and is an ace at mathematics. You wouldn’t know it, though. At first sight he’s so startlingly ‘cool’ and so buffed-up you’d take him for...for what? An old hippie? No, he’s too in shape for that, his eyes too focused. An ex-bodyguard? No, he’s too graceful, too ethereal. Who is he? I wonder to myself. I observe the flexing of his biceps as he turns his surfboard upside down. His fifty-two year-old body could pass for thirty-five. A thirty-five-year-old in great shape, no less.
I reflect on what Max said about living in a tree house and wonder, is that what my dad is doing, basically? Not that his bamboo house is a shack, no – it’s pretty state-of-the-art and modern; he designed and built it himself. But living the simple life, no frills, no ‘needs.’ He doesn’t care about the car he drives or impressing anyone. He is who he is and he makes no excuses for himself.
He squints his eyes, as he gazes at my left hand. My engagement ring is making reflections on the walls and ceilings like a mirror, twinkling in the morning light. “But take that rock off your finger, first,” he tells me, “or it could get washed away with the pull of the surf. I have a safety deposit box in the house – you can put it in there.” I’m still wearing the ring even though it’s officially over between Max and me, as if the ring is a symbol of hope that somehow everything will work itself out. He refused to take it back. So I carry it around on my finger like a wish.
My dad and I leave the porch to its spectacular view and go inside. My father taking me in hand the way he has is almost a relief. I don’t have to think anymore; he can do my thinking for me. Isn’t that what parents are for sometimes? To ease the pain? To shake you out of a stupor?
“Change into a whole piece swimsuit or you could scratch your belly on the board,” he advises me, waxing up his surfboard.
“All I have is an old bright red Baywatch-type thing.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’ll look like a Pamela Anderson wannabe. I’ll attract attention.”
“You’ll attract attention no matter what, honey. They all want to meet you.”
“What?”
“You think it’s normal that you live by the ocean and you’ve been tucked up in hiding in this house for nearly ten days? Every morning when I go down, the boys are asking where you are. They’re curious. Curious to meet my only daughter. Besides, I need your help at the shop today. We’ll surf all morning, have lunch, and then you can help me organize my bookkeeping. Your lady of leisure days are over, Arielle. From now on, it’s hang out in my shop, surf, or swim. No more moping around. Is that a deal?”
“Okay, it’s a deal,” I agree, and then my mouth breaks into a huge grin.
“That’s better. That’s what I want to see. I want to see that big, beautiful smile of yours.”
15
THE SURFER GUYS ARE really friendly and greet me with a warm welcome, as if the top of the hill where my father lives were on a different planet. Their dedication to the surf is as forceful as the Pacific waves, unrelenting – they don’t venture far from the beach during the day.
My surf lesson begins on the sand itself, and then once in the ocean I find out that ‘paddle’ is the magic word. With my torso pressed on the board, I paddle with my
arms feverishly out to sea and am then spun around by my father at the right moment to catch the wave and ride it to the shore. The idea is to stand up on the board as soon as possible. Easy on land, but nigh impossible with a fast-moving crashing wave. I do several tries, toppling over immediately into the water, each try more exhausting than the last, especially after the paddling; my arms and shoulders feel as if they are about to snap off, but in the end, after a long morning, I get there and manage to ride the wave upright on my shaky legs, all the way to the beach.
“Not bad for your first try,” my father says approvingly. “Not bad at all.”
“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Dad,” I say looking off to the rolling green hills in the distance and then back at him. “It’s really hard, all that paddling – I’m wiped out. No wonder you surfers have such big pecs and biceps.”
“It’s just a question of building up your stamina, honey, that’s all. What d’you make of the kids here? Anyone that takes your fancy?” he asks, gesticulating at the guys expertly riding the waves.
“Where are all the girls? The women surfers?” I reply.
“They’re around, just not today. Shame Zac’s not here, he’s a great teacher. Sometimes it’s best when someone who isn’t next of kin shows you the ropes,” he tells me with a playful grin.
“Who’s Zac?”
“You’ll see. You won’t be able to miss him. He’s one of our local champions. He could show you a few tricks of the trade.”
LATER THAT EVENING, after dinner, Emma calls. I can tell immediately by her quivering voice that something’s wrong. She usually speaks with such bravado and confidence that I’m instantly troubled.
After both of us have discussed the horror of the hurricane, she blurts out, “Johnny is having an affair.”
I take my cell onto the veranda where the reception is clearer. “Wait, hold up, Emma...an affair or a one-night stand.”
“A one-night bloody stand that developed into a full fucking-blown affair!”
Fucking being the operative word, I think. “But that doesn’t make sense, Johnny’s crazy about you.”
Emma blows her nose into the receiver. “That’s what I thought, too, but I was obviously dead wrong. Wrong and blind, to boot. I trusted him.”
“Well of course you did. He’s your husband. You had no reason not to trust him.”
“I should have seen the writing on the wall.”
“What writing?”
“The increase in the amount of ‘business’ trips he was making. The stupid cow lives in Phoenix, doesn’t she?”
“Phoenix? Who is she?” I ask taking in a deep breath.
“Another married woman.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Which makes it worse. The pair of them are as bad as each other. She has two kids. She has a husband who’s just as much in shock as I am.”
“You’ve spoken to the husband?”
“It was him that called me. He was the one who discovered what they were up to.”
“How did they meet? What’s her name, how old is she? Why is she doing this?” I shout out all in one breath.
“The worst? She’s not even pretty. I don’t understand, Arielle. She’s plain, homey-looking, the type that might bake bread. Not that bread bakers can’t be attractive, but you know—”
“What’s Johnny playing at?” I screech with disbelief.
“You ask me. This has been going on for six months. She’s a secretary – oh sorry, not meant to use that word these days...she’s a personal assistant to one of the guys in Johnny’s company. She must give really good blow jobs, or something, because I don’t get what he sees in her!”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Her husband made friends with me on Facebook, so I was able to check out their family photos. Two kids – not to mention Amy. All these little hearts being broken. Can you believe it? The husband’s devastated, of course.”
“Does Amy know?”
“No, of course not, but even at five years old she’s guessed something’s up. Mummy can’t stop crying, Mummy has got red, swollen eyes, so she knows Mummy’s in a terrible way.”
“Oh, Emma, I’m so, so sorry.”
“So am I.”
“What excuse has Johnny given? I mean, is he in love with this woman?”
“He says he needs time.”
“So typical – as if you’re just meant to sit about twiddling your thumbs while he works out his inner man-whore.”
Emma laughs faintly. “He’s still at the apartment. Can’t make up his mind what he wants to do.”
The wanting the cake and eating it, too, syndrome. Sounds familiar. An idea suddenly occurs to me and I say, “Emma, why don’t you and Amy come out here for a break? Get away. The airports are all open again, aren’t they?”
“I can’t, Emma’s in school and stuff.”
“She’s only five – it’s not the end of the world. What she misses in school she’ll make up for by seeing Costa Rica. What could be a better education than that? Seeing the Fiftieth State?”
“Tempting, Arielle, but I really can’t afford it right now. If I’d known this was coming, I’d have saved some ‘fuck-you’ money.”
“It’ll be my treat. I’ll get your tickets, and once you’re here it’s cheap. We’ll eat in – there’s not a lot to spend your money on, the surf and sun are free – life’s simple here.”
“I don’t know, I really–”
“Come on,” I cajole. “You need a change of scenery. Get away from Johnny. He needs time? You need a vacation!”
“Good point.”
“I’m going online as we speak and getting you two tickets.”
“Arielle—”
“I won’t take no for an answer. Then maybe Johnny will realize what he’s missing not having you both at home. It’ll give him the kick up the butt he deserves.”
“You don’t want to listen to me miserably droning on about my problems.”
“Oh, please, Emma, like it isn’t always the other way round. As if you haven’t had years of me sharing some drama or other of mine, while you’ve sat there patiently giving me wise advice. It’s time I did something for you in return.”
FINALLY, AFTER HOURS of lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I could have done things differently with Max, I fall asleep. I dream about white surf and ‘killer’ waves. I’m riding fast on the surfboard moving my body in balance with the swell, and Max is watching me from the beach, a proud grin on his handsome face.
So I’m irritated as hell when my happy dream is woken by a noise. Is it one of those feral pigs? Well, not technically a pig but a wild peccary. Sometimes they come snuffling and grunting around my father’s garden They like eating grass, seeds, roots and small fruits. They especially enjoy cacti, but will also eat dead animals and insects. They might even attack humans when approached and can cause considerable damage, sometimes mortally wounding human beings.
I lie in bed, stock-still, my ears pricked up like a dog. Scary thoughts of these wild boars pillaging my father’s garden, breaking and entering the house and attacking me fill my racing imagination. I decide I should do something and scare them away. I get up and move over to the window and look out. The sky is dark as black ink. I listen. No hog-like sounds at all. No grunting, just a gentle rustling in the bushes.
I nearly have a heart attack when I hear a man’s low voice.
It’s Max.
“Hi, babe,” he says casually as if no time has passed, as if I had never escaped from the airport ladies’ room window.
I lean out of the window into the shadows and catch a glimpse of his face, lit up by a waxing moon. My heart’s racing so intensely, I think my knees are going to give way beneath me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask amazed. “How did you find this place in the dark?”
“I have my ways; modern technology offers all sorts of solutions these days.”
“You came,” I say simpl
y. “You’re not still furious with me then?”
He bends forward into the open window. His breath is on me, I can taste the smell of him; his Max elixir. “I thought I’d never see you again,” I murmur into his face.
“As if,” he breathes into my hair. “I could never abandon you, Arielle.” His soft mouth presses on mine, and he begins to lick along my lips, parting them. But then his gentleness turns like a cat who suddenly becomes over-excited, and he nips my lower lip. I can feel the salty taste of blood.
“I need you, Arielle. I have to fuck you. Don’t you know that? I can’t live my life without you, without being inside you, without—” He doesn’t finish his sentence but continues with his rough kiss, playful and needy all at once. He rams his tongue deep inside my mouth, and I groan. I can taste the blood, the sweet saliva of his minty apple breath, and I return the kiss with passionate fervor.
“Max,” I moan.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Of course. My father’s sleeping, so don’t make a noise.”
“Are you ashamed? Worried he’ll disapprove of me?”
“He’s not so keen on you right now,” I say with a sly grin. “He wants to hook me up with one of the surfers. He doesn’t think you deserve me.”
“That’s why I’m here, baby. I got thinking about what you might do here in Costa Rica. You think I want my future wife fucking some sexy surfer?”
Tears fill my eyes. Future wife? So he has forgiven me! I rush to the front door and open it quietly. He’s standing there, legs apart, and I fall into his arms. “Max, I’ve been so miserable without you.” And I think, even if I die from Jenny’s hand, I’d rather die than be without him.
My Dark Knight Page 19