“If I go now,” I thought to myself, “I’ll be okay for the next few days.” My restless legs started twitching, and I was anxious to be out on my board, facing down a monster wave. It was the only way I knew for certain I could get relief, but I realized that more and more danger would never be enough to fill the empty black hole in my chest. I wanted to cry, but just when things seemed to be their very darkest, I was set upon through the blanket by a curious kitten.
Stumpy jumped off the bed and bounded around the room wildly, full of playful energy. He attacked imaginary mice and climbed the drapes, picking his way across the curtain rod like a tightrope walker despite his disability. He looked down at me with a face full of mischief, making me giggle despite my black mood.
I remembered what Evie often said whenever Pierre and Fifi’s antics lightened up an otherwise dull day, “Where would we all be without a little comic relief?”
~
Chapter Seventeen
LOVE
~
I rose to pull open the drapes, greeted by the Golden Gate Bridge glowing like Nixie’s hair in the early morning light. It reminded me that I had more important things to worry about than my petty relationship troubles. I stretched my arms over my head, dressed, and headed out to face the new day.
“There you are!” my father called to me from the couch, “You’re just in time for breakfast.” He struggled to his feet with a grin, using his walker to slowly haul himself to sit at the kitchen table. It was the first time I’d seen him walk since the accident.
“That’s okay. I’m not really hungry,” I replied with a pleased smile, rummaging around the kitchen for coffee. The cabinets were freshly stocked with all kinds of teas and spices, and the once sterile countertops held several bowls of fresh fruit. It reminded me of Abby’s kitchen. I finally found what I needed and started a pot, slipping into a chair alongside my dad. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Ahhh,” he sighed. “I miss that smell.”
“She still anti-coffee?” I asked with sympathy.
“I’m okay without it.”
When I got up to serve myself I looked over my shoulder and asked, “Do you want me to sneak you a cup?”
He shook his head no, “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, returning to the table with a steaming mug.
He watched with amused eyes as I sipped my coffee defiantly, “How about I beat you in a game of chess?”
I smirked, getting up to retrieve the board, “You’re on.”
My father had taught me to play many years ago, and we’d taken our battered old chess set all over the world. He never condescended to let me win, attacking mercilessly and pointing out where I made my mistakes. He was a good strategist, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of me. As a result, I’d become an excellent defensive player, and though I’d never won a match with him, I’d managed to play him to a stalemate more than once.
I realized the game was a metaphor for my struggles with Edwards, and I studied the board closely, trying hard to be proactive. I needed to think ahead and lash out boldly, attacking my opponent while at the same time defending my flanks. It was much easier said than done.
We were engrossed in the game, hunched over the board when I felt eyes on me. I looked up to see Amrita watching us play.
My father smiled up at her. “She’s giving me a hard time today,” he complained.
“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” she announced, “Will you like me to tell the chef to delay it?”
“We should be done by then,” he said, turning back to me smugly. “Check.”
I moved to protect my king, sacrificing my queen.
“Are you hungry?” he asked me, taking my queen nonchalantly.
“I don’t know…” I said, looking at Amrita bustling around the kitchen and suddenly feeling terribly out of place.
“Oh, come on, you need to eat. The food’s not half bad, and there’s always plenty to go around. We have lots of catching up to do.”
“Alright,” I said, moving another piece. “Checkmate.”
Dad reeled back in his chair, bemused, “How did you manage that?”
Amrita stifled a smile, bringing some place settings to the table. She excused herself, and left to supervise the food coming from Evie’s kitchen. We sat and talked about the game for a few minutes, mostly just getting re-acquainted. We purposefully kept our topics benign: my classes at school, Abby’s new baby, and his plans to return to lecturing. We were both careful to speak only of the future, delicately avoiding any mention of the disturbing past and unresolved present.
Amrita burst into the door bearing a huge tray of cloche covered dishes. She smiled nervously, setting the food on the table and trying to make excuses to leave us to eat without her. My father wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that we all sit down together. When she took a chair he looked pleased, happily glancing back and forth between the two of us. He seemed anxious for us to get along.
She picked a steaming teapot, pouring us all a cup of Chai latte that was so delicious I could imagine giving up coffee for it. She went on to describe each of the dishes in her lilting accent, charming me. The food was surprisingly good, buckwheat pancakes with stewed apples and raisins, served with bowls of thick yogurt spiced with cinnamon and drizzled with honey.
Dad studied the food on his plate, “So… what are the miraculous restorative properties here?” he asked her teasingly, a twinkle in his eye.
Amrita narrowed her eyes at him playfully, turning to me, “Are you as cheeky as your father when it comes to dismissing the health benefits of a proper diet?”
I looked across the table knowingly, “He needs to spend some time eating my Aunt Abby’s cooking.”
She looked puzzled when my father burst out laughing, and he turned to explain how his sister had been a strict vegan the past few years.
“And what’s wrong with that?” she asked.
“Nothing at all,” he replied, winking at me. “If she could cook.”
“She tries,” I defended Abby, chiding him good naturedly, “Which is better than either one of us can say.”
“Indeed. I found all of your take-out menus,” Amrita told my father with a sideways glance. She passed him a plate and his hand brushed hers when he took it, lingering a split second longer than necessary.
“At any rate, the food at Abby’s is much better now,” I informed him. “You really need to meet Dutch.”
“I know I do,” he nodded, “I was thinking about taking a trip to Aptos… maybe next week?” he looked to Amrita like he wanted her permission. “But only if the doctor here will accompany me.”
She looked unnerved, and turned to focus on me. “How is Stumpy doing this morning?” she asked, changing the subject awkwardly. Pets were clearly a safe topic of discussion.
“He was a busy boy last night,” I told them both about his antics, and my father reminisced about a cat he’d had as a boy. We laughed at his stories, and I was happy to see his sense of humor had survived the past few traumatic weeks.
Amrita smiled happily, and for a moment she looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her. “My grandmother used to say it was impossible to keep a straight face in the presence of a kitten. May I bring him out of your room for a little visit?” she asked me.
I nodded, “He’d like that.”
My father watched her leave the room with a gentle smile on his face. “She’s a lot more soft-hearted than she acts,” he mused.
“Yes,” I agreed, “There’s definitely much more there than meets the eye.” I just hadn’t figured out if it was good or bad yet.
I cleared the plates, stacking everything neatly back on the tray. Amrita came back with Stumpy, and I excused myself to jump in the shower.
Soon Cruz was at the door, hustling me off to the photo shoot. He was far more excited than I was about it, and I tried hard to be cheerful for his sake. He chattered on through the
drive, speculating about who might be in charge of hair and makeup, bolstering me with his limitless enthusiasm. He knew the photographer by reputation, and told me I should be honored to be sitting for her.
“She shoots Vogue covers and everything!” he gushed.
The studio was in an industrial district out by the rundown old piers, and when Cruz parked the Jaguar I was a little fearful we were at the wrong place. We approached a huge dilapidated warehouse and were buzzed into a ground floor door. A screeching freight elevator took us up a few floors, and the doors opened to another world entirely.
The towering walls were all painted the brightest white, and a huge bank of windows bounced the light around inside, making the room glow despite the grey San Francisco fog that swirled on the other side of the panes. House music was playing in the background, and a warmly lit stage-set beckoned.
Jaques came running up to greet us with kisses on both cheeks, introducing us to the photographer, a tall chic woman wearing enormous round glasses. I was taken to the makeup chair, introductions were made all around, and everyone got to work.
My hair was brushed smooth, loaded with sticky products and styled until it shone. The makeup artist went to work, dishing the latest celebrity dirt with Cruz, and talking over me to the hair stylist. I tried my best to avoid blinking while he brushed on layer after layer of mascara. He reminded me of a dentist, asking me questions while at the same time painstakingly lining my lips. I could only grunt a response.
Cruz’s voice rang out behind me, exclaiming with delight as he went through the racks of wardrobe and jewelry. He conferred with the photographer, charming her with witty jokes and lighthearted banter. I felt like a proud parent as I sat listening to him impress her with his encyclopedic knowledge of fashion and his insightful suggestions as to the best way to set up and style the shoot.
Soon we were clicking away, and I obediently looked this way and that, tilting my chin up or down, trying my best to keep my mouth relaxed.
“Think about Ethan,” Cruz coached me.
“Now she looks sad,” the photographer pointed out.
Cruz pressed his lips together. “Think about surfing,” he suggested. And I did.
I thought about surfing with Ethan, remembering the proud smile in his eyes, and how much fun it was to play under sunny skies with him. When things with Ethan were going right, there was no better feeling, and the shoot went smoothly. Soon, everyone was congratulating everyone else, and Cruz and I were on our way out the door.
We had a concert to attend.
We got back to Cruz’s apartment with hardly any time to spare. He brought me into his studio where a dozen or so black outfits from his new collection were hanging on the wall like works of art. I inspected them in awe, going from piece to piece. He’d returned to his original edgy, steampunk style, and it kept getting better and better.
“Cruz,” I gasped, wandering from one intricate piece to another, “They remind me of the first things you showed me.”
“Back by popular demand,” he said lightly, then suddenly worried, “Is that a bad thing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! They’re spectacular! They’re amazing!” I gushed.
“Well,” he said impatiently, “Try something on already!”
I couldn’t pick my favorite, so Cruz chose an aggressive looking dress, embellished with patent leather that made up most of the bodice. Small stiff ruffles lined in blood red satin curved around the hips, flashing provocatively when I moved.
“I was inspired by the Louboutin pump,” he said, “What do you think?”
“I think I can borrow a pair from Evie,” I said, turning around to admire the intricately woven straps on the back, “that would look killer with this.”
I slipped out of the dress and gave it back to Cruz to do a few last minute alterations. I already had my hair and makeup done, so I sat talking with Cruz while he sewed.
We were both looking forward to seeing Megan perform to a large crowd. Cruz had designed several new gowns just for the show, and I made plans to go early with him and help style her for the stage. He clutched my arm dramatically, “Wait until you see the grand finale gown!”
“I can’t wait,” I smiled. I tried to be enthusiastic, but all I could think about was how much better everything would be with Ethan by my side.
“Would you mind sitting with Brad in the box seat? Megan’s gonna need me backstage, and I don’t want to make him watch all alone.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Marina…” He turned to me seriously, “Please try to be nice to Brad… He thinks you hate him because of his father.”
“Of course I don’t!” I protested, thinking that if anything I was giving Brad the benefit of the doubt because of Cruz.
“Well, he gets nervous around you… He thinks you don’t trust him. He says you look at him like you’re constantly judging him.”
“Do I?” I asked, surprised.
Cruz shot me a glance that spoke volumes.
“Well… I don’t mean to seem that way.” He had described precisely the way Ruby made me feel, and I grimaced at the comparison.
“Don’t get all stressed out,” he reached over and squeezed my hand. “He’ll get over it. After all… I don’t mean half the stuff I say!”
Cruz finished the alterations, and I took the dress, leaving to stop by Evie’s for the shoes. When I got to her door, she opened it herself, and I couldn’t help but noticing how nice she looked.
Evie was always impeccably groomed, but she was particularly beautiful tonight. Her pale blond hair was loosely plaited into a twist at the nape of her neck, and she wore a flowing white gown with gold trim. She smoothed her dress self-consciously, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her swinging golden earrings. She looked like a goddess. A nervous goddess.
“Jaques called and told me the shoot went like a dream,” she said.
“I guess,” I followed her as she rushed me to her shoe closet, “What do you have planned for tonight?”
“Just having a friend over for a quiet pre-trip dinner,” she said breezily.
“Who?” I asked.
She ignored my question, holding up the dress Cruz had chosen for me with a sigh, “Fabulous… simply fabulous. It’s genius really– His latest collection is simply to die for! Such a shame I can’t wear any of it.”
“Why not?” I was surprised. “You’d look great in them!”
She looked at me with affectionate cynicism, “My friends would say I’m dressing too young, and that’s one list I’ll never be found on.”
“Why would you care what anyone says?”
She paused for a split second, “I’ll never be accused of being mutton dressed as lamb. I’ve heard how they gossip.”
“Sheesh! With friends like that, who needs enemies?”
She nodded knowingly, “Precisely.”
I shook my head at her cynical observation, rifling through the shelves and boxes that held Evie’s astronomically large collection of shoes and boots.
“How are things coming along with Amrita?” she asked.
“I think there may be something going on between her and Dad,” I fretted, reaching up for a pair of red soled leather boots.
“Of course there is,” she said in a soft voice, “Your father is falling in love for the first time since he lost your mother.”
I froze in my tracks, and all at once I saw the truth in it. “But… but… She’s so…bossy.”
Evie came up behind me, placing a comforting hand on my back, “Surely you won’t begrudge him this happiness.”
I shook my head no, speechless.
“This is why it happened,” she said with conviction. “It was his destiny to meet her this way. If the accident hadn’t occurred, he might never have found love again.”
“Tell that to the poor guy who got blown to bits in front of him,” I said sarcastically.
“Fate can be capricious.”
“That’s for sur
e,” I grumbled, turning to meet her sympathetic eyes.
“Sweetheart, you don’t see it as I do. She brings such… light… into his life. She’s doing a lot more than healing his broken body.”
Something clicked, and it finally struck me. Amrita was the light lady– bringing health and happiness into my father’s life. I couldn’t deny that in just a week he looked amazingly better, and his spirits were definitely improved. I had seen for myself the fervor in her eyes when she vowed to see him healed.
“Wow,” I gasped. “Rosa told me…”
“Rosa?” Evie asked.
“Nevermind,” I said, not wanting to spoil Fatima’s mystique.
“Listen darling, let’s do lunch when I get back from Argentina… we can talk about all of this then. Here– these will be perfect with Cruz’s dress.” She handed me a pair of red soled, over the knee boots and hustled me towards the door, unusually eager to get rid of me. As we passed the library I could see a small candlelit table set for two, alongside a bottle of champagne sitting invitingly in a tall silver ice bucket.
“Who is coming to dinner?” I asked suspiciously.
Before she could answer there was another knock on the door, and she sucked in a breath and patted her hair, “How do I look?” she asked, uncharacteristically anxious.
“You have a date,” I smiled, finally figuring it out.
She flashed her ice blue eyes at me and opened the door. It was Mr. Samadi, the handsome restaurateur from Santa Cruz, standing in the hallway with Paul behind him. He was wearing a beautifully tailored suit, with a silk tie and pocket square, and stood bearing a large bouquet of red roses.
Evie nodded her consent, and Paul turned to go.
“Omar,” she gestured to me. “You remember my niece Marina.”
Paul spun around and looked in the door at me, his eyes wide.
Omar nodded to me, as charming as I remembered, “Of course… But surely you must be sisters.” He took Evie’s hand and kissed it, eliciting a smile as coy as any schoolgirl’s. Flattery will get you everywhere, I thought.
The Turning Tides (Marina's Tales) Page 17