by Michele Hauf
13
Saturday started with butterflies and sunshine. First, it was the butterflies in my stomach that woke me from a marvelous sleep, in my fantastic new bed. I didn’t have any curtains or sunshades yet, but even the sting of the sunlight in my eyes made me smile. Tonight I had a date with Blake. I knew I was going to obsess all day over the phone, waiting for him to call me, and over what I was going to wear. But for now I just turned onto my belly and stretched luxuriously, feeling more rested than I had in months.
I shuffled to the kitchen, deliberately stroking the shiny, polished floors with the soles of my bare feet. However weird it was, the touch was almost sensual. The coffee maker sat on the kitchen floor, all alone in the sunny place. I plugged it in and started to make some coffee, with one of my pink mugs waiting patiently to be filled. When the scent of fresh coffee began to caress my nostrils, I inhaled deeply, exhaling with a heartfelt sigh.
Mug in hand, I walked outside. I took a few minutes to admire my veranda. Maybe it wasn’t all that practical to put a divan here, considering the insects, the dampness of rainy days, and so on. But so what? I’d done plenty of reckless things lately.
“I’m gonna live dangerously. I’ll buy a damned divan, with a dozen embroidered silk cushions,” I said to myself as I walked down the steps.
The grass was incredibly soft, still damp with dew. It was an exquisite feeling to walk barefoot among the flower beds, which sparkled like gems where the morning tears shone on their petals. The house faced East, so when I walked around it, I saw the backyard was still in shadow. The air and ground were cooler here, which was a blessing in the beginning of a hot July. I sat down on the grass, at the base of a solid tree, supporting my back against it and sipping my coffee. I realized I’d never taken the time to enjoy nature as much as I wanted. Now I was wallowing in it. The black cotton shorts and tee I wore left most of my skin bare, and I shamelessly rubbed it against the grass. I even loved the roughness of the tree bark on my back. And if I looked ridiculous, there was no one around to see me, I thought, closing my eyes to better appreciate the smell of earth and plants.
Actually, there was. When I felt a light flutter somewhere in the vicinity of my knee, I opened my eyes slowly. The butterfly was one of the most magnificent specimens I’d ever seen—a glorious, iridescent shape resting on my knee, graceful wings stroked by the morning breeze. It was perhaps half the size of my palm, beautifully colored in shades of orange and black, with an intricate pattern of deep blue on the edges of its wings. I stared at it in fascination, barely breathing, so as not to break this magical moment. I wished I could touch the fragile wings, to cup the butterfly in my palm, to find a way to express my admiration and love for the amazing beauty of all things in nature.
In the next moment though, the spell was broken. Tickled by the tiny antennas, I must have twitched involuntarily. To me it would have been an imperceptible ripple of my skin, but it must have bothered my companion, because he took off with a regal battering of wings, losing itself in the landscape.
“Bye,” I whispered, not feeling at all stupid for talking to a butterfly. In fact, it felt as though I’d just met a soul mate.
As promised, I took some photos of the house and grounds, then sent them to my mom and dad via email, along with a sketchy account of the week’s activity, culminating with the news about the publishing contracts. It was a habit I’d adopted, and even though we had video chats when time and the hour difference permitted, I never failed to email them. I missed them a lot and hoped they would visit me soon.
Since it was too early to drive to L.A., I ate a ham and cheese sandwich, then decided to scout the beach. Incredibly, I hadn’t yet seen any of the famous Malibu beaches, lost in work as I had been during the past weeks. I put on a new black bikini, covered it with denim shorts and a T-shirt, then stuffed a beach towel and other paraphernalia into a canvas bag. With my feet tucked into flip-flops, I set off for the Paradise Cove Beach.
It was a five minute walk from my house to the beach. The morning air was fresh and balmy, carrying the salty scent of ocean with each stroke of the wind through my hair. I was pleased to notice the beach wasn’t all that crowded, seeing as it was barely nine a.m. The sun was shining strong, but somehow milder compared to the blinding glare of the afternoons. However, it promised to be a hot day. Sweat beaded over my forehead by the time I reached a more secluded spot along the wall of cliffs sprinkled with vegetation, where I decided to set camp. As I’d passed by, a few guys had given me long looks and some whistles, but my sphere of solitude must have been palpable, because no one approached me.
I laid out my towel and peeled off my shorts and tee, then shook off my flip flops, letting my toes curl into the warm sand. I loved its fine texture that tickled my skin, enveloping my feet in grainy silk. I gazed out at the ocean, mesmerized by the live entity facing me. That it was alive, it was no mistake. It seemed to breathe, each rising wall of water seemed to be a heartfelt sigh coming from the depths. Waves crashed against waves, and by the time they reached the shore they only caressed it with fluid, foamy strokes.
Laying back to let the sun bathe my skin, I watched the surfers riding the waters, becoming one with them. They looked so free, so bold, defying gravity along with the seagulls and other winged creatures whose cries echoed on the roaring background of the ocean. I deeply envied them, because although I loved water, I could barely swim.
With a long sigh that filled my lungs with salty, humid air, I applied some sunscreen and turned onto my belly, closing my eyes in contentment. Half an hour later, I was seriously starting to bake, or even fry. The scorching sunrays, no longer pleasant, now burned my skin. It was unusually hot, even for July. I looked up at the sky, so cloudless and blue it made my eyes hurt. But the oppressive heat made me believe a storm was brewing somewhere beyond that clear facade.
A trace of dizziness made me slow down when I began to sit up, so I reached for the bottle of water. It was tepid, but I drank anyway, then dressed and gathered up my stuff. I looked longingly at the ocean, which drenched the shore again and again, promising coolness and bliss. It was too hot to stay a moment longer though. Besides, my dizziness hadn’t completely faded. As I started the walk back home, hunting every patch of shade, I used the rest of the water to dampen my face and neck. It cleared my head some. When I reached home I went straight to the shower, letting the luke-warm water cool my skin and wash away the oil. I didn’t yet have the tan I wanted, but my body sported the promising beginning of a warm, peachy glow. I would look great tonight. That is, if Blake would call me.
My stomach muscles tightened once again in anticipation, as I wondered what the evening was going to be like. Would we end up the night in bed, or with a steamy kiss? Of course, I thought grimly, there was the possibility of Blake having already forgotten all about me, and his dinner invitation.
A bit deflated at this prospect, I toweled off and began to dress for the meeting with Danny. I selected a professional two-piece suit. The beige jacket and skirt were chosen specifically. If fabric could speak, this one would say: I’m all business, so don’t even think about flirting with me. I giggled, wishing I had a T-shirt imprinted with those words, to wear it especially for Danny.
My makeup consisted of mascara and lip balm. I guess I was deliberately attempting to make myself look plain and unattractive. I shook my head in disgust. Why couldn’t I just say Fuck off to a guy? Probably because my Mom had raised me too well. Huffing out a breath, I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door.
Danny’s office was located in a snazzy building in downtown Los Angeles, an area where armies of skyscrapers lined the streets and shadowed the people who moved like ants, in an incessant to and fro. I’d never been here, of course, but the address was etched in gold letters on his business card.
When I stepped out of the elevator on the twenty-first floor, I was greeted by a woman who told me her name was Nina and she was Danny’s secretary. Nina was a six foot voluptuous redh
ead, whose measurements surely exceeded her IQ. I deduced that from the few standard sentences she spoke, in that tone specific to brainwashed corporate minions. However, I assumed Danny had his reasons for keeping her around, which I doubted included intelligent conversation.
When I stepped into his office, he stood and circled the massive semi-oval desk.
“Hi,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Glad you made it. Want something to drink?”
“Mineral water would be great, thank you.”
I sat in the leather chair he indicated, looking around at the impossibly tidy room. There was not a spot of color anywhere. Everything was white, black, and transparent glass. It resembled a chessboard, but I had to admit the view framed by a glass wall was spectacular. Los Angeles looked even better from twenty stories up.
“Pretty fancy,” I remarked, then thanked Nina when she returned with a glass of fizzy water.
“I like it.” Danny circled his desk and took a stack of papers from a drawer. “Here, take a look at your contracts. They’re practically identical, so you only need to read one.”
While I read both of them carefully, the discreet hum of the air conditioning unit was the only thing that disturbed the silence. Finally, I sat back in my chair. My lips curved in a satisfied smile.
“Got a pen?”
Danny produced one from the inside pocked of his tailored gray suit, returning my grin.
“Are you pleased?”
“You bet I am. My bank account has receded faster than my dad’s hairline.”
We laughed, as I scribbled my signature on the first contract. With an absent frown, I asked Danny, “What’s today’s date? I can’t remember.”
When several seconds passed and he hadn’t replied, I stared up at him.
“What?” I asked, puzzled to see a grim, even exasperated expression on his face.
“It’s the 4th of July, Kendra. You know, our national holiday, Independence Day and all that?”
My lips parted in a silent oh. Having been so busy with work on the house, I had lost track of the days completely.
“Um, sure. I knew that,” I tried to bluff.
He gave me a pitying look. “You had no clue. This is just sad. You need to take a day off. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. We’ll celebrate, drink champagne, then go eat hotdogs and watch the fireworks. You haven’t got an ounce of patriotism!”
Crap! How was I going to get myself out of this one? I signed both contracts, then tucked my copies into my bag, thinking of a plausible excuse.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m feeling kind of exhausted, Danny. All this work has drained me. I was looking forward to a weekend off. I think I’ll take a rain check, sit at home and... sleep. But nonetheless, I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
His face didn’t exactly darken, but the warmth in his eyes faded. He had his pride after all, and inadvertently I had bashed it one time too many. He sat in his chair, feigning indifference.
“Your choice. I have other plans anyway.” The words were a verbal shrug. “I only came to the office to meet with you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. If I remembered today’s the 4th...”
“No sweat. I’m making money off this too.”
Though he tried to adopt a casual joking tone, I could sense he was still miffed. I stood quickly, grabbing my bag.
“Thank you. I’ll get going then. Have a fun time tonight,” I said, throwing him a smile over my shoulder as I made my way to the door.
“That’s the plan. Goodbye, Kendra.”
As I escaped from his office, I wondered again why I hadn’t just told him I had a date with someone else. Geez, I needed to grow some balls. I didn’t do him any favors by lying to him, or by refusing him repeatedly without plausible reasons. As the elevator glided down, I thought once again our partnership was seriously deteriorating. Perhaps I should start looking for another agent.
The ringing of my phone startled me out of my troubled ponderings. I knew it must be Blake, and my pulse accelerated as I heard his voice.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, trying to control my breathlessness as I stepped out of the crowded elevator.
“Are we still having dinner tonight?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Pick you up at eight?”
“Okay.”
“See you then.”
Minutes later I was still standing on the sidewalk, staring at the phone, wondering if I’d imagined the brief conversation. He certainly didn’t waste words. I shook my head and laughed under my breath, saving his number into my phone. Then I began obsessing about what I was going to wear.
At 7:15 I was still rummaging through my clothes, which were strewn everywhere. I had decided already on the underwear: white lace bikini briefs and a white pushup bra that made me applaud Victoria’s Secret. The lingerie had cost a fortune, but it made my breasts look so great I couldn’t help a whistle as I stared in the bathroom mirror. But what the hell to wear on top of this mouthwatering ensemble?
I returned to the bedroom and looked around, deciding to start by process of elimination. Nothing too casual, nor too colorful. Preferably something to show off some of my newly-tanned skin, but not too slutty. I looked best in black or white, but black was too conservative for a day of national celebration. Besides, I needed something unwrinkable, since I didn’t have an ironing board. Finally, I chose a white, stretchy dress that reached my knees. It was simple, with spaghetti straps, and because it was a size too small, the faint creases were perfectly stretched as the dress gloved my body. I looked great, even if I said so myself.
I did my makeup carefully, just a classic pinup look, with eyes emphasized by black eyeliner and mascara, a little blusher over my cheekbones, and delicate rose lipstick. As for my hair, I brushed it and twisted it into a simple knot at the nape of my neck, leaving a few strands to frame my face in a deliberately careless style.
“Wow!”
Just as I was admiring myself, I glanced at my watch and let out a squeal of alarm. It was 7:50! I scrambled about the bedroom, hastily gathering up clothes and shoving them back into their suitcases, which served as a dresser before the real thing arrived. I pulled on red shoes and stuffed my things in a tiny red evening bag, just as I heard a car driving down my lane. A glance through the window showed the shiny Maserati gliding on the stone path toward the house.
I zipped shut the last suitcase with the strength of desperation, then looked around frantically to see if the room was tidy enough. The bed was made, and... the floor was clean. There was something to be said about not having much furniture. God, would I dare invite Blake inside when he drove me back home? Would he want to come in?
The car door slammed closed. My entire being tensed as I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Oh, my!” I whispered under my breath, trying not to gape at the living fantasy walking toward me. He was the epitome of male magnificence, and since this was also the first time I’d seen him elegantly dressed, the sight of him took my breath away. Perhaps elegant was not a good description for the midnight blue shirt open at the neck and simple black slacks, but his athletic body and posture made the outfit worthy of the red carpet. When his dimples winked in a smile, the twilight sunrays seemed to grow dimmer. The gray of his eyes appeared to deepen as he moved his gaze over me, almost caressingly.
“You look like the best reason to celebrate,” he said softly, holding out his hand to me. “The fireworks will be the second most spectacular thing tonight.”
14
The rooftop restaurant in downtown Los Angeles was the most spectacular place I’d ever seen. I didn’t know which was more magnificent: the spacious interior with its warm lights, jazz music and sheen of luxury, or the panorama beyond it. The maître d’ led us to a table on the spacious terrace. As I gazed out over the city, my skin rippled into goose bumps.
“My God, it’s beautiful out here,” I whispered.
“I hoped you’d like it,” Bl
ake replied with a smile, holding the chair for me to sit. “I like it too, although I don’t get the chance to come here often.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged slightly, reaching for the menu.
“It’s hard to have much privacy when you’re in the public eye. I’ve learned to ignore the paparazzi, but they never stop hunting for fresh gossip. And when they don’t have anything real, they make it up. You’ve no idea how many weird stories I’ve read about myself,” he said, rolling his eyes in amusement.
I laughed, glancing at my own menu, but my eyes were drawn back to him.
“It must be frustrating to have your every move studied, interpreted, speculated upon. Do you ever get tired of it? Of thousands of women craving and adoring you?”
He answered in the same daring, humorous tone I’d used. “Well, now that you mentioned it, I do get some unusual mail...”
“Like what?”
“Oh, your average marriage proposals, sexual fantasies, loads of panties—I hate it when I get unwashed ones, by the way. Who would think that’s sexy?”
Laughter vibrated in my chest, and I was still trying to suppress my giggles when a dignified waiter arrived to take our order.
“Do you like Dom Perignon?” Blake asked me.
I nodded, wondering what the hell that was. I had heard the name of course, and figured it must be a classy alcoholic beverage, probably wine or champagne.