Derrolyn Anderson - [Marinas Tales #1] - Between The Land And The Sea (6 page)

“Wow, that’s a cool dress,” said Cruz, turning to Megan, “You should see her clothes!” Cruz had enthusiastically helped me to organize my cases and gushed over every designer piece he came across. He spent a long time ogling my wardrobe, inspecting every seam like a detective.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I can’t really take any credit for picking them out.” I explained how ever since I could remember Evie had been dressing me; I detailed some of her various eccentricities concerning clothes and fashion. Cruz listened raptly as I described attending trunk shows and meeting many of the up and coming designers that Evie took under her wing.

“Not all of the shows are for fledgling lines,” I explained, describing the wealthy and often famous people that were selected to attend the exclusive events held in higher end boutiques. I did a good impersonation of a world famous society matron I had inadvertently insulted with the truth when I was too young to know any better.

“You did not,” gasped Cruz with wide eyes.

“The emperor has no clothes,” laughed Megan.

“And discretion is the better part of valor,” I added, nodding, “I’m much more diplomatic now.”

Talking about times spent with Evie, I was reminded of one story after another. Evie and I had whiled away many happy hours combing through San Francisco’s Chinatown, shopping for ceramics, silk and artwork. She visited herbalists and spice vendors and even had acupuncture treatments while I watched. Evie spent a good deal of time tending to her “chi”, which seemed to be in constant need of repair. Evie’s “chi” reminded me of Abby’s “vibes”, and I smiled when I thought about how totally opposite and yet somehow similar the two women were.

I had them both laughing with a tale about the first time Evie took me out for dim sum. She lifted the cover off a platter of chicken’s feet and shrieked so loudly that the startled waiter dropped a giant tray of dumplings all over an adjoining table. Evie ended up buying them lunch, and charming the waiter as well.

“I wanna live in the city,” Cruz pouted.

“You’re so lucky,” said Megan, peeking out from behind a flaming cloud of hair, “I wish I had an aunt like that!”

“I know,” I replied with a laugh, thinking of Evie’s relentless search for novelty, “She’s always up for something new.”

“There’s nothing new around here,” Cruz griped.

“Evie wants me to come up for a visit when she gets back from Cannes,” I said.

“As in France?” asked Cruz, his mouth agape.

“Oui,” I smiled, “She’s probably on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean right now.”

“We should take a trip up to San Francisco,” rhapsodized Cruz, visions of fashion swimming in his head.

“Definitely, you’ll love Evie,” I nodded decisively.

The three of us sat and talked about everything, and as she opened up, Megan turned out to have a sharp wit and a wicked sense of humor. I instantly liked her. She’d be a senior this year as well, and I started to think I might not feel too terribly out of place in school after all. Cruz praised her as an excellent guitar player and songwriter, and was encouraging her to try performing in public.

“You should hear her sing,” he said.

“I didn’t bring my guitar,” she flushed pink.

“Next time she will,” he said in a commanding tone.

“I’d love to hear your songs,” I smiled encouragingly.

She looked pleased, “Alright.”

“So what’s the story with that Ethan guy who does the yard?” I asked casually, trying not to sound too interested.

“Ethan Carlson?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I just saw him working in the garden on Saturday.”

“He’s like
only
the hottest guy at school,” said Megan, “I think half the girls are in love with him. Those surfer chicks are always trailing around behind him.”

“We used to be friends when we were kids,” said Cruz, “We stopped hanging out in junior high. He got into surfing and girls and I got into fashion design. He’s alright– he’s probably the only surfer that isn’t a total jerk to me,” he said with a shrug. “He usually surfs down by the pier after school.”

Megan smiled at me knowingly, “You like him, don’t you?”

“I only asked because I met him at the farmers market this morning,” I said defensively.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much...” Megan added slyly.

“Oh, let her be, Shakespeare,” said Cruz, noticing my bright red face.

Megan changed the subject by urging Cruz to show me some of his designs. When he opened his armoire I was truly surprised. His clothes were mainly dark and Edwardian looking, but each item had a unique romantic twist. The styling was intriguing, and very edgy. A series of pieces embellished with zippers and contrast stitching were feminine but bold, with hard edged tailoring and amazing attention to detail. Because of Evie, I knew a lot about well-made clothes and these were superbly crafted.

Cruz watched nervously for my reaction. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “These are exquisite!”

“Told you so!” Megan said to Cruz, “He didn’t think you’d like them.”

“I love them! You’re incredibly talented! Why didn’t you show me before now?” I held up a beautifully structured black lace blouse.

“I thought you’d think it was weird,” he said, “You know, a guy sewing girl’s stuff.”

“Weird?” I snorted, “You should meet Evie!”

“Would you try it on?” he asked, “I’ve only ever seen it on the dress form.”

“Sure,” I replied, and hurried off to my room. I slipped out of my dress and wriggled into some jeans. The blouse was sheer, so I threw on a black camisole and slipped it on over top. It had lots of tiny little black buttons all the way up the high neck. The waist was fitted, and there was a peplum that flared out longer in the back. The long sleeves puffed out a little at the shoulder and were tight at the wrist with another row of tiny buttons. I stood back and checked my reflection. I looked pale and fierce, like a Gothic rock and roll vampire. I kinda liked it.

“Ta Da!” I said as I burst into Cruz’s room. His eyes flew open wide and he gasped.

“I think you have a new muse,” said Megan.

Megan, Cruz I ended up hanging out a lot in the final days before school schedules would start to regiment our lives, and I got to know both of them much better. We walked into town for coffee or just lounged around listening to music. They introduced me to the area, taking me around Aptos and into nearby Santa Cruz. One beautiful late summer day we drove to The Boardwalk, pulling up to a seaside amusement park dominated by a giant wooden track poking high into the sky.

“You’ve never been on a roller coaster?” asked Cruz incredulously.

“There’s not a lot of call for thrill rides where I used to live,” I said, looking up suspiciously,

“It looks dangerous.”

“The Giant Dipper’s a classic!” enthused Megan, “It’s been here nearly a hundred years.”

“That’s comforting,” I said as I inspected the structure. From my vantage point it looked like it was made from toothpicks.

We waited in a short line, winding through a rattling wooden tunnel that vibrated each time the cars ran on the track. Listening to the muffled screams was unnerving, but every time I glanced over at Cruz he just grinned. Our turn came much too soon, and the three of us loaded onto a small car that jerked forward, immediately plunging us into a black tunnel. It made me claustrophobic, and so happily relieved to emerge into the light that I didn’t even fret about the nearly vertical ascent that followed.

We crested the top of the tracks and were treated to a beautiful view of the sandy beach bordering an endless expanse of teal-blue ocean. The old wood creaked and swayed in protest, and then the bottom dropped out, taking my stomach along with it. The little car accelerated down the track at tremendous speeds, twisting and turning, tossing me from side to side like a pinball.

Megan and Cruz’s screams still echoed in my ears when the wheels lurched to a sudden halt.

We piled out onto a wooden ramp, bodies vibrating from the wild ride.

Megan took my arm, “You look as white as a sheet... Are you okay?” I caught my breath, “Let’s do it again,” I said.

Aptos was growing on me. Long summer days started with foggy mornings that miraculously transformed themselves into warm breezy afternoons. Cruz spent as much time feverishly sewing as I did painting and was constantly calling me in to try something on or give an opinion. Megan came over for regular visits, and we spent hours lazing on the couch, watching style and design show marathons on television. We both thought Cruz was more talented than any of the designers we saw featured.

Abby was clearly pleased to see us getting along. She bustled around the kitchen, humming to herself and occasionally bringing us some interesting vegetarian concoctions to snack on. Her cooking never got much better, but she offered it up with smiles of such sweetness and genuine sincerity that none of us had the heart to refuse or criticize.

My thoughts kept straying back to Ethan. I tried to dismiss him from my mind, but knowing I’d be seeing him at school regularly made me nervous. The way he’d stared at me was disconcerting; just thinking about it made me uncomfortable. Every time I brushed by the rosemary hedge out front I could see his face.

Late at night, I would lie in bed and listen to the surf thundering on the beach. With my eyes closed I imagined that I could feel the tug of the water rocking me to sleep, for the power of the tides seemed to shake the very ground beneath my bed. One foggy Aptos morning after another I’d start awake from vivid dreams about swimming, the taste of salt air on the tip of my tongue.

I found that I enjoyed living so close to the ocean and relished my solo walks to the foggy beach. I went as early as possible, when there were few if any other people around, drawn out of my warm bed and down to the sand by the sound of the crashing waves. I reveled in the solitude, and would sit and gaze out at the horizon, imagining that the water went on forever. Sometimes the sky and water seemed to blend together, making me feel like I was floating, disembodied, sitting inside of a dream.

One morning I decided to go find Stella and deliver the bags of cat food that I’d started dropping off for her regularly. She invariably greeted me as though I were an old friend, even if she didn’t always remember my name. Stella was such a sweet confused soul that I suspected she was feeding the wild cats instead of herself; I wanted to lift some of the burden from her frail shoulders.

Flipping through my rack of clothes, I picked out a pretty silk blouse to wear with my favorite jeans. I looked out the window at the chilly gray morning and slipped on a leather jacket with a soft shearling lining. Rummaging through a suitcase I found a pair of high powered binoculars to drop into my tote bag, along with my sketch pad and some colored pencils. If I managed to spot the strange girl diver again I was determined to get a good look at her.

It was still fairly early, and I walked briskly down the stairs, delighted to find the beach nearly deserted. I wandered around a little bit, but didn’t spot Stella at any of her favorite benches. Disappointed, I decided to leave the food in a niche under the stairs where I knew she’d find it. I looked, but I never saw the timid little cats unless I was with her, for Stella alone had earned all of the trust they’d managed to summon for humankind. Still, I poured a little bit of food out onto a grassy spot, and found that it invariably vanished by the time I took the stairs back home.

I kicked off my shoes and strolled down towards the water, sinking into the dry sand with every step. When I reached the waterline I ambled along, charmed by groups of shore birds racing back and forth just ahead of the surf. White foam stretched up to claim the beach, only to be reeled back into the mass of water behind it, followed by the busy little birds. Their tiny legs churned beneath them in a blur, giving them the appearance of rolling along on wheels. I sat down on the dry sand to draw them, giggling at how comical they looked.

Finished with my first sketch, I rose to do a little beachcombing, rolling up my pant legs and getting close enough to let the ice cold water wash across my feet. I reached down and plucked a perfect unbroken sand dollar from the foamy rush. I took it as an omen that this would be a lucky day.

On this fog veiled morning the pier was empty of fishermen, and I looked up at the lonely expanse of gray weathered wood disappearing into the murky swirling mist. I picked my way across the beach to the stairs and wandered down the planks to the bench at the end of the ship.

Peering through the fence, I gazed out onto the dark choppy waters lapping at the broken concrete.

The sea lions were gone, but there was a row of black cormorants perched on the rusty rails of the ship’s broken prow. Getting out my sketch pad I sat down to begin another drawing. After I finished the birds, I looked around for a fresh subject. I started to sketch a seagull that had landed on the fence near me, eying me hopefully.

“
Sorry guy, I don’t have any food for you
,” I told him. He cocked his ear to listen and flew away as though he had understood me perfectly.

As the morning wore on the fog slowly peeled back, grudgingly allowing the sun take its place in the sky. I gazed out across the water and could just make out some surfers in the distance. I slipped off my jacket, stuffing it into my bag as I moved to the left side of the ship.

With my binoculars I could see the surfers clearly. There were several figures in the water and a small group of girls sitting on the beach with towels and a cooler.

The girls all wore tiny bikinis, and were anointing their bodies with oil that made them glisten in the bright sun. They were talking and laughing, their long hair blowing in the sea breeze. They looked so natural, so comfortable in their own tanned skins. I felt a pang of regret, and a longing that surprised me. I knew I’d never fit in with a group like that, and I felt like a complete outsider, as strange as if I were visiting a foreign land.

I focused my attention on the surfers. They had on black wetsuits on that made their bodies look shiny, like the sea lions. Paddling out past the breaking waves, they turned to face the shore and wait for a wave to ride in. I knew that waves came in sets, but I couldn’t discern any visible pattern.