Four Play: A Collection of Novellas (30 page)

A horseback ride on the beach.

After my shower in the morning, I sipped from a cup of coffee in my room at 8:42. Martin had been awake for twenty minutes and I’d already told him that he and the guys would be on their own for the day.

I stared out the window, confident in my plan: I was going to show Lauren that romance clichés never worked in real life. That all of the heroes she’d fallen in love with in her novels wouldn’t be as spectacular experiencing them first-hand.

I rode the elevator down, and to my surprise, Lauren was early. She sat in the lobby mindlessly thumbing through a newspaper, wearing a pair of jean shorts and a purple T-shirt with a headband to match.

I approached from the side, and my presence alarmed her until she looked up into my eyes. I wore a sly smile and winked. “Ready, toots?”

Her lips pressed into a hard line, but she ended up smiling anyway.

“What? I can’t call you toots?”

“Not if you want to survive past lunch,” she said playfully. She stood and we walked toward the hotel’s entrance.

I laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll go back to princess, then. Isn’t that what romance novels do—come up with eye-roll-inducing nicknames that make you want to punch the hero in the gut? Oh! Maybe I should call you kitten.” I looked at her sideways.

She cracked a smile. “Okay, you’ve made your point there. There are some ridiculous nicknames. But you can just call me Lauren today. Not princess. Not toots. And please, never kitten.”

“Deal.” We walked onto the sidewalk and the warm summer air was a thick coat over my skin. I hailed a cab, and with little traffic, we were on the freeway headed south.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” I said, smiling. “What? Don’t like surprises?”

“No. I like surprises. From people I know, not from complete strangers who could be leading me to a small cabin in the woods.”

“So you
do
like other genres besides romance? That’s quite the imagination. And here I thought you might be a lost cause.”

She glared at me, annoyed and amused, and stuck out her tongue.

Twenty-five minutes later, we pulled onto a dirt road and took that for a mile before arriving to two dark wooden gates with an arch above them to match. The sign was branded “Rusty Ruffles Horse Ranch.”

“What is that smell?” she asked.

I choked out a laugh. “Aaaand, point number one for the day has been noted, ladies and gentlemen! The odor is putrid. That, princess, is what we call horseshit.”

She removed her sunglasses and squinted at the sign as we passed underneath it. “We’re going horseback riding?”

“Not just horseback riding, my dear. Horseback riding
on the beach!”

She licked her lips and shot me a look from the corner of her eye. But her demeanor shifted, and she laced her fingers together. “Oh, Michael. This is so romantic!” she joked with a twang in her voice. “How did you know I’d always wanted to go horseback riding on the beach?” Her hands flew to her chest, playing the awestruck heroine.

“Didn’t you know, darlin’? The hero
always
knows exactly what the heroine wants,” I replied, trying to emphasize my point about the genre.

She rolled her eyes and turned away from me to mask her smile.

“Driver? We’ll need someone back here in about an hour.”

He waved his hand and took my cash. “Got it.”

We got out of the cab and the gravel below our feet crunched with every step into the stables. A gray-haired woman wearing tight jeans and brown cowboy boots brushed a silky black horse as we entered, and she greeted us with a smile. “Morning, folks! Are you Michael?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’m the insane customer who called at two o’clock in the morning asking if you had any availability this morning. And this is Lauren.”

The woman set the brush down to wipe her hands on the back of her jeans. “I’m Kate. These are my horses. Have you ever done this before?”

Lauren nodded with excitement, and I shook my head. “Just once, when I was a kid,” I said.

“All right then, Michael, Lauren, I’ve got your horses out back. The trail is clear and it will bring you to the beach, as you requested.”

Kate walked with us around the barn and brought us to our animals, refreshing our memories on how to ride. Lauren goggled in excitement, and however proud I felt for being the one to put the smile on her face, it defeated the point I was trying to make about experiences like these: they weren’t supposed to be as romantic as the books Lauren read.

Lauren mounted her rich brown horse named Hunter. Its eyes were coal black and its coat was so silky that it shone. I, on the other hand, was given a smaller black and white horse that looked like it was nearing retirement and had a bad binge with vodka and two hookers the night before.

“This here is Mule.” Kate patted his back. “He’s not quite as fast as some of the others, but he seems to be a stable favorite. He’s blind in one eye, but that doesn’t seem to slow him down.”

I forced a smile and nodded. “Okay. Mule.” The animal heard its name and I swear he glared at me from the corner of his light blue eye.

“Any questions?” Kate asked.

“I’m good,” Lauren chimed. “Michael, are you ready?”

With much hesitation, I climbed onto Mule’s back, and with a short huff from the animal and a couple of steps backward, I’d successfully mounted him. “Should I have insured any of my body parts before this? Because I’m quite fond of most of my limbs.”

Kate and Lauren laughed. “Nah, you’ll be fine,” Kate said. “But if you’d prefer I escort you…”

I glanced at Lauren, feeling like a pussy, and shook my head. “No. We’ll be fine.”

“Have fun! See you back here in an hour or so!” Kate called over her shoulder on her way to the stable.

I dipped my chin and leaned as close as I could to Lauren without falling off the horse. “How is it you get Hunter, a stealthy, beautiful animal, and I get an ass named Mule who’s probably been around since Nixon was in office? How is that fair?” I laughed.

“Do you want to switch? I mean, if you don’t think you can handle the beast…”

I cocked my head to the side and Lauren laughed, slipping on her sunglasses. And with no further conversation, she kicked her heels into Hunter and they were galloping away.

I leaned down into Mule’s ear and whispered, “Don’t make me look bad out there, man. I’m counting on you.” I grabbed the reins and after another huff from Mule, I dug in my heels and we caught up to Lauren in no time.

We stayed at an easy pace over the trail; the trees were just starting to change color and the tips of their canopies were shades of gold, orange, and green. I couldn’t see the water yet, but I could smell it in the salty breeze.

“How far is the beach?” Lauren asked.

“Not sure. On the map online it looked like it was about a mile.”

Riding a horse was definitely something one had to get used to. I’d never read a Western, but the guys in the movies made that shit look easy. Maybe I was doing it wrong. Or perhaps I should’ve worn a tighter pair of underwear, because my boys slapped against the saddle with every trot. Lauren kept glancing over with a bright smile buzzing across her face, and every time she looked away, I covertly adjusted myself.

We turned a corner on the trail, and in the distance I saw the shoreline. The massive blue waters were always so impressive. Intimidating. And the moment Lauren saw the water, she kicked her horse into high gear and made a run for it.

She pulled out far ahead of me, and the thought of leaning into Mule to quicken his pace made me cringe, but I actually found it to be a little more soothing. It gave my nutsack a break from being juggled.

We raced the last quarter-mile, and once we hit the golden sand, the beach displayed for miles. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The sun beat down on my face, and the cool breeze prompted goose bumps over my arms.

When I opened my eyes, Lauren was a half-mile down the beach with her arms stretched out into the air, and her echoing laughter could be heard over the small waves crashing to the shore. The way she rode the animal was impressive; her hips memorized the horse’s movement and anticipated the next rise and fall. She made Hunter look graceful.

We rode up and down the shore, kicking up bronze sand and leaving deep tracks in our wake. As soon as Lauren would reach one end of the beach, she’d turn and zip past me, laughing in total amusement.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t concentrating on the task at hand, so caught up in Lauren’s hips that I failed to realize that there was a large piece of driftwood in the sand. Mule galloped over it, and the rein slipped from my grip.

I lost my footing and came straight down on my gonads.

Yelping in pain, I slowly slid off the side of the saddle. I hit the beach holding a handful of my pained, swollen jewels in agony.

“Michael!” Lauren cried from a distance. But I lay there. With a mouthful of sand on the shores of the Pacific Ocean, hoping the sting would subside.

Well, this was a grand idea. I knew I should’ve opted for the snorkeling.

When I was finally able to breathe, I spit out the salty granules and looked up, shading the sun with my hand. Two horse heads and Lauren’s sweet, smiling face stared back at me.

She covered her mouth to disguise her laughter. “Are you okay?”

I exhaled. “I don’t know. I feel like there should be blood and gunfire and appendages everywhere, like I just landed on Normandy.”

She giggled. “Nope. Not even a scrape that I can see.”

“Oh,” I coughed. “I’m glad you’re having a good time,” I said sardonically.

She bent over Hunter’s neck, failing to ebb her laughter. “Is this the part in the
clichéd
story where you tell me you have amnesia, and I get to spend the rest of the weekend nursing you back to health?”

I scratched my forehead. “No. In general, I don’t have a good memory. But this incident might just award me a diagnosis of PTSD. I’ll probably block it out emotionally for the rest of my life. Not to mention the fact that I’ll now have an unreasonable fear of horses.”

She hopped off her horse and held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s go find you some ice.”

We walked back to the stable—well, Lauren walked but I sort of shambled. It wasn’t until we were back at the ranch that I was breathing normally again.

“How did it go?” Kate asked as we handed the horses over to her.

I put my hand up and limped past her. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Lauren giggled her way past Kate, and we got into the cab that was waiting for us.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

“The pier,” I said. “We have a little time before our lunch reservation, and I’d like to get Lauren out on the water.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “The water?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be on a boat,” I offered reassurance. “Are you okay with that? Because if you don’t—”

“As long as it goes slow, I should be okay.”

“It’s just the ferry. We won’t be on it for long—an hour, maybe. And I’ll be with you the whole time.” I instinctively went to grab her hand, but at the last second realized how inappropriate that might be and I pulled back. But I don’t think she noticed.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered.

“It’s a big boat,” I said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“There won’t be any rocking.”

“Michael.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

With my hand resting on the seat between us, I looked for any signs of trepidation about being on the water. But I believed that she would be fine, because quite honestly, I wouldn’t allow otherwise.

She stared out the window, watching the trees as they went past, and edged her pinkie over to mine. It was a simple gesture, one that made my body relax and I pushed out a deep breath. She mimicked me, giving me another small smile, and went back to watching the scenery pass by us.

Calm and easy, we sat silently in the car listening to the oldies station as we took the freeway up the coast with only the slightest flitter of anticipation pinging in my gut.

A romantic boat ride across the bay.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. After I’d bought our tickets and we walked out to the dock, we saw the ferry. It was almost as large as a cruise ship. The trip to Bainbridge Island would be short, and I had no intention of Lauren and me touring the island once we arrived, but I’d half-expected an elevator, swimming pool, and someone from the bar staff to bring me an alcoholic drink with a little umbrella popping out from it. The ship was massive.

But once we were inside, it wasn’t as intimidating. The room we entered was spacious, with windows spanning the circumference of its circular shape. Each floor of the ship had its own deck, restrooms, and sitting area. But the most impressive thing about it was the view.

The hazy blue water stretched for miles, and what little land could be seen was a mere speck on the horizon.

“What are you looking at?” Lauren asked, breaking my stare.

“The water.” I smiled, thinking about this city and the wonder it held for me. So many dreams were within my reach here, and in less than twenty-four hours, I’d board a plane back to Florida.

I shook my head. As bittersweet the thought, I wasn’t going to let the dread of tomorrow plague me. “I’m going to say something right now, and it’s going to sound lame, so you can ignore it if you don’t like it.” I forced a laugh, and my tone softened. “But this place feels like magic to me.”

“Yeah? How so?”

I shrugged, taking a breath and resuming my gaze out of the window. “It’s so far away from everything I know. School. Home.” I stepped forward and Lauren walked with me. “I feel like this could be the beginning for me.” After a moment, I laughed. “And it’s exhilarating, but it also scares the shit out of me.”

“You really want that job, don’t you?” Lauren nudged my arm. “You’ll get it. And if you don’t, you’ll get another opportunity in different city. Your path is already determined—you just have to know when to follow it.”

We walked through the doors to the deck, and after evading a small crowd of onlookers, we settled into a small corner. The breeze brought in the ocean air, and I closed my eyes to relish in it.

“It’s not just the job, Lauren.” I opened my eyes to find her at my side. “It’s everything. It’s the fact that I won’t see my friends every day. And there’s no telling what tomorrow will bring.” I swallowed. “It’s you. It’s this convention. This weekend. It’s everything I want to hold onto for more than just a weekend. But I can feel it.” I sighed. “Everything is about to change.”

“But isn’t it exciting? You could do anything. Go anywhere. Your life didn’t end when you graduated from high school. And it didn’t end when you graduated from college, or after graduate school. And it’s certainly not going to end after this weekend.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the morning sun. When she opened them, she blinked lazily in a dream-like gaze.

I’d always had those moments where I knew I should’ve been listening to a quiet voice in the back of my mind, but could never quite make out the words. I didn’t know if I was always on the edge of an emerging epiphany that I’d never given a chance to come into fruition, or if it was just a tiny skipped opportunity that wouldn’t have altered my destiny so extremely. But looking at Lauren, the sky, and the sea, I knew there was something I was supposed to do right then.

But I had no idea what it was.

The ship began to move, and a bellowing horn sounded around us. Lauren padded her way down the deck and leaned against the railing. She closed her eyes again, letting the sun shine down on her face as the sound of water kicking up from the propellers crashed behind us. Lauren’s purple shirt flickered in the wind, and she pulled off the headband to let her hair fly with the breeze.

We were one in the same, Lauren and me. We were young, a bit naïve, passionate for what life would hand us, and eager to show the world what we could do. I suppose that’s what made us unique, and made us stand out from our friends: stopping to smell the roses wasn’t just something to do if we were bored—it was a necessity.

The horn blasted again, and this time what followed was a cloud of black smoke. It circled in the air around me until not only did Lauren fade from my sight, but it slowly replaced any clean air from my lungs. The thick exhaust clogged every part of me and I plunged forward, coughing it out with watery eyes and a foul taste on my tongue.

“Holy shit,” I choked. I reached for Lauren’s hand, and once again she laughed at me. “The least they could do is put a sign there! You know, like,”
cough, cough,
“do not stand here when the ship—”

“Is moving?” she finished my sentence. Pointing behind me, she then grabbed my hand and pulled me closer.

I turned around to see a bright red sign, which I’d obviously missed. In bold white letters, it read:
Do not stand here when the ship is moving.

“Are you okay?” She seemed sort of sincere, but she was—once again—finding joy in my pain, as was obvious by her snort-giggles.

“I think this boat just knocked ten years off of my life expectancy, but yeah, I’m fine.”

It only took a minute or two before I was breathing normally again, and we walked up and down the decks, circling the ship several times. It had only been twenty minutes before the island closed in on us. “Would you like to have lunch here on the island, or take the boat back to the city and eat there?” I asked, taking Lauren’s hands into mine. I soothed her knuckles with my thumbs, allowing the moment to settle between us. Her eyes sparkled like the water, and her cheeks were pink, blushed with the kiss of the sun. “I made reservations for a place back in Seattle, but if you wanted to stay—”

My sentence was cut off when a seagull swooped down, getting so close that I felt the wind swish across my hair, and I ducked to avoid collision. It flew past us and landed on the railing, squawking its song hideously.

Once my heart rate slowed, I gazed back into Lauren’s eyes, trying to get the moment back. But it was broken.

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile. “The odds don’t seem to be in your favor today when it comes to animals, do they?”

“It was just a bird this time. No damage done,” I said, trying to play it cool and shrugging off the incident.

“You, um…” She paused, scratching her ear and looking down. “You have bird poop on your shoulder.”

I sighed, closing my eyes tight.
Of course I do
. Because nothing could’ve tackled the moment, threw it to the floor, and pounded its face into the ground like bird shit could.

She giggled. “Why don’t you go wash that off, and I’ll be here when you get back. We can keep your reservation and take the ferry back to the city. I’m fine with wherever you want to go.”

“As long as you don’t want to go to the zoo, I should make it out alive today with everything intact but my pride,” I laughed.

***

It seemed as though Lauren was having a lovely time, and all I’d done so far that day was to prove to
myself
that romance novel clichés wouldn’t work in wooing the girl in real life. I wasn’t sure how she felt about the subject, but I was ready to throw in the towel and claim defeat. The day sucked.

We stayed inside the ferry for the trip back to the mainland, discussing details of our childhood, my parents’ divorce, and our love for words. I even briefly mentioned the lists I used to make as a kid, and how my mom used to make me read the dictionary as punishment.

It was sincere, relaxing, and for reasons I had yet to define, being with Lauren made me feel like I was reunited with an old friend rather than just getting to know someone.

But I still had a couple of tricks left up my sleeve to reiterate my point about clichés, and barring any major mishaps, I could still pull it off. I’d been bucked from a horse, had my nutsack discombobulated, suffered severe CO2 poisoning, and would probably get some strange flu from the bird shit on my shirt. And it wasn’t even noon.

This weekend was shaping up to be one I didn’t think I’d want to remember.

“Where to?” the cabbie said, once we got off the pier.

“Bluewater off of Seventh, please.”

Lauren’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that a seafood restaurant?”

“Yes. We have reservations at noon. You’re not allergic, are you?”

That would’ve been perfect. Finally, a win for Mike with the cliché debate. But alas, she wasn’t.

“Nope!” Lauren beamed another bright smile and I grumbled.

The taxi ride was fast, and within minutes we’d arrived. I handed the driver the money, and Lauren jumped out quickly.

“What can I get you to drink?” the server asked Lauren when we were seated.

“Merlot, please.”

“And you, sir?”

“Water. Just water,” I said with a curt nod, looking at the entrées on the menu with wide eyes. I wish I would’ve looked at the pricing online, because three digits for two crab legs was way out of my league. This afternoon would cost more than my plane ticket to Seattle.

The waitress left and Lauren winced, scratching her head when she opened the menu. She leaned across the table. “Michael. This place is really expensive. Not to mention the fact that I’m in jean shorts, and this
isn’t
a jeans kind of place. You have a bird shit stain on your T-shirt.” She laughed her plea. “Why don’t we just go to the café on the corner. I’m fine with—”

“Nope.” I put up my hand. “Today is about new experiences. And I don’t know about you, but,” I glanced down at the menu and pointed at the most expensive dish they had to offer, “I’m getting the lobster ravioli.” I winced when I read its description.

She looked down and scanned the items. “I thought today was supposed to be about proving that romance novels are stupid.” She raised an eyebrow. “And the lobster ravioli is served with squid ink.”

“Indeed it is,” I said with a grimace. “Sounds delicious,” I laughed. “Today is supposed to be about proving a point about romance novels. But not that they’re stupid, just that they’re cliché.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to grab a couple of sandwiches and sit in the park?” Lauren pleaded. “I’m going to feel guilty eating anything on this menu.”

Her eyebrows pinched together, and from the small line across her forehead, I knew she was concerned. I’d begun to notice small things in her mannerisms: When she felt nervous, she fidgeted with her fingers and avoided eye contact. When she was thinking about something that made her happy, she’d stare off into the distance for a moment and chew the inside of her cheek to cover her smile. And when she felt challenged, she straightened her posture and tried to put on a tough façade. But I knew deep down it was all just for show.

She was adorable.

A part of me felt guilty. But another part of me rejoiced in success. I would’ve been happy to forego crushing the rest of the weekend’s budget on lunch. Only rich people could afford a place like this. And I lived in a doublewide with my mother.

Lauren looked around the massive dining room, which was decorated with high-end fixtures and panels of blue glass separating the bar from the restaurant. The table was adorned with a coffee cup, wine flute, water glass, and six pieces of silverware for each place setting, set on top of a white cloth napkin—the same napkin that she was rubbing vigorously between her thumb and index finger.

“I’ll go wherever you want to go, Lauren,” I said earnestly.

“We’re right by the café. Let’s get lunch there and take it to the park. We still need to find my glasses anyway.”

I nodded, thankful for her suggestion, and flagged down the server to pay for the wine that Lauren wouldn’t get a chance to drink.