House of the Blue Sea (32 page)

Sandra lowered her eyebrows at him. “Well, aren’t you the mischievous one. Now, can I get you a refill?”

She filled their glasses and they returned to the party, heading for the opposite end of the verandah from where Lorna was no doubt spreading the word about the movie being made in San Leandro by the famous Canadian actor, Mark Jeffery.

Before they were drawn into another conversation, Mark said, “I have news. Can we go down to the beach a moment?”

Her eyes met his and he saw the question there. “Sure.” She pulled off her heeled sandals and left them sitting on the bottom stair before taking Mark’s arm and stepping into the sand.

They walked to the edge of the light, just beyond the flag that was waving gently in the evening breeze. She let go of his arm and turned to him. “Well, enough suspense, out with your news.”

She seemed a different Sandra tonight, bolder, more accessible somehow, and she looked dazzling in her red dress that rippled around her legs in concert with the flag behind her. She’d done something new with her hair; it fell in waves around her face and touched the tops of her bare shoulders. He realized he was staring.

“I called Nate yesterday after you left. I told him I wouldn’t take the part and ... I fired him.”

Sandra’s eyes widened. “You did? That’s huge. I’m ... well, I’m surprised.”

“But not pleased?”

“It’s not for me to be pleased.”

“Well, I’m relieved, and I haven’t had such a good night’s sleep in a long while.”

“Well then, I am pleased, for you.” Sandra extended her glass toward Mark. “I’m sure that wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

Mark held up a hand. “There’s more.”

“Okay.” Sandra lowered her glass.

“I’ve agreed to narrate my friend’s documentary.”

“On Mali. The child mortality film,” Sandra said.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Precisely. You remember.”

“I do. I looked it up. It’s a huge issue.”

“It is. Norman was thrilled to have me on board. He thinks it will help him get financial support for the project.”

“I’m sure it will. Quite a coup for a small organization. And, all of this makes you happy?”

“Terrified, but yes, also happy.”

“Well, most definitely congratulations are in order then. To your future; may it shine like the Baja stars.” She touched her glass to his and turned her face to the sky.

His eyes rested on her upturned face before following her gaze to the glittering canopy overhead.

***

I
an was standing at the top of the verandah stairs watching them as they walked back toward the house. “Sandra,” he called, “we need your assistance.” He signalled her to follow him.

She stopped on the stairs and put on her shoes before turning to Mark, still standing in the sand. “Well, again, I’m happy for you.” She took the two remaining steps.

“Thank you,” Mark said to her back.

She turned. “You don’t have to thank me for being happy for you.”

“I’m not. I’m thanking you for being a good friend to an arrogant old sod and guiding him through the forest of his declining career.”

“Well that sounds a lot more dramatic than it was.”

“Perhaps, but—”

“Sandra.” Ian had stepped out onto the verandah again. “We need you.”

“Gotta go, duty calls.” She shrugged her shoulders before spinning and walking through the open door. She left him with an image of swirling red fabric and flawless legs.

H
e’d had glimpses of Sandra for the past hour but not an opportunity to talk to her again. Now that Ian had her in his clutches he wasn’t letting go. “Just a friend” indeed. It was obvious his intentions went beyond friendship. Why else would he steer her away from Mark at every opportunity? Unless, of course, he thought he was protecting her from the ogre who invited her to dinner and then attacked her. That was a distinct possibility.

The initial call to the kitchen was to prepare the second round of food for the guests who’d arrived late. Then it was drinks, and now it seemed to be some kind of music selection. Sandra and Ian were going around to each of the guests, taking requests for favourite Canadian songs.

Doug and Jeremy brought out more strings of lights and hung them from the verandah to the palapa out on the beach, over to a pole they’d placed in the sand and back to the other corner of the house. It appeared the party space was expanding. Because of the music requests and the speakers propped on the stairs, he assumed the new area was for dancing. Perhaps it was time to leave. Being the single guy in a party filled with couples was plain uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to drink as much as it would take to make it easier.

Mark wandered out toward the water, leaving the voices to fade into the sound of the crashing waves. He thought again of the night he and Sandra walked on the beach at Mar Azul, the moonlight shining all around them. He’d felt their relationship turn a corner that night, or thought he had. But maybe all of his hope had been misguided and she was just being kind. It wouldn’t be out of character.

He turned to look back at the house as the music grew louder. People were spilling down the steps onto the beach and dancing as soon as their feet touched the sand. He could see Sandra’s red dress in the crowd, jumping and twisting to the fast tempo. It was difficult to tell who she was dancing with but he thought he saw Ian’s reddish-blonde head of hair in her vicinity. He was a good-looking guy, seemed the intelligent sort, and was, admittedly, talented. Mark could see how a woman would be attracted to him. He was also about Sandra’s age and from the same country. She loved music and he seemed to appreciate art. Mark wondered if it would be the most generous thing to take his leave and let Ian make his best move.

He looked down the beach in the direction of San Leandro and his empty house. He groaned as he took a few steps toward home but then stopped and looked up at the points of light twinkling at him from the darkness overhead. Go big or go home; wasn’t that what he’d said when he struck off for Rancho Azteca? “Right then. So sorry Mr. LeRoy, but I’m not going to give up that easily,” Mark said aloud to himself as he turned back toward the music and the party.

Walking past the throng of dancers, he felt a woman’s hands on his arm. He turned with a smile and was disappointed to find a grinning Lorna attached to him, pulling him into the bouncing mob. Oh well, it beat sitting solo on the sidelines, and he could keep a closer eye on Sandra and Ian. He spotted them over Lorna’s shoulder, dancing in a foursome with their co-hosts, all singing along with the well-known lyrics, something about the summer of ‘69. Ian and Jeremy were playing air guitars while their companions bobbed their heads back and forth to the beat. Just then he was grabbed again and pulled in a circle by his partner, his back now to Sandra and her friends.

“I’m onto you, you know,” Lorna shouted over the music.

“Are you now?” Mark couldn’t help smiling.

“You
are
British!” Lorna threw her arm in his direction and pressed her finger into his chest.

He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands from his sides. “You caught me.”

“So why are you here?”

“In Baja or at the party?”

Lorna thought for a moment. “Both.”

“I’m in Baja on holiday and a Canadian friend invited me to the party.”

Lorna danced in closer and leaned toward him. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not Canadian either.”

Mark mocked surprise. “You’re not?”

She grinned and leaned in again, her head bouncing close to his swaying shoulder, her hair swinging into his face. “I’m actually American, but I’ve lived in Canada since I married Kevin. So, you see, we’re both strangers in a strange land here tonight.” She winked at him.

Being in any kind of alliance with Lorna made Mark uncomfortable. When the song ended he thanked her and went off in search of the loo.

***

T
he music had gone up and down in tempo, from folk to rock to country. Some of the songs and artists Mark recognized, others not at all. He’d been back on the dance floor only once since he’d danced with Lorna, when she’d again dragged him into the fray to partner with her new friend Melissa from Nova Scotia. Melissa was also apparently a big fan, but thankfully a much less effusive one. She and her husband were in Baja on holiday, just up from Cabo for a few days, and had met Lorna in the village. Melissa said nothing to him beyond hello when they first met and then continued to smile at him and turn a little pink every time he looked at her. They danced two songs before her husband came to collect her, shaking Mark’s hand and then putting his arm around his wife and pulling her close to his side. Mark backed away from them wondering if he was viewed as some kind of playboy home wrecker here on his own.

He sat down on the steps and watched the moving red and white mass of bodies. Dancing was such an odd thing. Take a room full of sane, even conservative adults, put on a rock and roll tune with a good beat, add a few margaritas, and watch the inhibitions fall way. There were at least forty people in the sandy square of dance floor now. He couldn’t believe they were all Canadian. How could a country with such a small population have so many people in one place at one time? If it was like this in San Leandro, he could only imagine the numbers in Cabo and the rest of Mexico. Who was minding the store?

As he sat musing about the percentage of the Canadian population present on fifty square metres of Baja beach, he saw Sandra emerge from the crowd at the end of a song and come toward him. She smiled as she walked the few steps from the group of dancers to where he sat. “You’re not dancing.” She sat down beside him on the step. He could feel the warmth emanating from her.

“No, I was concerned I’d have some Canadian lumberjack clobber me for dancing with his wife.”

Sandra laughed. “I don’t think there are any lumberjacks here.”

“Perhaps not, but the guy who collected his wife after the last dance was big enough to be one, and he
was
wearing plaid.”

“That seems like an excuse. What’s the real reason you’re not dancing?” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a questioning look. “Don’t like our Canadian tunes? Can’t dance without your stunt double? Maybe had your heart broken by a Russian ballerina?”

She was even more radiant when she was teasing. A song started with a bouncing piano sound. “I love this one!” Sandra jumped to her feet and started moving backwards into the group of dancers, beckoning him forward with her hands.

Mark followed her onto the dance floor. The other two times he’d been on the square of beach he’d felt inclined to keep his distance, but not so now. It was time to pull out some of the dance moves he’d picked up in his years of playing leading men. He moved in close and placed his right hand in the small of Sandra’s back, taking her hand in his left. After only two beats, he pushed her into a three hundred and sixty degree spin before pulling her closer when she faced him again. He could feel the heat between them as they swayed to the song’s rhythm.

He spun her a second time, her hair lifting from her shoulders and her eyes closing as she turned. They were open again when she came back to face him, locking onto his with an intensity that nearly made him falter. He took her by both hands and spun her halfway around so that her back was against his chest and his arms around her. The sweet strawberry smell was still there but something else blended with it now, something musky and much sexier than strawberry. Their bodies separated, connected only by their hands and Mark felt the absence of her warmth and an immediate longing for its return. Just as he was about to spin Sandra along his arm and into him again, the song was over, and she pulled away, smiling and clapping.

And then Ian was there, taking her hand and pulling her to the other side of the dance floor, leaving Mark standing alone.

***

H
e returned to his perch on the steps but had barely settled when Sandra was back. “I’m sorry about that. I assumed there was urgent party business the way Ian dragged me away but, not so much.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Can I ask what it
was
about?”

She looked at him a moment before taking a seat next to him. “Only if you promise not to be angry.”

“Angry? Me?” He made an “x” across the left side of his chest with his index finger. “I promise.”

“Okay.” She paused. “He thinks he needs to protect me from you. He’s trying to be a good friend.”

Mark’s eyes went to the crowd and picked Ian out, standing off to the side of the dance floor; he was speaking with a couple that Mark recalled meeting earlier. “I see. So he knows about my unconscionable behaviour last week.”

She shook her head. “No, not from me he doesn’t. It didn’t seem any of his concern.”

“In that case, I’m not convinced he’s trying to protect you. I’d be more inclined to think he’s trying to win you.”

“Win me? You make me sound like some kind of carnival prize up for grabs. Step right up, knock over the bowling pins and win yourself a little lady in a red dress.”

Mark chuckled. “All right then, woo you or, since you’re fond of period drama, court you.”

“Oh please. Ian?” She glanced across to where Ian was still standing and he met her gaze and waved.

“You see?”

“What, because he waved?”

“No, because he was instantly aware that you were looking at him.”

Sandra didn’t wave back. “I’ve told you before that Ian and I are just friends. He’s a flirt, that’s all.”

“And why is that, why the
just
friends?”

“Are you trying to set me up or something?” Sandra leaned away from him, eyebrows lifted into perfect arches above her eyes.

“Most certainly not. I’m simply curious.”

“Okay then.” She glanced over at Ian and then back to Mark. “I don’t know really. Why does one person inspire feelings of camaraderie and another feelings of passion? One of the great mysteries of human relationships.”

At the word passion, Mark felt the hair stand up on the backs of his arms. He was afraid to ask the next question but needed to, and knew it was the right moment. He cleared his throat. “And which do I inspire?”