Island in the Sea (20 page)

How would he survive on the road for three months without her? And what would she say when he told her they would have to delay moving to London?

“There you are.” Samantha appeared at the door. She wore a white robe and pink slippers. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail and tied with a satin ribbon. “I was about to step in the bath. I have to finish a paper on English gardens and read a poem for my course on romantic lyricism. I thought we could order a Cobb salad and you can recite John Donne.”

Lionel gazed at her creamy skin and the outline of her breasts and longed to wrap his arms around her.

“Gideon called me into his office; he's concerned about the new album. A sophomore album can sink faster than Virginia Woolf with a pocket full of stones.” He took a deep breath and looked at Samantha. “He wants me and Amber to go on tour.”

“Gideon wants you and Amber to go on tour alone?”

“We'd hardly be alone. There'd be dozens of sound technicians and the craft service people with their sugary doughnuts and Styrofoam cups of coffee.” He sipped his drink. “Gideon says if we don't go, we'll disappear off the charts. I don't want to stand onstage in front of a bunch of girls barely out of Mickey Mouse ears but we've come so far. If we stop now, it will have all been for nothing. I have to be a songwriter or I won't be able to breathe.”

He pulled her close and kissed her softly on the mouth. He inhaled her jasmine scent and wanted to tell her she was right: Gideon was mad and he couldn't possibly go on tour.

But he thought of the great writers and knew nothing would hold them back. Shakespeare performed his plays at the Globe Theater for an illiterate audience who could barely afford the penny ticket, and Dickens printed his stories in a weekly newspaper that most people used to wrap fish. A true artist did anything to support his work. What mattered was that he wrote songs and people heard them.

“Is it wrong to want to achieve great things?” Lionel whispered.

“We said we'd give it a year and then go back to London,” Samantha said slowly. “I promised Abigail I'd take her to the zoo on her birthday. I want to visit my sister's new baby and celebrate my parents' thirty-year anniversary.”

“We'll send your sister a miniature baseball uniform and a Dodgers cap.” Lionel ran his fingers over her nipples. “We'll book your parents a suite at the Connaught and tickets to
Phantom of the Opera
. We'll take Abigail and her friends to the zoo when we get back and buy them peanuts to feed the elephants.”

“My parents do love the Connaught,” Samantha mused. “My mother and I had afternoon tea there and they serve the most delicious lemon scones with Devonshire cream.”

Lionel slipped off her robe and drank in the curve of her breasts. He gazed at the silky smoothness of her thighs and felt like Michelangelo sculpting the Pietà.

“There's something very important we have to do first.” He took her hand and led her into the bedroom.

“What?” Samantha asked.

“I have to memorize every curve of your body so when I lie on some lumpy mattress in a Motel Six in Toledo, I can picture your ripe breasts and golden hair and the tiny mole on the inside of your thigh.”

“That sounds like very extensive research,” Samantha murmured, stepping out of her panties.

“I know.” Lionel unzipped his slacks and drew her onto the bed. “But if we get started now, I think we can cover it.”

Lionel plunged inside her and felt as if he was being engulfed by a fire. He pulled her arms over her head and came so quickly he couldn't catch his breath.

Then he rolled off and ran his hands over her stomach. He slipped his fingers between her legs and found the wet spot deep inside her. He pushed in deeper, feeling like he found an enchanted forest. He watched her grip his shoulders and bite her lip. He heard her small gasps and saw the slick sheen on her skin and knew she was everything he desired.

*   *   *

Lionel padded into the living room and filled a glass with scotch. He thought of his room above Penelope's garage with its hot plate and packets of digestive biscuits. He pictured nights scribbling at his desk and smoking endless cigarettes. He remembered crumpling paper into the garbage and the heady sensation when he finally wrote a hit song.

He added a twist of lime and thought once Ford perfected the motorcar, no one rode in horse-drawn buggies. Hardly anyone spent three weeks on an ocean liner when they could fly from London to New York in seven hours.

Human beings had to move forward; it was as natural as turning twenty-one or losing one's virginity. Once you had sex you couldn't spend your nights with a
Playboy
and a towel, you craved a woman with firm breasts and sleek thighs.

He didn't want to write just one good song, he wanted a whole library of hits. He wanted a wall of platinum records and a garage filled with E-type Jaguars.

Three months would go by in an instant and he would return and propose. They'd drive to Montecito and book a suite at the Biltmore. He pictured sitting on the balcony and eating eggs Benedict and blueberry pancakes. He imagined poring over honeymoon brochures of Positano and Ravello.

He slipped the jewelry box in the hotel safe. He put the key in the desk and downed his scotch. He walked back into the bedroom and lay down beside Samantha on the ivory silk bedspread.

*   *   *

“Some people think life is laid out in a preordained path and all we have to do is follow it.” Lionel scooped up a handful of pistachio nuts. “But God has better things to do than plot the future of seven billion people like a
Choose Your Own Adventure
. He gave us a better-developed brain than any other species and more than two thousand years of written history to guide us.” He paused. “And we still manage to bloody mess everything up.”

“Did you and Amber go on tour?” Juliet asked.

“I need a shower and shave.” Lionel rubbed his chin. “Let's continue tomorrow.”

“I'd rather continue now. Henry asked me to go to Marbella, he's playing an exposition match at Los Monteros.” Juliet fiddled with her gold bangle. “I'll only be gone one night, but we really have to finish.”

“I spent a weekend at Los Monteros,” Lionel replied. “The swordfish is excellent and the wine selection is superb and when you lie on a white chaise longue at La Cabane you feel like King Herod in
Jesus Christ Superstar
.”

“He said he'd play better if I'm there.” Juliet hesitated. “Gideon is getting impatient, I can't keep him waiting.”

“Take a day off and don't worry about Gideon.” Lionel finished his drink. “You are a young American in Spain, you can't pass up a chance to nibble foie gras and rub shoulders with Andy Murray and Roger Federer. I promise when you return, I'll wrap up my story.”

Juliet smoothed her hair and walked to the door. She turned around and smiled. “I'll bring you a signed tennis ball.”

*   *   *

Lionel stood in front of the mirror in the marble bathroom and rubbed his cheeks. He had showered and shaved but his head still pounded and he had circles under his eyes.

He slipped on his pajamas and poured a glass of sherry. He pictured Juliet in white slacks and a brightly colored sweater. He saw her standing courtside at the tennis match wearing soft leather loafers. He swallowed his sherry and felt something uncomfortable shift inside him.

chapter nineteen

J
ULIET ADJUSTED HER SUNGLASSES AND
fiddled with her gold necklace. She glanced at the turquoise Mediterranean and whitewashed buildings and the distant outline of Africa. She saw waiters in white dinner jackets and inhaled the scent of hibiscus and felt like Grace Kelly in
To Catch a Thief
.

*   *   *

She had sat on the airplane with Henry's hand grazing her thigh and felt a lump in her throat. They hardly knew each other and she was going away with him. What if she forgot her toothbrush or ran out of things to say?

She closed her eyes and thought of the times in her life she had been terrified: her first day at Sony when she bumped into Mariah Carey in the elevator, moving to Los Angeles and learning to drive on the I-405, coaxing a lead singer whose girlfriend just left him onto the stage.

Then the plane landed at Málaga airport and the green mountains and shimmering coastline were laid out like a photo spread in a travel magazine. The skyscrapers of Torremolinos and elegant villas in Marbella sped past the window of the Bentley. The sultry breeze hit her cheeks and she inhaled the scent of the ocean and her shoulders relaxed.

*   *   *

Now she strolled through the grounds of Los Monteros and thought she had never been anywhere so elegant. Women wore Courrèges slacks and silver Prada sandals. Men wore silk blazers and paste-colored shirts. She saw pink flamingos and marble fountains and ponds filled with neon-colored fish.

“There you are.” Henry appeared in the garden. He wore a striped shirt and white shorts and long socks. “I wanted to introduce you to my coach, the match starts in thirty minutes.”

“I didn't want to get in the way.” Juliet hesitated.

“You couldn't get in the way.” Henry grinned. “You're the best thing about being here.”

*   *   *

Juliet sat on the sidelines and watched Henry lob the ball over the net. She felt the hot sun on her cheeks and suddenly wished she had a glass of lemonade.

“You must be Juliet.” A man approached her. He was in his mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and leathery skin. He wore a polo shirt and slacks and leather loafers. “I'm Stefan, Henry's coach. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Juliet replied. “The resort is spectacular, I feel like a movie star.”

“Henry insisted you be here, it's an important match.” Stefan sat beside her. “Henry has the strength of Boris Becker and a stroke like John McEnroe, but once you've been out it's hard to get back on top. You think of all the matches your opponent won while you were away and lose your nerve. Nothing is more important in tennis than believing you are the only one who can hit a ninety-mile-an-hour serve.”

Juliet nodded. “Henry is an incredible player.”

“A few more months of practice and he could win a Grand Slam,” Stefan mused. “It's strange after all this work he's thinking of retiring.”

“He is?” Juliet asked.

“All he talks about is hanging up his racquet and starting a family,” Stefan replied. “He asked me about opening a tennis school.”

Juliet stood up and suddenly felt dizzy. She opened her mouth to say something but her throat was dry and the ground tilted. She grabbed her purse and ran across the courtyard.

*   *   *

Juliet sat at the granite bar and sipped a glass of sparkling water. She ate a handful of macadamia nuts and felt her heart race.

She hated leaving the court but she was afraid she would faint. Hearing Stefan talk about Henry wanting to retire made her stomach turn over.

She took another sip of water and thought she had been overheated and forgot to have lunch. All she needed was a sandwich or a piece of fruit and she'd be fine.

She suddenly remembered Lionel saying human beings had to move forward, it was the most natural thing in the world. She couldn't just go dancing with Henry or visit art galleries. She had to see if she wanted to wake up beside him and share egg-white omelets.

She remembered Gabriella saying the cheeseburgers at Los Monteros came on porcelain plates and smiled. She was at one of the most beautiful resorts in the world with a handsome tennis player. She would go into the bathroom and splash her face with water. Then she would go back on the court and watch Henry win his match.

She ate another handful of macadamia nuts and jumped off the stool. She took a deep breath and thought she was ready to fall in love.

*   *   *

Juliet smoothed her hair and glanced around the restaurant. The walls were covered in red velvet wallpaper and the tables were set with gold plates and gleaming silverware. She gazed out the sliding glass doors at the pink and yellow lights flickering on the swimming pool and caught her breath.

*   *   *

After Henry won his match they spent the afternoon at La Cabane. They sipped margaritas and talked about Stefan and Henry's next tournament. Juliet gazed at the white sailboats and blue stretch of Mediterranean and couldn't remember why she had been anxious.

She studied Henry's wide shoulders and suddenly wanted to go back to their room and peel off her swimsuit. She wanted to climb under white cotton sheets and feel Henry's chest on her breasts. She wanted him to stroke her thighs and run his hands though her hair.

But the breeze picked up and Henry said he was starving. He kissed her on the mouth and told her he was going to change for dinner. Juliet felt a shiver run down her spine and thought making love could wait. First they would sit in a sumptuous dining room and eat wild turbot and chanterelle mushrooms.

*   *   *

Now she looked up and saw Henry walking toward her. He wore a white dinner jacket and beige slacks. His hair was freshly washed and his cheeks glistened with aftershave.

“You look gorgeous.” He smiled. “I thought you were a model posing for a photo shoot.”

“I stopped in the hotel gift shop.” Juliet glanced down at her black Dior dress and gold sandals. “I feel like Audrey Hepburn in
Breakfast at Tiffany's
.”

“You'd look beautiful in a cotton T-shirt and blue jeans, but I'm glad you dressed up.” He took her hand. “I asked the maître d' to sit us at the window. There's nothing like seeing the sun set behind the Rock of Gibraltar.”

*   *   *

They sat at a round table and ate lobster and lamb cutlets with herb truffles. They sipped a pinot noir and talked about Marbella and the Costa del Sol.