Tall Cool One (18 page)
Lloyd. Naked Lloyd. His Hirsuteness.
Anna winced. “Oh no! Let’s see if we can slip by before he—”
Too late. He spotted them and waved manically. “Anna! Mary!”
“Pretend we’ve gone deaf,” Sam suggested.
Lloyd came trotting in their direction. Anna couldn’t help looking at . . . everything. And everything didn’t exactly . . . measure up.
“Someone’s showing off his shortcomings,” Anna whispered to Sam, which made Sam guffaw.
“Hey, lovely ladies,” Lloyd greeted them. He’d picked up an exotic cranberry-based cocktail on the way over. “Why not take it all off and join the party?”
“We’re just . . . passing through,” Anna said, fixing her gaze on his face.
“You know, you’d be a happier and more fulfilled woman if you loosened up a little, Anna,” Lloyd shot back. “Just an observation.”
“Observe this,” Sam said, and gave him the finger. Then she looked down at his crotch. “Oh, wait, you already have one of those. And it’s just about exactly the same size!”
Anna bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Lloyd turned the color of whatever fruit-punch-based exotic drink he was sipping
But his voice stayed absolutely cool as he gazed pointedly at Sam’s thighs. “Yeah, let out that hostility, Mary. Remember, it’s not what you’re eating, it’s what’s eating you.” Then he and his body hair boogied back to the dance floor.
Sam’s jaw dropped. “He’s good. He’s an asshole, but he’s
good.
”
“I see why my dad hired him,” Anna commented. “Anyway, let’s go.”
“Where?” Sam asked.
“Anyplace that we can’t see him.”
They continued through the clothing-optional section, past its rows of casitas and toward a gaslit path that led down to the au naturel beach. They were far enough away now from the lagoon for the music to fade to near nothingness. The beach itself was deserted; no sound but the gentle waves and a lone tropical night bird calling to the moon. By wordless agreement, they kicked off their sandals, left them under a wooden chaise longue, and walked for another five hundred yards. They were past the resort boundary but didn’t care.
“This is bliss,” Sam said softly.
“I know. Your dad wasn’t upset that you wanted to come to Mexico by yourself?”
“Please.” Sam snorted. “He never knows where I am, and he could care less. None of them give a shit. The Poppy-Dee love fest thing has become nauseating.”
Anna paused. “Wait. Wasn’t Poppy’s baby shower today?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You didn’t go.”
Sam shook her head and splashed ankle deep into the warm Pacific. “Nope. And I’m a better woman for it. Poppy loathes me. She wishes I’d go off to college already, preferably someplace in Antarctica. And I loathe her. She has no boundaries, no sense that she’s coming into a family. She talks
baby talk
to my father. Was I supposed to go to her baby shower and gush over a little sister that I wish I’d never have?”
“I see your points.” Anna nodded.
“Plus she’s made Dee her new surrogate daughter. Believe me, no one at that shower even realized I was gone.” Sam raised her arms to the sky. “As a choice between that hell and this paradise . . . there is no comparison. I could stay here forever.”
Anna smiled. “‘Nothing gold can stay.’”
“We’re quoting Robert Frost?” Sam teased. “That’s the first poem I ever memorized.”
“I love it,” Anna said softly. “I guess because I’m a perfectionist. And perfection is, by definition, always transitory.” She bent down, picked up a flat stone, and skimmed it into an oncoming wave. It bounced five times in the moonlight before disappearing beneath the water.
“Okay. Now that you’ve sufficiently depressed me—”
Anna searched for another skimming stone. “I just meant that if this were forever, it wouldn’t be perfection anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. But what’s the point of anything, then? What’s even the point of falling in love if it’s only going to end?”
“To be happy while it’s happening, I guess,” Anna mused. She found another good one. This one took a single hop when she skimmed it and then was gone. “But I’m hardly the oracle. Look what happened between me and Ben.”
“Him again.” Sam sighed. “Why don’t you just fly to New Jersey, bone his brains out, and see if the magic is still there?”
“If I ‘bone his brains out,’ as you so delicately put it, we’ll want each other all over again.”
“Big deal. Are you still in love with him?”
“Sometimes I think so. Other times, I think I just lusted after him and talked myself into believing it was love because that’s what I wanted it to be.”
“Enough. You sound like a bad episode of
Hermosa Beach.
” Sam reached down and splashed Anna. Anna splashed her back. Sam danced around, shimmying her Mexican shirt up and over her head and then flung it at the beach. “Oh, Lloyd? Come here, lover boy!”
“Great idea.” Anna laughed, stepping out of her own dress. “Want to go skinny dipping?”
“Sure. Why not?” Sam agreed as the moon cooperated for her by ducking behind a cloud. “Using the term loosely, of course.”
Both girls scampered onto the sand, where they pulled off the rest of their clothes. Then, with a whooping cry, Sam ran into the ocean. “Oh my God, this is fantastic!”
Anna waded in after her. “The water’s so warm.”
“I l-o-o-o-ve it here!” Sam shouted, and then flipped onto her back to gaze at the stars.
“I love it, too!” It was a male voice, from out of the murky darkness of the ocean.
Startled and a bit frightened, Sam whirled to find the source of the voice. There it was—about thirty feet away, a small wooden panga boat. Though she couldn’t see the boat’s pilot—probably a British fisherman, she reasoned—he was most definitely male. And she was most definitely naked.
“Get away from here, you pervert!” She dropped down into the water until it covered her to her chin as her mind raced. He was probably some guy who worked at the resort and cruised out at night. He probably had infrared goggles. What a sleazoid. Had he seen her naked? Probably.
“I mean it, dickweed! Fuck off!”
She watched the small rowboat move out to sea; she and Anna were alone once more. But the magic of the moment was gone. Just like that, paradise found was paradise lost.
S
am and Anna were at the Surf Shack, trying to enjoy the huevos rancheros they’d ordered for breakfast. But the woman of a certain age with bleached blond hair and an extraordinarily professional face-lift at the next table was making it difficult. She’d been on her cell phone for the past twenty minutes, discussing a Miami Beach real estate deal at earsplitting volume.
“She should turn the fucking thing off,” Sam muttered darkly. “She’s on vacation.”
“I totally agree,” Anna said despairingly.
“So, Anna!” Sam raised her voice, hoping the woman would get a clue. “You have another surfing lesson with Kai this afternoon while I hit with the tennis pro.
Right?
” She cut her eyes to the woman on the cell phone, who was touching a spot behind her right ear, most likely feeling for her recent surgery scars. She was still utterly oblivious to how obnoxious she was and prattled on about points and mortgage brokers and how she had to take possession by the end of the month or else the agent’s head would roll.
Sam leaned closer to her and practically shouted in her direction. “And then we’re going shopping at La Trinidad afterward,
right?
”
The woman finally looked at Sam. “Could you hold it down? You’re very rude.”
“You
must
be kidding,” Sam told her. “You don’t need the phone; they can hear you just fine in Florida.”
“Bitch.” The woman strode away, still yammering into her cell.
“I’ve got an idea.” Anna’s face lit up.
“Hook her up with Lloyd?”
“Better.” Anna reached into her purse, took out her cell, and clicked it off. “Voilà.”
“You’re absolutely right. It’s a disgusting habit.” Sam found her own phone and did the same thing. Never mind the fact that she was supposed to go out with her dad and Poppy tonight. Or that Jackson would be calling any minute now to find out when the hell Sam planned on coming home. Probably because of it. “You know, I don’t think I’ve turned my cell off since 2002. I suddenly feel
much
better.”
“I don’t even bring mine to this place,” said a male British voice. “Hello.”
Sam looked up. And froze as she put two and two together. She recognized the profile of the guy and thought she recognized the voice, too. It was the man from the boat last night. The one who had seen her naked during her not-so-skinny-dipping expedition. He was tall and dark, with high cheekbones and a grin that showed off twin dimples.
Shit. Like last night’s in-the-dark humiliation wasn’t enough; now she had to face the asshole in broad daylight and see that he was good-looking, too. More Latin than London, but still.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Peeping Thomas,” Sam singsonged to him. “If I have to tell hotel security that you’re stalking me, I will.”
The guy smiled courteously. “I certainly apologize if you experience ‘hello’ as harassment. You’ve got to admire the audacity of the American legal system. You are Americans, correct?”
Sam folded her arms. Okay, so he was cute—copper skin, snapping dark eyes, wavy dark hair, and a perfectly chiseled jawline—a Gael García Bernal type, with an upper-crust British accent. He wore a white Irish linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows and classic Levi’s 505s that were neither too tight nor too baggy. But whatever. He’d still seen her naked.
He took a step toward the table and extended his hand to Sam. “I am Eduardo Muñoz. A guest at this hotel.”
Sam reluctantly shook it. “Mary Poppins. And my friend—”
“I’m Anna Percy,” Anna filled in, much too friendly for Sam’s taste. “Would you like to join us?”
Sam shot Anna a dirty look, but Anna shrugged as Eduardo pulled a chair up to their table. All Sam could think about was last night. Truth was, no guy she’d ever fooled around with had seen her naked. She always managed to either get the lights out and her body under the comforter in advance of the main event or keep on some strategic bits of clothing.
“Have you been here before, Mary?” he asked. “I don’t recall ever seeing you.”
Sam shook her head. She couldn’t figure out why he was hanging around to make nice. It had to be for Anna. Yep, that was it. He was pretending to chat her up so that he could move in on Anna.
“I try to come at least once a year. This is the best season.”
“Great,” Sam replied tersely.
“You’re a mistress of understatement, Miss Poppins,” Eduardo teased. “Do you have plans later? I thought perhaps you’d like to go sailing with me. On one of the resort catamarans?”
Jeez, if he was about to make a play for Anna, why didn’t he just do it directly? She was not up for playing intermediary.
“Sorry, I’ve got plans.” Sam checked her Cartier tank watch. “In fact, I’m already late. Have a pleasant life, Eduardo.”
As she pushed away from the table, she saw Anna’s eyebrows rise in surprise. But Sam had been through variations on this routine too many times. Whoever this guy was, however it was that he could afford to stay at Las Casitas, he wasn’t real. Even if he wasn’t interested in Anna, she knew how the second and third acts of this screenplay would go. He’d probably found out exactly who Sam was from some friend in the Las Casitas office. He’d tell her how beautiful and fascinating she was. Then he’d suddenly drop the phony accent, claim how it proved he was a great actor, and ask her to introduce him to her dad.
Screw him, Sam thought, hurrying away from the table. Screw his phony attention. And double-screw him for having seen her naked.
Anna was left at the table with Eduardo.
She felt a little ridiculous. “I apologize for my friend. She . . . has some things on her mind.”
“Perhaps I was a bit too abrupt,” he mused. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No offense taken.” He was sweet and so cute. Even given her embarrassment of the night before, Anna wondered why Sam had run from him like he had the plague.
She started to get up. “I hate to leave like this, but I’ve got a surfing lesson in ten minutes.”
“Does your friend surf?” Eduardo asked hopefully.
“No.”
“What’s her name? It surely isn’t Mary Poppins.”
Anna debated what to say and finally told half the truth. “Sam. Short for Samantha.”
Eduardo smiled. “Samantha. Beautiful.
Muy linda.
A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
Jackson Sharpe always appreciated returning to his Bel Air estate after time away. It reassured him of how rich and successful he was; this villa, with its tennis court, pool, three guesthouses, formal gardens, and ten thousand square feet of living space was tangible proof. He knew that Hollywood was a hornet’s nest; he couldn’t ignore the recent whispers that he was past his prime—that just like Harrison Ford and Robert Redford before him, he was already on the downward slope of stardom. Though it was a Hollywood blood sport to take shots at the person on top of the heap and knock them off just for kicks, Jackson knew that all he could do was to stave off the inevitable before he joined Ford and Redford and even Eastwood in the land of the weren’t-they-once-handsome-and-somebody?
That day, he hoped, was years away. Right now he could still open a movie, no matter how dreadful. Not only in Los Angeles, but in France and Mexico and Tel Aviv and Bombay, thus making a bargain the twenty-plus million dollars that was his current quote.
He worked hard. Not just when he was on the set, but with publicity. It was why he went to Chicago to do
Oprah
and why he was going on
Jay Leno
that night. His appearance was being promoted heavily, and Leno, a personal friend—they loved to compare their car collections—had made the rare gesture of inviting pregnant Poppy and Sam to join Jackson on his show.
“Hello!” Jackson called as he entered the massive double oak doors that led to the marble lobby of his castle. “Who’s home?”
“Meester Jackson! Welcome home!” Svetlana, the maid, skittered into the lobby, smiling. “You have luggage, sir?”
