The California Club (9 page)

'It doesn't matter,' Helen reassures her. 'Just as long as it's heartfelt.'

Now everyone is waiting for me.

This is obviously just some funny little quiz to amuse Helen but I don't want to miss out on the chance of having a wish come true. Just in case. But how can I write down what I really want – for Elliot to realize that he loves me, not Elise! I already wished for it on the plane and I don't want to negate that, and besides, I have a feeling these are going to be read out loud at some juncture. What then? I look around me our furrowed brows and open mouths.

Elise is the first to scribble, somewhat aggressively, on her page. Then Elliot, with a casual scrawl, obviously not fretting too much over his choice.

'Now what?' Elise asks impatiently.

'We just sit quietly until the others are done.' Helen takes their pieces of paper and then Zoë's, closely followed by Sasha's reluctant offering.

'I think my wish might be a bit of a lost cause,' she frets.

'It doesn't matter,' Helen reassures her. 'Just as long as it's heartfelt.'

Now everyone is waiting for me.

This is obviously just some funny little quiz to amuse Helen but I don't want to miss out on the chance of having a wish come true. Just in case. But how can I write down what I really want – for Elliot to realize that he loves me, not Elise! I already wished for it on the plane and I don't want to negate that, and besides, I have a feeling these are going to be read out loud at some juncture. What then?

I look around me for inspiration. I'd love to swim in that glittering sea or cruise the coast in a convertible but that's hardly original. Aware of the others' eyes upon me, I dig my toes beneath the dusty sand to the cool damp beneath.

What do I want? Honestly? I'd be happy to stay around this fire for the next two weeks. Everything I need is here. I sneak a peek at the faces reflecting the flickering yellow light … It's been so long since I had the chance to catch up with everyone, I feel swollen with fondness for them all. Well, nearly all. If Elise morphed into a giant toasting marshmallow life would be just about perfect. So how can I phrase 'spending quality time with my 'beloved friends' without sounding a cheeseball?

I take the pen, do my best to focus on the page and write, 'I wish I could have some special one-to-one time with each of my friends, enough to create a memory that would last a lifetime.' I can't believe I wrote that! Is that even a sentence? I'm just about to screw up the schmaltz and start again when Helen reaches over and swipes the page from me.

'All done!'

'But—' I protest.

‘It's best to go with the first thing that pops into your head!'

'But, really, Helen!' I squirm, mortified. My first thought would be the Elliot love wish. Maybe I should've … Oh no!

'Right!' Helen folds the pages and puts them back in her rucksack, zipping the bag closed with an air of ominous finality. 'Let's get you to the hotel.'

'Is that it?' Zoë asks, as we all continue to eye Helen's rucksack, fearing for the future of our slips of paper.

'For now,' she smiles.

'Thank god!' Elise rolls her eyes. 'I thought we were going to be led in some weird pagan ceremony.'

'Don't be silly,' Helen laughs, getting to her feet. 'That's tomorrow.'

'What?' Elise blurts.

'But Helen!' I scamper to my feet. 'You still haven't told us about The California Club – what is it?'

'Tomorrow,' she says, steadily.

Our five voices tangle in an exasperated squeal but frankly we're too tired to argue.

‘Tomorrow, you promise?' I need some assurance.

Helen nods. 'Trust me, it'll be worth the wait.’

Sunlight slides under the curtains and creeps up to my eyes. I smile realizing I'm waking up in one of the most enviable scenarios known to man – in bed with Sasha.

There's a light guttural snoring coming from the foot of the bed, which is something of a relief as there was no sign of Zoë when I turned out the light at midnight.

'I'm just going to grab a hot totty at the bar!' were her last words to us.

Sasha and I mused over whether she meant a 'hot toddy' but decided it was actually more likely that she'd spotted an appealing barman while we were checking in.

It was after dark when we presented our seasalt-frosted faces to the reception staff at La Valencia – a baby-pink mission-style hacienda overlooking La Jolla cove – and then left a trail of sandy footprints to our rooms, or better yet, villas. Elliot was particularly tickled that he and Elise were assigned 'Ocean Villa Eleven' – going some way to fulfilling his hankering to be a part of the Rat Pack. Zoë, Sasha and I were in Ocean Villa Five. And in Fifteen, Goldie Hawn. I kid you not. At first we didn't believe Zoë when she came screeching in from the balcony to inform us of our celebrity neighbor, but this time she was right.

Turns out La Valencia has been a Hollywood hideaway since the 1930s. In those days Zoë might have been yelping that she'd just seen Greta Garbo or Charlie Chaplin reclining on their sunloungers. (Not that I can picture either of them getting busy with the coconut tanning oil.) Anyway, since then it's become such a beloved local institution that most of the antiques in the public rooms have been donated by former patrons. I think it's lovely that they wanted to be a part of their favorite hotel.

I wish that one day I could've inspired that kind of devotion with the B&B – how wonderful to know that every chaise or vase had a personal history rather than an Ikea price tag. Despite not having the same taste as my mum I have to acknowledge that she had chosen every item with love. So many of the other B&Bs in our square stopped at the bare minimum – every item in the room provided a function or it wouldn't have a place. The rooms I love have treasures that are just there for pleasure. Those are the things that give a room a personality. Some people want bland, they don't want to engage with their environment and that's fine, but I like to walk in and get a sense of character. That way, even if you're alone, you feel like you're in wonderful company.

As I lean over to take a sip of water a thought strikes me – it's almost as if Helen knows that I'm on the verge of giving up the B&B and she's trying to tempt me into keeping it by showing me all these sumptuous hotels: look at all the fabulous possibilities … But she can't know. I haven't discussed it with anyone except Mum. I thought it would be best to make the decision first and tell them when it was a fait accompli. That way it wouldn't seem such a big deal – just a case of 'it's done, accept it'. And yet it seems wrong to make a decision without consulting them - The Seaflower was like a second home to each of them at one point.

But maybe I'm overestimating how upset they'll be. The B&B hasn't been part of their lives for a while now. Sasha was the last person who came to stay and that was six months ago. They've moved on. Maybe it's time I did too. Maybe they'll think it's a good idea. Maybe it is! Yes, I've felt a flutter of five-star inspiration since arriving in the US, but I'm assuming that we will be staying six of us to a motel room the rest of the week – two nights at La Valencia must be totally skewing our accommodation budget. (When we quizzed her on the extravagance, Helen assured us that there's a reason why we should make the most of luxury now. Not that she'd tell us what that reason was. I just hope it doesn't involve camping.)

Anyway, I'm not going to think about it any more. I came here for a break. I stare up at the white fir beamed ceiling and wiggle my toes beneath the 10 billion thread count sheets. If it wasn't for the chronic jet lag I'm sure I would have had one of the best night's sleep of my life.

As I pull myself up to a sitting position, eager to see this place in daylight, Sasha responds by snuggling deeper down. I'm relieved to find her looking so serene in repose. She seemed troubled and distant during the evening, but fell asleep as soon as her golden head hit the goose-down pillow. In the absence of Zoë, I watched TV for a while and then sat out on the balcony in the dark, listening to the rustle of the palm trees and deep breathing of the sea, wondering what the next two weeks hold for us all.

It was so unexpected, being given a wish. I mean, I always thought if a genie wisped out of a lamp I'd ask for a million pounds, true love and an end to period pain but this wish was different. What would we most like to happen during our time here? If I had to guess, I'd say Zoë's would involve sex and a celebrity – her two favorite things; Sasha, either surgery to reduce her attractiveness or maybe a surprise Prozac prescription; Elliot's dream would definitely be a theme park with no lines; Elise … probably something simple like, 'Make Elliot's friends go away.'

I'd love to be a fly on the wall and see how she is with him when we're not around. Maybe she saves all her bristling for us and is sweetness and light when they're alone. I wonder what they're doing now? Lying in each other's arms, feeding each other chocolate-dipped strawberries, no doubt.

‘Are you indecent?'

There's a rat-a-tat on the door and Elliot strides in, hair still wet. Dimples dimpling.

I do a quick check that my pyjamas aren't offering an impromptu peep show as he darts for the window.

'Get ready for some California sunshine!' he cheers, unhooking the white plantation shutters.

He laughs at my blinded-by-the-light pose and then does a double-take at the body on the put-me-up bed.

'Oh my god! Check out Zoë's maracas!'

'Elliot!' I exclaim. It's not like him to be so crude. I make a move to redress Zoë's modesty but before I can get there he reaches down and picks up two hand-painted maracas, giving the rattling beads a rhythmical swish. 'I meant that literally! Where'd she get these?'

'Mmmmfff,' Zoë stirs.

'Zoë?' Elliot leans over her.

She squirms away. 'Don't make me eat the worm again!'

Elliot's eyebrows raise.

I make a silent prayer that it's a tequila worm she's referring to and suddenly feel a bit guilty for letting her out of my sight.

'Wow. She's out of it! What time did you lot get to bed?’

‘Sasha was about ten,' I begin. She raises a slender arm and flickers her fingers in acknowledgement. 'And I watched
Frasier
re-runs till midnight.'

'Does your set rise up out of this box here?'

I nod.

'How cool is that?' Elliot grins.

'As for Worm Woman,' I continue with our alibis: 'no idea.'

Elliot looks back down at Zoë and frowns. 'What's that black line between her eyebrows?’

Freeing myself from the bed, I scuttle over and gasp. 'It's the Frida Kahlo monobrow!'

'The what?' Elliot laughs, stepping back and stumbling over a giant paper-wrapped roll. 'Where'd all these Mexican blankets come from? Did Helen—'

Suddenly Sasha sits bolt upright in bed as if she's been yanked up in traction. 'She couldn't have!'

I immediately get Sasha's drift and spin around. 'Where's her purse?'

Sasha locates it in one leap. 'Passport!'

We all crowd round, scrabbling through the pages and discover the word MEXICO, freshly stamped.

'She must have gone shopping in Tijuana!' Sasha reels.

'I can't believe she left the country while we were sleeping,' I gasp.

'Zoë?' Elliot gently shakes her.

She opens one blurry eye. 'Si?'

We chuckle at our somnolent signorita.

'I think we should let her sleep,' Elliot decides, tucking her maracas in beside her like a teddy bear. 'You two coming to breakfast?'

'Can you wait five minutes while I have a shower?' I ask.

'No problem,' he obliges. 'Sasha, you okay? You look a bit queasy.'

'Yeah, I'm not hungry, I think I'll get some air down by the sea and then meet you back here.'

I experience a flicker of concern but decide not to hassle her.

'Five minutes …' I repeat but as soon as I step into the marble vastness of the bathroom I realize I've been a little optimistic with my timing – it takes five minutes just to reach the shower and when I pull the glass door shut behind me I discover it seals to create a steam room and it seems criminal to waste such an exotic function. So I don't.

I appear fifteen minutes later with highly flushed cheeks and a rumbly tummy.

Breakfast is served al fresco in a charming courtyard accented with tumbling flowers and manicured men in salmon pink cashmere V-necks.

‘I love all the Spanish tile,' I coo as the waiter guides us to our designated table.

'Ever the eye for detail!' Elliot grins.

'Elise!' I startle myself saying her name. For one blissful moment I'd actually forgotten she was on vacation with us.

'Morning, sleepyhead,' she smirks.

I smirk back. Had to get in an ‘I was up with the larks' dig, didn't she?

'Where's the rest of your cronies?' she asks.

I take a don't-rise-to-the-bait breath then launch into an overly cheerful, 'Well, Crony One – Sasha – has gone for a wander. And Crony Two, Zoë …'

I catch Elliot's amused eye and find myself sniggering.

'What's so funny?' Elise snaps.

'You wouldn't believe us if we told you,' Elliot shakes his head and does a little maraca motion with his hands.

I titter uncontrollably, then hold my knife along my eyebrows, setting Elliot off again.

'What?' Elise is getting impatient now, miffed that she's not in on the joke.

I feel simultaneously mean and triumphant. Last night on the way back from the beach she was laying on all the couple schmaltz: 'Remember when we were in bed, programming our mobile phone rings?' or 'You were talking in your sleep again the other night.' Well this is payback.

I hide behind my menu trying to decide whether I'm brave enough order a spirulina juice or whether celery and fennel would be a wiser option when Elliot caves and fills her in on Zoë's exploits.

'I suppose we should be grateful she didn't bring back a whole Mariachi band,' he concludes.

Elise's response? Laughter? Incredulity? Disapproval? None of the above. She simply clicks her fingers and summons the waiter as if Elliot had just related the weather report for the day. Apparently she doesn’t like him to have fun if it doesn't revolve around her. I stick a fork prong into my palm to stop myself screaming.