Bella looked down at the yachts moored in the marina below her rooftop garden and, now on the other side of her penthouse, looked at the cars scuttling along the Pacific Coast Highway. One of them was hers.
With its custom exterior and favourite surfboards on the roof rack, the big Mercedes was unmistakeable. Jose the doorman would call soon to announce its arrival. She checked her watch. The valet service was delivering it promptly, fuelled, cleaned, and polished, as she’d directed. Chuy, Jose’s wetback cousin, ran the business.
As she descended to the lobby, Bella admired herself in the elevator mirror, thinking how well her tummy tuck had turned out. She said aloud, ‘You look great, girl, you have the world in the palm of your hand.’ Guru Brad had given her the mantras.
The elevator doors opened, and Bella said, ‘Buenos Dias Jose, Gracias Chuy, tu eres fantastico,’ tipping Chuy.
‘Jose dear, would you please bring down my bags? I left them the lobby outside my front door.’
After Jose loaded the bags, she tipped him and eased behind the wheel of her S-Class Merc, feeling the caress of leather upholstery and low frequency purr of its diesel engine, smelling its leonine musk. Tinted windows took the edge off the morning sun and air conditioning maintained an always-pleasant temperature. Bella paused to enjoy the moment.
Her big car’s electronics were superior, and this was important today because she wanted to chat privately with Phil Kenwood, her divorce lawyer.
Putting on sunglasses, Bella indicated and pulled left into northbound traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway. ‘Siri, call Monkey Boy,’ she commanded, humming while she listened to Kenwood’s phone trill and start ringing.
‘Philip, darling, how are you? Did you remember to bring chocolates for your secretary this Valentine’s morning? You’ll be in mucho trouble if you didn’t.’
Kenwood was cadaverous and seventy if a day. Mrs Nagata, his mountainous secretary, looked like a Sumo wrestler in drag. Bella had a mental image of them in bed together and had to supress a giggle. Poor, donnish Kenwood didn’t have the nerve to fire her. Old Nagasaki would break his spine.
‘I have your papers ready to go when you are, Bella. We’ve demanded temporary spousal support and exclusive immediate possession of the marina condo and your Mercedes.’
‘I want the cabin and boat too. I use them to entertain my investors; tools of the trade.’
‘Very well,’ said Kenwood.
‘Phil, you do understand that I want to take immediate tactical advantage of our discovery of Tom’s girlfriend? I’m so happy you suggested that private investigator. The photographs and voice recordings are gold, solid gold.
‘Tom’s so Catholic his guilt will crush him.’
Kenwood cleared his throat, paused, and said, ‘Once he’s represented by counsel we’ll negotiate something that works well for both of you long-term. There are even tax advantages to factor in. You of all people know that.’
‘Fuck that, Philip. If he’s family, I want him to be a very poor relation pronto. Serve the summons on him this afternoon at his golf clubhouse. No, it’s Valentine’s Day and after he’s a little drunk he’ll sleaze off to his girlfriend’s tacky apartment in Redondo with flowers and champagne. Serve the son-of-a-bitch there, add spice to the Affidavit of Service, and kick-off this divorce with a well-deserved kick in the balls.’
Kenwood groaned. She could hear him shuffling papers and fidgeting with something on his desk.
‘Bella please! Be thoughtful. You don’t need to prove fault to get a California divorce anymore. You’ve got a life to live after this is over and Tom will be part of it.’
‘Yes, Phil, and I intend that long life to be very comfortable for me, not for him. Divorce is mudwrestling, not ballet. Serve him today, preferably half-dressed at his white-trash girlfriend’s front door. Just do it Philip.’
Bella terminated the call and said, ‘Siri play Ride of the Valkyries.’
#
Nan’s Valentine’s weekend invitation had been serendipitous, enabling Bella to serve process on Tom while off his radar. She’d enjoy catching up with her old friend. Although they corresponded a few times a year, flirting a little, they hadn’t had much facetime since college. Career and family had kept Bella occupied, mostly career; she’d been building her financial castle.
Nan had emailed that she’d be camping on Moonstone Beach, just north of Cambria on old California Highway 1. They’d have supper together Friday night, then shop in Cambria on Saturday. In the afternoon they’d surf.
She’d blocked Tom’s number. Let the sad sack bore his Okie golf partners with his ‘she done me wrong’ song; make a barbershop quartet of it for all she cared.
#
Bella tried to call Nan as she drove through Ventura, but the number rang out without inviting a message. Unable to consult, she made dinner reservations for eight-thirty at Saki Sushi, a Korean barbecue featured on a cooking show, telling Siri to text details to Nan.
‘Siri play Ode to Joy’ she commanded.
#
An hour later, Siri read Nan’s reply:
Working today. Meet you at the Korean place in Cambria. Save some Saki! Can’t wait. Hugs, Nan.
Nan:
Nan was foot-weary, working the second half of a double shift at Duke’s, a reproduction railcar diner on the Camino in Cambria. She wore a pastel green fifties-style waitress uniform, its colour matching the painted trim of the aluminum, glass, and chrome faux Pullman dining car. With her hazel eyes and café-au-lait complexion, she looked like she’d been cast as Cora in an update of The Postman Always Rings Twice, at least that’s what Charlie ‘Duke’ Wu, her movie buff boss always said. Too bad she was only slinging hash in his upmarket diner, watching rain splatter the parking lot. Her feet hurt.
Between orders, Nan looked out the front window, wondering if she’d see Bella pass by on her way into town. Knowing her, she’d have an expensive car and, of course, her surfboards would be racked on top. For all her flash, Bella was a seriously good surfer, been at it since they were both teenagers. Surfing had been their first and continuous bond. They were surf sisters, at least that’s what they said when they got their matching tattoos. Nan hoped so. She needed help.
#
Reunion:
Bella had just ordered her second Martini and was checking her email when she clocked Nan coming in the door, noticing her as she shook the rain from her hair and paused to say something to the hostess. They both laughed, Nancy flashing her huge, infectious smile, lighting up the room.
Bella rose offering her hand, but Nan brushed it aside and wrapped her in an athletic bear hug.
‘For God’s sake, Nan, you’re crushing me. I’ve missed you too, but my ribs won’t take much bruising tonight. I’ve had a terrible, long drive. It’s rained all the way since Oxnard, and, of course, the traffic was brutal in Santa Barbara. I thought I might have to spend the weekend surfing the mush at Santa Claus Beach.
‘You look well. Are you modelling?’
‘Slow down, Bella. I need a drink too. My pal working reception is sending it over. Let’s sit, be pampered and fed, and catch up.
‘I have something I need to discuss with you.’
Just then Bella’s phone vibrated, and she looked down, shook her head, and began thumb-typing a reply.
They made small talk, ate hungerly, and shared a bottle of wine for the next two hours, their conversation pockmarked by Bella’s messaging.
At night’s end, Bella said, ‘I don’t think either of us should drive. As luck has it, one of my investors owns the Surf Motel just down the street. He just texted that he’ll comp us a suite. We can make our way out to the beach after breakfast, first thing in the morning if the surf’s clean.’
#
Saturday morning Nan slept later than she’d intended. When she woke, it was after ten, cold and dark outside. Surging rain lashed the pool and hot tub below her balcony. She awoke to the sound of Bella closing the door. She’d left a note:
‘Nan, darling, I have a chance to meet a potential new investor over breakfast. Order room service for yourself. Back later.’ Bella had embellished her letter ‘B’ signature with a heart and happy face.
Bella didn’t get back until nearly three o’clock but was still constantly checking her phone for messages. She had none from Kenwood or logged attempts from Tom; a disturbing radio silence from SoCal.
The women hurried to Moonstone Beach, but an impenetrable off-shore wind was blowing out the surf. They dragged back to Nan’s camper just as the sun sank below the far horizon.
#
On Saturday night, a gibbous moon whitewashed the campground, driftwood and scrub-brush casting gnarled shadows on the adjacent rocky beach. An even surf hammered beyond the shore break, its waves wind-crested like manes. Away from the road, Nan’s pick-up camper huddled beside a Monterey cypress. It had a faded ‘Legalize Pot’ sticker on the rear bumper. A gusting wind rocked the truck, but a longboard gunner strapped to its lee side was unaffected. Candlelight shone from the rectangular window.
Inside, Nan read verse aloud, Bella played with her phone. They shared a bottle of Merlot, drinking from plastic cups, remains of an antipasto salad left beside the sink.
‘Happy with your new surfboard?’ Nan asked.
‘Not really.’ Bella replied without looking up. ‘I bought it on impulse from this little betty whose figure I envied. For me, it’s a wall hanger, nice looking, but mushy on a wave. You should try it, you’re petite. If you like it, you can have it. It makes me feel fat.’
‘Bella, you’re not fat. Men still turn when you walk by. Women too.’
‘That’s just the dust jacket. My story’s always been soap opera. Anyhow, I don’t want the board.’
Bella picked up a deck of cards, then consulted her phone.
Nan closed her book and looked directly at Bella, waiting for her to break the silence.
‘Bella talk to me.’
Bella shook her head and began rapidly dealing out Solitaire.
‘Come on girlfriend, let’s walk to the beach,’ Nan said. ‘We’ve got to bring the boards up anyway.’
Bella put down the cards and pocketed her phone.
The women picked their way along the boardwalk and down wooden stairs to the shingle. A campfire smouldered in a fire ring beneath the bluff, glowing when the wind gusted. Bella tossed on driftwood. Nan sat on a log and patted the space next to her, inviting Bella to sit too. The fire illuminated their faces and cast dancing silhouettes behind them.
Bella took a drink from the open bottle, then passed it to Nan. They finished the wine in silence, both looking into the fire.
Finally, Bella said, ‘We’re like a couple of skid row winos.’
‘Closer than you know, actually.’
Nan reached inside her jacket producing rolling papers and a small pouch of marijuana. She turned from the wind and rolled a splif, lit it, inhaled deeply, and passed it to Bella who also took a long drag.
‘This reminds me of college,’ said Bella, ‘a joint before English 203, reefer with Chaucer.’
‘Yes, except we were busted, and I got kicked out. You got dorm restriction, graduated, and married Tom.’
‘He’s my karmic pay-back for letting you claim the dope and take my heat. Tom’s an asshole, Nan, a DEA Surveillance Specialist, a glorified keyhole peeper, for Christ sake!’
‘He’s not a bad guy.’
‘You’re not married to him.’
‘No, Bella, I’m not, but we dated a couple of times before I left school.
‘The wind’s dropped, let’s skinny surf in the moonlight.’
Nan stood and shook off her unlaced boots, then fully undressed beneath her serape before tossing it on the pile. She picked up her board and sprinted into the shore break, glistening like a seal.
Bella undressed deliberately. Standing next to the fire, she checked her phone for messages, then looked out into the surrounding night. Stacking her clothes next to her boots and field coat, she picked up her board and walked to the surf, her pale body lambent in the moonlight.
They paddled out together, often catching the same wave and mirroring each other’s movement, emerging from the whitewash holding hands. Then one would give a shove, shout, and dive back into the sea. They horse-played and surfed for almost an hour before making their way back to the campfire’s embers. As they did, Nan bent and picked up something from the sand.
‘Bella, I have a gift for you,’ she said holding up a small, perfectly oval moonstone. Wet and shiny, it glowed in her palm. ‘It’s a belly button jewel for my Ariel, old Neptune’s favourite daughter.’
Bella accepted the stone with a little smile and obliged Nan by inserting it in her navel. Then, still laughing, they slipped into boots and serapes, carrying the rest of their gear as they followed the boardwalk back to the camper.
They tag-team showered, relishing the steamy warmth and soaping each other, passing the shower-head back and forth, still playing, but more sombrely, their earlier frolic now a languid tango.
Bella finished showering first and put on a terrycloth robe, handing another to Nan. These stayed on only long enough to blot the water from their bodies. They kissed and clambered into the over-cab berth, giggling. Later, they slept like babes in the forest, falling asleep in each other’s arms.
#
Bella woke to the smell of coffee and bacon, keeping her eyes closed momentarily to enjoy the warmth of the bed. After taking her phone off airplane mode and checking for messages, she rolled over, stretching to reach Nan, but was unable to touch her without falling out of the high berth. There were three messages from Kenwood, but he could wait.
‘Good morning, valentine,’ Nan said. ‘I wish I had a rose to give you.
‘I thought you’d never wake up. Want coffee in bed?’
‘That’s lovely, but I’d spill it. I’ll climb down.’
Bella twisted, searching for the ladder with her feet. Finding it, she slipped down into the breakfast nook.
‘It’s easier to get into that bunk than out,’ Nan said.
Bella grinned and looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
‘There’s a moral there somewhere, Nancy dear.’
Nan had her back to Bella, clearing up breakfast, when she said, ‘I lost my crummy job at S.W.& B. They went bankrupt, so my benefits went too.’
Bella looked up from her phone. ‘You should sue them! When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I was . . . embarrassed, ashamed. I still am. I thought I’d find another job right away but didn’t. I’m out of work. My unemployment benefits ran out three months ago. Sometimes I get fill-in work at Wu’s Diner, but that’s not enough. I need a real job.
‘Without this camper, I’d be sleeping on the beach. I inherited it when my dad died.’
Bella recoiled, ‘You live here – in this truck?’
‘Yes, lucky to have it. Do you know what happens to women living rough?’
‘Yes, Nan, I do. I saw a documentary, but that doesn’t happen to people like us. I mean, you’re educated, experienced, and not addicted or mentally ill.’
‘I’m black, broke, and have no family. I’m not people like you, Bella. You’ve never understood. What options do I have?’
‘Oh, don’t play the race card, Nan. You’re just enjoying your hippie surfer life.’ Bella looked down at the small, black screen of her telephone.
Nan shivered and looked outside. The offshore wind was blowing out the surf, crowning the waves. Rain spattered on the camper’s roof and windward side. After a long silence, Bella said, ‘I need some air.’
‘I thought you might help me,’ Nan said. Bella remained silent. Nam lit a cigarette and stepped out into the gusting wind.
#
When Nan returned, Bella’s phone and playing cards were still on the table. She had been unable to open her mail from Kenwood and was frowning when she looked up at Nan. She said nothing. Nan remained standing but turned away again, looking outside.
‘You know I fucked Tom once, don’t you Bella?’ Nan said.
‘Did you? News Flash: Skid row girlfriend balls bird-dog husband! Too bad you’re just needling me. Tom fucked everyone.
‘You know what, Nan, I don’t care, but if you’ll swear to it, I’ll use your testimony to add another act to my circus divorce.’
Nan continued to look away. ‘Bella, would you just stop fiddling with your phone and look at me?’
‘I multi-task. I am listening.’
‘I need a job, full-time and not on my feet. Can you help me?’
‘Nancy, you just talk nonsense. I drove up here for rest, not so you could off-load your weird blues on me. I’ve got troubles of my own.’
Bella got up from the table, collected her cards and phone, and put them in her handbag. ‘What you did or didn’t do with Tom, Nancy, is just another episode in my crappy so-called perfect life, but I’m not an employment agency. Is that why you asked me up here?’
Bella rose to leave the camper, shaking off Nan’s hand. She walked to the empty beach. The morning air was crisp, smelling of ozone and fresh kelp. It had stopped raining and the air had finally gone still. She stood ankle deep in the whitewash and took the moonstone from her pocket. Dry in the morning light it had lost its magic. She let it drop.
The surf line was from the west, its break clean and even for the first time since Bella’s arrival, a perfect Hollywood surf. You could set your watch by it. The morning had become silent except for the sea.
Bella paused, thinking about body surfing that perfect line, but she turned to look up toward her Mercedes. It waited for her, glowing beside the vacant ranger’s kiosk. She’d start the engine, turn on the heater, and listen to soft music; read her email. Then she’d call Monkey Boy at home for his report on fun with Tom. To hell with crazy Nan. Everything would be okay. She’d go back to the motel in Cambria tonight, stay another day beneath Tom’s radar; maybe surf tomorrow.
Bella walked up the bluff toward the car. As she drew closer, however, the Mercedes looked off kilter. There was a locking boot on its left rear wheel and a legal-looking document, a ‘Notice of Tax Seizure,’ was taped on the windscreen. A note in Tom’s careful printing was next to the legal process. It read: ‘Did you know that there’s a bounty for ratting out tax cheaters? The party’s over.’
