Читать книгу Notes from the Backseat - Jody Gehrman - Страница 12

12:45 p.m.

Dear, dear Marla,

Psychotic jealousy, be gone. Coop’s just filled me in on the Tragic Tale of Dannika’s Past, which makes it completely unnecessary to continue fantasizing about gouging her eyes out with my kitten heels. Seriously. Our entire trip (not to mention our relationship) has been saved!

Here’s how it went down.

We stopped at the beach in Santa Barbara. It was this secret little tucked-away point break they used to surf all the time in college. I always wondered if anyone at UCSB actually studied; from the sound of it, the answer is not much. I still couldn’t hear more than a few random exchanges from the backseat, but once we got off the freeway, I could tell they were reliving a long string of surfing memories from the good ole days.

I thought we were just stopping to stretch our legs and take in the vista. I really wasn’t dressed for a romp on the beach—you know how I hate getting sand in my shoes. The engine hadn’t even sputtered into silence, though, before Dannika was leaping out of the car and shaking out the golden flag of her hair in the cool ocean breeze.

“God, it’s so beautiful! I’m not even going to wear a wet suit. I want to feel the water.” Her eyes were shining as she watched a big wave curve in on itself, crash explosively, then unfurl a long carpet of foam.

For a second, the three of us stared out at the water. Coop turned to smile at me. “How you doing back there, kitten?”

It was nice hearing him use my pet name. His hand reached back and squeezed my knee and the warmth of his fingers on my skin sent cool shivers up my thigh.

“I’m okay.” At that very moment, it wasn’t a lie. “You?”

Before he could answer, Dannika surprised us both by yanking her shirt up over her head and conversation became suddenly impossible. There she was, standing not three feet from us, pulling her tank top off like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her pale breasts, once freed from the tight-fitting tank, were fuller and more buoyant than I would have thought possible on such a skinny girl. Her brown belly was shockingly flat—a stretch of smooth interrupted only by the subtle indentations of her six-pack abs. It was one thing to be a size two, but to be that well-defined was something else—the mark of the physically elite.

My root juice threatened to resurface. I swallowed hard and fought it back down.

Of course I looked away, embarrassed. So did Coop, but not before I caught his eyes lingering just a second too long. When he looked at me again, he was blushing.

I’ve never seen Coop blush.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” In a matter of minutes, Dannika had her turquoise bikini on, and she was running down to the water with her surfboard under her arm. It was a disgustingly Blue Crush moment.

Coop and I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then we both tried to speak at once. I said, “Aren’t you getting in?” and he said, “Beautiful day,” and then we both looked at our laps, the awkwardness between us so obvious, it made it even more awkward.

“Come on,” he said finally, opening the door, getting out and pushing the seat forward to let me out. “I want to show you something.”

It was difficult navigating the steep, rocky path down to the beach in my kitten heels, but Coop’s arm was right there whenever I needed something to balance against. For the first time in my life, I could see the appeal of sneakers or even those hideous river sandals that were the plague of the ’90s—Tevas or Geckos or whatever you call them. When we got down to the beach I took my shoes off and the sand against my bare feet was silky-warm.

“We used to come here a lot.” Coop’s dark hair was windblown already from the car ride, and now the ocean breeze played with it gently, swishing a few strands in and out of his face.

“You and Dannika?” I tried not to pucker my lips in distaste when I said her name.

He squinted against the sun. It was bright out and the sky was that rich, lucid September blue, marred only by a couple of patches of pinkish fog hovering near the horizon.

“Yeah,” he said. “Phil and Joni, too—this was kind of our spot.”

“The friends we’re going to see?”

“Yeah. I think you’ll like them. They’re really cool.”

I just nodded.

Dannika was doing a series of yoga stretches just outside the reach of the surf. We both looked at her, our eyes drawn by the elegant lines her body made as she arched and folded, performing a slow dancelike sequence, her blue bikini striking against the dark velvet of wet sand. We were the only ones on the beach besides a couple of seals bobbing out in the water and a flock of pelicans swooping low, teasing the foamy edges of the waves with their long, graceful wings.

“She’s a little high-strung today,” Coop said.

“Dannika?”

He nodded.

“She seems pretty relaxed to me.” I tried to make it sound offhand, like I really hadn’t given it much thought.

“She, um…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She tries to give the impression that she’s confident—even cocky—but the truth is, she’s pretty insecure.”

I kind of snorted at that. I couldn’t help it. If he wanted to make me feel sorry for her, it was going to be a hard sell.

“No, I know, it sounds crazy. People figure she’s got everything—successful career, amazing La Jolla beach house—”

“Perfect body,” I added bitterly.

“Exactly,” he said, agreeing a little too readily for my taste. “The whole package.”

We heard her whooping with excitement and turned to see her paddling for a pretty enormous wave. Her arms churned hard against the water and she rose up over the mountain of blue just before it broke, disappearing over the lip.

“The thing is,” he said, “I knew her when she was just a damaged kid.”

We stopped walking and stood still for a moment, facing the water. Dannika was paddling farther out, now, working hard to get beyond the breakers, where the ocean got smooth and glassy.

“What do you mean, damaged?” I asked.

“Hold on,” he said. “I’ll explain in a sec. First I want to show you something.” He took my hand and led me down the beach a little ways. Feeling his big, warm fingers closed over mine reminded me of being a child, walking with my father, feeling safe and enclosed.

We paused when we came to a cliff that jutted clear down to the edge of the water. The waves were crashing against the slick, barnacle-encrusted point. Small pebbles popped and sizzled as the receding tide dragged them backward.

When the wave had receded completely, Coop cried, “Go now!” and pushed me forward. Without thinking, I dashed across the rocky sand, past the sharp apex of the cliff, and then the next wave was sweeping up toward me, roaring like a wild animal. But Coop had timed it perfectly and I managed to curve around the point, then run away from the water so that it only licked at my toes, the spray misting the hem of my skirt. I laughed like a little kid.

Coop appeared a few seconds later, his jeans rolled up, but his wave was bigger and he didn’t quite manage to escape it. He looked so cute running hard up the beach toward me, the foam surging around his ankles, getting his cuffs wet. If I could just look at him the rest of my life, I’d be happy, I told myself. Before I could let the impact of that thought sink in, he ran right for me and hugged me so hard that my toes dangled in the air. He kissed me; we were both giggling and I could feel the vibration of our laughter in his lips.

“Here.” He put me down and led me farther away from the water. Scanning the beach with his eyes, he said, “There it is. God, I haven’t been here in years.”

We were in a little cove, surrounded by a half circle of bluffs about thirty feet high. There, at the deepest part of the crescent-shaped beach, the sheer cliffs gave way to a small, dark cave. As we got closer I could smell the damp, slightly rotten odor of seaweed decomposing in the salty air. I hesitated at the edge where the sunlight turned abruptly into a cool envelope of shade, but Coop tugged at my hand again and soon we were sitting together in the shadows.

“I used to come here all the time,” he said.

“By yourself?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Or with friends.”

“With Dannika?” It came out all whispery and sort of scared. I couldn’t look at him.

He was studying my profile; I could feel his eyes on my face. “Yeah, or Phil and Joni.” He touched my hair. “It’s the pirates’ hideout. Top secret.”

“I’m not much of a pirate,” I admitted. “I get seasick. You sure I’m allowed to be here?”

“You underestimate yourself.”

We sat there for a while, watching the waves crash against the sand. We couldn’t see Dannika from in there, and I was glad.

“I just really love how it feels in here, you know? Like a secret fort.”

“Yeah.” It seemed kind of dank and smelly to me, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to say so.

Coop took out his pipe and lit it. Did I ever mention how much I love his pipe? I mean I know smoking’s a despicable habit, and I should hate everything about it, but when he smokes that pipe it just pushes every anachronistic, sentimental button I’ve got—and you know I’ve got a lot of those. I mean, how many guys under the age of eighty smoke one of these babies? Every time he lights it, I feel like we’re in an Ingmar Bergman film.

“Dannika’s not what she seems to be,” he said. I snuck a quick glance at him; he was squinting at the horizon, a serious look on his face. He puffed on the pipe a few more times to get it going. “When I met her freshman year she was skinny and awkward and painfully shy. Her teeth were all crooked back then and she was always holding a hand up over her mouth when she laughed or ate.”

“You mean she wasn’t always so…beautiful?”

He shook his head and took another drag from his pipe, blowing the smoke away from me. It smelled like chocolate. “She had a really messed up childhood. I won’t go into the details—she’d hate me if I did—but when her dad died he left her some money and she spent it all on her looks. She got braces and a boob job. It’s like she went away one summer and she came back a totally different girl. She even changed her name.”

“Really? What was she called before?”

He tried not to smile. “Donna Horney.”

I winced. “Yikes. No wonder.”

He nodded. “She totally transformed herself—I mean, top to bottom. Now she pretends none of it ever happened. According to her, Donna’s dead. End of story.” He reached down and grabbed a handful of sand, let it pour out of his fist like a grey waterfall. “People meet her and assume she’s Miss Enlightened, but the truth is, she’s still Donna Horney inside.”

I had to fight a huge giggle. I wanted to leap into the air and do a dance in the sand, but I sat there perfectly still. Dannika Winters was a phony! I knew at least some part of me should feel sorry for her, but all my body produced was a giddy surge of relief. My nemesis was a total fake. She couldn’t possibly harm me. I was real; she was just smoke and mirrors.

Coop turned to me and this time I couldn’t avoid his eyes. “What are you thinking?” His brow was furrowed.

“Um…” I hesitated. It hardly seemed fitting to blurt out Ding-dong the witch is dead! “I’m just surprised, I guess. That’s really sad.” I could feel a huge, satisfied grin threatening to spread across my face, but I covered it in time with a concerned frown.

“I’m telling you because I know from past experience that she can be really…” he searched for the right word “…intimidating.”

“Sure. I can see that.”

“But she’s super private, okay, so don’t mention any of this. I mean Phil and Joni know, of course, but we’re the only ones. She’d seriously kill me if she knew I’d told you.”

I zipped my lips with my fingers. “Mum’s the word.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks for trusting me. I’ve been kind of nervous about meeting your friends. It helps that I’m not completely in the dark.”

He set his pipe down on a rock, leaned over and kissed me. He tasted of salt and smoke—the sweetest flavor in the world.

I guess you probably don’t need the gory details of every minute we spent in that cave. All I know is, most the buttons on my suit were undone and even when the fog started reaching toward the beach with long white fingers, I didn’t feel the slightest bit cold. God, Marla, he’s such a crazy-good kisser. I swear I could live on nothing but the taste of his mouth.

We were pretty caught up in the moment when I heard someone saying, “Oops, sorry.”

I looked up and Dannika was walking away from us, her perfect little butt still swathed in nothing but a bikini.

Coop gave me a sheepish look as we both made the necessary adjustments to our clothing. When we were presentable again he kissed me one last time, tapped out his pipe, and we followed Dannika back down the beach toward the car. The tide was going out, I guess, because it was easier getting around the point this time. We waited until Dannika was dressed and sitting in the driver’s seat of the Mercury before Coop gave me a piggyback ride up the path.

“I can’t believe you didn’t come out there,” she told Coop as we climbed back into the car. There was a pouty note to her voice. Looking at her profile, I thought I could see the ghost of the gangly girl she’d once been. “It was like double overhead, dude.”

“Did you have fun?” He tousled her wet hair affectionately and it didn’t even bother me at all.

“It was a blast.” She definitely didn’t sound happy. “You totally missed out.”

He shrugged. “I was busy.”

I couldn’t help giggling a little, and Dannika shot me a look over her shoulder. “Whatever.” She jabbed the key into the ignition violently and the car roared to life. “Your loss.”

She drives even worse when she’s pissed.

Every ten miles or so I have to clench my jaw and cling to my seat belt as she passes another RV on a blind curve. To add to my discomfort, her surfboard’s dripping little salt water drops onto my shoulder and the fog is making me shiver. All the same, I’m smiling as I write this.

I’m pretty sure I won’t need this notebook anymore. Coop’s provided me with an infallible cure to my jealousy. From now on I’ll be the picture of sisterly sweetness. If I feel myself slipping, all I need are those two magic words: Donna Horney.

Anyway, thanks for suggesting I write all this down. If I hadn’t, who knows how this trip would have turned out? You could be reading about me in the papers: Jackie O Strangles Yoga Diva. Now I can safely say my petty insecurities are behind me.

Hugs and Kisses from a New and Improved Gwen