Chapter Nineteen Beverly
Chapter Nineteen
Beverly
I lead the way to a grass-roofed shack on Waikiki Beach and slap a five-dollar bill on the counter. Hard enough to turn my hand red. Good thing I have the night ahead of me. We can’t drink eight hours before a flight. But tonight, I’m free to do what I like.
“Two pineapple rum drinks,” I say, having glanced only cursorily at the menu. I will have plenty of trips to Honolulu to discover what my favorite tropical drink will end up being. But today, I don’t want to give a man a chance to order for me or pay for me or have any sense of ownership over me. I had enough of that in New York. So I’m turning the tables. My tiny rebellion.
I feel power swoosh through my veins, pulsing with more vigor than I imagine a kiss ever would.
“I could have gotten those,” Mark says as I turn around. I can’t tell if he looks wounded or impressed behind those sunglasses.
I suppose eyes really are the windows to your soul.
But if I had to choose based on his tone, I’d say it was the former.
“I have no doubt that you could have gotten them,” I answer. “But this is about what I can do.”
Maybe that was said a little too emphatically. Maybe it was all a little too emphatic. But New Beverly is still new to me. Like the pair of Pan Am heels that I’m still nursing blisters from, I have to break this version of me in.
He smiles at this, at least. And it seems genuine. Another point to him for not being scared off. The egos of most men in New York seem as solid as bedrock but are actually built on nothing more than quicksand.
“At least let me secure the chairs.”
“I—” I begin to protest, but this time I stop myself.
“Somebody has to wait for the drinks,” he says, pointing to the bar. He leans in as he says it, managing to put a seductive inflection on completely ordinary words. Or am I just imagining that? A chill runs down to my toes even as my neck feels hot where his words have landed.
“Thank you,” I acquiesce. And he walks off to take care of what will not be an easy task by the looks of the busy, bustling beach.
I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling as wide as I want to. Because as much as I hate to admit it, there is something nice about being taken care of as well.
Being a woman is full of contradictions. Can I not encompass it all?
The bartender slides the two pineapple rums, complete with paper umbrellas—aha!—across the heavily lacquered counter. I pick them up, their ice-cold glasses cooling me down on what is still a very warm afternoon. I rub one across my forehead for relief.
I see Mark standing by two chairs with pink fringe, waving to get my attention, and I head his way. So he’s had success. Another point for him, and just a few minutes in.
Maybe I should stop keeping a tally.
Maybe he really is just a good guy.
He has already taken his shirt off and is wearing only swim trunks. If my feet were not bound by shoes, I would curl my toes into the sand to keep from stumbling at the sight. He looks like he’s just walked out of a magazine advertisement. The kind where they find a nearly perfect model and then brush away his imperfections in order to leave the impression that perfection exists.
But he is the after . Mark Oakley, my 15A passenger, is a living, breathing embodiment of a photograph that has already had its touch-ups.
Of course, I saw his photo in Life . But jeez Louise, the man in person is an Adonis.
Thank goodness for the coolness of these drinks. I feel my temperature rising.
Look at me, setting the women’s movement back a notch. All this talk about not needing a man.
But what do they say about wanting one?
I raise the glasses in acknowledgment and walk over to him.
“The attendant is bringing an umbrella shortly. The real kind. Not the drink kind,” he says, tapping the wooden top of the garnish. “I noticed that you don’t have a hat.”
“You don’t have a hat,” I retort.
Damn. I should have prefaced that with thank you . If Sister Mary Clare could hear me, she would beat my wrists with a ruler.
“I’m not the one who needs to preserve her porcelain skin.”
“Please don’t tell me that all the girls fall for lines like that.”
He takes his sunglasses off, and I am surprised by his expression. I expected one of flirtatious confidence, but instead, he looks confused.
I swallow. Hot dog. That wasn’t a line. It was a compliment.
I squeeze my eyes shut, concealed, thankfully, by my own sunglasses. In that second of darkness, I decide to start over. Not just this conversation, but this racecourse I’ve seemed to set myself on, so determined to exert my independence that I have forgotten that the very essence of humanity, of man and woman, is give and take.
“Here is your drink,” I say handing the one in my right hand to him and hoping to quickly move past my gaffe.
He waits for me to sit before he joins me.
“Cheers,” he says. The ice in our glasses sounds like little bells as we tap our drinks against each other. I can’t help but be distracted by his golden, muscular legs as he stretches them out in the sand.
“Here’s to the first of many trips to Honolulu,” I stumble out.
“Here’s to moving to Honolulu,” he answers.
I tilt my head. “You’re moving here?”
Mark takes a sip, and a look of bliss comes over his face. He props his elbow up on the side of the chair, and I can’t help but lean toward him. Something about him draws me in.
I never felt that way for poor Frederick.
“For the next two years, at least.”
“Does this have anything to do with the article in Life ?”
I’d hoped to find a copy at the airport newsstand before getting into the taxi to the hotel, but as the plebe of the group I didn’t want to be the person who delayed them.
Mark’s cheeks redden at its mention, and I am struck by how attractive the characteristic of humility can be. It’s not a common one where I come from. I would do well to take notes.
“Yes.” He looks down before meeting my eyes again. “I’m a swimmer.”
“So I gathered from the headline. But there are lots of swimmers in the world, as you know, and not all of them get featured in a major magazine. Spill the beans, 15A.”
He takes a breath, and though I can hear the buzz of people all around us on Waikiki, they fade into the distance as I give him my full attention.
“I was in a car accident when I was a kid. Broke both of my legs, and I couldn’t put weight on them for weeks. But there was a public swimming pool near my house, and my uncle took me there after my casts were off so that I could get used to movement again. I fell in love with the water and went on to join my high school swim team, lifeguarded in the summer, and then got a scholarship to Columbia to be on their team. I won gold at a national tournament this year, and now I’m training for the Olympics in Tokyo.”
I am stunned for a moment and pause before I speak. “That may be the most impressive short biography I’ve ever heard.”
He blushes again and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”
So for the past few years, Mark Oakley lived just miles away from me in Manhattan, and I was too busy hobnobbing with the Park Avenue and Wall Street sets to realize that men like him existed. Well, that just beats all.
“What did you study at Columbia?”
“Business,” he says with a tone of nonchalance. It surprises me—Mr. Wall Street’s devotees would have led with that rather than wait to be asked. It’s their greatest badge of honor, and they are certain that everyone else will think so too.
“Did you have any interest in pursuing that as a career?”
He shrugs. “I found the classes interesting, but I didn’t care for the people.”
It’s an interesting admission. “What do you mean by that?”
“I did a few internships. And I liked the work. But honestly, the people were ruthless. Everyone trying to get ahead, no matter who got in their way. No, thank you.”
“Where did you intern?” If it was in New York—which I assume it was—I’ve probably heard of all the places.
“Blakesworth for trading. Caldwell Corp. for banking.”
I hope he doesn’t notice me flinch when he mentions the last one.
But he does. “It sounds like you know it.”
I am speechless at first, stunned to be having this strange conversation on the sands of Waikiki. That it took flying all the way here to meet someone who’d been in the same orbit with me all along. Why, we might have even been at some of the same parties and not even known it.
“Caldwell. That’s my family,” I say at last. My father and my grandfather. Their scowling portraits adorn the lobby. Mark probably walked by them every day.
He smiles. “I saw your last name on your name tag. For about a half a second, I wondered if you might be related. But then I thought that if you were that Caldwell, you probably wouldn’t be—”
“A stewardess,” I finish for him.
“Well, to be honest, working at all. I’d have thought they’d have you practically betrothed to some vice president of some department. Isn’t that how it normally goes for the daughter of a modern knickerbocker?”
It’s a term that gets thrown around a lot in New York society, referencing the old money of the Roosevelts, Schuylers, Kings, and their ilk. The Caldwells do not date back quite that far. But yes, if those families were still at the top today, my father would be right alongside them.
So his comment was well aimed.
He speaks up when I have remained in stunned silence. “Sounds like we both felt the need to escape that particular method of a slow, painful death.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
I take a sip of my pineapple rum to wet my throat, as it’s gone dry. I cough a little, having swallowed too quickly. But manage to say, “And you gave all that up?”
I’d done the very same thing, but I’d never considered that a man might.
He rolls his eyes. “Without a second thought. In fact, it just made me prefer swimming all the more—I compete against my own best time. If I’m faster than someone else, great. If not, it’s not the end of my world.”
“Those sound like passive words for an Olympic competitor.”
“My goal isn’t to beat anyone else. Only to leave the water knowing that I have given it everything I’ve got.”
They don’t make men like Mark Oakley in New York. Still, I feel like I have to ask.
“Are you from Manhattan originally?”
He throws his head back and laughs.
“Definitely not,” he says. “This is going to sound like a cliché, but I’m a country boy who moved to the big city. I’m from Nacogdoches, Texas.”
“Naca—” I try to repeat.
“Na-ca-doh-chis,” he says, emphasizing a drawl. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can spell it correctly, the next round is on me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Next round is still on me.”
I pull my sunglasses down and squint at him, relieved that we have left the conversation about New York behind us for the time being.
“So they grow gentlemen in your part of the world.”
He holds up his hands in defense. “I have all the respect in the world for the modern woman, and having two sisters taught me that women are far tougher than men. But you can’t squeeze the Texas out of me all at once.”
“You haven’t really left me a choice, have you?”
He grins. “Call it pure selfishness. I always enjoy seeing people attempt this.”
I purse my lips. I like a challenge.
“Okay,” I ponder. “It must not be spelled like it sounds or otherwise it wouldn’t be such a game to you.”
I stare at him and he stares back, the intensity of the challenge making my heart beat faster. Or maybe it’s him. But I am a competitive sort, so who knows.
“ K-N-O-C-A— ”
“Nope. There’s no K .”
“You can’t cut me off midspell.”
“Midspell? Is that a word?”
“I’m making it a word.”
“Regardless, I’m trying to spare you the embarrassment.”
I roll my eyes and start again.
“ N-A-C-A— ”
“Beep! Thank you for playing, Miss Caldwell. Ladies and gentlemen, tune in tomorrow for another episode of Spell. That. Name .”
I punch him lightly in the arm and am surprised by how easily we’ve settled into this rapport.
“That’s not fair. I would have gotten it eventually.”
“ Eventually. Maybe. But you just worked a long flight, and I have to meet my new trainer at Sunset Beach bright and early. Neither of us has all night for you to work it out.”
Just the mere mention of the evening coming to an end deflates me. The sun is slowly waning and the bright-blue sky that greeted me upon our arrival has mellowed into a lavender unlike any I’ve ever seen.
“All right, 15A. Here are three words you are never, ever going to hear me say again. Ever. I. Give. Up. ”
Mark leans toward me, and this time, there is no doubt that his intention is very much of the flirtatious kind. My breaths become shallow and short.
“Remember, I compete for a living. I may well accept that challenge you’ve just thrown down.”
I match his posture, coming closer almost to the point where our foreheads are touching. “You’re on.”
We’re staring at each other once again, under the pretext of this game we’ve fallen into, but almost as soon as it starts, a gravity washes over me that tells me that I am standing at the precipice of something I didn’t expect. Suddenly, I don’t want to get on that plane tomorrow. Not if it means leaving him behind when all I can think about is wanting to talk to him for longer.
I break the silence, but neither of us move.
“You still haven’t spelled it for me.”
“ N-A-C, ” he begins. Slowly. Lingering over every letter, each one rolling off his tongue as if he’s tasting it, and though I never would have thought of spelling as seductive , it is perhaps the most romantic thing I have ever heard.
“ O-G-D, ” he continues.
My eyes soften. We still haven’t looked away from each other, and his words are nothing but an alphabetic jumble, but they serve as the reason, the glue, that we are studying each other, gazes telling us something that words are not.
“ O-C-H-E-S. ”
“Wait a minute.” I pull back, the spell broken. “That’s not so hard. I would have guessed that.”
Mark sits up straight. “Eventually.”
“Eventually? Back to that word? I would have gotten it in four tries. Five, tops.”
He throws his head back and laughs heartily. “But would it have been as much fun as this was?”
I stop talking. I don’t want to tell him he’s right.
But he’s right.
I take the easy way out and change the subject.
“So where’s Sunset Beach?”
Mark shakes a finger at me. “I see what you did there, and I’m going to be nice and let you get away with it. But to answer your question, Sunset Beach is on the other side of the island, over an hour away. I’m going to do my Olympic training there.”
“Why at the beach? And why that particular one?”
“Because it has monster waves. Especially in winter. It’s considered downright dangerous to anyone but the most experienced surfers and swimmers.”
I sense that he is telling me because it is a fact, not because he is bragging.
“Well, I suppose already having a gold medal makes you pretty experienced.”
He shrugs. “I can’t take that for granted, though. This is my chance to get better.”
“This is your chance to win at the Olympics.”
Mark takes his sunglasses off and looks out at the water, but I see moisture gather in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, placing a hand on his arm. I don’t know what I said, but it clearly hit a nerve.
“My parents died in that car accident I was in. And my little brother. If I didn’t have photographs, I wouldn’t even remember their faces anymore. But I do remember a few things. The way my mom made shrimp linguini with those tiny shrimp that would often go on sale at the supermarket. How my dad and brother and I used to go fishing at Bayou La Nana. And how we’d always, always listen to the Olympic broadcasts on the radio.”
I swallow hard, the traces of pineapple rum turning bitter with the acrid taste of regret that wells up in me in sympathy with him. It’s moments like this where I remember how very fortunate I am, much as I am quick to complain. Mr. Wall Street might not be Mr. Fuzzy as a father, but my goodness, at least he is still alive. And I know he loves me in his own way, even if I’ve often had to excavate to find it.
But I equally regret, if I’m honest, that despite how tragically Mark’s family was taken from him, they had happy memories that I can’t relate to.
It is one more unexpected piece in this puzzle of New Beverly that I’m seeking—I want a family. A real family. A close-knit family. Why can’t I hope for that? Aren’t women being told that we can have it all?
The feelings, the alcohol, the warm beach air overwhelm me, and I cover a yawn that I cannot hold back.
Mark notices, even though I’d hoped he wouldn’t.
“Look at the time,” he says.
Why do I feel that he really said this for my sake? That if I hadn’t revealed my exhaustion, we might have stayed here longer? Might have had that dinner he originally offered?
“And I have a flight to prepare for.”
I know it’s the smart thing to do. For a lot of reasons.
We both grow silent for a moment. I’ve kept my sunglasses on and realize that they are actually my shield. My protection from more than the sun. In such a short time, we have laughed and nearly cried, and I can’t remember a time when I felt so immediately at ease with someone.
And so confused about what I’d seemed so certain about.
Mark sets his hand on the armrest of my chair. Inches, then centimeters, then millimeters away from my own. I feel my heartbeat in my fingers, but I’m scared by what this means.
“I’m glad I met you, Beverly Caldwell.”
A beat. And then I say, “I’m glad I met you, 15A.”
It’s a nickname. A term of intimacy. But equally impersonal, keeping him at a distance.
Whichever way I want it.
Which way do I want it?
“The next round of drinks is on me,” he says as a reminder.
“But you said—”
“Not tonight. Next time.”
I feel a flush through my body at the very thought of a next time.
He wants to see me again as much as I want to see him, and the recognition of my part in that frightens and thrills me.
It has indeed been a day of contradictions.
Of tightrope walking.
“Next time,” I agree.
The sun has descended farther, and people on the beach are atwitter about the green flash . So we turn our heads to the western horizon in time to see the actual rotation of the earth visible with the sun as the focal point. And, indeed, when it has just disappeared from view, there is a greenish spark. A cheer rises from the crowd, and it seems like the best opportunity for a goodbye.
It is only after I’ve sent Rachel’s dress to the laundry, and I’m in my hotel bed, insomnia coming over me as I review all that happened, that I realize that I ran off before we could exchange the information that might help us find each other again. He only knows that my Pan Am flights will take me here occasionally.
And I only know that he will be moving across the island to a dangerous shore called Sunset Beach.