Chapter Twenty-Six
The aftereffects of the vodka (and possibly not giving a crap) caused Ben to ignore the photographer and sleep for most of the ride out to Montauk. He was sure that his editor had set up the four o’clock departure time just to punish him. No one sets out for the easternmost tip of Long Island at rush hour. What usually took two and a half hours under these conditions took five.
They arrived at the Born Free Motel, a no-frills twenty-four-room inn within walking distance of the beach. He fell asleep in his clothes, with the unfortunate words to “Born Free” running through his head on a loop. The loop being a recap of the first few lines—“Born Free / As free as the wind blows”—because he couldn’t remember the rest.
The next morning, he was set to meet Terrence at the tournament. Word was, he had already made it to the semifinals.
If Ben were ever to leave Fire Island, Montauk would be the place. All the beauty, none of the poshness that makes the Hamptons the Hamptons. Montauk people surfed and fished and drank clam chowder from coffee cups. The vibe was analogous to the vibe on Fire Island.
Bottom line: he didn’t mind being there so much—especially since he needed to get away from Addison.
The farther out east you went, the bigger the waves, and this was as east as you could get. Ergo, the town’s tag line, Montauk: End of the World. The excitement of the annual surfing contest vibrated in the air, but it barely permeated Ben’s sad-sack state. He sat on the shore, watching the waves crash onto the beach. Looking out past the break, the water was dotted with brightly colored boards as the surfers paddled out, each hoping to catch the perfect wave. The photographer walked toward the shore to capture it.
The contest was well underway, and the surfers were in the middle of the round. If Terrence made it to tomorrow’s finals, which was expected, Ben would stay around, write the piece, and never look back. Unless, of course, Terrence asked to hitch a ride back to the ferry, to see his girl on Fire Island. Ben’s stomach rolled over at the thought. Suddenly, someone buying Gicky’s house, knocking it down, and building a towering monstrosity that would steal his light seemed like the best outcome.
He put it all out of his mind and got down to business. He wasn’t letting this guy take more than he already had.
For many of Ben’s readers, surfing was an unknown sport, unlike, let’s say, football. So, Ben felt the need to explain the basics in a way he usually would not. He spoke quietly into his mobile phone’s microphone, describing the scene. Writing about sporting events came naturally to him. It was practically as easy for him as writing out the alphabet.
“The judges sit in a tower on the beach, watching the action through binoculars, carefully evaluating each surfer’s performance. The semifinal round of the contest is underway, and the surfers show varying degrees of skill and confidence. Some ride the waves with grace and ease, executing impressive maneuvers and displaying incredible balance. Others struggle to stay upright on their boards, wiping out and disappearing beneath the water. With each round, the competition becomes more intense. The surfers pushing themselves harder, attempting riskier moves, and taking bigger chances. Experience is the key to squashing one’s nerves and moving in and out of the waves with fluidity, and Terrence Williams—at a couple of years shy of forty—has been competing since he was sixteen. He has more experience than most, if not all, of his competition.”
The photographer came back, and the two men made their way through the excited crowd of onlookers in search of their subject. Terrence suddenly appeared before them.
Ben briefly considered punching Terrence, arm swung back, right hook to the jaw. The image ran through his mind, puncturing his melancholic mood with a small spark of joy. He was bigger than Terrence, and in pretty good shape. He could take him, he thought.
Terrence’s big bear hug quickly extinguished Ben’s animosity. It was the kind that was followed by a drum roll of sorts on his back. Oh, how he wanted to hate this guy.
“I’m glad you’re here, man. I have a whole new angle for the story, if you’re willing.” Terrence ran his hand across the sky as if the magazine headline would be up in lights, and announced, “The Last Ride of the Vagabond Surfer.”
Terrence’s retiring wasn’t a bizarre notion. Most professional surfers “hang their leash” by their midthirties. And for Terrence, with multiple championship and world titles to his name, it would make sense to go out on top. Ben thought about this slant as it related to his story. It would certainly make his job easier.
“I’m tired of worrying about heats and scores and mostly of the constant travel. I want a family. One that I have dinner with every night, not one I see between chasing waves across continents.”
That morning, while on his third cup of coffee, Ben had thought about what had gone down between Terrence and Addison. He contemplated the alternative to spending the rest of the summer hiding in his house, avoiding the little vixen next door, and tried his best to banish thoughts of this guy kissing Addison’s perfectly tanned shoulders. Or worse. Now he worried that it wasn’t just the one-night stand that her friend Kizzy had suggested. He worried that Terrence’s sudden hankering for a family had something to do with Addison. After all, she had made him, the widowed Ben Morse, feel things he was sure he would never feel again. He tried to discourage Terrence.
“That’s a very quiet life,” Ben cautioned, “and I think you have a bunch of good years left in the spotlight!”
“That’s just it. The spotlight, the adrenaline, the adoration from my fans has all begun to feel empty and unfulfilling.”
And just then, as if by magic, Kizzy Weinstein—the antidote to Terrence’s empty and unfulfilled life, pranced (yes, pranced) over to greet them. Ben was shocked.
Terrence further explained their plan.
“After the finals tomorrow, I’m gonna stay with Kizzy for a bit in New York City. I’ve been approached by a sportswear manufacturer in the Garment Center about starting a new clothing line called the Vagabond Surfer. I want to see what they have in mind.”
God, it was worse than Ben had even imagined. And Kizzy! Could no one resist this man’s abs? He kissed Kizzy hello, even though he was pissed for Addison.
Instead of pulling Kizzy aside and asking if Addison was OK sharing their concubine, he unsuccessfully joked, “How Crocodile Dundee of you.”
Clearly neither of them had seen the eighties rom-com of the same name where an Australian cowboy moved to NYC, and he didn’t bother explaining. He settled on “I’m so happy for you both!” Possibly meaning it—as he now had another chance with Addison. They all hugged, basking in Ben’s good wishes.
That night at a local surf bar, three tequilas in, Ben came out and asked Kizzy, “You’re not concerned about how Addison will feel about your getting with Terrence?”
“Why would she care? She just wants me to be happy!”
To each his own, he thought.
The next day, as the final round of the tournament approached, the tension on the beach was palpable. Terrence and a kid named Jack Morgan were neck and neck for the top spot, but it was really anyone’s win. The wind was picking up, the waves were getting bigger, and though it added an extra element of difficulty to the competition, this was nothing that either of them hadn’t experienced before. Terrence came by and gave Kizzy a sweet kiss on the lips before picking up his board.
Kizzy seemed nervous as she watched her guy paddle out to sea. Ben was surprised by how much she cared about Terrence in such a short time. He tried to get her to sit down next to him, but she insisted on standing, fidgeting in the sand, bouncing from one foot to the other.
It may be good that the guy was retiring. Kizzy did not look like she would survive the circuit.
Ben watched in awe as Terrence paddled out to the lineup, ready to take on the next wave. There was no denying his bravery and skill. Even when faced with the tough conditions, younger competition, and waves that could easily take him down, he seemed calm and collected. Ben quietly recorded his thoughts for safekeeping.
The competition went on for a while, and after two sets of eliminations, Terrence Williams and Jack Morgan were still on top. Ben stood up tall as Terrence caught a particularly enormous wave. It was quite remarkable to see, until he suddenly vanished from sight. Ben asked the photographer for his camera and used the zoom to get a closer look, but there was no sign of him. He held his breath as Kizzy yelled out, “Do you see him? Do you see him?”
“I’m sure he’s OK, just wait.”
But he wasn’t sure of anything. Had Terrence wiped out? Had he been injured? It was pretty agonizing to watch. He looked through the camera lens again and scanned the water, searching for any sign of Terrence. Nothing. And then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, he reappeared, popping up from the water with a big grin on his face.
Epic relief flooded them all.
As Terrence completed his final professional ride, they made their way over to greet him. The judges were busy tallying up the score, and Terrence happily signed autographs and took pictures. From the joy on his face, it was hard to imagine he was serious about quitting, until he saw Kizzy, that is. And then it was quite obvious that he was.
The head judge stepped up to a microphone and tapped on it, getting the crowd’s attention before reading off the final scores. It was a close call, but Terrence emerged as the winner. The crowd cheered and showered him with congratulations, and as he collected his trophy, he took the moment to announce his intention.
Terrence grasped the microphone, and the crowd went silent again.
“Thank you, thank you! It means so much to me to take this cup home today, on my last ride as a competitive surfer.”
The crowd reacted to the news with both cheers and boos. After all, the Vagabond Surfer was a legend.
“The decision to retire is a tough one, but in my gut, I know it’s time. I want to take a minute to thank my fellow surfers, fans, sponsors, and supporters, who have been by my side throughout this incredible journey. I have had the honor of riding some of the most off-the-hook waves in the world, sharing the lineup with some of the most talented surfers on the planet, and being part of a community that has become family. The stoke and the bond that we share as surfers is amazing. I love you all, man.”
The crowd cheered, and Ben looked around in amazement. There was no doubt about it—Terrence Williams was truly loved.
“While my competitive days may end, my love for surfing never will. Keep following me—there’s more to come!”
He held the trophy over his head, and the crowd went wild.
The story was indeed writing itself.
It was some speech. And it prompted Ben to contemplate retirement as well.
Retirement from misery, that is.