Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Petra catches wind of the plan and practically books the hotel and packs our overnight bags for us. “The party did everything we hoped! We celebrated Dirty Diana, we had fun, and Margot and her piles of money want to work with us. Go!”
Jasper tells us his date is already on the island so it will be just the three of us sailing together.
For all the ways it feels wrong, and there are many, it also feels strangely right.
These two men, here together—one bold and unpredictable, the other kindhearted and sensitive.
They have made an effort to get along. For my sake.
I’m not sure I understand fully, but I am trying to appreciate the gesture.
I’ve never heard either of them mention an interest in sailing, and yet, yesterday at the party—after they had exhausted the topic of favorite soccer players—they spent an hour sharing fantasies of living on a boat.
Oliver had a summer of sailing camp as a teenager.
Jasper learned how to sail on an eighteen-day trip from Mexico to French Polynesia.
Both harbored a childhood dream of sailing all alone to a distant land. Like Robert Redford in All Is Lost.
While Jasper mans the wheel, Oliver stands at the mast, admiring the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
The wind blows through our hair, and all around us the water sparkles.
If it makes anyone else feel electric, they don’t share it with me.
We are like three happy friends, without any history, off for a day’s adventure.
As we get closer to Catalina, somehow this new story of us is falling into place.
We have raised the sails and caught a decent wind, and soon the waves start to pick up.
Oliver turns to me, suddenly pale. “I’m feeling it. ”
Jasper strides toward him. “You okay, buddy?”
I’m torn between comforting my husband and taking the wheel. Jasper decides for me.
“Don’t let us drift.” When I start to protest, he says, “It’s just like a car.”
Oliver turns to Jasper, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t usually get seasick,” he says.
“Happens to the best of us,” Jasper tells him. “Keep taking deep breaths.”
Oliver wraps his hands around the railing and Jasper places a hand on the small of his back.
“You’ll be all right,” Jasper says. He is being attentive.
Like he used to be with me. After a few minutes, Jasper takes the wheel again.
I sit beside Oliver and he lays his head in my lap.
He closes his eyes and takes in gulps of fresh air.
His face is already pink from the sun, accentuating his blue-green eyes.
I stroke his hair, streaked with copper from the sun.
When I look at Jasper, he is watching us both.
As we approach the island, a young man in a harbormaster boat pulls alongside us.
He asks for a reservation number and waves us toward the moorings with a pleasant smile.
We exit the boat to a quaint, stony seaside town.
Oliver finds a bench to sit on, and Jasper and I go in search of coffee.
By the time we return, Oliver has revived and is eating a bag of saltwater taffy.
We make our way down a crowded sidewalk, my arm in Oliver’s, and then, after we almost lose each other in the pedestrian traffic, the other arm in Jasper’s.
I have the pleasant sensation of the boat’s constant rocking still with me.
I feel the pavement rolling underfoot as we walk.
We pass several ice cream parlors and browse the unframable seaside art.
Jasper holds up a piece of distressed wood with Love Grows Here branded onto it.
I’m drawn to a small pastel drawing of seagulls against a vivid sunset.
I can’t tell if I like it. The charm of the whole day is rattling me.
The air smells of fried food and seawater.
We stop for fish tacos and cold beers at a restaurant with a large open patio.
It’s been awhile since Oliver made a new friend, I realize, watching him and Jasper get to know each other.
They keep discovering new subjects, new things in common.
And just when I begin to feel like a third wheel on someone else’s date, I’ll notice one of them looking at me, with a quick flash of desire.
“When will we meet Kendra?” I ask Jasper.
“Tonight. If you’re up for a party?”
“Kendra is your girlfriend?” Oliver asks.
“Yes.” Jasper flags down a waiter and orders a bottle of white wine. “Sort of. She’s also my agent. It’s a long story.”
Our waiter pours a glass for Jasper to taste. “Mmm. This is nice. Try this.”
Jasper hands Oliver his glass of wine and he takes a sip, his lips hitting the exact same spot on the glass. I remember a time when Oliver didn’t even like sharing a drinking glass with Emmy, wary of her preschool germs.
“Really good,” Oliver says. He passes the glass to me and I take a small sip. It is surprisingly good—cold and citrusy. Maybe it’s the setting. Maybe we’ve all relaxed into a California-inspired bliss.
We drink wine and laugh like old friends. Oliver is telling stories about playing football in high school. Jasper leans in.
“You were the homecoming king and you went to prom with the prom queen?”
“We were heavily adorned.” Oliver chuckles.
“And what is she doing now? The Prom Queen?”
“She contacted me a few years ago, actually. Wanted to meet for a drink. Fresh off a divorce.”
I sit up and look at Oliver. “You didn’t tell me that? She called you?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Oliver looks sheepish.
“Did you meet her?”
“I’m so sorry. I actually did.” His tone is so gleeful, like a kid caught doing something nice, that we all laugh like this is the funniest thing we’ve ever heard. “We had a drink at the Mansion at Turtle Creek. I was just curious.”
“About what?” I ask.
“I guess…If she would look at me like she used to.”
“Did she?”
Oliver nods.
I can’t help it. I feel a flash of jealousy. “And nothing happened?”
“No, of course not.” He squeezes my hand. Then sighs. “I just wanted to remember what it felt like.”
Oliver changes the subject back to Jasper’s life.
He wants to know if Jasper worries he could ruin a relationship with his agent by getting romantic, but Jasper laughs.
“Oliver. I’m not trying to make it in Hollywood.
I really only signed with her hoping to date her.
I’ve never had a single meeting out of it—but she does know all the best parties.
Right now she’s chasing Ricky Mazar.” Then, he adds, for my sake, “The soccer star. She’s asking for my help signing him, you know, likes me there to make her look good. She’s fun. You’ll love her.”
—
Our hotel is a squat building set against the scrubby hills, which have a sort of angelic softness in the afternoon light.
The sky is tinged pink. We head to our rooms to shower and change.
Kendra has invited us all to a party in a house on the hill, which she promises will be full of soccer players, including Ricky Mazar, of course, and maybe some of his teammates.
Oliver is giddy with excitement, and a little bit tipsy from lunch, as we unpack our clothes on the bed.
“I like Jasper,” Oliver says.
“I can see that.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s nice.”
“It’s not weird?”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t blame you. If you still had feelings for him.” There’s no accusation in his voice, no jealousy. Just intrigue.
“I like being around him,” I admit. “But the need for him is not the same.”
Oliver smiles.
I spend more time in the shower than usual. Carefully shaving and buffing my skin until it’s silky soft to the touch. I blow out my hair and take the time to put on a smoky eye.
—
We can walk to the party, in a large many-tiered house carved into the side of the island.
When we get inside, the lights are low, and it looks as though the party has been going on for days.
Every available surface is covered with scattered clothing and abandoned cocktails.
The beds are all unmade, satin sheets sliding off the bed frames, and there are wet towels draped over the barstools, the arms of the sofas, and the lawn chairs outside.
Long striped bench cushions have been tossed around the wide lawn.
Several waiters in bow ties make their way smoothly around the pool area, silver trays and champagne flutes suggesting a certain formality, but the dress code is all over the place.
People are in business suits and cocktail dresses or bikinis and shorts and flip-flops.
By now everyone has made the party their own.
A woman rushes up to us to ask Jasper for a favor.
Her light brown hair is tied up with a velvet ribbon.
Her deep green blouse brings out her eyes.
Jasper laughs. “Here’s Kendra,” he says, just as she reaches out to shake Oliver’s hand.
Oliver smiles, and his face tightens. It’s just barely visible, but I can see he takes an instant dislike to her.
“Lovely to meet you,” she says and then turns to me. “Sorry about the chaos.” She giggles. “It’s kind of a rowdy crowd.”
A tall man with a handsome, hawklike face appears next to her and she titters again. “Just who I mean.” She introduces us to the soccer player we’ve heard so much about. “This is Ricky,” she says, sounding very proud of him.
Moments after being introduced, Oliver launches into an elaborate set of compliments.
He seems to remember Ricky’s recent matches with alarming specificity.
Even Jasper can perfectly recall several plays.
Kendra squeals with laughter as they indulge in an enthusiastic reenactment of one of the match’s worst moments, and then she expertly changes the subject.
“There’s a new plan for tomorrow,” she tells Jasper.
“Ricky met a captain who drives a yacht that once belonged to Spencer Tracy. He’s offered to take us around the island. ”
“A yacht?” Jasper says.