Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
SHANE
It’s spring break.
I didn’t go to college. I was homeschooled by on-set tutors from the age of fifteen.
I’ve played horny teenage guys who go nuts trying to get laid in March or April, but I never really understood what the big deal was.
I could have gotten laid whenever I wanted to when I was eighteen—I was the star of two different cable TV shows that year.
You know who finally gets why spring break is such a big deal? My dad dick.
The sun is shining. The twins are in the back seat, and their little suitcases are in the trunk.
Willa is in the passenger seat next to me, and our bags are packed too—for a two-night stay at a beautiful luxury ranch resort in Santa Barbara.
And my dick is going to party like it’s 2009 because it hasn’t been inside Willa for almost three weeks.
She was right, though. It was a good idea to hit the brakes and fool around a lot less so we could focus on the kids.
I got by on a well-timed handy or two, as per doctor’s advice, and returned the favor with a practical, level-headed cunnilingus session in the laundry room or three.
She had more time to work on her fragrances.
and I got a lot of reading done. Now we can head into the next five days without any guilt whatsoever and about a gallon of baby batter.
“Why can’t you and Willa stay at Mommy’s house too?” Lucky asks.
“Because we aren’t masochists,” I mutter to Willa.
“Your mom has been missing you so much, she wants you all to herself,” Willa says.
“But who’s going to be our nanny while we’re there?”
“Nobody,” I say. “Your mom’s going to be with you the whole time. She came back just so she can see you.”
“But is she going to have to go to bed in the afternoon?”
“That’s actually a really good question.” Willa turns to look at him. “Your mom will probably have something that’s called ‘jet lag,’ which means that even though it’s the same time for her here as it is for you, her body clock will think she’s still in Poland.”
“What’s a body clock?”
“Why can’t she just bloomin’ fix it so it works right, eh? Wouldn’t it be loverly?” Summer asks in a Cockney accent.
“You know what—I bet your mom would be better at answering that than we would,” Willa says, grinning at me.
Well, well. Sounds like Little Miss Post-Graduate Degree has learned a thing or two from the undereducated actor for a change.
“Oy say, cap’n—is Landon ’ere too? Oym a good gurl, I am!
” Summer asks, again in her weird English accent.
She looks out the window, at the mansions in the exclusive Riviera neighborhood that Margo and Landon live in.
It’s only a ten-minute drive from my house, but the properties are twice as expensive and the streets have names like Amalfi and San Remo, and the residents have last names like Spielberg, Hanks, and Schwarzenegger.
Whatever. I’ll watch their movies, but I wouldn’t trade neighborhoods with these people if they paid me.
“Landon had to stay on set in Poland. They’re still shooting the movie. Your mom will have to go back to work on the weekend. Willa and I will pick you up Saturday morning.”
I turn onto the long slate-paved driveway and watch Willa’s face as I park.
She looks as unimpressed by this estate as I am, bless her heart.
She helps Summer out of her car seat while I get Lucky, but as soon as the front door opens and they see Margo, they go running to her.
Willa looks a little surprised by how happy they are to see their mom, and maybe a tiny bit jealous too.
I feel that way every time I drop them off.
But I’ll get over it faster than I usually do, because—spring break.
Willa gets her purse from the front seat and waits for me to get Summer and Lucky’s bags and walk with her up the path to the house.
I touch the small of her back because I know what it does to her.
Her breath catches and I feel her shiver every time.
We don’t hold hands in front of the kids because we haven’t had a talk with them yet, but I told Margo that I’m taking Willa up the coast. She doesn’t like surprises, and I trust that she isn’t going to create some sort of emergency to fuck up our plans, because she hasn’t seen the twins in so long.
“Go to the kitchen, my darlings—there are snacks waiting for you,” Margo says to the kids.
“Wash your hands first! With soap!” Her hair is blonder than it was before she left, and she’s wearing one of her $250 tank tops with a pair of wide-leg pants that have a ridiculously large bow at the waist. Perhaps she was expecting us to come with a camera crew.
Or maybe she’s trying to look more glamorous than my gorgeous nanny.
Either way, her toothy smile seems genuine as she holds her arms out to welcome Willa with a hug.
“So good to finally meet you in person! You’re even prettier than you were on Skype. ”
“Oh, thank you,” Willa says. “So are you.”
“Oh my God, no. I’m exhausted and dehydrated from the flight. Hey, you,” she says as she gives me a friendly hug and pat on the back. “Do you have time to come in?”
“We should get on the road,” I insist.
“I brought the perfume sample,” Willa says, pulling a small box out of her purse and handing it to Margo. “You can try it out for a few days, let me know what you think.”
“Oh, look at this pretty box. How cute!”
Willa gives her a folded-up piece of fancy letter paper. “Here’s a list of the ingredients.”
“Thank you.” Margo holds the paper up to her nose. “Oh my God—did you put my fragrance on the paper? Is this it?”
I notice Willa wincing when Margo says the words “my fragrance.” “Yes, I did. It is.”
“Willa, I love it!”
“I want to smell that.” Margo holds the paper out for me to get a whiff, and gosh darnit, it somehow smells like some idealized version of Margo. I don’t know how Willa did that without actually spending time with her. “That’s amazing.”
“Willa—I’m so excited. We’ll talk more later—you’ll come by to pick up the kids, and I’ll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork by then.”
“Sure.”
“Would you mind if I talk to Shane about the kids for just one second? Have so much fun at the Ranch.”
“Thanks. Bye, kids!” she yells out through the open doors.
“The Ranch, huh?” Margo says to me in a low voice, eyes sparkling. “Pretty special.”
“Yes, she is.”
Once Willa is inside the Land Rover, she gets a stern look on her face and says, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Shane. Word has gotten out. I keep in touch with Jill, you know.”
“Who?”
She rolls her eyes. “Abby’s mom. She told me about the zoo.”
“So?”
“So—she’s the nanny. You know how those moms gossip. I’m not mad. It just better not affect the kids.”
“You mean the way you snuck around with Landon while you were married to me didn’t affect the kids?
Thanks for the tip, Marg. I’ll try real hard to meet your high standards.
Make sure they practice their karate stance and punches.
Oh, and Willa’s been teaching Summer songs from My Fair Lady, so she talks like Eliza Doolittle now.
Have a great visit.” I call out through the open doors too. “See you on Saturday, kids!”
I lean in to give Willa a kiss when I turn on the engine while Margo is still standing there and pull away from her a second before the kids run out to wave good-bye.
I will miss those little people, but there’s a private hot tub, an outdoor rain shower, and a king-size bed with Italian linens waiting for us, ninety minutes away.
I don’t know why it’s so important to me to stake my claim as the first guy to do certain things for Willa, but being the first person to drive her up the 101 between Ventura and Santa Barbara felt good and it was fun—almost as good and fun as being the first guy to get a blow job from her in the shower.
Driving her down the olive tree and lavender bush-lined lane that leads up to the front desk cottage of the resort as she leans out the window to inhale the scented air is a singular delight.
Because I knew she’d love it, and I know I’m the only person who’d ever think to bring her here.
“Shane! It’s so pretty here!”
“This is just the beginning.”
I chose the accommodations, but my business manager’s office made the reservation.
I’ve been checking into hotels under the name Milton Shine for the past couple of years—an alias I came up with when I was sleep-deprived, but it amuses me that it sounds like I’m a producer from the golden age of Hollywood or a vaudeville comedian in the Catskills.
I can’t help but crack up when the front desk clerk calls me “Mr. Shine.” Willa is outside, taking pictures of the gardens and the view of the Santa Ynez mountains.
The property’s designed like a French country garden, but every cottage has its own cobblestone parking spaces and total privacy.
The Gardenia Cottage that I booked is right next to a little orange grove, and it has a view of the wildflower garden.
I called yesterday to make sure the orange trees are in bloom—don’t ask me what kind of strings I would have pulled to get them to bloom if they weren’t, but I definitely would have made more calls.
Fortunately, orange blossoms are abundant this time of year, and as soon as I open the French doors, Willa dashes through the 1800 square foot cottage, through the bedroom, to the enclosed back patio with her nose raised.
“Orange blossoms! Jasmine! Geranium! Lavender! Rosemary! Oh, Shane! Holy shit! Do you smell that?” She spins around, runs back to me, and leaps.
I catch her, hiking her up so her legs can wrap around my waist. “They’re all aphrodisiac scents!
” she says, peppering my neck and face with kisses.
“I don’t think I need any help in that department, but it does smell nice.”
“We’re going to have to be quiet,” she whispers into my ear as I carry her to the bed.
“Why?”