Three
Lola
I breezed into my bohemian style apartment clutching a bouquet of fresh yellow tulips and smiled. I’d decorated my digs in vibrant purples, yellows, reds, and turquoise. The colors stood out against the gleaming hardwood floor, and the welcoming vibe always lifted my mood.
“Hey, Dexter.” I set the flowers on the counter and picked up my white kitty. He promptly hissed. “I love you too.” I set him on the sofa before he took his claws to me. The poor kitty didn’t mean to lack a warm personality. He was that way when I rescued him as an adult cat and who knows what he’d suffered?
I was just setting the flowers in a cobalt vase when the door swung open. My fourteen-year-old next-door neighbor, Bobbie French, skipped in like she owned the place and set her laptop on the rough-hewn wood breakfast bar. “What’ve you got to eat?”
“Well hello to you too. How was school?”
She perched on a stool and swung one leg. “Same old boring stuff. You’d think the teachers consider us morons or something.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Do you know that they made me do trigonometry again?” She crossed her eyes. “I could teach that class in my sleep.”
She hopped up and inspected the contents of the fridge. “Yum. Brownies. You mind?”
“Do I have anything to say about it?”
She smacked the brownie tin down on the counter and cut two squares off, placing them in the microwave. “Nope.”
Dexter mewed piteously while rubbing against her legs. “This cat is going to claw your eyes out one of these days. Ever heard of stage three dermatitis? No? Well, people die from it. Aren’t cats supposed to purr and junk? Like be sweet and not hiss and scratch?” She let out an uncontrolled laugh. “It was fun that time you and I dyed that purple streak down his spine.” Dexter looked up at Bobbie and let out a loud cry. “I have to admit he is kinda cute though.” She leaned over and pet Dexter. “You win.” She poured a hefty serving of kibble into Dexter’s bowl, and the kitty dug in with gusto.
The timer dinged on the microwave and Bobbie served up our snack. She nearly moaned at the first bite. “Sheer heaven.”
I had become a bit of a mentor to Bobbie over the years. I’d started out as her babysitter after she and her aunt had moved to town and now, at age fourteen she practically considered herself my business partner. I could do worse than the smart-as-a-whip Bobbie when it came to the organizational affairs of my bathing suit business.
“How are surf lessons going?” I asked. Bobbie loved hanging out at the Blue Tide Surf Shop and had been taking lessons. She really was more suited to working with numbers and computers, but I think she had a crush on some of the cute surfers who frequented the shop. We’d gone surfing together a couple of times, and I had to admire her enthusiasm. Bobbie was short on athletic talent but long on zest.
“Good. Who’s that new guy at the shop?”
I poured two glasses of milk, but at the mention of my gorgeously sexy ex-boyfriend my hands shook and I almost dropped my glass in the sink.
I turned away so she wouldn’t see the heat rise in my cheeks. “Oh, you mean Justice.”
I pictured Justice’s rugged body. Why did he have to be so damn hot? I took a bite of my snack and forced myself to focus on the heavenly treat instead of Justice’s sculpted abs, his chiseled surfer chest, his luxuriously messy dark hair, the way those blue eyes, the color of the ocean, mesmerized me. His smile was even more devastating than I’d remembered and I had wanted to kiss his full lips and scratch my chin against his five o’clock shadow.
Damn him. Why couldn’t Justice stay away? All these years and little news. He certainly wasn’t on Facebook, a fact that I knew because I check every month. Stalker anyone?
I set my glass on the counter and Bobbie jumped up and trailed me toward the window where I pretended to busy myself with the blinds. “You know him?”
Know him? That would be an understatement. But the truth was I didn’t know him anymore.
Justice was my first love. When we met in Mr. Dixon’s sixth-grade class, he’d tormented me like crazy. Love taps are what people call it. I’d just moved from Brazil to California, all wide-eyed and full of childlike innocence. Justice had teased me so much that I’d finally begged my papai to teach me the finer points of the punching bag. Justice hadn’t seen it coming when I slugged him with my right hook. We’d been in love ever since.
Justice was my first kiss. He was the first guy I’d made love to, right there on the beach with a blanket spread out in a secluded spot under a star-studded sky, our teenage hands groping, our lips crushed against each other’s, my first orgasm. We’d been feverish, young, crazy, and inseparable.
When Justice turned nineteen and told me he wanted to spread his wings, I knew what that meant. My ass was getting dumped. My Latin temper flew way out of control, and I told him to “Get the hell out of my life and go find somebody who’s not on to you.” I told him he was nothing but a grease monkey who thought he knew how to surf. I had a few other choice things to say that I’d rather not remember.
“Yes, I know him,” I told Bobbie.
“He’s super hawt! Will you introduce me?”
I turned away and crossed my arms. “I don’t think he likes me very much anymore.”
Bobbie pranced around and made me face her. “Why’s your face all red?” I turned my head quickly. “Did you guys date?” She poked me in the ribs. “You did, didn’t you?” I nodded, and she let out a hoot. “Man, that’s sick! If I ever get a boyfriend like that, I’d kiss him.”
That got the smallest smile out of me. “Yes, we dated. But it didn’t end well.”
“You’re old, Lola. That had to be like eons ago. Who cares about any of that?” She pushed her glasses up her nose again. Bobbie always did that when she was getting ready to give me a lecture. “You know that nine out of ten relationship therapists say that holding onto resentment is harmful to your health.”
I suppressed a smile. “Shut up! Old? I’m only twenty-five. What are you doing thinking about guys anyway? Don’t you have trigonometry homework or something?”
She pulled a face. “Puhleese. What I need is some excitement. And what you need is a hot surfer like that Justice guy.”
I needed to change the subject and fast. I rubbed my hands together and opened Bobbie’s laptop. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Bobbie maneuvered the trackpad and pulled up my Etsy site. I felt a frisson of excitement every time I saw the vibrant colors that graced the website and still felt giddy when I saw my name in lights. “Brazilian Gypsy – Bikinis by Lola.”
I clapped my hands together. “I love what you did with the logo.” It depicted the silhouette of a curvy model, her long chocolaty hair spilling to the middle of her back. The caption read: “Be Awesome!”
Bobbie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I love this one.” She pointed to a model wearing one of my designs. The model sported a profusion of Wonder Woman style bangle bracelets, one stacked upon another, her fingers held in a peace sign. I’d designed her swimsuit with flower-power fabric reminiscent of the sixties and a few strands of beads falling from the bra top and flowing over her torso. My curvy women swimwear line catered to women who lived in the real world—not the anorexic model types that Hollywood seemed to portray in their gossip magazines.
I glanced at my trusty sewing machine that sat in the corner of my apartment. I cranked my designs out one at a time, and they sold well on Etsy, but if I wanted to expand, I needed to be able to take advantage of the group of freelance seamstresses I’d found. And that meant I needed money. Money I didn’t have.
I washed my brownie down with a swig of milk. “I’ve run the numbers. If I can just get around fifty grand, I’d feel good about leaving the bank. I could open the shop I’ve always dreamed of.”
“What about the Mystic Seaweed deal?”
Mystic Seaweed was one of the top surfwear companies. They accepted new designers from time to time. “My contact told me to get some designs together.”
“Totally awesome!” Bobbie beamed and held her glass of milk aloft. “To big bucks.”
“To winning designs.”
Bobbie gazed at me from behind her glasses, her eyes looking myopic. She clinked my glass with hers. “To dating that hot new guy at the surf shop.”
I was saved from a reply when I heard three sharp raps on my door. “Bobbie! Dinner’s ready.” It was Bobbie’s aunt Ginger.
I opened the door for her. Ginger must’ve been pushing fifty, and I marveled at her fit and toned body. I had ideas for a clothing line, and I squinted my eyes imagining what she’d look like out of the faded jeans and fitted tank top she wore.
With her bold personality, I visualized Ginger striding down a fashion runway sporting a Boho mini dress, something off the shoulder in deep purple. That would look fantastic with a collection of chunky silver jewelry. It would set off her dark brown tresses perfectly. Especially since she loved to die purple streaks through her luxurious hair.
Bobbie darted past Ginger and into their apartment across the hall. She let out a squeal. “You made beef stroganoff! My favorite.” She called over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Lola.”