4.
Rich
I’m confident up until the point the limousine door closes behind us. As soon as it’s just the two of us and there’s no way for me to get away, nervousness overwhelms me. Suddenly, my heart is hammering and I can’t seem to get a single word to leave my lips.
I settle in next to Becca, wracking my brain again and again for something, anything, to say. But there’s nothing. Becca, for her part, doesn’t utter a word either.
The limousine pulls out from the curb. The driver has the window separating the front cab from the backseat rolled down. He turns and looks at the two of us out of the corner of his eye, somehow masterfully switching lanes to speed past a car as he does.
“Music preference?” he asks.
I look over at Becca. She shrugs.
“Nope,” I say, my voice wavering and sounding oddly hoarse to my ears. “Whatever you like.”
“Well, since you’re in the most beautiful place in all the world,” the driver says, smiling and pushes his sunglasses higher on the ridge of his nose, “we might as well get you in the mood.” He hits a button on the radio and cranks the volume, the sounds of a ukulele being jauntily strummed filling the limousine. Nodding with satisfaction, the driver returns to the business of driving.
“Everyone’s so friendly here,” I murmur. It’s the first thing I’ve thought of to say and makes me feel lame as soon as it leaves my lips.
“Uh-huh,” Becca says absentmindedly, her face turned to the window. I follow her gaze out to the ocean. We’re on a highway now, driving parallel to a long stretch of white beach. Not too far out, the dorsal fin of a dolphin breaks the surface of the water. A moment later, another dorsal fin joins it. Sometimes, it felt like God was speaking directly to my soul.
“So…” I begin. The silence has gone on for too long and is starting to feel unbearable. “Want a drink?”
I pull open the cabinet next to me and show Becca a line of various bottles of liquors and wines. Scanning them, I extract a nice bottle of scotch. From a little shelf above the cabinet, I pull down a highball glass and pour myself a few fingers, pretending all the while to know exactly what I’m doing. Truthfully, I’ve never been a big fan of scotch, nor of any liquor really. But for whatever reason, my mind is telling me that Becca will be impressed. I glance at her. She doesn’t look like she cares in the slightest what I’m drinking. She’s examining the shelf of liquor.
“Sure,” she answers slowly, her eyes widening like she’s surprised by her answer.
“What would you like?” I pull open another cabinet and show her the full selection. “We have gin, rum, vodka, beer, prosecco, champagne…”
“I’ll just have what you’re having.”
“Scotch? My kind of woman.”
Come on, Rich. You sound like a damn hillbilly. Your kind of woman? My ears burning, I grab a second glass and pour some scotch into it. I hand it to her, our fingers brushing as she takes it from me. I’m painfully aware of this as it’s happening.
“To paradise,” I say, holding my glass up.
“To paradise,” Becca echoes, a faint smile on her lips.
We take a sip of our respective drinks without breaking eye contact. I nearly cough as the fiery liquid slips down my throat. It takes just about everything in me not to spit it right back out. A second later, a warmth spreads through my belly, easing some of the tension inside of me.
“Anyways,” I say, settling deeper into my seat. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
“I…uhh…”
“Where are you from, for instance?”
“Portland.”
“Born and raised?”
“No. My family’s from Houston.”
“So how did you find yourself in Portland?”
“My job,” she says, her hesitation before answering obvious. It’s not the full story she’s giving me. “I’m a graphic designer. And you?” she adds before I can ask another question. Obviously, she doesn’t want to talk about herself. “Where are you from?”
“I grew up in the middle of nowhere Nebraska.” I take another sip of scotch. My eyes are fixed on the gentle swell of the waves of the ocean. I’m watching the shadows of clouds as they race by overhead, their amorphous shapes darkening the deep blue of the water. “But now I live in Seattle.”
“And what do you do?”
“Nothing much,” I say as casually as I can, deciding right then and there to keep Becca in the dark about who I am as long as possible. It was nice meeting someone and not having them know who you were. Once recognition came, things tended to get a little…complicated.
“Nothing much?” There’s a hint of suspicion in her voice. Her eyes are narrowed, the glass of scotch hovering just below her perfect, luscious lips.
“It’s not exciting. I promise,” I answer with a laugh. “Anyways, how long are you staying out here? Is it your first time?”
“It is. And I’m not sure how long I’m staying.”
“You bought a one-way ticket?”
“I did.”
No matter how many questions I ask, and I ask quite a few during the hour-long drive to the resort, I can’t seem to get more than a few words out of Becca at a time. The first drink falls quickly and soon I’ve poured us both a second. Even this doesn’t do much to loosen her lips, though as the alcohol takes hold, I do notice her finally begin to relax. It’s apparent that quite a lot of tension has been building up inside of her and that this was the first time in a while she’d been able to get away.
“You know,” I say after some time of neither one of us saying much of anything. I’m feeling bolder and bolder with every sip of scotch. “I’m already beginning to think I might never want to go back home.”
We’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, our knees pressed together. It’s been about half an hour since we pulled out of the airport, no doubt the resort getting close now. The driver, for his part, has not uttered another word since asking about the music. He’s a professional to the utmost degree. In fact, he hardly seems to be moving at all, his eyes fixed firmly on the road, his hands at the top of the steering wheel deviating no more than a millimeter or two in either direction as we speed down the highway.
“I know just what you mean,” Becca says. Her hands are in her lap, her drink cupped between them. I glance down at her fingers, noting for the second time how long and elegant they are. She’s not wearing any ring, nor does she have a tan line from having worn one. Single.
“So what exactly are you running from?”
My question startles her. She looks over at me, a clear fear in her eyes. I, too, am surprised. I hadn’t been planning on asking any such thing.
“I’m not running,” she says flatly. The mood inside the limousine has changed instantly, the tension that had drained out of her back and stronger than ever.
“Me?” I begin, my brain scrambling for a way to restore the previous atmosphere. “Well, I’m just tired of life, I think. Shit never seems to stop hitting the fan. I’m half-inclined to just scrap it all and start over.” The alcohol must be getting to me. Dangerously close I was veering now to a road I didn’t want to go down. Taking a deep breath, I expel it and force a laugh. “But enough of that,” I say quickly. Grabbing the bottle of scotch, I pour some more into my glass. I down it in one gulp and pour another. “There’s no room for such morbidity in a place like this.”
It’s no more than another twenty minutes to The Sandy. Even though I have ample opportunity, I don’t confess to Becca that I’m staying there too, nor does she make the connection using the fact that the driver just so happens to know exactly where to go without needing to be told. Only when we pull up to the gates of the resort does she finally looks over at me, suspicion in her eyes.
“Wait…” she begins. “Are you…”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, flashing her a sly grin. “I am indeed.”
The look she gives me is one I can’t read. She opens her mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and turns back to the window. She stays like this until we pull up to the main building of the resort. The driver shuts off the limousine and climbs out. He opens Becca’s door. Without so much as a backwards glance, she slides out into the bright sunshine. A part of me is now afraid that I’ve messed up, that I should have told her the truth. Another part of me, the drunk part, is telling me not to worry about it, and that I just need to keep pushing. No part of me seems to remember the promise I made to myself to stay out of trouble.
The drunk part of me wins; I decide to keep pushing. What’s that saying? Fortune favors the bold? Well, confidence favors the slightly inebriated. Do it!
Without thinking twice, I lean over and stick my head out of the limousine.
“Hey, Becca,” I call out, my words thick in my mouth. She’s waiting as the driver pulls her luggage from the trunk. Hearing me, she turns slowly. Her face is inscrutable.
“Yes?”
“Shouldn’t you say thank you?” Ugh. Even this drunk, I can tell I sound like an ass.
Rolling her eyes, Becca turns back to the driver. “Thank you for the ride,” she says politely.
“Hey, Becca,” I call again. If one were going to do something, one might as well go all the way.
Becca sighs.
“Yes?” she says without looking at me this time.
I grin. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?”
“Oh…I’m…uhh…” she mumbles. Nearby, several resort employees are watching with amusement. “Umm, I’m not actually looking for anything like that. I just came here to relax.”
Her answer doesn’t surprise me. I’m not so drunk that I can’t see just how much of a boor I’m being. Hell, if I were her, I’d turn me down too. Way to go, you drunk ass. And you were so charming at first…
“Oh, me neither,” I say as casually as I can, doing my best to save face, a fact obvious to everyone listening. “Just being friendly.” A pause. Everyone is silent. The driver is standing with his head down, hands jammed in pockets. “Anyways,” I continue, “it was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Without another word, Becca turns and strolls into the resort. One of the employees standing by the front door leaps forward to grab her bag from her hand as she passes by. With every step she takes, my heart sinks a little deeper into my chest. Well, so much for that, you big idiot.
I watch her go, positive that any chance I might have had is now forever gone.
Or maybe not. For as Becca passes through the lobby doors, she glances back. There’s a different look in her eyes than the one from a moment ago, a look that tells me she isn’t quite sure what to make of me.
So she’s not writing you off, after all. Unable to suppress my smile, I defiantly hold her gaze. Her lip twitches like she too is about to smile. Instead, running a hand through her hair, she turns and disappears into the resort.
It’s only when she’s gone, the door closed behind her, that I finally remember my promise to myself. Aren’t you here to escape your love life? Then what are you doing trying to find a replacement?
Even as I ask myself this, I know it’s useless. I can already tell I’m not going to be able to stay away. There was something special about her, something I hadn’t encountered before, some quality of soul that was speaking directly to some deep, primordial part of me. Every fiber of my being was aching to discover that something, and it was clear I wasn’t not going to be able to rest until I find out just what that something was.