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Of course I looked away, embarrassed. So did Coop, but not before I caught his eyes lingering just a second too long. When he looked at me again, he was blushing.
I’ve never seen Coop blush.
“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” In a matter of minutes, Dannika had her turquoise bikini on, and she was running down to the water with her surfboard under her arm. It was a disgustingly Blue Crush moment.
Coop and I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then we both tried to speak at once. I said, “Aren’t you getting in?” and he said, “Beautiful day,” and then we both looked at our laps, the awkwardness between us so obvious, it made it even more awkward.
“Come on,” he said finally, opening the door, getting out and pushing the seat forward to let me out. “I want to show you something.”
It was difficult navigating the steep, rocky path down to the beach in my kitten heels, but Coop’s arm was right there whenever I needed something to balance against. For the first time in my life, I could see the appeal of sneakers or even those hideous river sandals that were the plague of the ’90s—Tevas or Geckos or whatever you call them. When we got down to the beach I took my shoes off and the sand against my bare feet was silky-warm.
“We used to come here a lot.” Coop’s dark hair was windblown already from the car ride, and now the ocean breeze played with it gently, swishing a few strands in and out of his face.
“You and Dannika?” I tried not to pucker my lips in distaste when I said her name.
He squinted against the sun. It was bright out and the sky was that rich, lucid September blue, marred only by a couple of patches of pinkish fog hovering near the horizon.
“Yeah,” he said. “Phil and Joni, too—this was kind of our spot.”
“The friends we’re going to see?”
“Yeah. I think you’ll like them. They’re really cool.”
I just nodded.
Dannika was doing a series of yoga stretches just outside the reach of the surf. We both looked at her, our eyes drawn by the elegant lines her body made as she arched and folded, performing a slow dancelike sequence, her blue bikini striking against the dark velvet of wet sand. We were the only ones on the beach besides a couple of seals bobbing out in the water and a flock of pelicans swooping low, teasing the foamy edges of the waves with their long, graceful wings.
“She’s a little high-strung today,” Coop said.
“Dannika?”
He nodded.
“She seems pretty relaxed to me.” I tried to make it sound offhand, like I really hadn’t given it much thought.
“She, um…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She tries to give the impression that she’s confident—even cocky—but the truth is, she’s pretty insecure.”
I kind of snorted at that. I couldn’t help it. If he wanted to make me feel sorry for her, it was going to be a hard sell.
“No, I know, it sounds crazy. People figure she’s got everything—successful career, amazing La Jolla beach house—”
“Perfect body,” I added bitterly.
“Exactly,” he said, agreeing a little too readily for my taste. “The whole package.”
We heard her whooping with excitement and turned to see her paddling for a pretty enormous wave. Her arms churned hard against the water and she rose up over the mountain of blue just before it broke, disappearing over the lip.
“The thing is,” he said, “I knew her when she was just a damaged kid.”
We stopped walking and stood still for a moment, facing the water. Dannika was paddling farther out, now, working hard to get beyond the breakers, where the ocean got smooth and glassy.
“What do you mean, damaged?” I asked.
“Hold on,” he said. “I’ll explain in a sec. First I want to show you something.” He took my hand and led me down the beach a little ways. Feeling his big, warm fingers closed over mine reminded me of being a child, walking with my father, feeling safe and enclosed.
We paused when we came to a cliff that jutted clear down to the edge of the water. The waves were crashing against the slick, barnacle-encrusted point. Small pebbles popped and sizzled as the receding tide dragged them backward.
When the wave had receded completely, Coop cried, “Go now!” and pushed me forward. Without thinking, I dashed across the rocky sand, past the sharp apex of the cliff, and then the next wave was sweeping up toward me, roaring like a wild animal. But Coop had timed it perfectly and I managed to curve around the point, then run away from the water so that it only licked at my toes, the spray misting the hem of my skirt. I laughed like a little kid.
Coop appeared a few seconds later, his jeans rolled up, but his wave was bigger and he didn’t quite manage to escape it. He looked so cute running hard up the beach toward me, the foam surging around his ankles, getting his cuffs wet. If I could just look at him the rest of my life, I’d be happy, I told myself. Before I could let the impact of that thought sink in, he ran right for me and hugged me so hard that my toes dangled in the air. He kissed me; we were both giggling and I could feel the vibration of our laughter in his lips.
“Here.” He put me down and led me farther away from the water. Scanning the beach with his eyes, he said, “There it is. God, I haven’t been here in years.”
We were in a little cove, surrounded by a half circle of bluffs about thirty feet high. There, at the deepest part of the crescent-shaped beach, the sheer cliffs gave way to a small, dark cave. As we got closer I could smell the damp, slightly rotten odor of seaweed decomposing in the salty air. I hesitated at the edge where the sunlight turned abruptly into a cool envelope of shade, but Coop tugged at my hand again and soon we were sitting together in the shadows.
“I used to come here all the time,” he said.
“By yourself?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Or with friends.”
“With Dannika?” It came out all whispery and sort of scared. I couldn’t look at him.
He was studying my profile; I could feel his eyes on my face. “Yeah, or Phil and Joni.” He touched my hair. “It’s the pirates’ hideout. Top secret.”
“I’m not much of a pirate,” I admitted. “I get seasick. You sure I’m allowed to be here?”
“You underestimate yourself.”
We sat there for a while, watching the waves crash against the sand. We couldn’t see Dannika from in there, and I was glad.
“I just really love how it feels in here, you know? Like a secret fort.”
“Yeah.” It seemed kind of dank and smelly to me, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to say so.
Coop took out his pipe and lit it. Did I ever mention how much I love his pipe? I mean I know smoking’s a despicable habit, and I should hate everything about it, but when he smokes that pipe it just pushes every anachronistic, sentimental button I’ve got—and you know I’ve got a lot of those. I mean, how many guys under the age of eighty smoke one of these babies? Every time he lights it, I feel like we’re in an Ingmar Bergman film.
“Dannika’s not what she seems to be,” he said. I snuck a quick glance at him; he was squinting at the horizon, a serious look on his face. He puffed on the pipe a few more times to get it going. “When I met her freshman year she was skinny and awkward and painfully shy. Her teeth were all crooked back then and she was always holding a hand up over her mouth when she laughed or ate.”
“You mean she wasn’t always so…beautiful?”
He shook his head and took another drag from his pipe, blowing the smoke away from me. It smelled like chocolate. “She had a really messed up childhood. I won’t go into the details—she’d hate me if I did—but when her dad died he left her some money and she spent it all on her looks. She got braces and a boob job. It’s like she went away one summer and she came back a totally different girl. She even changed her name.”
“Really? What was she called before?”
He tried not to smile. “Donna Horney.”
I winced. “Yikes. No wonder.”
He nodded. “She totally transformed herself—I mean, top to bottom. Now she pretends none of it ever happened. According to her, Donna’s dead. End of story.” He reached down and grabbed a handful of sand, let it pour out of his fist like a grey waterfall. “People meet her and assume she’s Miss Enlightened, but the truth is, she’s still Donna Horney inside.”
I had to fight a huge giggle. I wanted to leap into the air and do a dance in the sand, but I sat there perfectly still. Dannika Winters was a phony! I knew at least some part of me should feel sorry for her, but all my body produced was a giddy surge of relief. My nemesis was a total fake. She couldn’t possibly harm me. I was real; she was just smoke and mirrors.
Coop turned to me and this time I couldn’t avoid his eyes. “What are you thinking?” His brow was furrowed.
“Um…” I hesitated. It hardly seemed fitting to blurt out Ding-dong the witch is dead! “I’m just surprised, I guess. That’s really sad.” I could feel a huge, satisfied grin threatening to spread across my face, but I covered it in time with a concerned frown.
“I’m telling you because I know from past experience that she can be really…” he searched for the right word “…intimidating.”
“Sure. I can see that.”
“But she’s super private, okay, so don’t mention any of this. I mean Phil and Joni know, of course, but we’re the only ones. She’d seriously kill me if she knew I’d told you.”
I zipped my lips with my fingers. “Mum’s the word.” I squeezed his hand. “Thanks for trusting me. I’ve been kind of nervous about meeting your friends. It helps that I’m not completely in the dark.”
He set his pipe down on a rock, leaned over and kissed me. He tasted of salt and smoke—the sweetest flavor in the world.
I guess you probably don’t need the gory details of every minute we spent in that cave. All I know is, most the buttons on my suit were undone and even when the fog started reaching toward the beach with long white fingers, I didn’t feel the slightest bit cold. God, Marla, he’s such a crazy-good kisser. I swear I could live on nothing but the taste of his mouth.
We were pretty caught up in the moment when I heard someone saying, “Oops, sorry.”
I looked up and Dannika was walking away from us, her perfect little butt still swathed in nothing but a bikini.
Coop gave me a sheepish look as we both made the necessary adjustments to our clothing. When we were presentable again he kissed me one last time, tapped out his pipe, and we followed Dannika back down the beach toward the car. The tide was going out, I guess, because it was easier getting around the point this time. We waited until Dannika was dressed and sitting in the driver’s seat of the Mercury before Coop gave me a piggyback ride up the path.
“I can’t believe you didn’t come out there,” she told Coop as we climbed back into the car. There was a pouty note to her voice. Looking at her profile, I thought I could see the ghost of the gangly girl she’d once been. “It was like double overhead, dude.”
“Did you have fun?” He tousled her wet hair affectionately and it didn’t even bother me at all.
“It was a blast.” She definitely didn’t sound happy. “You totally missed out.”
He shrugged. “I was busy.”
I couldn’t help giggling a little, and Dannika shot me a look over her shoulder. “Whatever.” She jabbed the key into the ignition violently and the car roared to life. “Your loss.”
She drives even worse when she’s pissed.
Every ten miles or so I have to clench my jaw and cling to my seat belt as she passes another RV on a blind curve. To add to my discomfort, her surfboard’s dripping little salt water drops onto my shoulder and the fog is making me shiver. All the same, I’m smiling as I write this.
I’m pretty sure I won’t need this notebook anymore. Coop’s provided me with an infallible cure to my jealousy. From now on I’ll be the picture of sisterly sweetness. If I feel myself slipping, all I need are those two magic words: Donna Horney.
Anyway, thanks for suggesting I write all this down. If I hadn’t, who knows how this trip would have turned out? You could be reading about me in the papers: Jackie O Strangles Yoga Diva. Now I can safely say my petty insecurities are behind me.
Hugs and Kisses from a New and Improved Gwen
Thursday, September 18
10:10 p.m.
Dear Marla,
You’re absolutely not going to believe this, but I’m writing from MY MOM’S HOUSE.
Oh, horrors.
How did this happen? you ask. Gwen hardly ever visits her parents. She finds her stepfather inane, her mother loud and the dogs deeply depressing.
Precisely my point. Yet here I am, at my mother’s house in western Sebastopol, with my leopard-print car coat covered from collar to hem in dog hair. The parakeets are screeching off-key and Carrie, the Irish wolfhound, is drooling on my shoes. This is not my idea of a romantic weekend away.
You want to know how this happened? I’ll tell you how it happened. Dannika Winters, that’s how.
There we were, cruising up Highway 1, shivering in the fog. Shouldn’t we take the shortcut on 101 from San Luis Obispo to Salinas, I asked. Dannika was horrified at the mere suggestion; of course we couldn’t, that would mean missing Big Sur, the most dramatic, remote, beautiful stretch of coastline in California. Did she also mention the most deadly? At one point she was messing with her CD player, heading for a cliff that dropped at least two hundred feet straight down to the sea. After Coop saved us by grabbing the wheel just in time, he waited a discreet three or four minutes before suggesting she must be tired of driving by now. I doubt she was tired, since she never gave the road more than seven percent of her attention, but I found her driving exhausting. I had to keep slamming the brakes on in the backseat and my thigh muscles were beginning to cramp.
I’m sure if it was anyone but Coop, Dannika would have bristled at the suggestion, but he seems to have a magical, almost narcotic effect on her. He makes her laugh. As much as I hate to admit it, I can see why they’ve been friends for so long. I guess it’s just that irresistible tension of opposites. Marla, you know how you and I are so different, yet somehow we work, like sweet and sour, or tulle with taffeta? You’re sloppy, I’m structured; you’re go-with-the-flow, I’m paint-by-numbers? Well, that’s how Dannika and Coop are, in a way. He’s Mr. Steady—he smells like sawdust and pipe tobacco. He’s warm all the way through, not just on the surface. She’s madcap, impulsive, spoiled and self-absorbed. She smells like a very expensive health food store. I guess I’m screwing up their delicate balance and that’s why my presence is making us all so nervous. It’s like they’re perched on opposite ends of their teeter-totter and I’m the new kid, demanding they make space.
Anyway, there we were, cruising through Big Sur, then Monterey, then Santa Cruz to San Francisco. With Coop driving, I found I could relax and the afternoon took on a dreamy quality as the road lulled us all deeper and deeper into our private worlds. The windy roar of the convertible made it difficult to talk much, so we didn’t try, and after Dannika’s Wilco tape CD ended nobody bothered to put in another one. The fog dissipated, and the sky turned a deep, pensive late-afternoon blue.
I found myself remembering, for some reason, a night when my father didn’t come home. I was seven, and my mom was cooking meatloaf. I remember that, because when she took it out of the oven, she burned the inside of her wrist on the loaf pan. She was standing there by the freezer with a piece of ice pressed to the blue veins on the inside of her wrist and I was crowding her, going, “Let me see, Mom. Let me see.” I was sort of a morbid kid, fascinated by injuries, especially burns—I spent hours with my father’s book on Hiroshima—but she wasn’t in any mood for my dark curiosity and I remember her saying, “Jesus, Gwen, just get back. Fuck.” Hearing that edge in her voice, hearing her swear, which she never did, made me feel suddenly cold. There’d been something in the air all night, but in that moment it went from an amorphous sadness that might dissipate with a joke or a really good episode of Murder, She Wrote to a black force that had to be reckoned with.
Wow, that was weird. Don’t know where that came from. I guess that’s why I never come back here. The farther north I get, the more memories assail me. By the time I hit Sonoma County, they’re coming at me like bloodthirsty bats.
Anyway, as I was saying, we were driving along in silence for hours. I’d been scribbling furiously, trying to keep you updated, and every once in a while Coop would glance over his shoulder, saying, “What you got going there, kitten, the great American novel?” to which I’d reply, “Just notes.” Once Dannika said, “At this rate, she’s going to have War and Peace by the time we hit Mendocino.” I guess she thought that was funny. I speculated about whether I could “accidentally” dig my kitten heels into her surfboard. At least she’d have something to remember me by.
When we finally crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun was sagging toward the water, soaking the ocean and the cars and even our skin in tangerine light. Coop and Dannika looked like movie stars with their sunglasses on and the red, curving lines of the bridge swooping past them. The left-out feeling that had haunted me most of the day started to creep back in. They just looked so perfect together up there—so natural and salty and wild. It was hard not to imagine how photogenic their little surfer children would be. Everyone driving past us must have wondered what I was doing in that picture. They probably assumed I was the wacky cousin visiting from some obscure Eastern European country that hadn’t yet discovered denim or Lycra.
When we got across the bridge and were getting closer to the turnoff for Highway 1, I was astounded when Dannika said, “Let’s take the coast again.” I mean, God, the sun was halfway down and we still had a couple hundred miles to go. Even if we took 101 and headed northwest at Cloverdale, we were still looking at four, maybe five more hours in the car, depending on traffic. Taking the coast would mean five or six, at least, most of it in the dark on hellish-curvy roads.
I couldn’t help it; I leaned forward and said, “Why don’t we just take 101?”
She looked at me with disdain. “I don’t believe in freeways.”
“You live in San Diego and you don’t believe in freeways?” I punctuated the remark with one raised eyebrow. There were things she could learn from me.
“I don’t,” she said. “They’re evil. Coop, don’t you think we should take the coast?”
We both looked at him.
“If it were up to me, I’d go for 101. It’s twice as fast.” He shot Dannika his don’t-be-mad-I’m-only-being-honest look.
She shook her head and laughed. “You’re just siding with her.”
“It’s only logical,” I said. “Why take the scenic route in the dark?”
“Well, sorry, folks, but it’s my car and my car doesn’t take freeways. End of story. Here’s the turnoff.” Her tone was brusque, but underneath it you could hear the warning: my way or the highway—which in this case turned out to be the same thing.
When Coop turned off obediently I wasn’t surprised. I mean yeah, it was a little wimpy, but we all knew if he didn’t we’d have a major tantrum on our hands and I don’t think any of us were up for it.
Of course, the gods of Highway 1 had a few surprises in store for us, so if we were looking to get off easy, we could forget it.
