Chasing Forever Down

by Nikki Godwin

  Chapter Six

  “Colby Taylor doesn’t get out much,” Emily says. “When he does, we just pretend not to notice him.”

  I wonder how often that is. Does he stroll down The Strip like a local? Do the tourists stare and take pictures and chase him down for autographs? Even if he wasn’t a local celebrity, I don’t know how people could pretend not to notice him. He has an aura about him that shines brighter than the California sun.

  “And all the outsiders ask about him,” Emily continues. “Doesn’t matter if they’re from a town over or the east coast. Anyone who doesn’t live in the cove asks about Colby Taylor. And you can guess what the locals do.”

  “Laugh,” Linzi says, slinging her hair over her shoulder. “They freaking laugh and make us look like idiots.”

  She folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head.

  Emily laughs, and her drawn-on heart scrunches up in the corner of her eye.

  “Think of it this way,” Emily says, leaning against a small table behind her. She bumps into a stack of booklets and reorganizes them as she speaks. “Colby Taylor is the like hottest night club around, minus the strippers and STDs. Obviously everyone wants to get in, but you can’t get in the door because of…”

  Linzi and I stand silently, watching the words Sebastian’s Shadow twist back and forth as Emily moves. She looks back at us, waiting for us to finish her sentence.

  “The bouncers,” Emily says, like people compare surfers to night clubs in conversation all the time. “He has four of them, and no one has ever gotten through. A few have tried, but all have failed.”

  She picks up one of her Enchanters. His head and arms are white and red striped, and he’s dressed in all black, like a ninja. She smiles at him and continues talking, more to the doll than us.

  “The first two aren’t so bad, the nice guy and the player,” she says. “But no one has ever made it past the party boy. He’s a little crazy anyway.”

  Linzi looks around the booth and leans against the wooden railing.

  “What about the fourth one?” she asks

  “Jerkoff mechanic,” Emily says. “You’ll never make it to him, but be glad. Even Colby Taylor isn’t worth having to deal with that guy. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never had the pleasure of dealing with him myself.”

  She may be from the cove, but there’s a lot she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how Colby talks about his forever and looks at the stars and rocks out to cover bands. She only knows the west coast surfer side of him. I’ll deal with the jerkoff mechanic. It’ll be worth it.

  But even with this new information, I feel like we haven’t moved forward since we left Night Owl.

  “Okay, so these four guys,” I say to Emily. “Where do we find them?”

  Emily places her ninja-dressed doll back onto her table. She stares at him momentarily, like she’s having a great debate in her own mind as to whether she’s doing the right thing by letting me in on the Crescent Cove secret and she’s hoping he’ll give her a sign to let her know it’s okay.

  “Strickland’s Boating,” she says, finally looking up and past me. The red sunset bounces off her brown eyes in a starved vampire kind of way. “Ask for Reed. No, don’t. He’ll be working. It’s two shops down.”

  Linzi inhales a squeak of excitement, and I grab her arm to keep her from running down to The Strip until she finds this Reed guy.

  “Hold on,” I say. I pull her away, hoping Emily won’t hear. “Look, if what’s she’s saying is legit, I’m doing the talking. Your approach hasn’t worked so far, and we cannot blow this.”

  “Okay, okay,” Linzi says. “The reins are yours. I’m just along for the ride.”

  Emily clears her throat, and I throw her a glance over my shoulder. I pull Linzi back toward the booth with me.

  “One more question,” I say. “Why are you even telling us this? Isn’t that against some kind of Crescent Cove law or something?”

  She laughs. “You’re different. One, you’re not dressed like a slut. Two, you’re not squealing over how hot he is, and three, you’re not decked out in shell jewelry.”

  Emily glances at Linzi, who does her best to hide the big purple flower sprouting from her index finger, then glances back at me.

  “You better hurry if you’re going to catch Mr. Nice Guy before they close. You have about twenty minutes,” Emily says.

  “Saying ‘thank you’ doesn’t feel like enough,” I say.

  “Well…” Emily glances at the wall of dolls behind her. “Girl’s got a cell phone bill to pay.”

  Linzi steps back, shaking her head. Her eyes widen, as if she’s seen the ghost of Spence Burks lurking in the enchanted booth.

  “No, we can’t,” she says.

  She pulls Sofia from her bag and unwraps the tissue paper from around the glass whale.

  “This is my spirit guide, my bright light who sends me good vibes and blocks out the demons,” she panics. “We can’t buy voodoo dolls.”

  “Oh God,” Emily says, throwing her arms into the air. “For the millionth time in my life, they are not voodoo dolls. They’re Enchanters – dark little creatures who are diverse and beautiful and find beauty in tragedy and just need love.”

  She watches Linzi rewrap the whale in tissue paper then turns around and scans her back shelf of dolls. She grabs two of them off the third row from the top. They’re dressed in purple and match Sofia the suncatcher.

  “Do you have a favorite band?” Emily asks Linzi.

  Linzi looks up from her bag. “The Ocean in Moonlight.”

  Emily turns her back to us, scribbles something into one of her booklets, and spins back around.

  “This is Holly and her twin brother Alex,” she says, holding up the two tiny dolls. “Alex is a recovering heroin addict, which he resorted to after the hiatus of his favorite band, The Ocean in Moonlight.”

  She lays the booklet flat on the wooden rail and points to where she’s written in the band’s name. “His sister, Holly, was a groupie. She’s street smart, a total music junkie.”

  Linzi picks up the dolls, neither taller than six inches. Holly’s dress is frayed, and Alex is wearing a silver bracelet. Emily explains that the fraying is due to crowd-surfing and rocking out on a nightly basis, and Alex’s bracelet is his “I’m with the band” souvenir. Linzi is sold even faster than I thought she’d be, and I wonder if Emily is slightly enchanted herself.

  “And for you,” Emily says, turning to me. “Zombie Asylum – my first rock band.”

  She hands me the five dolls, insisting they must stay together. I question why this special set is so right for me, and Emily has already thought up a great sales pitch.

  “Nicholas is the heartthrob of the band. He’s the bassist, and he’s the most unattainable. The way I see it, he’s like Colby Taylor. You have to get through his four bouncers just like you’d have to get through Nicholas’s four band mates. Take care of them?” she asks before handing me a booklet containing each band member’s story.

  I nod and tuck the rock band into my bag, along with Solomon the glass seahorse. I hate how I’ve allowed myself to be sucked into the silly souvenir buying only halfway down The Strip. Emily wishes us luck once more, and I thank her again because luck is something I need more than voodoo dolls now.

  Strickland’s Boating reminds me of a beach house with its floor-to-ceiling windows. Rental prices for jet skis and sailboats printed on bright yellow flyers plaster the glass door. I can’t focus on anything around me when we step inside. It’s a boater’s heaven – life jackets, fishing poles, snorkeling and scuba kits, and endless rows of T-shirts and sweatshirts with the Strickland’s Boating logo.

  He’s standing behind the counter, under a giant black and white photo of a Great White shark that would look even more incredible in a driftwood frame. His shaggy brown hair falls over his eyes, and he shakes his bangs to one side when he looks up at us. He meets us halfway across the floor, an
d even before seeing his name tag, I know this is Reed.

  “What can I help you ladies with?” he asks, shaking his bangs again and revealing his hazel eyes.

  He’s unbelievably cute in his own way, like how every girl in school lusts after the gorgeous pitcher and one day you accidentally bump into the third baseman and his dreamy green eyes on the way to your locker and wonder why no one chases after him as well.

  “Well,” I say. “We’ve been in town less than twenty-four hours, and I’ve already lost count of how many times people have recommended this place.”

  Linzi shoots me an impressed smile, and by the smile on Reed’s face, I think he totally bought it.

  “It’s a little late for spring break, so I’m guessing senior trip? Or summer vacation?” he asks.

  “Vay-cay,” Linzi says. “A much needed one at that.”

  She smiles and slips into the background, and I’m actually impressed she’s keeping her mouth shut.

  Reed motions around the store. “We’ve got just about any and everything you might want to do on the beach. Most popular thing is probably jet skiing,” he suggests.

  I shake my head. “Never really been the jet ski type.”

  “No problem,” he says, slashing the idea of jet skiing off his mental list of sales pitches. “Sailing is pretty awesome. We have some great locations out past the cove that are really cool, and there’s parasailing which has really gained some popularity over the last few years, mostly with thrill chasers.”

  He guides us through the store, pointing to different spots as he rattles off every water-related beach activity he can possibly make a profit from.

  I keep shaking my head.

  “Nothing too wild. We have to make it home in one piece,” I remind him.

  He laughs, and his smile is so cute that I actually feel guilty for my ulterior motives for being here in the first place. He really does strike me as a nice guy. No wonder he’s the first and easiest to get past; he seems too genuine to ever say ‘no’ to anyone.

  “I’m starting to think maybe you’re one of those close-to-the-shore kind of girls. So where is home exactly?” he asks, stopping just short of the front counter. He turns back and looks at us.

  My chest tightens as I inhale.

  “North Carolina,” I say.

  “Wow,” he says, looking at the floor. “That’s a long way. What brings you to a tiny beach spot like the cove?”

  “Paper stars.”

  The plastic jar on the counter behind him is full of them, sparkling like the lit up palm trees outside. It’s like all the colors along The Strip have been swept up and sealed in this jar, from the pink and orange sunset to the blazing red sun to the glittery white sand to the ocean blue water, all bleeding into each other in the form of paper stars. I’m no expert in the business of paper stars, but seeing that they’re signed with the initials CT makes my heart flop from my chest and onto the squeaky clean floor of Strickland’s Boating.

  “Paper stars?” Reed asks.

  I come back down to earth and look to the hidden seahorse in my purse for salvation. Solomon comes through because the words flow out of my mouth instantly.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Those just look awesome. It’s like every color of the beach wrapped up in a jar.”

  My hands are on either side of the jar in a matter of seconds, holding it in the air and shaking it to bounce the stars into new alignments. I set it back on the countertop and look at Linzi. She digs a dollar bill out of her purse and hands it to Reed, then helps herself to an initialed star. Hot pink. I’m not surprised.

  Reed laughs. “You won’t believe how many of those things we go through,” he says.

  He reaches over and takes my dollar. I want to hand him a few twenties and take the whole jar, but I settle on just one shiny orange CT star.

  “And how did you get so lucky as to score all these autographed stars?” I ask.

  My body tenses with half-fear and half-hopefulness. Maybe he won’t realize I’m totally baiting him and hoping to reel in some form of information about his west coast friend.

  Reed rocks back and forth on the heels of his shoes. “Uh, well, you know, connections and all. The surf shop is next door, and uh, Alston! Hey man, I was starting to think maybe you’d been kidnapped by a mermaid colony or something.”

  “Couldn’t get that lucky,” a guy says from behind us.

  Linzi and I turn around simultaneously to look at the guy who just walked through the door. He’s tall and shirtless and drenched with ocean and sand. If there’s a cliché for sexy Asian beach bums, he looks it, but damn – he’s hot.

  A golden retriever runs across the room, his paws scraping against the floor. He drops a chewed up hot pink Frisbee next to Linzi.

  “Awww,” she coos. She bends down and runs her hands through his fur. “He’s so cute! What’s his name?”

  “Dexter,” Reed says. “Alston’s had him out on the beach all day.”

  He bends over and picks up the Frisbee then walks around the counter to the sliding glass door. He hurls the Frisbee into the early night, and Dexter chases after it as quickly as he ran through Strickland’s Boating.

  Reed is probably thanking his own lucky paper stars for Alston walking through the door. There’s no way to bring up the CT stars again without looking too pushy. If he knows anything about Spence-Burks-turned-Colby-Taylor, he’ll know the North Carolina link could be dangerous. And my excitement over paper stars didn’t help. He picks up his cell phone from behind the register and makes mention of Alston not coming back until closing time.

  This is his hint that we need to leave, and just in case I didn’t catch his hint, he adds more.

  “So yeah, if you change your mind about jet skiing or sailing or anything, hit me up,” he says. I wonder if all of his business deals end with what sounds like a pick up line.

  “Or…” Alston says, stepping closer to Linzi with a suave player boy attitude. “You guys could come to this party tomorrow night. VIP kind of thing.”

  He reaches over the countertop and grabs two VIP tickets for us. He scribbles his cell phone number on the back and makes sure he hands that one to Linzi, who is practically drooling on the floor.

  Operation Find The Bouncers is halfway complete. Nice guy – check. Player – check.

  “We’ll so be there,” Linzi says.

  She goes through a quickie informal introduction with Alston, and he doesn’t flood with panic when she mentions being from North Carolina. If anything, he seems infatuated, and I fear that Linzi may be useless from this moment forward. So much for CSI work. I doubt we’ll see that little pink notebook again.

  She waves her VIP ticket in the air as soon as we’re out of view of Strickland’s Boating, and just as she danced with Sofia the suncatcher earlier, she twirls in circles along The Strip on the way to the car. While she spins, I keep watch for con artists.

  “Will you stop stressing? We’ve got this,” Linzi says. She pulls the hotel bed covers over her and falls onto her pillow. “We’re totally in. We just have to stay there.”

  She says good night and turns off the lamp before I can go into my spill about how staying there is the problem. I turn over in my bed and face the window, watching as glimmers of moonlight turn blue as they shine through Solomon. He twirls closely to an air vent, his blue gleams twisting like vines up the walls. I can only hope those vines are lucky ones.