by Land, Alexa
But far more interesting than the scenery was the tall, gorgeous Greek man I pictured crossing the deck to me with two glasses of champagne. He had dark hair and pale green eyes, which reminded me of sea glass, and he was so sexy in just a pair of swim trunks and an unbuttoned white shirt that fluttered in the breeze. He sat down beside me and handed me one of the glasses. When he leaned in and caressed my cheek, I whispered, “Leonidas,” and my cock began to swell.
That brought me back to the present in a hurry, and I sat up and looked around. As much as I enjoyed my little fantasies, this was clearly not the time or place for one that turned me on. Fortunately there were only a few people on the upper deck, and no one was paying any attention to me, so I didn’t totally embarrass myself.
I chose a different playlist and focused on the endless expanse of ocean beyond the railing. It was a collection of songs I’d put together specifically to elevate my mood, and I began to sing along to the music to keep myself rooted in the here and now.
After a while, a little girl of about five or six with wind-blown brown hair came over to me. She was missing her two front teeth, and she flashed a gummy smile as she announced, “That’s my most favorite song in the whole world.”
I’d been singing along to Happy by Pharrell Williams, and I unplugged my headphones so she could hear the music. When she began tapping her feet, I asked, “Would you like to dance?”
She nodded vigorously, so I got up and we both began dancing with abandon. A minute later, her brothers joined us and started dancing, too. The smaller one mostly just jumped up and down, while the older brother began flossing like a boss. That made me smile.
Pretty soon, another little boy approached us, but he hung back shyly. I yelled, “Dance party,” and acted as silly as possible. Once he realized there was no way he could embarrass himself as much as I was, he started bobbing and shuffling to the music.
I kept the party going all the way to Long Beach. At one point, this involved a conga line that traveled all around the ferry. Every little person under ten ended up following our procession, as if I was the Pied Piper. Their parents seemed amused, but some of the other passengers stared at me like I was crazy. Fortunately, I had zero fucks to give for people like that.
By the time we docked, I was sweaty and tired, but I felt good. The little girl who’d started it all gave me a hug, and her mom joined us and said, “Thank you for keeping my kids entertained. I don’t remember the last time they all had fun together like that.”
I told her, “It was fun for me, too,” and I meant it. I’d always thought kids were pure joy.
After all the children were reunited with their families, I draped my bag over my shoulder and checked my messages while I made my way to the exit. There was only one text, because everyone from the ranch knew to give me space when I was off the island. It was from my friend Will, and it said: Hey stranger. When you get to L.A., I have two words for you: day drinking. Text me!
I replied with: Hell yes. Meet me at the Clam in an hour.
My uncle kept a car for us in a parking garage near the ferry dock. The Saab was older than I was and nothing much to look at. I didn’t even have a name for its color, other than ‘formerly bronze’. But who was I to complain? I stuck my messenger bag in the trunk, beside the overnight bags Ren and I kept in there for my regular and his sporadic trips to the mainland, and got behind the wheel.
The car started right up, which never failed to surprise me. After I left the parking garage and merged onto the Pacific Coast Highway, I rolled down the window and put my earbuds back in. With a little imagination, I pictured myself on vacation in a gorgeous, far-away locale, driving a slick convertible along an exotic coastline. It wasn’t news to me that thousands of tourists visited southern California every year, because to them this was exotic. But I’d lived here my whole life, so it couldn’t help but seem ordinary.
I sang along to my playlist until I reached Venice Beach and parked behind my favorite dive bar. The Clamshell Bar and Grill was a boxy, pink, two-story structure facing the famous boardwalk. I made my way through the dimly-lit building, which was jam-packed with people and a hodgepodge of beach-themed paraphernalia, and finally reached the rooftop deck. That too was crowded. Apparently a lot of people were getting an early start on their weekend.
Will waved to me from one of the prime spots at the front of the deck, and I smiled at him before weaving between the tightly packed tables. My friend was beautiful. There was no other word for it. He usually straightened his dark curls, but that day he’d left them alone, and they tumbled into his blue eyes as he smiled at me. He was about five-foot-ten and model-thin, and he had enviable cheekbones and the most flawless skin I’d ever seen. Everything about Will seemed delicate and glamorous. Until he opened his mouth, anyway.
He greeted me with, “It’s a good thing I love you, asshole. Would it kill you to send a fucking text occasionally?”
“I do text!”
“Not enough.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, as I leaned down and gave him a hug. “I know it’s a terrible excuse, but I’ve been really busy.”
“That is, in fact, the worst excuse ever. Although in your case, it’s probably true. You can make amends by plying me with buckets of alcohol.”
I said, “That’s the plan,” as I took a seat beside him. Both of us faced the railing, so we could take in the view of the crowded boardwalk and the beach beyond it.
He put on a pair of sunglasses and asked, “How’s the ranch?”
“It’s been picking up a bit, now that it’s springtime. We’re actually sold out the last week of the month, although that’s just because my uncle’s business partner rented out the entire property for his family over spring break. We’ve been trying to get the place ready for them.” I glanced at my friend and added, “Speaking of business partners, my uncle wants to give me a stake in the ranch.”
“Holy shit, that’s awesome! Congratulations. You’re on your way to becoming a wealthy hotel mogul.”
“Not quite. The resort’s totally in the red and always has been. I was still blown away by the gesture, though.”
Will finished the drink he’d been nursing when I arrived and said, “I don’t get why it’s not making money. It looked gorgeous in those pictures you showed me.”
A waitress stopped by just then to take our drink order. Once she left, I said, “I’ve given it a lot of thought over the last three years, and I think there are two main problems. The first is just getting the word out so people even know we exist. I’ve been working on advertising, social media, and our web page to increase our visibility. That’s led to a trickle of new business, but not the landslide I’d hoped for.
“The other problem is where we’re located. Most visitors want to spend time in Avalon, but we’re way outside the city limits. In fact, we’re right on the edge of the island’s interior, which is totally undeveloped and rugged. The people who have an interest in that part of Catalina generally want to do things like camping and hiking, as opposed to staying in a luxury resort.”
He said, “That makes sense.”
“If Seahorse Ranch was actually in Avalon, or even right outside it, I think it’d be a huge success. But it’s not like we can pick it up and move it, so I’m forever trying to think of ways to make the resort itself a destination. We do have the horses, and they’re a draw for some people, but it’s not enough.”
He mulled that over as our waitress returned and swapped his empty whiskey glass for a full one, then put a lemon drop martini in front of me. I asked her to start a tab, and once she left, Will shrugged and said, “I wish I had some suggestions, dude. I know how much you love that place, so it’d be a bummer if it went out of business.”
“It really would.” I took a sip of my drink and asked, “So, how goes the acting biz?”
“It blows. I was all excited last week because I got a call back for a commercial, but then I didn’t get it. Apparently I’m not very be
lievable as a person who eats cereal.” He rolled his eyes.
“Sorry, Will.”
He tossed back his drink, then told me, “I got some new head shots done. Want to see the one I went with?”
“Of course.” He fished around in his backpack and handed over a photo captioned with his stage name, Will Kandinsky, since his real one was obviously taken. “This is really sexy,” I told him. “Way to bring the smolder.”
“I’m already second-guessing it. Maybe I should have gone for more of a boy next door vibe. My last head shot was sexy too, and it got me nowhere.” He returned the photo to his backpack and added, “Or maybe I should just give up on this stupid idea of becoming an actor.”
“You can’t. You’ve worked so hard for it!”
“But it’s been eight years, Beck. I moved to L.A. when I was twenty, and I got lucky at first. I landed some commercials and a handful of bit parts in some films, but it’s all been downhill from there,” he said. “Do you know how much money I’ve spent at this point, between acting lessons, vocal coaching, head shots, and miscellaneous bullshit? I’ve learned to play the piano and the guitar, surf, sing, do martial arts, and more, all in the hopes of making myself more employable. But it’s made zero difference.”
“Your big break could be right around the corner.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “That’s exactly what I’ve been telling myself for close to a decade. Don’t you think it’s time to admit I’m a failure and move on?”
“No, because you’re not a failure, and I know how much you want this. You can’t give up now!”
“You’re definitely the wrong person for this discussion,” he said, as he signaled the waitress for another drink.
“What makes you say that?”
“The fact that you’re a total dreamer, and you never know when to quit. Case in point, that ranch, or resort, or whatever you want to call it. It might be destined to fail, especially considering what you just told me about its location, but you refuse to give up on it. I don’t even understand how it’s still in business, since it must cost a fortune to keep it up and running.”
“We’ve had some influxes of cash since it opened,” I told him. “My uncle had enough in savings to keep it going the first year. Then he sold a very expensive car to help make ends meet. And a year ago, bringing in that business partner let us pay off a lot of our debts.”
“Even so. It must cost thousands a month to keep that place going. And you said you have, what? Two or three paying guests a week?”
“If that.”
“So, how are you paying the bills?”
I admitted, “I’ve been putting my own money into it.”
“Well, that hardly seems fair, especially since your uncle didn’t even offer to make you a partner until recently.”
“I’m doing it by choice,” I said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my employees get paid, the horses are fed, and the lights stay on.”
“Does your uncle know where you’re getting the cash?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t even realize I’ve been using my own money to pay the bills.”
“How is that possible?”
“Ren is totally uninvolved in the ranch’s finances.”
Will asked, “What about your bookkeeper? Does he know where the money’s coming from?”
“He thinks the ranch has an investment account that only I have access to, and I transfer funds from it every month.”
“In other words, you’re totally lying to him.”
“Yup.”
“Since I doubt you’re moonlighting on Catalina, are you somehow earning all the money you need for the ranch during your one weekend a month in L.A.?” When I nodded, he asked, “How the hell are you making enough in a single weekend to keep an entire luxury resort operational? I’m doing the same thing you are, and I make enough to feed myself and my cat, pay rent on my apartment, and keep my eight-year-old car running.”
“I got lucky.”
“I need more details than that.”
I gestured at the crowded patio and told him, “This really isn’t the place for that particular conversation. Also, how did we get on this subject? We were talking about your acting career, Will. It makes me sad that you’re thinking about giving up on your dream.”
“But maybe that’s all it’ll ever be, a dream. And maybe it’s time to wake the hell up.”
I asked, “And then what? Will you go back home to rural Louisiana and get a job in your dad’s bait shop?”
“Maybe. It’s probably better than this constant rejection.”
“You used to call that job a slow, painful death.”
“It is,” he said. “But don’t you think this life is killing me, too? You know better than anyone what I’ve resorted to while waiting for a break that might never happen.”
“But you can’t just give up.” We stopped talking when the waitress arrived with another whiskey, and a moment later my phone buzzed. I glanced at the text message and replied with: Okay. See you tonight. Then I returned the phone to my pocket, and once the waitress left, I said, “You’re a great actor. It’s what you’re meant to do. I’ll never forget your performance in that Wes Davis action film. You were brilliant!”
He shot me a look over the top of his sunglasses. “That was seven years ago, and I only had three lines before my character died.”
“Your death was so convincing that I cried.”
Will mulled that over before asking, “Do you really think I’m a good actor?”
He looked so lost that it broke my heart, and I told him in all sincerity, “I think you’re great, and I’m sure the right part will come along if you just hang in there.”
“Well…I guess I could give it a few more months. But if I don’t land anything by the end of the year, I really need to make some changes.”
“You know, there’s plenty of room at the ranch, and I was serious when I offered you a free place to stay while you’re trying to get your career off the ground,” I said. “It would allow you to cut back on the hours you work and just concentrate on acting.”
“You don’t really want me there, Beck. You’re all about keeping your life compartmentalized. Besides, what would I say if someone asked how you and I met? And would I have to pretend I don’t know why you visit L.A. once a month, or how you’re helping the ranch make ends meet? I’m no good at keeping secrets.”
“We could figure that out.”
“The real issue is that I can’t stand being dependent on anyone,” he admitted. “You know that. So, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing. I appreciate the offer though, even if this is at least the third time you’ve brought it up.”
“I just like to remind you periodically that the offer still stands,” I told him, “but I’ll go ahead and change the subject now.”
2
Will and I hung out all afternoon. He ended up getting pretty drunk, but I just had the one martini before switching to diet soda, so I drove him home. When we pulled up in front of his peach-colored apartment complex, he gave me a hug and said, “Thanks for the drinks and the company. Are we still on for breakfast Monday?”
“That’s the plan. I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded and got out of the car, then meandered to his ground floor apartment. I kept an eye on him until he stepped through the door. Once I knew he’d made it inside safely, I took out my phone and reread the message I’d received back at the bar. It was from someone listed in my contacts as only L.S., and it said: Change of plans for tonight. Meet me at the following address, and feel free to arrive early. I probably won’t get there until ten. Beneath that was an unfamiliar address in the Hollywood Hills, along with three key codes, which were labeled: parking garage, elevator, and front door.
I really didn’t know what to make of that, because over the last year, our plans had never varied. He’d said it was okay to be early, though it wasn’t even five o’clock, and that was prob
ably pushing it. But curiosity compelled me to type the address into Google maps and begin driving inland.
Traffic was a total nightmare, of course, and it took forever to reach my destination, which turned out to be a very new, high-end apartment building. I pulled to the curb across the street and studied it for a few moments. The white, four-story building was modern and elegant, and the landscaping was so new that the bushes were just evenly-spaced little tufts along the stone foundation.
I turned onto the driveway that sloped beneath the front of the building and entered the first of the codes, and the metal gate rose with a clatter. The parking garage was totally empty aside from a pile of building materials, which was cordoned off in one corner. I parked and grabbed my bags from the trunk, then entered the next code and rode the elevator to the top floor.
There was only one door on that level, at the end of a long hallway with a glass ceiling. I tried knocking first, and when no one answered, I used the last code on the door panel and let myself into the apartment. Then I slipped off my shoes, because the place was absolutely pristine and I didn’t want to mess anything up. The white marble floor felt smooth and cool beneath my bare feet.
I put my bags down, took a few steps into the enormous living room, and murmured, “Oh wow.”
It was bright and sunny, with two-story ceilings and attractive, modern furnishings. Most of the space was white, but royal blue and magenta accents, large, evocative abstract paintings, potted palms, and lush floral arrangements kept it from feeling sterile. I crossed the room to the back wall, which was made entirely of glass. The hillside location provided a fantastic, panoramic view of Los Angeles. I was sure it’d be even better at night, though.
Next, I wandered from room to room. The cavernous living room was connected to an open, modern kitchen. There was also a half-bath, a home gym, a media room, and one spacious bedroom, the focal point of which was a king-size bed with fluffy, white linens and an artistic silver bedframe. In the huge master bathroom, I was surprised to discover a white leather barber chair. It was positioned in front of a large mirror, along with a shelving unit that included all the accoutrements you’d expect to find in a barber shop. I’d never seen anything like that in a private home, and it made me curious about whoever lived here.
