Find Her, Keep Her (A Martha's Vineyard Love Story) (Love in the USA)

by Z. L. Arkadie

  I hug myself because it’s cold. I look out the window. The day is gray and cloudy. It’s not raining now, but the window is wet from earlier rainfall. Good thing I packed for abrupt weather changes. Yesterday’s rough waves were a clue that wind and rain were coming.

  I scoot off the bed, carefully take off my dress, and fold it away. I’ll take it to the cleaners as soon as I get home. I feel how wild my hair is, so I rush to the bathroom to tie it up into a big, fluffy ponytail. Then I do the one thing that always relaxes me–take a bath.

  The bathtub is extremely ostentatious. It’s behind the wall with the double sinks. I have to step up two platforms to get to it. Figuring out that there’s a remote control to turn the water on and off and to set the temperature takes me a minute.

  I program a warm bubble bath and don’t have to wait long for the tub to fill. It’s perfect–about the only thing that’s gone right recently.

  I’m no longer hurt by what Adrian and Maya did. Good riddance to both of them. I wonder what she’s going to do now that her fiancé has said he still loves me. I can hardly believe he played that card. I’d never go back to him, especially not after learning how crummy he is in bed. It’s not only that though. Belmont read a whole slew of my articles in one afternoon, and Adrian never read one. Belmont pleaded for me to stay; Adrian wouldn’t have done that.

  “What’s my problem?” I whisper and close my eyes.

  Why do I want space from Belmont? Could he be right? Am I looking for a reason to run away? Am I more comfortable being alone?

  Adrian was right to be frustrated by our relationship. If my career had gone bust, then we probably would’ve broken up a long time ago. I think we used to see each other five days a month. Ten days on a good month. The more time I spent with him, the more I disliked him. The less time I spent with him, the more I liked him.

  I don’t want to run away from Belmont Jaxson Lord, but he was a gigolo who screwed Maya. I sigh at that thought and the fact that we’ve been having unprotected sex. “Stupid me.” I pound myself in the forehead with my palm.

  “Hey, sexy.”

  Caught off guard, I turn to the doorway, making sure my nakedness is well hidden under the bubbles. “What are you doing here, Charlie?”

  “Can I join you?” He grins mischievously.

  “Absolutely not!” I look for my towel just in case I have to grab it. “Who let you in? Does Belmont know you’re here?”

  “Yes, he does.” Charlie leans on the doorway. “I kind of feel sorry for that fucker. What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing,” I say defensively.

  “You found out, didn’t you? His deep, dark secret.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper dejectedly.

  We fall silent. I notice Charlie is looking at me differently than before. There’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

  “I think I gave you the wrong impression,” he says. “I don’t hate my brother.”

  “I know. He told me that you two don’t hate each other.”

  “We don’t,” he concurs. “Did he tell you what he did for me?”

  “No.”

  “After our parents died, we got it all, split down the middle. I invested in the bubble, and when it burst, I had shit left. Jack gave me enough cash to start over, but I had a million-dollar habit.”

  “A drug habit?” I ask.

  “Blow. I’m six months out of rehab,” he says. “I was wrong to come on to you that strong. He’s into you. So what if he had a swinging dick?” He smiles as though that was supposed to be funny. “Come on, lighten up. I’m backing off, but I still think you and I would make a cool couple.”

  “You think?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Hell yeah! We’ll be, what do you call it, contemporary, post-modern.”

  This time he gets to me, and I chuckle.

  “I’ll pounce on you like my brother does, but I’ll show you a good time too.”

  “What are you doing here, Charlie?” I ask. It sounds like he’s coming on to me again.

  “I’m taking you out!” he sings.

  “What?”

  “I’m your taxi driver. Jack said I should show you around since he can’t.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “He said to give you time to walk around the grounds and take pictures and then to take you to Menemsha and Aquinnah.”

  I study him with one eye narrowed suspiciously. I think he’s telling the truth. The part about walking the grounds is dead on, although I never believed Belmont would let me do it alone. He would probably show up at some point and seduce me with his sensual touch–his talent.

  “Well… let me finish my bath first.”

  “Go ahead.” He folds his arms and grins.

  “Get out, Chuck.”

  “Oh, she called me Chuck. Belmont’s rubbing off on you.”

  I shake my head, thoroughly charmed.

  He backs up behind the wall and is gone. Suddenly, it makes sense. Belmont would rather subject me to Charlie than let me leave the island. This is his way of keeping an eye on me. He knows I’d never betray him by giving in to his brother’s advances.

  I don’t rush my bath because the water feels like warm velvet on my skin. I could live in this tub. Close to an hour later, I get out and wash off last night’s makeup without reapplying since I decide to go barefaced today.

  Charlie has been waiting long enough, so I slip into a pair of faded blue jeans and a blue T-shirt with “Air Pollution Stinks” written across the front. I put on socks and shove my feet in a pair of water-resistant shearling boots. I grab my short black trench coat, camera, utility bag, and writing tablet, and I rush downstairs.

  “Charlie?” I call once I reach the foyer. I open the door. My rental car is parked in the driveway and my keys are hanging on a hook by the door.

  “One second,” Charlie says on his cell phone. He puts his hand over the mouthpiece as he skips up the steps. “Daisy, I can’t go. Got to go.”

  “Oh,” I say. I sound disappointed, but I’m pretty much relieved. “Where to?”

  He winks while turning his lips up into a naughty smile. No doubt it’s an opposite-sex ordeal he’s running off to.

  “See you in a minute,” he tells the girl on the other end of the call. “Brought your car back.” He points to the Mini Cooper.

  I nod.

  He studies me and shakes his head as he skips back down the steps. He turns to face me. “So that’s it?”

  “What’s it?”

  “You’re going to let me go just like that?” So funny, that’s the same question Belmont always asks. What sort of neurotic women do they normally deal with?

  “Why shouldn’t I? If you have other things to do, then I don’t want to get in the way.”

  “You really don’t like me?” he asks with a high note of curiosity.

  “I like you,” I reply casually.

  “But not like you like Jack?”

  I part my lips. I want to confess out loud that I love Jack. I just hate that he’s part of everything that went wrong. He’s connected to Maya, and she used him to kick me in the other knee.

  “No. Not even close,” I whisper past my tightened throat.

  Charlie nods and I can tell by his expression that that stung. He holds up a hand. “See you around, Daisy.” He trots up the driveway and disappears in the brush.

  That was strange, but I shake it off. It’s time to plot my schedule for the day. When my stomach growls, what’s first on the list becomes apparent.

  The humongous stainless-steel fridge is stocked with all the groceries I bought at the Stop & Shop and a whole lot of other food. After locating the pots and pans, I whip up scrambled egg whites, brown some toast, and fry up some real bacon. Then I chuck it down as fast as I can. When I’m anxious to get to work, the hours in a day turn unconquerable. I also take out a salmon steak to broil for dinner tonight.

  I wanted to take pictures of the estate, but it simply reminds me of B
elmont. Instead, I go upstairs, turn on the computer, and find the phone number for a taxicab company.

  The driver says he’ll be here in ten minutes. I’m a little disappointed that Belmont hasn’t called or texted. He hasn’t even emailed the picture of the little red bird. He said he’ll let me make contact with him first and he must’ve meant it.

  As I sit on the stoop waiting for my ride, I wonder if I’m irked by the fact that Belmont used to get paid to have sex with other women. The answer is no. I’m not so judgmental. Really, I’m not. I’m more ticked off that I had to hear it by way of Maya’s well-orchestrated plan to humiliate me for a second time. The first time was her post on Facebook.

  After five minutes on the dot, the cab pulls up and catches me with my face lifted to the sky. I wonder when or if it’ll rain again today. I love rain, and the east coast variety is one of my favorites. It’s not misty and soft like a California rain. It’s tough and has character. It’s temperamental and unpredictable, like the region itself.

  The driver gets out and opens the back door. I gather my things, make haste to get to the car, and scoot onto the seat.

  “Did you say you were going to Menemsha?” he asks in a thick New England accent.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Where to?”

  “Do you know Menemsha well?” I ask, getting ready to work my magic.

  “Yeah, I do,” he says confidently.

  “I’m a travel writer, and I don’t want to waste my time showing people what they already know. Do you know somewhere off the beaten path that might pique my interest?”

  “I can drop you off at the hills. You can walk the trails,” he suggests.

  “How long would it take?”

  “As long as you want.”

  “I see.” That’s an indulgent leisure activity. “Well then, that’s where I want to go.”

  “It might rain, though,” he warns me.

  “I don’t mind the rain.”

  “All right then.” He hesitates before facing forward. “Is this Jack Lord’s compound?”

  I pause, caught off guard. “Yes.”

  He squints at me curiously, but that’s it. The taxi turns onto the main road, and I’m pretty sure we pass Maya and Adrian in a Mini Cooper. I twist around in my seat. They turn down the road that leads to Belmont’s estate.

  I huff as I face forward. I can’t believe they haven’t hopped on a flight back to the west coast. There’s nothing left for us to say to each other. At least I’m not there. They’ll probably see my car parked out front and knock, ring the doorbell, and shout my name to no avail. And after they give up, then and only then will they ship out. This is what I’m hoping.

  “So you’re a writer?” the cab driver asks as I sit stewing.

  “Yes, I am,” I say enthusiastically. It’s time to get back on track. “Hey, if I give you a call when I finish the walk, will you be able to pick me up?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He pauses. “Are you friends with Jack?”

  “Um, yes,” I mumble.

  He nods as if he’s pleased. “He’s a good guy.”

  I’m about to agree when we pass a wedding caravan featuring a horse and buggy parade. I watch the bride being wheeled in the lead cart while the rest of the wedding party trails behind her. The women wear satin, pastel dresses and the groomsmen are in gray pinstriped suits.

  “Could you slow down?” I ask as we pass. I fumble my camera out of the bag, switch it on, and click away.

  “I heard there are thirty-nine weddings today. There were fifty-seven yesterday and seventy-five on Saturday,” my driver says.

  “Is that so?” I take shots of the horses, the bride, and the wedding party. It’s strange how subdued they are. Maybe because it’s still early.

  “It’s wedding season,” he says.

  “Sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

  “I’m Todd.”

  “And you live here on the island?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Where are you originally from?” I’m done taking pictures, so I turn around and the car speeds up.

  “Rhode Island. Providence. Where are you from?”

  “California. Los Angeles.”

  He nods. “I can see it.”

  I chuckle. “I get that a lot.”

  “You’ve got a look about you. All the sun and surf and dentists…”

  “Ah, the white teeth.” I laugh. “That’s a recent phenomenon. Hardly anyone smokes in L.A. anymore. And there’s all the granola.”

  “Granola?”

  I grin. “Non-acidic foods don’t stain the teeth.”

  He narrows his eyes at me through the rearview mirror as if that’s a bit too much. “So what’s your story about?”

  “Um, it’s part of a taxicab series. Although I’m thinking I should abandon the theme.”

  “Is that why you called me?” He sounds excited.

  “Yes.” I smile. I’m glad he’s enthusiastic about the idea.

  “You want to use me in your article?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  His blue eyes study me again through the rearview mirror. I can see his thoughts churning. Todd’s a decent-looking guy. He’s young, maybe in his mid- to early twenties, and has fine blond hair and very pale skin. “I would take you up on that if I were a crook. The worst way to see the island is by cab. It can cost you.”

  “I’m starting to figure that out.” I sigh, nearly yielding to defeat. Martha’s Vineyard doesn’t have that grungy taxicab feel.

  There’s no fifty-mile ride to a small village where I can find a local spoon, a boutique hotel for the night, and a couple of locals willing to tell me how to avoid a brush with danger in order to find a hidden jewel like a majestic waterfall, or secret beach, or pristine valley. Then two days later, when I’m done with that little town, I call the same taxi driver, start up a brand-new conversation, and have him drop me off at another location that’s also off the beaten path. That can go on for weeks. The longest I’ve ever toured by cab-driver guidance was three months straight.

  Martha’s Vineyard will probably only take two days, three days tops to get through this entire island. And why pay an extra three hundred a night to stay in a hotel that’s only twenty minutes away from Belmont’s estate?

  “Well here’s the bridge.” He pulls off the road and into a turnout. “Take the bridge into the foliage, and there you go.” He digs a business card out of his pocket. “You can call me when you’re done.”

  “Okay,” I say as I dig my wallet out of the bag. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I flinch, taken aback. “But you said…”

  “No worries.” He waves off the forty dollars I try to shove at him anyway.

  “Okay,” I say as if struck by illumination. “Should I pay you at the end of my trips?”

  “Whatever.”

  I sigh. I certainly don’t want to force money on someone who doesn’t want it. I’ll respect his wishes and pay him later. I slide out of the cab to walk the damp trail. It’s cooler out this way. It might be sixty degrees.

  I walk on automatic pilot. The trees are short and stout. They may be white oak and beech. I’m snapping away at the beauty, and the farther I walk, the deeper into the forest I go. I can smell sassafras–nice. The green foliage, hovering low to the ground, the tree trunks twisting like they’re dancing, the mystery of not knowing what’s around the corner all make this walk feel like a suspenseful scene in a novel. All I can hear are birds chirping and my camera clicking.

  When I glance down at the wet trail, I remember yesterday and Belmont taking me to the ground in a moment of passion. Having him here with me would be nice. I wouldn’t get any work done, but he’s pleasing company.

  He’s a gigolo, a voice whispers in my head, attempting to taint my feelings for him.

  I sit on a stone bench under a canopy of trees. A few seconds later, a group of people pass. We smile at each other. Anot
her group passes. Then there are more and more. They’re not all dressed up, but I take it that they’re heading to the same place. Curiosity makes me follow them past a meadow of wild flowers until we’re out of the woods. I gaze out at the waves that roll onto shore from the horizon. It’s a breathtaking sight—the fishing village to my left and the cliffs to my right. In the center, a wedding is about to take place.

  Then it dawns on me—this should be my angle.

  Wedding Island…

  Nuptial’ville…

  Wedding Crasher…

  That’s what I’ll do! I’ll write an article on all the different weddings on Martha’s Vineyard. With fifty or so a day, it shouldn’t be difficult. Fueled by my new purpose, I head back to the road to summon the cab. I hadn’t realized how far I’ve come.

  Once I reach the road, I call Todd, and he’s quickly on the way.

  As soon as I slide into the backseat, I announce, “I’m crashing weddings.”

  “Like the movie…” he comments, grinning.

  “Yes. I plan to blend in and take pictures. I wish I could get a list of all the weddings taking place this week.”

  “I can get you that,” Todd says. “I’ve got a friend who works for the recreational licensing department. You need a license for every damn thing here on the island.”

  “Really?” I nearly shout. “You can do that for me?”

  “Yeah. Why not? You’re nice, and I like you.”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! Please!” I’m so excited that I clutch his shoulder and shake him a little.

  He laughs, delighted he could make someone so happy. “I’ll make a phone call. I’ll see if I can get it for you today.”

  He does just that. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat as he speaks to his friend. At first, the friend seems hesitant. When Todd mentions that I’m staying at Jack Lord’s compound, there’s a long pause. He says “yeah” a few times. Then he hangs up.

  “Two hours,” he announces.

  “Thanks!” I sing in celebration.

  Since I’m hungry, he takes me down-island into Oak Bluffs to have lunch at Linda Jeans, a diner on Circuit Avenue. I ask him to drop me off on Oak Bluffs Avenue, and I’ll walk to the diner. Since I have two hours to kill, I want to tour the popular street and take some pictures.