“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, they’re real otters.”
“Oh, I want to see.”
It took almost a half hour to work their way to the front on the top level, where they could see the otters in and out of the water. A woman appeared behind the Plexiglas, dipped into the bucket she carried, and began throwing pieces of fish into the water. Janice bobbed up and down like a piston as she followed the otters’ movements as they dove and either swept the prize into their mouths with their hands as they swam or brought it to the surface, where they rolled to their backs and used their stomachs as a dining room table.
Noticing a couple of five-year-olds trying to get a better look, she let them crowd in front of her but stood her ground when their parents tried to follow. Finally the only way Chris could get her to leave to see the rest of the exhibits was by telling her about the touch pools where she could “pet” bat rays and sea cucumbers and whatever else happened to be on exhibit that day.
She asked a hundred questions. Those Chris couldn’t answer, she asked the volunteers who worked at the pools.
At the kelp forest Janice challenged Chris to a contest to see which of them could find the most sea life. It looked as if Chris would win right up until the last minute, when three fish appeared simultaneously in front of Janice and she instantly identified them from the information plates in front of her.
“I win,” she announced gleefully.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to gloat?”
“Who cares—it’s fun.”
He almost smiled at the mischievous look she gave him. “That sounds like something Tracy would say.”
She grabbed the front of his shirt. “Take that back.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You walk home.”
“You seem to forget, it’s my car.”
She thought a minute. “Oh, yeah.”
He took her hand and led her back through the main floor to the jellyfish exhibit. Three hours later they made their last stop—the gift shop. Janice headed straight for the books. It took forever for her to decide which one she would buy. Chris thought she was being incredibly picky until she opened her wallet to pay. Without meaning to pry, Chris couldn’t help but notice the book took half the money she had left.
“Guess what I’m going to be doing the next three weeks,” she said as they walked outside.
“I’ll go in half if you’ll share,” he said.
She smiled. “You can borrow it as much as you like while I’m here. But this puppy goes home with me.”
He liked that she’d had a good time and wasn’t afraid to let him know. A lot of the girls in his crowd would have acted bored because they thought it was sophisticated. Not Janice.
She was interested in everything and fascinated by almost as much. Halfway through the aquarium she’d announced, “The next time I come to California, I’m going to know how to dive. I want to see what it’s like out there myself.” She’d turned to him, her eyes filled with excitement. “Can you imagine actually swimming with otters? Could there be anything cooler?”
After the ten days she’d put in with Tracy, Chris was surprised Janice would ever want to come back.
They were on their way to the car when Chris asked, “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Hamburger okay?”
“My dad said he’d shoot me if I didn’t eat fish at least once while I’m out here. Would you mind if we make it today?”
“Sure. I don’t know any special restaurant around here, but I guess we could ask.”
They went into a T-shirt shop and talked to the clerk. He told them about a place not to be missed that made the best fish tacos north of Mexico City.
“Fish tacos?” Janice said when they were outside again. “I don’t think that was what my father had in mind. How about we find someone else to ask?”
“Thank God—I was afraid you were going for it.”
She looked up at him through the longest lashes Chris had ever seen on anyone. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe we should give it a try.”
“I will if you will,” he said, convinced she would back down.
“Okay.”
“You’re kidding.”
“What have we got to lose?”
“Our lunch, for one thing.”
She laughed. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”
On their way home, Janice insisted she’d loved the tacos and would have them again. Chris told her she was crazy, that his grandmother’s rhubarb-and-strawberry pie and the bellyache it had given him afterward had been a better experience.
Later that night the dessert Eric had promised turned out to be rhubarb-and-strawberry pie with vanilla bean ice cream on the side. Janice had to turn away to keep from laughing when she saw the look on Chris’s face.
When they arrived back at the house and found it deserted, Chris decided to ask Janice to go with him to meet Charlie Stephens. He liked that he didn’t have to talk her into it and that she acted properly impressed when they were introduced. But what Chris liked best was that her enthusiasm wasn’t put on. She asked a lot of questions that Chris would have never thought to ask, even wanting to know why his 1984 Los Angeles gold medal seemed tarnished. When he told her the gold had rubbed off from the number of children who had handled it, Janice smiled and told him that he was her kind of hero.
Then she did something that left Chris in awe. Not only did she eat all of her own pie, she insisted on sharing his, digging out the inside and leaving him the crust. All in all, it was the second best day of his life.
Or so he thought until they thanked Eric and said good night to Charlie and started home.
“What a great guy,” Janice said as they crossed the public pathway to the beach that separated the two houses. “Eric, too.”
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome.” She stopped in the middle of the path and held her arms wide, as if gathering the day’s memories. Looking up at the sky, she turned in a circle. “And thanks for threatening to break my leg if I didn’t.”
He laughed. “It was your arm.”
Pretending to lose her balance, she purposely bumped into him. “Arm—leg, same difference.”
On impulse he bent, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “If anyone sees us, they’re going to think you’re drunk.”
“And if they see me like this, they’ll think I passed out and you had to carry me home.”
She hardly weighed anything; he’d carried heavier grocery bags. He could have held her forever, but he hadn’t thought how short her dress was when he’d picked her up or considered the possibility that lace-trimmed panties would end up inches from his face.
Sensing the change in Chris, Janice put her hands on his shoulders, propped herself up, and slid down the front of him. Neither of them moved as they looked into each other’s eyes.
Heavy ocean air, still warm from the heat of the day, wrapped them in an intimate cocoon.
Slowly, confident only of his own feelings, Chris moved to kiss her. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, blocking all other sounds, even the rolling roar of the ocean. She tilted her head to meet him, her lips open in anticipation, the tip of her tongue reaching for his. With a low groan Chris wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. When it was over, with his chin gently touching the top of her head, he said, “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Boy—me either.”
“Did you mind?” He felt like an idiot for asking, but he needed to know.
She didn’t answer right away. Finally, looking up at him, she said, “I’m not sure. Maybe if you did it again, it would help me decide.”
A feeling came over Chris he recognized but had never experienced in this way before. He didn’t just want to kiss her, he wanted to make love to her.
Her mouth was unbelievably sweet, the touch of her tongue into
xicating. The way she put her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to bring herself closer sent his mind rushing ahead days and weeks and months with pictures of them together, laughing, loving, intimate.
What he’d felt for Tracy was in his imagination. This was real.
And it was so much better.
“No,” she whispered.
“No?” he repeated.
She smiled as she dropped from her toes to stand flat-footed again and looked up at him. “I didn’t mind.”
He touched her cheek. “Want to go for a walk?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t have to say anything else. It was enough to let him know they shared the same thoughts, the same feelings.
They headed for the stairs. As they stepped on the beach, Chris took Janice’s hand. She looked at him and smiled. His legs were moving, but his feet weren’t hitting the sand. Was this what it was like to walk on air?
“I’m going to be gone when you get up in the morning,” he said. “And I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Where—”
Finally he told her about the movie. She was wide-eyed with excitement. “When you get home tomorrow I want to hear everything, even the smallest detail.”
He hesitated. “I don’t want Tracy to know. . . .”
She nodded, not asking or needing an explanation.
Chris sat on a salt- and sun-bleached log washed up by some long-ago storm and pulled Janice down to sit next to him. They talked about school, their friends, their hopes, their dreams. They talked fast and free and nonstop, as if trying to make up for all the time they’d wasted.
Everything about Janice fascinated Chris, from her allergy to olives to her love of Irish folk songs. They found a hundred things they had in common, from politics to philosophy, and a dozen they didn’t, from Star Trek to which was the best fast-food restaurant.
They continued to talk as the moon moved across the night sky, as the high tide moved in and claimed more and more of the beach, as the still night air became a breeze, and as the temperature dropped steadily.
A lifetime was hard to share in one meeting, but they tried. It was as if each held desperately important information that had to be divulged before they could be sure what was happening to them was real and lasting.
In the end, it was the cold that drove them from the beach. Despite having Chris’s arms around her, Janice could hardly talk, she was trembling so hard. Still, she told Chris she didn’t want to leave, but he, reluctantly, insisted they should go in.
Though it was less than six feet from his own, Chris walked Janice to her bedroom door. He kissed her good night, and then she kissed him back. He marveled how perfectly they fit together, as if they’d been custom fitted. She felt it, too. He could tell by the way she put her arms around him, the way her hips nestled into his.
“Will you wait up for me tomorrow night?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed against his ear.
He started to say something more but heard a sound coming from inside Janice’s room. The last thing he wanted was to have Tracy find them together. He gave Janice one last kiss and crossed the hall to his own room. “I’ll get home as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be here,” she said softly.
Chris dreamed when he went to sleep that night, but for the first time in years, it wasn’t about Tracy.
Chapter 9
Chris rolled from his side to his back, tucking his hands under his head and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling in his bedroom. He couldn’t sleep. His mind simply wouldn’t shut down.
His two-day crowd scene in the movie had turned into a small speaking role that lasted four days and kept him on the set from early morning to late at night. During that time he’d seen Janice for an hour or so when he came home at night and a half hour every morning when they ran together on the beach, but that was all. She insisted she didn’t mind. He hoped she was saying it only to be polite, because he sure as hell minded being away from her.
Just when Chris thought his role was over, Robert showed up on the set and asked him to hang around a few more days. He’d almost forgotten the conversation at Tony’s party when Tony and Robert had said he looked like some David guy they both knew, but that night Chris had been reminded in a way he wasn’t likely ever to forget.
It turned out David wasn’t a person but a character in a book that Robert was making into a movie. They’d been looking for an actor to fill the role for over six months. But no one they’d come up with so far could win the author’s approval. The deal had been about to fall apart when Tony spotted Chris.
Then tonight, the unimaginable had happened.
Robert offered him the role.
Now all Chris had to do was figure out what he was going to do about it.
When Chris told them there was no way the author would want someone who didn’t have enough acting talent to talk his way out of a traffic ticket, Robert informed him that there had been half a dozen people from the project on the set that week, including the author. They’d come specifically to look him over, and all concurred—he was the perfect David.
Chris had been flattered at first, but close on its heels had come dry-mouthed fear. Robert was dumbfounded when Chris told him that he wanted some time to think about the offer first.
Before he’d left the set that night, the people Robert had brought with him began anticipating Chris’s doubts and potential problems and supplying answers. School wouldn’t be a problem; he’d have the best tutors available. It didn’t matter that he’d never acted; he was a natural. Whatever he didn’t know, they could teach him. The studio would arrange and pay for a place for him and his mother to live; they would even provide a car and driver. If he didn’t like acting, it was only one movie, not a lifetime commitment. Chris couldn’t help but notice that the last was said with about as much conviction as a kid left alone in a candy store promising not to eat anything.
The kicker, the argument Chris couldn’t ignore, was the money. They wouldn’t give a solid offer, telling him it was up to the agent he hired to work out the final figure, but the hinted amount could pay his way through Yale and Stanford and still leave enough for a down payment on his house at the beach.
How could he say no?
God, how could he say yes? Being in movies wasn’t something ordinary people like him did. You had to be special, you had to want it so badly that you waited tables and lived in dumps and sacrificed.
Robert’s staff had insisted he could pull it off, but what if they were wrong? What happened if they started filming and he was terrible? Everyone would know. It was the kind of thing you read about in newspapers and saw on those entertainment shows on television.
What if he made it through okay and the critics turned thumbs down?
It wasn’t even an action flick that they wanted him for, something where it didn’t matter whether he could act or not because all anyone cared about was how many cars and buildings were blown up. This story was about a kid in a small town in the Midwest whose father is wrongly accused of child molestation. The book had been on the best-seller list forever. Millions of people who had read the book and who would see the movie had their own ideas of what David should be like. There was no way he could please them all. He was Chris Sadler, not this David character.
The problem was Chris loved everything about making movies, or at least everything he’d seen so far. He’d even started daydreaming about being an actor someday, but it was a long way from dreaming to doing. He felt as if he’d been told he’d qualified for the Olympics, but as a platform diver.
He rolled back on his side, doubling the feather pillow and propping it under his head as he gazed out the window at the passing clouds.
Janice had waited up for him that night, as she had every night that past week. He’d spilled his news like a glass of milk, fast and all over the place. She hadn’t said anything for a long time afterward. It was almost as if he’d dumped a load of compost
in her lap and she couldn’t figure out if it was for flowers or garbage. When the surprise had worn off and they’d finally talked about it, she’d said aloud all the things that were bothering him. She understood why he was more terrified than excited about the chance he’d been given and why, in spite of everything, he’d be an idiot to refuse.
What if five or ten years from then he decided acting was his thing? He wasn’t so naive to think opportunities like this came along every day.
As Chris left the set that night, Robert let it casually drop that he’d set up a screen test for Chris in Los Angeles in two days. He assured him that it was just a formality, that no one who’d seen him had any doubt he could handle the part.
Chris had a feeling a lot of the stuff they were feeding him was crap, but he had no way to know for sure.
Bottom line—did he want to trade his last year in high school and a chance to repeat as state wrestling champion for what could either be the best or the worst thing that had ever happened to him? He had to make up his mind before he said anything to his mother. It was important the decision and its consequences be his, not hers.
He’d started to roll onto his back again when he heard the door open and someone come inside. Thinking—hoping—it was Janice, he propped himself up on his elbow and asked softly, “What’s up?”
“I knew you’d be awake,” Tracy whispered. “I have something to show you.”
As confused as he was surprised, Chris sat up and peered at the dark figure at the foot of his bed. “Now?”
“You didn’t leave me much choice. You’re never here anymore,” she said in a pouting voice. She ran her fingers through her long hair to fluff it before sweeping it forward to lay on her shoulders.
He was dreaming.
He had to be.
But why this dream? And why now? He was over Tracy, at least that was what he’d told himself.
It was dark in his room, but Chris had no trouble seeing Tracy when she moved into the light coming from his window. She had on a short, silky bathrobe untied and open far enough to reveal a skimpy matching gown. His heart did a somersault before it slammed against his ribs.
The Beach House Page 11
