Air

by Lisa Glass

  “So you’re working for Billabong since when?” Zeke asked.

  “A few weeks. It’s only an internship, but it’s a start.”

  “Congrats,” Zeke said. “Anders was so mad you ditched him.”

  “I couldn’t stand being his PA for a minute longer. He’s turned into a right little fascist these past few months. I know he’s having personal troubles, but honestly, he was making my life a misery.”

  “Personal troubles? Did you know that, Zeke?” I said.

  “Yeah. Split up with his long-term girlfriend.”

  Zeke knew Anders was going through something like that and didn’t tell me?

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “It’s not really my place to talk about someone else’s personal life.”

  The store manager came over and asked Zeke if he could start signing, since the people in the queue had already been waiting a while and were getting restless.

  “Yeah, I’m so sorry. We just got caught up. I’ll be right there.”

  They walked away together and I couldn’t help feeling a little bit embarrassed that the manager hadn’t asked me to go with them.

  “I should get a move on too, although I’ll probably only have to sign one poster.”

  “Don’t do yourself down. I had a look at your Twitter. Thirty thousand followers is absolutely not to be sniffed at.”

  “I tweet some sick surf pics, so they’re probably following me for that . . . Anyway, congrats on the job. Stoked for you, mate.”

  “No bugger wanted to sponsor me to surf, so at least this way I get to follow the tour. And even better, I’m going to be interviewing the surfers beachside for the webcast on Saturday. I’ll have to do you too so to speak.”

  “Wow, cool job.”

  “Not really. They’re not paying me, and I’m sorting out my own travel and hotels, so I suppose it hardly counts as a job at all.”

  I winced. Saskia was working for free. Actually, worse than free. This internship must be costing her thousands in travel and board. She was from a wealthy family, sure, and probably had a fair bit in the bank, but if it wasn’t for me, she’d have won the Billabong sponsorship and would have been on the tour, getting paid to surf. I owed her everything.

  I looked over at Zeke and saw him signing a surfboard in black Sharpie.

  “I’ve been wondering how you’ve been getting on,” she said. “It’s not easy at first leaving home. Everyone struggles.”

  She stretched her arms above her head, as if she was about to go into a sun salutation, and then thought better of it.

  “Zeke never seemed to have a problem,” I said.

  I looked over at Zeke again, chatting and laughing with the very pretty owner of the surfboard. The girl turned and held up her long hair so that he could sign the back of her neck. At least he wasn’t signing a cleavage, which was a frequent request.

  “Not true. He struggled too.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Ha I happen to know that the first time he took a flight on his own, to a contest in France, he got himself into a right pickle. He was far less confident back then shy, even and liable to panic. Poor thing couldn’t speak the language, didn’t know how to get to his event and couldn’t find anyone to tell him. He’d been wandering the airport for an hour, and was so desperate for the toilet and so worried about his big-wave boards being nicked while he was in the loo that he gave up the whole thing as a bad lot and got the next flight home to Honolulu.”

  “No way. That did not happen.”

  Zeke, my world traveler, had missed a surf contest just because he couldn’t figure out how to go to the loo without having his gear stolen.

  “Promise you, it did. It’s scary for everyone at first. You just fake it until you make it.”

  Faking confidence was definitely a skill I was learning.

  I gave her another hug and said, “I’m really glad you’re here. Let’s spend some proper time together, all right?”

  “Will do, kiddo. Where are you staying?”

  “South Beach. Grove Hotel.”

  “I’m in the Colony. The manager here said he’d give me a lift back after the signing. I’m sure you guys can jump in too. Save on taxi fares.”

  “That’d be awesome.” I didn’t want to rub it in by pointing out that Billabong reimbursed my work-related expenses.

  She kissed me lightly on the lips and then went off to hover around Zeke and confer about Billabong’s plans for total global domination of the surf market. I stood to the side of them, at a different table, and chatted to three eleven-year-old fans who wanted my signature on promo posters of me surfing J-Bay in South Africa.

  It was always exciting to meet fans, and I tried my best to reply to their questions with interesting answers, but I couldn’t concentrate, and couldn’t stop grinning. I felt completely euphoric. I had a friend in Miami.

  chapter ten

  “That went good,” Zeke said, as we hit up the nightwear section of a department store in the same mall. The signing had lasted a couple of hours and the store was only thirteen minutes away from closing.

  “Yeah, it did. So did you sign any nice racks?” I asked him.

  “Not today. Some arms; one ankle.”

  “And one neck.”

  “You saw that, huh?”

  “Sucks to be you, Zeke Francis,” I said, smiling through gritted teeth.

  “How about these?” Zeke said, holding up some blue plaid pajamas that looked as if they’d been designed for old men or toddlers.

  “Er . . .”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Zeke said, turning to the blond girl who’d been hovering around us, eavesdropping, “we’re going to the Tanashian pajama party tomorrow night and have no clue what to wear. Can you help us here?”

  “You need a silk robe for sure,” she said to Zeke, producing a deep red silk dressing gown that wouldn’t have looked amiss on Hugh Heffner, “and the matching shorts.” Zeke took both of these items, and without looking at anything else in the store, or even checking the sizing or price, and said, “Done. My girlfriend needs something too.”

  “Yellow would be good with her coloring,” she said, handing me a slip.

  “I can’t wear that out,” I said, fingering the lacy cups and feeling quite sure that my nipples would be on show.

  I turned away from her, and picked up a red striped shirt.

  “It’s not exactly fashion forward . . .” she said, seeming disappointed in me. “How about this?” She handed me some stretch-cotton bum-skimmers and a matching vest, again in buttercup yellow, which came with an overshirt.

  Zeke raised his eyebrows at me, and I nodded. “She’ll take it.”

  I caught a quick glimpse of the price tag on the shirt alone $149, which seemed insane and was mouthing this sum to Zeke, when he put up his hand and said, “I got this.”

  The woman rang up our purchases, and charged Zeke’s American Express with over five hundred dollars of nightwear, which Zeke appeared totally fine with, even though it seemed to me like it would have been better for the charity if we just gave them the money and wore our own clothes.

  “Thanks, Zeke, but let me transfer the money into your account.”

  “Relax.”

  We returned to the Billabong store, and waited outside for the manager to cash up. Saskia came clip-clopping out in her super-high heels, ushering the two young lads in front of her, who were being picked up by their parents. She’d let her hair down, and it swung as she walked.

  “Thanks so much for coming to our store,” the manager said, pulling down the shutter. “You’re welcome here any time you’re in Florida.”

  “We won’t be back for probably a year,” Zeke said, “but if you want us to come do another signing then, just get a hold of our publicist, Whitney, and she’ll arrange it. I think I have her card here,” Zeke said, flipping through his wallet.

  The manager led us to his minivan, and Zeke sat up front, to be polite, I gue
ssed, while Saskia and I piled into the back.

  “Are you good for a catch-up tomorrow?” I said, feeling really happy at the prospect of some girl time. “Let me take you somewhere decent for lunch. Caviar. Lobster thermidor. Whatever you want.”

  “Lobster thermidor?”

  “Isn’t that what you London people eat?”

  She laughed. “Never eaten a morsel of crustacean in my life. Not my thing.”

  “Well, whatever you fancy. My treat.”

  “Not necessary, sweetheart. I can pay my way.”

  “You’re doing enough of that as it is. Because of me. Let me do something nice for you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Iris, but Zeke invited me to the Tanashian party, so we can catch up then?”

  “Deal.”

  “You folks seen the sights?” the manager said, taking his eyes off the road to look at us in the rearview mirror.

  “We only got here last night,” I explained, “so we’ve been mostly checking out South Beach.”

  “You gotta go see Everglades National Park! My brother-in-law has an airboat tour down there. Here, I have his card.”

  He riffled through the glovebox and pulled out a few business cards and passed them to Zeke, who handed them out.

  I put it in my wallet to be polite, and Saskia did the same. When she looked up, she gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and said, very quietly, “So, I have a boyfriend.”

  “Ooh! Details! Anyone I know?”

  “Yes, actually: Gabe Monterroso.”

  Gabe was a Brazilian pro-surfer, with epic dreads, who lived for two things: longboarding and computer programming. He was planning to retire from pro-surfing at twenty-five to start his own computer-games company. Zeke had known Gabe since they were groms, as Gabe’s family had traveled around contests in huge vans kitted out with every games console on the market and all the lads on the junior tour had hung out there in between heats. He was absolutely not the sort of bloke I imagined Saskia shacking up with, but he did have a very cool, very large family, and I knew from the way Saskia talked about Zeke’s family that she valued that, particularly since she was an only child who’d spent years in boarding school.

  “Oh, I love him! When did that happen?”

  “It’s only been a couple of weeks. He’s going to be at the media launch party on Thursday actually. What are you wearing, by the way?”

  “Buying a dress here. What about you?”

  “I have a vintage Valentino that used to belong to my mother. It’s terribly revealing, however, so I might wear my new Prada.”

  It was times like this that I remembered just how different Saskia’s financial situation was from mine. I had two grand in a savings account and a few grand in my current account. Saskia had once let slip how much she had left in her trust fund, after burning through some of it on a lavish trip to the Caymans, and I knew she was worth more than my mum and dad put together.

  We dropped Saskia off at the Colony and the manager drove us on to the Grove.

  “Y’all have a good night,” he said, as we climbed out. “And don’t forget to go do the gator tour!”

  “Sure thing,” Zeke said. We gave him a wave and then walked up to the entrance of our hotel, where the doormen rushed to open the door for us. Zeke slipped them a few dollars and said to me, “Hey, it’s so cool that Saskia’s here!”

  “Yeah, she’s the best. Did you know she has a thing going with Gabe?”

  “No, but I can see that. They’re both the same way.”

  “Are they? They seem completely different from me.”

  “No, they’re the same. Super-organized. Driven to succeed. Type A.”

  I was none of those things.

  “And they both have a thing for cleaning. Gabe’s condo is like a show home, just with a whole lot of computers. And you know Saskia is obsessed with interior design. Even the pillows on her couch have places.”

  I felt a pang of disappointment in myself. I knew for a fact my constant messiness was getting to Zeke. He never said anything, but I could tell he was irritated when he had to move my stuff off all the surfaces to find whatever he was looking for.

  We stopped outside the lift and Zeke said, “I think I’m gonna call Anders see if there’s any news about Burnsy.”

  “Good idea. Say hello from me.”

  Inside the lift, the reception on Zeke’s phone cut out, so I phoned from mine.

  Anders answered the phone with, “Problem? Zeke OK?”

  This was the sort of thing that wound me up about Anders. It was as if he was determined to prove to me how inconsequential I was in his eyes.

  “Yes, he’s terrific.” And so am I, thanks for asking, I thought. “We’re just ringing to see how Arron’s doing.”

  “Not great.”

  “I thought you said he was going to be all right?”

  “Physically, yes. But he says as far as surfing goes, he’s done.”

  “No way!”

  “I mean, I hope the lad’ll change his mind, but it’s not looking likely. He really thought his number was up there. Says he’s out.”

  Zeke was staring at me, waiting for me to tell him what was going on.

  “Put Zeke on.”

  “Shall I put you on speaker?”

  “Pass him the phone.”

  We stepped out of the lift, and I passed Zeke the phone.

  “No, I haven’t,” he said. “No, nothing. Maybe next week. I don’t much care either way. Yeah, I’ll let you know if I do. OK, bye.”

  He passed it back to me.

  “Iris?” Anders said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hang tight and look after Zeke.”

  And there it was again. Typical Anders. Always trying to protect his most valuable asset.

  “He can look after himself just fine,” I said. “Say hi to Arron if you talk to him and send him our love.”

  “Will do.”

  I hung up and turned to Zeke. “I can’t believe Burnsy’s saying he’s given up surfing for good.”

  “He nearly died, Iris. He’ll come around, but he’s in shock.”

  “I hope so. Nothing sadder than an ex-surfer,” I said, trotting out the old surf-bum phrase that had been knocking around for decades.

  “He’ll surf again for sure,” Zeke said, letting go of my hand.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “He might not though,” I said.

  “If he can’t surf, he’ll wind up killing himself.”

  “Shut up, Zeke.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Why would you even say that?”

  He held up his forearm to me, and there it was, tattooed in black letters: Surf or Die.

  “Because I would.”

  tuesday

  chapter eleven

  “No point taking our boards,” Zeke said, coming in from the balcony and pulling shut the sliding door. “The ocean’s asphalt.”

  “I hope it picks up for the kids’ thing tomorrow.”

  “They’ll dig it whatever.”

  “Zeke,” I said, “did you hear anything else from Anders?”

  “No, I think he’s screening my calls.”

  “Why would he—”

  “I don’t know. He’s acting weird lately.”

  He wasn’t the only one.

  “Shall we run to the beach?” Zeke said, turning to me. “Burn off some off those donuts we ate for breakfast?”

  My trainers were wet from being left on the balcony, where they got caught in an early-morning tropical shower, so I laced up my old Converse All Stars instead.

  Zeke did not seem impressed.

  “You’ll get shin splints,” he said.

  “Says who?”

  “Me,” Zeke said. “Go put on some kicks.”

  “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

  Running along the crowded streets of Miami Beach felt amazing. There was a buzz and an energy there th
at I hadn’t felt anywhere else in the world. Zeke seemed to know his way around and took us down a few alley shortcuts, where dumpsters, wooden pallets and cardboard boxes were the most attractive part of the scenery. Halfway down one of these alleys, I stopped for a breather and called Zeke back.

  “What’s up?”

  I reached up and kissed him. “Thanks for this holiday,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

  He beamed with happiness at this and it occurred to me that maybe I didn’t tell him often enough how I felt. Didn’t tell him how much he meant to me. I just sort of assumed he knew. The idea of sitting him down and going through my feelings made me feel queasy it was the sort of thing my art student sister, Lily, would do, or my dad, and I avoided it. Maybe that was a mistake.

  I was self-aware enough to realize that wasn’t the whole story. I was embarrassed by the love burning inside me. Afraid of the intense devotion that slid around my throat. What if he used it against me?

  I pushed him against the wall of a building and kissed him more fiercely.

  There was a sound of someone clearing their throat. When we looked up, a young wealthy-looking guy in a sports jacket and chinos was staring at us from about twenty feet away. His sheltie ran over and licked me on the knee.

  To my mortification, this man seemed to think I was a hooker, because he shouted to Zeke, “Hey, man, when you’re done, can I have a turn?”

  Without missing a beat, Zeke answered, “No thanks, dude. I’m straight.”

  The guy looked confused and then walked off, while I laughed myself into a stitch.

  When we reached the beach, Zeke kicked off his trainers and stretched out on our beach blanket. “You’re not going to go sleep again, are you?” I said.

  “I didn’t sleep so good last night. Couldn’t stop the wheels turning.”

  “Thinking about Burnsy?”

  “Yeah, I really hope he’s gonna be OK. Plus, I think I’m like deficient in iron or something. I had crazy restless legs and ended up pacing round our room for two hours straight.”

  I’d evidently been completely out for the count, as I’d slept through all of this.