After the movie, we were heading for the lobby when Rosalyn stopped in her tracks. “Hey, why are we leaving?”
“Umm, because the movie’s over?”
“You dummy, let’s go see what else is on.”
“But we only paid for one movie.”
She turned and faced me, hands on hips. “How old are you again? Ninety? What else have we got to do?”
“I don’t know if—”
“Oh, come on, let’s go check out that new Scream movie.”
“But we’ll have to pay again.”
“No we won’t. We’re already in, nobody’s watching, and besides, they’re playing the movies all day. What do they care?” She grabbed me by the arm and herded me toward theater number six, where Scream 3 was playing.
“That movie’s not going to be any good. They’re already on number three. How many more people can they slash?” I didn’t want to tell Rosalyn, but I didn’t like scary movies. They gave me nightmares.
“Quit being such a downer. Come on, it’ll be fun. Are you in, or are you out?”
Without waiting for a response, she linked her arm in mine, and we entered the dark theater just as the killer with the scary mask stabbed somebody with a shiny butcher knife. There went any hope of sweet dreams for the night.
We scrunched down into our seats in the back of the theater, and if I’d had a hard time concentrating before, I may as well have forgotten about it then because every time something creepy happened, Rosalyn jumped and grabbed on to my arm, and a few times, she even grabbed my leg, her fingernails digging into my jeans. She smelled fantastic, and her body was warm. My heartbeat sped up, and I readjusted my jeans, which were suddenly too tight.
“Why didn’t you tell me this movie was going to be so gory?” She leaned into me, whispering, her breath on my ear, her warm lips making contact with the skin of my earlobe. I smiled and patted her leg, trying to contain my arousal.
When the movie was over, Rosalyn wanted to watch all the credits. She sighed. “I love how many artists it takes to put these things together.”
I laughed. “A Scream movie’s not artistic.”
She looked at me in mock horror. “Don’t say that! These people worked hard so we could enjoy ourselves.” Rosalyn had a way of looking at the world that I’d never considered. Looking through her eyes, everything seemed fresh, new and artistic.
We left the theater. Rosalyn hooked an arm through mine again. “That was a blast. Thanks for putting up with me.”
With all this hanging out we were doing, I started worrying about Rosalyn. She needed help. She needed a man around the house. I worried about whether she’d be okay with her reckless personality and her pot smoking and her car that had such high mileage. I wanted to take care of her however I could, but I was only a teenager with homework and an addiction to surfing. And I was eager to help because, well, because with her smile and her delicious scent, Rosalyn could’ve talked me into just about anything.
For the next few weeks, I helped her around the house by doing things like fixing loose door handles, fixing the float in the toilet so it would flush, hanging curtains in her living room and painting her bedroom wall that deep purple color she liked.
Rosalyn even gave me the key to her house, and I tried to find any excuse to be in her home. When she wasn’t around, I’d slowly walk through her apartment and soak up the scent of her, read the shopping lists she’d written in that loose, loopy writing of hers, walk into her bathroom, and open the medicine cabinet where she had a jumble of all kinds of herbs and holistic junk crammed in. Her birth control pills and tampons were jammed into the cabinet right next to the rubbing alcohol.
Once, she’d left her work uniform hanging on the hook that I had affixed to the back of the bathroom door. Rosalyn had been wearing that. I held the uniform to my nose and inhaled as deeply as I could. My head immediately felt dizzy, kind of like when I was sick, only I wasn’t. My knees felt like they were going to give out, and my stomach did a flip-flop. I grabbed onto the towel rack before I fell. Super weird.
My mom, dad, and Tyler didn’t say anything about me spending so much time with Rosalyn, or maybe they thought I was surfing more than I was, and to be honest, there wasn’t much to tell.
Yet.
Rosalyn
I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes that night, singing loud to Aerosmith’s “Dream On.”
“Sweetie, will you take out the trash?” I asked Jax. He had wiped down the countertops and was already bundling up the garbage. He slid his body around mine, making his way to the cupboard underneath the sink.
“Can you please scoot out of my way? I need to get the trash bags.” He brushed my bare leg, and I wasn’t expecting how warm his hand would feel. Gotta stop hitting the bong so much, Rosalyn. The pot I’d smoked that night mixed with Aerosmith had warmed my veins. I sucked in a breath.
When Jax returned from emptying the trash, he opened the backdoor into the kitchen and smiled.
He slowly walked to the sink where I washed dishes and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down, his athletic frame towering over me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you staring at me?”
With great ceremony, he unzipped the sweatshirt and revealed a black kitten that couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old.
“Look what I found.”
I whirled around. “What?! Where did you find him?” I turned off the water and stripped off my pink gloves, dropping a soapy dish into the sink where it landed in the sudsy water with a splash.
“Little guy was out by the trash cans.”
“He was?”
“Yep. I heard something that sounded like a baby crying, and there he was.”
“Hey, sweetie,” I said, reaching my hand out for its inspection. The trembling kitten mewed and sniffed at my hand. I picked the baby up. Jax reached over, petting the little guy, who then began to purr.
“Oh my gosh! He’s just a baby.”
“He was all by himself out there.”
“Well, did you try to find a mommy anywhere?”
“I looked around, and it was just him. Weird, huh?”
“Poor little sweetie. What were you doing out there all alone? You need a mama to take care of you,” I crooned.
We walked into the living room and sat on the sofa together. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing? Going to have to get you all cleaned up.” I turned the kitten over on his back. “Oh, look at him, he’s got fleas all over.”
Jax sat next to me, our legs touching, and petted the kitty under his chin. “You’re going to be okay, little guy. We’ve got you now,” he said.
“Honey, we’ve got to take care of him. Bring my purse over. I need you to get some cat food from the corner store. Get the wet kind; he’s too young for dry food.”
While Jax was gone, I poured the kitten a saucer of milk, which he happily lapped up.
When Jax returned, he had a brown paper bag containing the wet cat food and a smile on his face. He leaned over the kitty. “He can barely drink the milk without drowning.”
I picked the kitten up and held him aloft. “Look at him. He’s so adorable. Little baby has milk all over his face. Let’s see if we can wash him off.”
Between the two of us, we managed to get the kitten lathered up with dishwashing soap diluted with warm water. The kitty squirmed. “Hold him still.” As we stood at the kitchen sink, Jax’s body touching mine, he helped me keep the kitten still and calm. I dried him gently with a soft towel. “I think I’m in love.”
And that was how Leo came to live with me. We sat in the living room that night trying to come up with a name for the kitten.
“Blackie?” I said.
“No, that’s dumb,” he said.
“Fuzzy?”
“He’s not fuzzy.”
“Kitty?”
“Now, that’s original.”
“I know! How about Leonardo De Catrio?” I said.
“
I’ve got a better one. How about Leonardo De CatLeo?” Jax said.
I burst into laughter. “Guess I’m not the only creative one around here.”
The night was cool and quiet, a few crickets audible through the open window, the faint ocean breeze tickling my nostrils. Jax’s body was warm next to mine, and the two of us petted little Leonardo De CatLeo as the kitten purred. Something was changing between Jax and me. I’d been in Point Loma for three months and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt a part of something, almost like we were a family.
* * *
I was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, paintbrush in hand, when the phone rang and jolted me out of my artistic concentration.
“Hey there,” Carissa said. “How’s the surfer girl?”
Setting the brush aside, I stood up, and then fell into the comfort of my worn sofa. “The surfer girl is painting, you’ll be happy to know.”
I could almost hear her clap her hands. “Cool! What are you working on?”
I squinted my eyes and appraised my work. “It’s a big wave. Oil on canvas.”
She laughed. “I should’ve known. You and your surfing. So, tell me about it.”
“Well, this one’s kind of special.”
“They’re all special. Maybe one day we’ll even sell some of our work. Why’s it special?”
“It’s for Jax’s birthday.”
“Jax? You mean Lydia’s son?”
I crossed my leg at the knee, my foot swinging hard. Then, I popped off the sofa and drifted to the window. “I think it’s good.” I gazed at the painting. “I found some photos for reference in a surfing magazine and I’ve got this really cool sunset thing going on in the background, and it’s got a surfer in the tube. I’m trying to make the surfer look exactly like Jax.”
“First time I’ve heard you painting people. You always liked landscapes.”
“Yeah, well, it’s his birthday.”
“How old?”
“Eighteen.” I examined the picture, my artist’s eye appraising. “I want to get it just right. Not that you can see his face that much in the painting.” I bounced on my toes, my smile broad. “You should see how great a surfer he is. The guy could probably compete if he wanted. He’s the best!” I thought of Jax’s athletic body, almost like a dancer’s. “You know, he’s so patient with me when he takes me in the ocean. He’s one of the best surfers in the lineup. He’s so much fun to surf with. I feel like a kid again.”
“Well, that sounds fun. Do you think he’d teach me if I ever visit?” The thought of Jax putting his hands on Carissa’s back and legs while he pushed her into waves filled me with an irrational jealousy.
“I guess so.” I walked to the painting and kneeled in front of it. The energy of the piece impressed even me. “You know, being in the ocean somehow brings out my creativity.” I picked up my paintbrush, feeling that familiar rush of excitement when I knew a piece was going to be spectacular. “I wish you could see this. I’ve got the mix of colors perfect. Every time I look at it, I feel like I’m surfing in the tube.”
“Can you do that yet?”
“Not hardly. That’s a pretty advanced move. You need powerful waves. But you should see Jax when he’s in the tube. Watching that man surf is poetry.”
She chuckled. “You sound pretty fired up.”
I smiled. Every time I thought of surfing with Jax, I felt a thrill. “Listen to me going on about surfing. How are you doing?”
“Same old stuff. Waiting tables, working late. Corralling the drunks who like to hang out drinking tequila.” She laughed. “Some of these folks up here need to get a life. I have to practically shove them into the street at closing time.”
I was not missing my bohemian life in Santa Fe. “I remember those drunks well. But look at the bright side. They get to hang out with you.”
She chuckled. “One of these day’s I’m following your lead and getting a life.”
“Hey, I’ve got to go. I need to put the finishing touches on this so it’s dry to the touch before the party.”
We hung up the phone and I cranked up my music. My paintbrush moved across the canvas with sure strokes, the power of the ocean scene and the lightheartedness of being with Jax filling me with contentment. He was going to love it.
* * *
Walking up the steps to Lydia and Troy’s house, I heard Tyler’s guitar screaming out a tune. I knocked on the door and it opened even before I had a chance to knock twice.
Jax swung the door open so fast that I hopped backward. “Hey Rosalyn!”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” I handed him the wrapped present and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
He accepted the package and his face turned crimson. His innocence was adorable. “For me? Thanks.” He stepped aside. “Come on in.”
I stepped into the living room and sat on the sofa next to Tyler. “Hey, Rosalyn,” he said. His eyes barely strayed from the fret board.
Lydia said, “Tyler, put that thing down and say hello to Rosalyn. Where are your manners? Ask her if she wants a drink.” Tyler let out a sigh, set the guitar aside, and gave me a lopsided grin.
Jax hovered over the sofa. “Rosalyn, what would you like to drink?”
“Water’s fine.”
Tyler popped off the sofa and swaggered into the kitchen, flicking his long hair over one shoulder. “I’ll get it, Jax.”
“No, I’ll get it,” Jax said, nudging his brother out of the way.
Lydia laughed. “I guess you’ll both get the drink.” I stood to give Lydia a hug. When she pulled away she gave me the once over, her face beaming. “Look at you. I think California agrees with you. You’re tan, in fact you’re almost glowing. Have you been working out?”
Jax raced to my side and handed me the glass of water. “Rosalyn’s getting to be a pretty good surfer.”
I accepted the drink and took a sip. “Not that good.”
Lydia said, “Jax gives great surf lessons.” She placed an arm around Jax. “That’s so sweet of you to help out, honey.”
“Stop it, Mom. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re almost a man now,” she said. “Pretty soon you’ll have babies of your own and be all grown up and …” Lydia’s eyes misted over then she straightened. “Look at me. This is a birthday dinner. Let’s have fun.”
The garage door opened and Troy walked into the living room. “Hey everyone!” He winked at Jax. “Don’t get any ideas about checking out the garage. Your present’s in there.”
The five of us went to work setting the table and helping Lydia with her famous lasagna, garlic bread, and a green salad. Jax and Tyler were so helpful around the kitchen and it warmed my heart the way they interacted with their mom and dad. Maybe one day I would have a family scene like that of my own.
After dinner, Lydia dimmed the lights in the living room. “Rosalyn, help me in the kitchen, will you?” While the rest of the family relaxed, Lydia and I lit the candles on the cake. “Eighteen. I can’t believe it,” she said. “Seems like just yesterday the boys were my little babies.”
I leaned over the cake with a match. “Wouldn’t want to burn the house down with all these candles.” I blew the match out. “Jax is great, Lydia. You must be proud.”
“Birthdays always make me realize I’m that much closer to losing them.” She smiled and picked up the delicacy. We walked into the dining room.
Tyler stood with his electric guitar. He smiled up at us and the opening chords of “Happy Birthday” shrieked to life. His fingers moved with dexterity over the fret board, reminding me of Jimi Hendrix playing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at Woodstock. The piercing notes reverberated in my chest. We all broke into a rip-roaring rendition of the song. Jax beamed, his smiling eyes connecting with everyone, finally settling on me. Then he leaned forward and blew out the candles. The song ended with one vibrant note that filled the room.
“Thanks, guys. My favorite! Carrot cake.” He gr
inned at his brother. “Tyler, you sure know how to shred it.” He picked up a knife and cut five pieces to pass around the table.
We dug into dessert. Tyler handed Jax a card and a brown paper bag with the lettering, “In-The-Hook Surf Shop.” Jax sifted through the bag. “A surf comb! Cool.” His hand reached further into the bag. “Surf wax.” He laid three bars of SexWax on the table. “A man can always use more surf wax.” Lydia’s present to Jax was an expensive looking plaid shirt along with several surf T-shirts. Jax stood up, holding the plaid shirt against his chest. “This’ll come in handy at the beach.”
Lydia said, “Don’t ruin it! It’s meant to be something nice, if you have a date.”
“Whoever the lucky lady is, she’d better surf.” Then, Troy went into the garage and returned with an awkwardly wrapped, large present. “I wonder what this is?” Jax said, a twinkle in his eye. He tore at the wrapping paper and unveiled a brand-new surfboard with the name “Fresh Pineapple” written in artistic script on the top of the board. Jax’s expression was pure joy. “A Bill Shrosbree board!”
Tyler said, “He makes the best.”
Troy clapped Jax on the back. “Be ready to paddle out this weekend. You and I are taking her for a spin.”
My heartbeat sped up when I handed Jax my present. I was always nervous about how my artwork would be received. “I hope you like it.” I dropped into my chair and leaned forward slightly as Jax removed the wrapping paper.
When he saw the painting, he gasped and his fingers touched his parted lips. “Whoa! This is amazing.” His fingers ran lightly over the surface.
“It’s dry to the touch,” I said, “I’ll cover it in varnish in a few weeks.”
Troy, Lydia and Tyler left their seats and stood behind Jax to admire the painting.
“It makes me feel like I’m in the ocean,” Troy said.
“This is gorgeous,” Lydia said.
Tyler lifted the painting and squinted his eyes. “It looks just like Jax.”
Peaks of Passion: Pleasure Point Series Book One Page 3
