Dazzled

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “I’ll need my music,” he said, softly.

  I nodded my understanding, kissed him quickly, and watched him take a deep breath before opening the door.

  Rhonda gave me a long, measured look. “Take care of him,” she said.

  A few seconds later the volume of noise increased tenfold. I could hear the assembled reporters yelling their questions in a heated frenzy. I didn’t dare peek out of the window, but I could imagine Miles with his sunglasses pulled over his eyes, hoodie up, head down, being escorted into Rhonda’s waiting car.

  I knew it wasn’t the smart thing to do, but I was desperate to see what was happening. I risked a quick peek out of the window as the car engine revved threateningly. I half expected to see bodies flung left and right like in some adventure movie. Instead, the tank-like SUV edged its nose through the massed bodies while photographers pressed their camera lenses up against the car’s windows, hoping against hope that the tinted glass would reveal something.

  Then Miles was gone. Almost instantly, the street in front of the building was empty. Only a few abandoned paper cups and cigarette butts showed that anyone had ever been there.

  I waited 45 minutes, then headed out carrying Miles’ backpack stuffed with my spare jeans and a few t-shirts, and his precious sax.

  Having it in my hands made me feel connected to him. And I knew why he’d wanted me to take it – he didn’t want them to have that little extra piece of him that would have reminded them he was a musician. Maybe some other day, but not now. He was trying to hang on to himself – and I hoped he was strong enough to do it.

  The cab office was only a short walk, as Rhonda had promised. Luckily, a driver was available immediately and he didn’t give me a second look as I gave him Earl’s address.

  I climbed into the back seat and sent a text to Miles that I was on my way.

  His reply was immediate.

  Be safe. Mx

  The cab driver made an illegal U-turn in the street and headed out to Earl’s place in the quiet suburbs of Bellflower. The whole town was on a much smaller scale than anything I’d seen before in LA, and it felt like a real community, not just a bunch of people who happened to have bought a house in the same area. It reminded me a little of an English market town, as we passed farmland stretching out into the distance.

  After a short journey, I climbed out and paid the driver, but before I could walk up to the front steps, a woman with a dignified air and warm smile opened the door.

  “You must be Clare. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Maureen. Welcome to our home.”

  “Thank you so, so much! Thank you for helping Miles,” I babbled. “It’s just so crap what’s happened to him. Oh, sorry, I mean, it’s just rubbish and…”

  She smiled and her eyes sparkled.

  “Don’t worry, honey. I have two teenage children, plus I live with Earl. That man cusses like a walrus with toothache. Come on in.”

  Miles was waiting inside, still on edge and making sure there was no one waiting to snap a quick photograph.

  “Clare,” he breathed.

  “It’s okay, I wasn’t followed.”

  Bloody hell – now I was sounding like some rubbish cop movie.

  He pulled me into a tight hug and damn if he didn’t smell just sooooo fantastic. I couldn’t hug him back because I had my backpack in one hand and his sax in the other. I nearly dropped it on his foot because he’d cut off the blood supply to my arms.

  “Umph! Suffocating here!” I gasped.

  “Sorry! Sorry!” he muttered, loosening his grip a little. “I’m just so fucking glad to see you.”

  Maureen raised her eyebrows and gave me a conspiratorial smile.

  Earl was in the living room, nodding along to some smooth jazz. I listened for a moment.

  “Art Porter? ‘Lake Shore Drive’?”

  Earl looked up, surprise on his face, and Miles smiled at me with pride.

  “Oh, come on!” I said, “I’ve known Miles since we shared our first pram together! He practically gives me a written test on anything to do with jazz!”

  Earl snorted, and Maureen laughed out loud.

  “Can I get you a coffee, Clare? Cream? Sugar?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you! Just the cream, please.”

  She came back a few moments later and handed me a milky coffee, as well as a black one for Miles. Then I wondered how often he’d visited before because Maureen clearly knew how he took his coffee. Had he come here with Lilia?

  Oh my God! Now I was getting jealous of a married woman who made him a cup of coffee! I seriously had to unbung my head from that dark pit of despair I called my arse.

  Earl scowled. “Where’s my darn coffee, woman?”

  “You can have decaff or water, old man!” snapped Maureen.

  Earl grumbled for a moment then agreed he’d have decaff. Maureen winked at me.

  “So,” I said, sitting back on the large couch. “What’s the plan?”

  Earl grinned. “You want to tell her, son?”

  Miles managed a small smile.

  “Earl said we could borrow his campervan. Well, his son’s campervan, so we can just take off. Road trip – what do you think?”

  His expression showed excitement – mine probably showed horror.

  “Camping? As in, not having a place to stay.”

  I wasn’t too keen on the idea. I mean, you know, now showers and flushing toilets had been invented, I didn’t really get the whole ‘back to nature’ vibe.

  Miles rolled his eyes. “You were all up for doing the beer festivals in Germany last summer.”

  Yeah, not quite how my memory replayed that conversation.

  “Besides,” he said, quietly, “if I don’t check into a hotel, there’s less chance I’ll be found.”

  There was no way I could refuse him after that – and he knew it. Git.

  “Okay, but you’ll owe me for this Stephens.”

  His smile was tinged with relief, and I felt bad for making such a song and dance about it. After all, it wasn’t camping with tents – God, what a horrible thought – at least we’d have a roof over our heads, even if we’d be sleeping in a tin can instead.

  “The things I do for you,” I said, shaking my head.

  He blew out a shuddering breath. “I know. Thanks,” he said, quietly.

  Maureen patted his shoulder, her eyes sympathetic.

  “Did you call your mom yet?” she said.

  My head snapped up, and Miles groaned.

  “Shit, no, I haven’t. Ah hell, I’d better go and do that.” He looked at me. “What am I going to say to her?”

  “The truth,” I said. “That Lilia… let you down. That you’re okay and we’re going to get out of town for a few days.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “If you want to make your call in the backyard…” Maureen suggested, gently.

  He nodded again and headed outside.

  I sat listening to the soothing music, sipping my coffee. But inside, my emotions were still churning from the rollercoaster ride of the last couple of hours.

  A few minutes later Miles returned, his face stony. My heavy heart sank a little further.

  “How was it?”

  He hitched one shoulder. “She cried.”

  I didn’t know what to say after that, and the silence was profound.

  We all jumped when music started pounding through the walls upstairs, and Maureen’s voice could be heard yelling from the kitchen.

  “Turn it down, Deena! Don’t make me come up there and tell you!”

  “My daughter,” said Earl, his face glum. “She likes Justin Bieber.”

  “Oh, um, that’s nice,” I said, trying not to gag. “He’s, um, very…”

  “Popular,” Miles suggested, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “Yes, that’s the word!” I agreed, brightly.

  Wow! Miles’ media training was really paying off.

  Earl gave a small smile. “My boy, Freddy, he likes jazz.
”

  “Oh, thank God,” muttered Miles.

  “You said it, son,” agreed Earl, with a nod.

  The music lessened by a fraction and we could hear loud thumps, as if someone was tossing heavy books onto the floor above us. Maureen’s lips narrowed as she walked back in with Earl’s decaff, and she muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t hear.

  “Excuse me a moment.”

  She stomped up the stairs, and Earl grinned at our startled faces.

  “God loves a feisty woman, and it sure makes life interesting.”

  He winked at me, and I wasn’t certain if it was an insult or a compliment. But as the latter was rarer than hen’s teeth, I just smiled back.

  A few moments later we heard raised voices, then the music cut out suddenly.

  Thundering footsteps were heard on the stairs as Maureen’s voice sliced through the silence.

  “Deena,” she hissed. “We have guests!”

  A sulky teenage girl sashayed into the room. She stood with one hand on her hip, surveying her realm. I was in awe – half a ton of attitude, a pound of opinion, and an ounce of concern caused the girl to frown at Earl. Then she saw me, and she looked taken aback. I smiled tentatively and she blinked.

  But when she saw Miles, her jaw dropped open, and her eyebrows shot up so far that I thought her eyes would topple out of her head. Which was pretty much what happened with most females when they met Miles. And a few men.

  “This is your daddy’s friend Miles,” said Maureen, with a hint of suppressed amusement in her voice, “and Miles’ friend Clare.”

  “Hi,” I said, trying not to laugh at the poor kid’s reaction.

  Hormones are just crap when you’re a teenager. I remembered when I saw a guy I liked – I was so embarrassed, even my arse was blushing.

  “Hi, Deena,” said Miles, calmly. “It’s nice to meet you at last.”

  I thought she was going to burst into tears, but she rallied quickly, and soon Maureen was busy taking photographs of the two of them. Deena chattered away about what a big fan she was of Laura Dorien and how she’d just die when she saw the movie, and she thought the trailer was awesome and boom ting, and the promotional posters amazing.

  And even though it was the worst day of his life, and even though his private life was being dragged through the mud, Miles had smiled at a young girl so he could make her day.

  I was so proud of him. And so in awe. And so in love that it made me want to puke. If I had any balls, I’d have kneed myself in them. God, pathetic much.

  As soon as Deena had raced upstairs to post the photographs of Miles on her Facebook page, Earl took us out to the garage and showed us the campervan. It was a totally cool, beat-up old VW – the kind of thing my mum would have called ‘a passion wagon’. God, I hoped she was right.

  “Freddy will be home for the holidays, but you’re welcome to keep the van for a couple of weeks,” Earl said, stroking the rusty chrome logo. “She’s got everything you want – pull out beds, two ring gas stove…”

  “Shower and loo?” I muttered to myself.

  “Oh, and he keeps his wetsuit in the closet. You could borrow that, too – you’re about the same size.”

  Miles nodded. He looked a bit nervous at the thought of driving such a large vehicle. After all, he’d only got his license about seven months previously.

  “So, you’ve got a full tank of gas…” said Earl.

  “Half a pack of cigarettes?” I suggested.

  Miles smiled. “It’s dark and we’re wearing sunglasses.”

  “Hit it!” we said together, and Miles laughed.

  It was so damn good to hear that – The Blues Brothers was one of our favorite films. It reminded me of nights in, cheap beer and pizza.

  We chucked our bags inside, well, I did the chucking; Miles tenderly placed his sax in a drawer under the seats where it wouldn’t get thrown about.

  The plan was to head north on the Pacific Highway, stop at one of the country park campsites west of Santa Barbara, chill for a few days, then go on to Saint Luis Obispo and a small jazz festival that Earl had recommended. If Miles got recognized, we’d just move on.

  I had no idea how I was going to move on – from him, I mean.

  Miles

  My mood lifted when I saw the expanse of wide, yellow sand, and smooth, glassy waves breaking in the background.

  I’d been driving for a couple of hours, just taking it easy, not in any particular hurry, letting the tension seep away. But seeing that beach, I really wanted to stop.

  Clare said she didn’t mind, so I pulled into the small, sandy parking site of a designated camping area and cut the engine. I could hear the waves crashing onto the shore below, and seagulls wheeling in the sky, their cry echoing the sound in my head every time I thought of Lilia. But it was peaceful here, too – no people.

  “I’m going to go for a swim,” I said, decisively. “Are you coming in?”

  Clare shook her head, shivering as she imagined the cold water of the Pacific ocean.

  “No bloody way! It’s December.”

  “Uh huh, but they’ve invented wetsuits,” I smiled, pointing at the sign that advertised rentals.

  She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head again. I couldn’t help noticing that when she crossed her arms, it pushed her tits up.

  Yeah, well, I’m a guy, and I wasn’t dead yet.

  I dug through the small closet at the back of the van and pulled out the funky-smelling neoprene suit.

  Clare wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks. You go ahead.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Take a walk along the beach – see if I can find any driftwood to build a fire. We could toast some marshmallows.”

  She raised her eyebrows and winked. I couldn’t help laughing. That sounded perfect. Clare always knew how to make me feel better.

  “Fantastic! I’ll see you in an hour or so.”

  “Have fun,” she said, as if she couldn’t believe that would be possible on a cool December morning.

  The gray waves stretched toward the horizon, and I had the beach almost to myself. We’d passed a car parked about a quarter of a mile away, and I could see two surfers, tiny dots in the distance, but that was all. It was just what I wanted – emptiness. It matched how I felt inside. Thank God Clare was there, otherwise I might have seriously considered finding out if I could swim to Hawaii.

  The beach was small, just a dip in the curve of a larger bay, with huge boulders jutting out through the soft sand. The contrast seemed significant, although I couldn’t explain why.

  It felt good to be in the sea, even though the water was damn cold. Jumping through waves and bodysurfing back to the beach, it was hard to think of anything else. I dived under some more waves and swam behind where they were breaking. The cold water made my head ache, but I didn’t care – in fact I welcomed the physical pain.

  After a while I realized that I was much nearer to the two surfers than when I’d started out. The current must have pulled me along without me noticing it. I caught a wave back to the beach, and watched as one of the surfers rode the wave behind me. As the figure got nearer, I saw that it was a woman. There was definitely something to be said for skintight wetsuits. Luckily, my dick was too shrunken with cold to pay much attention.

  The blonde surfer smiled at me as she tucked her board under her arm and waded out of the foam.

  “Hi there! Did ya forget your board?” she said, her tone amused.

  “Damn it! I knew I was doing something wrong.”

  She giggled. “That’s cute! And I just love your accent! Are you British?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “I’m Sasha!”

  Her brunette friend paddled over to join us, and threw a look that I recognized.

  “And I’m Cameron. Wow, up close you really look like that actor guy,” she said, suddenly.

  “Who?” asked Sasha, frowning.

  “You know… the Bri
tish guy from that film.”

  “British?” Sasha echoed, eyeing me narrowly. “Which film?”

  “You know – the one with the angel. Um… Dazzled!”

  “Oh yeah! You totally do!” Sasha agreed, enthusiastically.

  They looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

  God, this was going to be awkward.

  “So, what’s your name?” said the one called Sasha.

  “Miles.”

  There was a beat, then their mouths dropped open in synchronized surprise. It was almost funny.

  “Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod! You’re him! You’re really him!”

  Great, just what I didn’t want.

  “Er, yeah, I guess.”

  I could see the exact moment that they connected me with all bullshit flying around about Lilia.

  “Oh, God! I’m so sorry about your girlfriend!” breathed Sasha, her eyes wide and full of more bloody pity.

  “Yes, she’s such a freakin’ ho!” Cameron added, her face severe. “I can’t believe she did that to you! I mean, blowing that guy – and there are photos and everything!”

  I couldn’t help wincing. I sooo didn’t need to be reminded. Jeez, it was like being back at school. Everyone knew you’d been dumped before you got through the door, and because your girlfriend hadn’t got around to telling you herself, you were the last to know.

  “Yeah, well… Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “We’re so sorry,” whispered Sasha.

  It was as if someone had died. But no, just my pride – and yet another relationship.

  “Yeah, I’m going to head off now,” I muttered, pathetically.

  “What are you doing here?” said Cameron, breezily.

  “Oh, just taking it easy. Chilling out.” Avoiding the press. Hiding, mostly.

  “Cool!” smiled Sasha. “Hey, we could teach you to surf if you like!”

  Great – and then they could hold a pity party for me while they were at it.

  “Thanks, that would have been good, but I, um, have to get going now. Gotta, you know, get going.”

  I started edging away from them and Sasha’s face fell. I was half expecting her to unzip her wetsuit, whip out a notebook and pen, and ask for my autograph. But I managed to get away without them telling me how sorry they were again.

  “It was nice meeting you!” Cameron called after me.