The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA

by Belinda Jones

  'Whatever it is, she looks pretty good on it!' Elliot says.

  'Yeah, I'd give it a try.' Sasha looks wistful.

  'I wonder if she can get us temporary membership,' Zoë ponders.

  'I don't think we should mention it again till she does,' Elise decides.

  'Why not?' Zoë frowns.

  'That way we'll know if she's trying to convert us.'

  'Ahhh!' we nod, all going along with Elise's paranoia for some inexplicable reason.

  'So we'll just keep—'

  'Quiet!' Elise shushes Zoë. 'She's coming back!'

  We all resume 'mmmmmm-delicious' poses with various pastry props and act as though our conversation got no further than eulogizing the mini lemon meringue pies. Helen surprises all of us by not mentioning The California Club again, although instead of this being a relief, it just fuels our curiosity. But we daren't cross Elise so soon after we vowed silence on the subject and frankly I could I do with little break before the next revelation.

  Besides, we’ve just been presented with a giant platter of wedding cake.

  What’s that phrase about eating your feelings? Got to be worth a try…

  Chapter 6

  I tilt my head at the swathe of sky unraveling for miles in either direction from our vantage point on the beachfront terrace. The wisps of clouds look to me like powdery icing sugar blown across a sheet of blue silk.

  'Hellooo!' Zoë whistles as three bare torsos jog by in such strict formation they look like a six-legged Chippendale.

  ‘The Navy SEALS have their base on the island,' Helen explains. ‘They're here every day.’

  ‘Welcome, to paradise!' Zoë sighs, then frowns as she points to where the flat bands of sand meet the sea. 'What's going on there?'

  We follow her gaze to where a family of five are dodging the lapping waves. Head to toe in black, they seem to be transplanted from another era. I remember Helen saying the hotel had a ghost and I'm about to ask whether these might be visiting spooks when we realize they are in fact an Amish family – Dad and sons sporting braces and straw boaters, the mother and daughters in matching bonnets.

  'It looks like a scene from The Piano,' Elise gawps.

  'Now I've never seen that before!' Even Helen is bemused. 'Come on, I want to show you something.'

  'Is this the haunted stairwell?'

  'Not yet.'

  Helen leads us along the seafront walkway to a private bungalow with its own gated entrance. It has a matching exterior to the hotel – white wooden frame and red roof - yet seems to have more of a cottagey interior.

  'We can't go in because it's occupied, but this is the beach house where Marilyn Monroe stayed during filming.'

  As Zoë throws herself against the railings, crying 'I want to touch it!' I find myself wondering how I might have lured a celebrity to stay the night at the B&B and then named the room after them. The George Clooney Suite, in an ideal world. Doesn't that sound fetching? But then I experience a stab of regret. Why are ideas presenting themselves to me now when it's too late to implement them?

  ‘Do you like it, Lara?' Helen asks.

  'How many does it sleep?' I reply with a question.

  ‘At least six, I think…'

  'Room enough for all of us!' Elliot decides. 'How much?'

  'At this time of year, about $3,000.’

  'Please tell me that's for the week.'

  'A night.’

  ‘I've got to find a millionaire,' Zoë scans the horizon.

  'Have you been inside?' I ask, dying for a glimpse.

  'Of course!' Helen nods.

  'Well?' I prompt her.

  'Maybe you'll get to see it for yourselves soon …' Helen gives a mischievous twinkle.

  Zoë swings round, 'Oh Helen, you haven't! Can we … Are we …?' Zoë splutters, pawing at Helen's sleeve.

  'Do you mean a tour? A night?' Elliot tries to get the specifics.

  'You'll have to wait and see!'

  'Not this too!' Zoë wails. 'Helen, you're killing us with all this suspense!’

  Elise gives Zoë a dark look.

  'Aren't I wicked?' Helen chirrups, unfazed. 'Come on, let's go back to the main hotel, I'll tell you the hotel ghost story.'

  'Do we get to hear the end?' Zoë grumbles.

  Helen smiles as she takes her arm. 'Of course!'

  ‘What are all these metal things sticking out of the ceilings?' I ask as Helen leads us along one of the extra-wide corridors.

  'Sprinklers. This building is predominantly made of wood and one of the original owners was terrified at the speed with which a fire would spread so he had gazillions of the things installed. Now they say you'd have more chance of drowning than burning.'

  'Speaking of death,' Elise finally finds a subject she feels an affinity with. 'You mentioned a ghost …'

  Helen continues for a couple more paces before turning to face us. 'Kate Morgan was just twenty-four when she put a gun to her head and shot herself, right here in the hotel.’

  Gosh. That’s quite an opener.

  ‘She had argued with her husband on the train to San Diego, he got off early, she continued on, waited five days for him to arrive and when he didn't show up at the hotel she took her own life.'

  Sasha, Zoë and I sigh. What woman can't relate to the madness-inducing frustrations of the waiting game.

  ‘Or…’ Helen gets a mischievous look.

  ‘She was coming here to meet her lover. She signed in under a false name after all. Why would she do that if she was expecting her husband? What if he had found out that she was having an affair, tracked her down and shot her himself.’

  ‘Oh gosh!’

  ‘This was 1892, the hotel had only been opened a few years and they would have preferred the tragedy of a suicide over the menace of a murder…’

  ‘So it’s a bit of a whodunit as well as a ghost story?’

  Helen nods. ‘There was also speculation that she was pregnant or had stomach cancer – two other possible motives…’

  ‘But what about the actual ghost aspect?’ Elliot wants to know.

  ‘Well, we've had reports of extreme changes in temperature, strange sounds, fragrances, piles of papers being strewn across a room, people tripping on the step where her body was found …'

  'She doesn't realize that she's gone.' Sasha looks sad. 'She can't understand why people can't see her, why they just walk through her.'

  I lean out on the balcony overlooking the central courtyard. 'Isn't it funny,' I muse. 'To everyone else here this place really is heaven.'

  'Yeah, if it wasn't full of Americans it would be great.'

  Thank you Elise.

  I try to exchange a look with Sasha but her eyes are averted and if I'm not mistaken her bottom lip is trembling.

  'Back in a mo!' she swiftly excuses herself.

  'We'll be at the terrace bar!' Helen calls after her.

  As the others move away, I discreetly drop back then turn to follow Sasha, finally locating her in the Ladies, staring miserably into the sink.

  She startles as she catches sight of my reflection and blusters, ‘Do you think these orchids are real? I mean they probably-‘

  'Are you okay?' I cut in, concerned at how disturbed she looks. I'm fairly certain it's not just the ghost story unsettling her.

  She looks at me for a second and then starts feverishly soaping and frothing her hands like a pin-up version of Lady Macbeth. 'I just feel a bit queasy, I think it was the pecan pie – I'm not very good with caramelized nuts.' Sasha is a terrible liar. She knows it too, so she has another go: 'Or it could be the jet lag, you know I read it can actually cause depression in some people.'

  'Is it Helen?' I gently enquire.

  'No! Of course not! Why would it be?' she reels. 'I'm really happy to see her!'

  'Me too, it's just …' I hesitate before shuffling out on to a limb. 'It's just thrown me a bit how much things have changed for her.'

  I check for a smidgeon of empathy on Sasha's face
, find it, and proceed.

  'She's the last person I expected to have some kind of life epiphany. I mean, it's really exciting and I'm so pleased she's met someone but it was always us two who never had a boyfriend and now she's got one and—'

  Sasha holds my gaze.

  'I feel left behind,’ I finish.

  ‘Oh me too!' splurges Sasha. 'She looks so alive! Before I always felt something was missing from her life too. Like we were both going through the motions,' she sighs. 'We never actually spoke about it but I'd look at her and think something doesn't fit right, and now she just looks so complete and content.’

  I've never felt more in common with Sasha than I do right now. To look at us as a group, you'd think she would be the number one having-it-all contender but Helen has trumped the lot of us.

  'Are you afraid it's never going to happen for you?' I ask, brimming with empathy.

  Sasha nods.

  'It should make us feel better, shouldn't it? Like she's giving us hope!' I smile.

  'I know, it's weird. I am pleased for her. But I'm also …' Sasha squints as she plays name-that-emotion.

  'Jealous?' I suggest.

  ‘Not jealous exactly …' Sasha frowns.

  'I am,' I confess.

  'Oh me too!' Sasha wails. 'I hate myself for it. She totally deserves it.'

  'She does,' I confirm. Funny how it still hurts.

  'It's just …' Sasha looks wistful. 'I feel like I don't know her any more.'

  'She's crossed over.'

  'Become one of them.'

  'The Happy People,' I gurgle.

  'People with lives.'

  'And we're still us.' We sigh in unison.

  I lean against the marble wall, wondering what we do next. I didn't even know how bleak my life was until I saw Helen looking so vibrantly in her element. I was even reasonably resigned to losing the B&B – it seemed like too much work to fight for it. All I was interested in was coming on holiday and forgetting about it all. But now … Now I'm all at sea.

  'Do you really think this California Club is the key?' Sasha queries.

  ‘There's definitely something to it,' I decide. 'You don't get that level of transformation just from a change in the weather!'

  As soon as I've said it I disagree with myself. Of course all this sunshine could be the answer. Maybe Helen's found a way to liquefy it, so now pure radiance pumps through her veins.

  'Whatever she's got, let's hope it's contagious!' I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  'Maybe she'll be able to give us a few clues on how to get it.' Sasha plays along.

  'Yeah – we've got an insider on our side now. This is great!'

  It's taking every ounce of my strength to try and jolly us up. Ordinarily this situation would qualify for a whole evening's wallowing and soul-searching but we need to buck ourselves up in a matter of minutes so we can put on a bright face for the others.

  'It's not like there's only enough happiness in the world for a few people, is it?' Sasha asks, sounding a little uncertain.

  'Of course not. There's an infinite supply!' I cheer.

  'Yeah!' Sasha dries off her hands in an efficient 'glad we got that sorted' way.

  ‘You know what else – maybe we were holding each other back, thinking it was okay to stay the same because we weren't the only one,' I suggest. 'Maybe we didn't want to be the first ones to get a man or a life.'

  'I guess a rut can get pretty cozy when your best friend's in it with you,' Sasha sighs.

  'It's a theory,' I acknowledge. 'Now this could set us free!'

  'Wow!' Sasha takes a moment to process the thought. 'Whatever has happened to Helen could be the best thing to ever happen to us.'

  I know neither of us really believe it and that later our minds will weave back to our respective problems but it's good enough for now.

  On the way to the terrace bar we go from navel-gazing to window-shopping – the lower level has a line of boutiques showcasing resort-wear, bed and bath products, jewelry and bon-bons. There’s still a high level of tourists present but also some very chic, monied ladies with amazing sheeny-bronzed legs.

  ‘They really look like they take care of themselves, don’t they?’

  Sasha smiles. ‘It’s looks like the opposite to me!’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I frown.

  ‘These kind of women have masseurs and personal trainers and aestheticians to take care of them. It’s makes a big difference in the overall polish.’

  I nod. She’s right. Even the older gent beckoning to his colleague has immaculately manicured hands.

  ‘By the way, who was that guy earlier?'

  'What guy?' Sasha does it again.

  'The one with the—' I tug at my earlobe.

  'My god! Weren't they huge? Up close they looked like big fleshy cuts of meat!'

  I wait for her to reveal his identity.

  'You know, my dad convinced himself his ears were getting bigger as he got older and so I looked it up in a medical dictionary and—'

  'Sasha!'

  'Well, he says he's a movie producer.'

  I gawp. Only Sasha could get a casting call within two hours of touching down. Fortunately I'm all envied-out – I just want the juice.

  'He gave me this spiel about how I was “a less smooshy-faced Cameron Diaz" and perfect for his next movie,' Sasha obliges.

  'Why didn't you say?’

  ‘You know I'm not into that,' she squirms. 'Even if he was for real.'

  'He could be!'

  'Which is why I suggested he take a look at Zoë. But I didn't want to introduce them until I checked him out.'

  'Wise move,' I acknowledge, getting an image of Zoë hyperventilating with excitement and then dragging him, boil and all, on to a casting couch. Whether he liked it or not.

  'If he is legit, I thought maybe she could meet with him when we go to LA.'

  'Did he say anything about her? "Halle Berry with hair extensions?" “Zoe Saldana with boobs”?

  Sasha chuckles and shakes her head. 'Just that she looked more music video than actress at the moment.'

  'Oh,' I say, disappointed for her.

  'But we can easily sort that,' Sasha notes. (She's learned a fair few styling tips in her time.)

  ‘There you are!’ Helen beckons us over to the bar. 'We're ordering martinis!’

  'I've got a Spudtini!' Elliot looks pleased with himself. 'Pure potato vodka.'

  'You're such a man,' I tease as I peruse the menu, opting ultimately for the alluring Mermaid martini.

  We take our drinks out onto the terrace and watch the sun back-light the waves as they rise up so we can see clear through the pale minty-green water. I'm hypnotized watching them fold over, froth up and then slide in on layers of silver-grey. I'm just about to comment on the idyllic silence when a lifeguard truck barrels along the coastline informing everyone within a mile radius that they are now off duty, so should you enter the ocean, you do so at your own risk.

  I doubt many would venture in now. It's amazing how quickly the temperature drops early evening. I give a little shiver.

  'You cold, La?' Elliot reaches over to rub my bare arm. 'Here, put this on.' He pulls off his sweater in that weird way men do, reaching back and dragging the whole thing over his head for maximum hair-rumpling potential. It's still warm as he heaps it into my lap.

  'But now you'll be cold,' I half protest, slurring rather more than anticipated.

  'I'll be fine,' Elliot assures me. 'I've got this one to keep me warm,' he adds, concertina-ing Elise with his embrace.

  'Careful!' she whines, wriggling free.

  I can't help but snort out loud – I love how Elise makes out she's this fragile little sugar-spun waif who'll snap if you hug her with any kind of sincerity. Oh to set Zoë-The-Human-Pulverizer on her.

  'Shall we go down on to the beach for the sunset?' Helen suggests, noting that all the drinks are now satisfactorily drained. ‘I like to huddle up by the rocks - it feels like you're sittin
g on the edge of the world looking out …'

  'Won't the sand be cold now?' Elise complains, reluctant to leave her floral cushion.

  'I'll get some blankets.' Helen jumps up.

  'I'll come with you,' I volunteer, eager to compensate for not being one hundred per cent embracing of the new Helen, just in case she's noticed.

  'It's just through here …' Helen leads the way, around to a staff side entrance.

  'I can't believe the changes in you,' I pipe, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.

  'I can't believe I lived like I did for so long,' Helen sighs.

  'How do you mean?'

  'Oh you know, I was putting so much energy into being the me I always saw myself becoming, never really stopping to ask whether I was happy.' She frowns, and for a second I see a flash of the old Helen and I don't want her to go back.

  'So what happened?' I quickly move her on.

  'Reuben took me surfing and I didn't recognize myself out there!' she marvels. ‘It was such a good feeling, in that moment I just let it all go.'

  'How you thought things should be?' I check, wanting to be clear on how the miracle began.

  She nods.

  'We lay out on the beach all night and all these thoughts kept whizzing through my head and I just kept coming back to the same thing: "This is it! This is what really matters – the rest is just a distraction.''’

  I get a rush of vicarious adrenalin and then ask, 'Is that when you gave up your job in Arizona?'

  Helen nods. 'That night, when I went back to Reuben's apartment, I faxed a resignation letter to work. I didn't want to risk going back on Monday and slipping into my own routine, losing my nerve.'

  'That was a big step.'

  'Yes it was, but I had some help.'

  The California Club, I think to myself. I want to ask more but I'd feel sneaky getting information before the others.

  'Here!' Helen loads my arms with an array of Mexican rugs and throws.

  'Are these all yours?' I admire the streaky ridges of color – pink to burgundy to blue to brown - like a series of woven sunsets.

  'Yup, I've got quite a collection going – little tip I learned from your mum: why sit on one thin layer when you could be snuggled in seven!'