The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA

by Belinda Jones

  We nod and then realize actions alone are just not going to cut it. 'Yes, please!' we say out loud.

  'Now one of these bottles …' Carrie appears to be sniffing a selection. 'Here it is. I guess we should be having wine with the meal but since I don't have any and this is a special occasion …'

  Lord knows what she hands us but judging from the searing sensation in my throat and the way my eyes water from the fumes I'm guessing at moonshine. We're tiddly in seconds and chat amiably for the next half hour: it feels a bit like we're having an illicit 'lights out' conversation. We're just getting on to Carrie's divorce and how she came to be heading up Tiger Tiger when the distinctive purr and pop of a motorbike whirrs to a halt outside.

  'Here he is! Maybe now I'll be able to see to carve the ham!'

  The door creaks open and a figure clomps into the kitchen. 'What's going on here?' a male voice rumbles. 'You girls playing hide-and-seek?'

  'Where'd you put the torches?' Carrie cuts to the chase.

  'I haven't touched them – they should be right here …' There's a shuffling and the squeak of a hinge. 'You know what? Nina was going to get new batteries.'

  'You're right,' Carrie confirms. 'Oh well, we'll manage.'

  'Are you going to introduce me?' Ty prompts.

  'Oh yes!' We hear Carrie chink a tooth on her glass as she curtails her slurp. 'This is Lara and Sasha. Not that you can see them, let alone tell them apart!'

  'For the record, I'm the really good-looking one!' I pipe up, my squiffiness having gone straight to my tongue.

  'And I'm the one who looks like she's been smacked in the face with a shovel!' Sasha giggles, apparently suffering similar symptoms.

  'Carrie, I'm guessing you've cracked open that bottle of Sambucca you've been saving.'

  Is that what it is? I love it. My new favorite drink.

  'Yes I did!' Carrie cheers.

  'Good job! I'll get a glass.'

  'You got your bike back then,' Carrie calls after him.

  'Yeah, she's running like a dream.'

  'Sounds like an old Triumph Tiger,' Sasha observes.

  'It is,' Ty's voice comes back in our direction: '1964 classic. How'd you know?' he asks with obvious delight.

  'I had one. Well actually it was my brother's but he gave it to me when he moved away. Best way to get around London.'

  'Well I wouldn't know about that but she sure is nippy! You ever take her on any long runs?'

  'Mostly just down to Brighton – that's only an hour or two but sometimes I'd continue down the coast.'

  'Man, that's the best, isn't it?'

  The pair of them rap away about ccs and shock absorbers and the bliss of having sea air mingling with exhaust fumes. Meanwhile Carrie does a pretty good job hacking at the ham and I hoik the cornbread out of the baking tray and on to the plates (sneakily snaffling Sasha's ham portion while I'm at it. She doesn't seem keen to ruin the mood by telling them she's a vegetarian just yet).

  'I'm sorry we didn't bring any wine,' I apologize. 'Maybe I could go to a local store tomorrow?'

  'Don't you worry about that,' Carrie shushes me. ‘Nother Sambuca?'

  'Oh go on then!'

  This is great! I'm going to have all my dinner parties in pitch-blackness from now on – it makes the whole thing so much fun. I gave up trying to co-ordinate my knife and fork after the first failed bite and am now picking at the food with my fingers and no one even knows!

  'You want a napkin, sweetie?' Carrie offers, foiling me with her night-vision.

  'Oh! Er, thank you!' I fluster.

  'So, what's your ultimate dream for Tiger Tiger?' Sasha addresses Carrie and Ty.

  Interesting. It's not like her to initiate a conversation. And she always used to wince at the mention of dreams – after all, she'd lived the dream of so many girls and look where that got her. I put it down to this lack of scrutiny – in the dark she doesn't have to be her normal self, or the person people expect her to be. As she responds to Ty talking about his trips to Africa and the ideas he's got for the preserve, her voice sounds warm, intimate even. Everything he says seems to strike a chord with her. At first I wonder how she can flirt with someone she's never seen but then I remember all the men I've fancied purely on a phone-call basis – antique dealers, new clients, wrong numbers … – and it hits me – BAM! She's having a blind date! She said she wanted to go somewhere where looks don't count and suddenly she's in a place where no one can even see her! I can't help wondering if The California Club didn't orchestrate the power cut themselves.

  We stay up till midnight, Carrie and I yappering over peppermint stick ice-cream at one end of the table, Ty and Sasha sipping coffee and sighing at the other. Finally we retreat to our respective bedrooms.

  'Am I detecting a slight fluttering of the heart?’ I whisper as I close the wonky door behind us.

  'Slight?' she reels, hoarse with lust. 'I've been having palpitations for the last two hours!'

  'Sasha!' I gasp.

  'What?'

  'I've never seen you like this! Not that I can see you now.' I laugh as she spins me around the room. 'I wonder what he looks like?'

  'Oh I don't care!' she sings.

  'You don't?'

  'Well, I'm curious of course but if I could just keep listening to his voice, I'd be happy.'

  'Even if he was some spindly little worm with one leg?' I tease.

  'Oh Lara!'

  'Well, he could be – if he's spent years around wild cats he could easily be missing a few limbs.'

  Sasha grabs me and tells me again, 'I don't care!'

  'I'll bet he's lying in bed now wondering what you look like.'

  'D'you think so? What if he doesn't like what he sees?’ Sasha frets.

  I groan. 'Coming from anyone else on the planet that might be a reasonable concern, but you? Sasha, get real! The guy is going to freak when he sees you - he won't believe his luck!'

  'Oh, I hope so!'

  We wriggle into our sleeping bags.

  'I'm thinking Indiana Jones crossed with Fabio,' I mutter.

  'Stop it!' Sasha chortles.

  'Or a lean Russell Crowe, maybe with an eye-patch?'

  'Night!' Sasha tries to shut me up.

  'Night!' I concede.

  We lie still for two whole minutes before Sasha fidgets excitedly: 'I can't wait for morning!'

  I think of the contrast to her earlier mood – crying on the beachside bench, on the verge of taking the next flight home – and experience a gratifying sense of satisfaction. We've only been gone a matter of hours and The California Club is already working.

  Chapter 16

  ‘I can't look!'

  Sasha and I are outside the kitchen, about to see Ty for the first time in hyper-bright daylight.

  'Can't you go in then come back and tell me what he's like?' Sasha urges, backing away.

  'Wait! I know!' I reach in my bag and pull out my compact, angling the mirror so I can see around the corner.

  'Oh god, it's worse than we thought!'

  'What? What?' Sasha claws at me.

  'I thought you said it didn't matter what he looked like?' I give her a withering look.

  'It doesn't. Just tell me!'

  'Picture a young Danny De Vito.'

  'Is he short?'

  'Not so much short as wide. Khaki combats and a turtleneck.’

  ‘In this heat?'

  'Not the sweater, one of those necks with droopy excess skin.' I tug at my own.

  'You're lying!' Sasha tries to peek in the mirror but I snap it closed.

  'To be honest I could only see the table leg,' I confess. 'Shall we go in?'

  'You first!'

  I've never seen Sasha so jittery over a man so I do the decent thing and lead the way.

  In the millisecond before he senses our presence we take in his unkempt mane, his tanned, scarred hands and lived-life face. It's too soon for me to say whether he's ruggedly sexy or just needs a good wash and brush up; either way he'
s the kind of man who could withstand anything the elements might throw at him. And I'll bet you anything he has powerful thighs. Whatever that means.

  Sasha emits a sound that other women will immediately recognize as code for gorgeous. I can't wait to hear what noise he makes when he sees her!

  'Sasha?' he looks up at me expectantly, onyx-green eyes sparkling.

  ‘No, I'm Lara, this is Sasha.' I give my beautiful friend a flourish. And for the first time in my life I see a man's face fall at the sight of her.

  'You're …' he tails off, then shakes his head and throws his cup into the sink. 'I'll be outside when you're ready to start working.'

  Turning on a mud-caked heel, he stomps out the door.

  'I guess he's not a morning person,' I gawp after him.

  'Did you see the way he looked at me?' Sasha is crushed. 'It was like he despised me!'

  She's right but why on earth would that be true?

  'Nooo!' I say opening the fridge. 'He probably didn't want to make it too obvious that he fancied you so he, um …'

  'Ran away?'

  'Exactly.' I put the milk and butter on the table. 'Toast?'

  Sasha's over by the kitchen window watching Ty crash around the yard. 'He looks in a foul temper.'

  'Maybe he's just hungover. Or worried that you're out of his league. You've had that before.’

  'Does he strike you as the kind of person who would think like that?'

  I open my mouth then close it. No would be the answer.

  'Look, don't worry about it. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation – maybe he's like Oliver and freaks at the sight of long hair!’

  She swiftly winds her skein of gold into a twist at the base of her neck.

  'There we go – sorted!' I throw her an orange.

  As she goes to catch it, her hair comes tumbling back down.

  Judging by Ty's mood, he won't be the type to tolerate slacking or phone-call breaks so I quickly dial Elliot while we're munching our way through our slices of sourdough.

  He answers straight away but sounds groggy.

  'Are you all right?' I ask, instantly fretting.

  'I don't feel too bright. I think it's the fresh air. Everything smells like those pine air-fresheners. It reminds me of my dad's car and how carsick I used to get.’

  I can't help but grin. There's no one quite like Elliot. It's so good to hear his voice.

  'So, what's it like, Yo-semite?' I ask giving it the homeboy inflection.

  'I'm sleeping in a tent. I have to keep my food in this padlocked metal dumpster so the bears can't get to it and last night I did a strange dance with a raccoon.'

  'You danced with a raccoon?'

  'Well it wasn't exactly the Pulp Fiction two fingers across the eyes move …'

  I laugh, imagining it all the same. 'What happened?'

  'I'd got up in the night to get a can of Coke from the vending machine outside the convenience store; it was pretty dark and I was wishing I'd brought my torch when I sensed movement at the top of the stairs…'

  'Da-da-daaa!'

  Elliot describes how he looked up and found a raccoon stood up on his hind legs, staring back at him. He wasn't quite sure of the road rules – who was supposed to back up? – so he decided it should be him and took a step backwards. The raccoon moved his little foot forwards. He took another step, so did the raccoon.

  ‘When we were both back on the tarmac we moved slowly round in a circle, never taking our eyes off each other!'

  'That's amazing!’ I chuckle. ‘Are you two friends now?'

  'No, he just ran off into the night, haven't seen him since – he doesn't call, he doesn't write …' Elliot gives his most pitiful sigh. 'It's just me, alone in the wilderness.'

  'But it’s beautiful there isn’t it?'

  'The trees are green. The rocks are big. What else is there to say?' Elliot mutters, clearly bored.

  'What have they got planned for you?'

  'They want me to do a bear walk.'

  'You didn't get naked enough at La Jolla?' I tease.

  'Not bare! B-E-A – oh forget it.'

  'No go on, tell me!' I prompt.

  'It's just this thing for the visitors, a guide takes a group of visitors on this walk through the meadow and gives them a little chat about the local bears and their habits.'

  Before I can comment, Elliot asks, 'When do you get here?'

  'My flight's not until early evening tomorrow. I was thinking of stopping off to surprise Zoë before I go to the airport.’

  ‘Can't you come here earlier?' Elliot whines.

  'I'm sorry, it's all pre-ordained.' I sound stoical but inside I'm thinking: 'Is there a way to bring it forward? Maybe I could—'

  My phone bleeps.

  'Hold on a second, there's another call coming through.'

  'Lara?'

  'Zoë!'

  I experience a pang of guilt at my willingness to leapfrog my visit to her.

  'Hold on a mo!' I flick back to my previous call. 'Elliot? I've got to go, another of my subjects needs me!'

  'Have you spoken to Elise yet?'

  My heart sinks. 'No.'

  'Well, send her my love.'

  'Okay!'

  'And—'

  'Gotta go!' I cut him short. I can't deal with the mush. I'd rather challenge Malachi to a scrap.

  'But I haven't heard about how you're getting on!' he protests.

  'I'll call you later.'

  'You'd better.'

  'I will.'

  I take a breath and then click back to my other call.

  'Zoë! You're up early. How's our glamour girl?'

  'Great!' she whoops. 'I love limo land!'

  'Seen any stars yet?'

  'Queen Latifah came in yesterday.'

  'In where?’

  'In? I mean on – on the set!'

  'You're on a movie set?' That's too exciting. I'm sure even if they're filming a story about pygmies Zoë can wangle herself a walk-on part. 'What movie?'

  'What?'

  'What's the movie called?'

  'It's a secret!'

  'Oh.'

  'Lara, when are you getting here?'

  I don't want to spoil my surprise visit tomorrow so I give her the official schedule spiel—'Three days' time.'

  ‘Three days or three nights?'

  'Well, it's Tuesday today, I'll be with you Friday.'

  'Oh.' She sounds disappointed.

  'You're having fun aren't you?'

  'Oh yeah, it's the best, I just want you here to share it with. I gotta go – I think I just saw Kate Hudson!'

  'What's she up to?' Sasha is eager for an update.

  'No idea,' I admit. 'No mischief yet or I'm sure she would have said.'

  'You sound concerned.'

  'No, she just didn't seem herself. Anyway, I'll see for myself tomorrow. Right,’ I clap my hands together. ‘Time to get to work!’

  Sasha and I set out into the baking heat, ready for whatever Taskmaster Ty throws at us. As it happens he's nowhere to be seen but we do find Carrie chatting to a pair of tigers.

  'Hey!' she greets us. 'How'd you girls sleep?'

  'Fine!' we chorus. Amazingly this is true. We may be in the middle of nowhere but we certainly weren't worrying about intruders in the night – forget Beware of the Dog, we had fifty-four cats watching over us.

  'Did you meet Cosmo and Caesar yesterday?' Carrie asks. When we shake our heads she continues: 'Siberian tiger brothers. They don't like anybody else and that's fine, we just keep the two of them together.

  ‘They're so long!' I gawp.

  'Nine-and-a-half-feet,’ Carrie confirms. ‘You'll notice with the Siberian tigers they've got big fat heads …'

  I want to rush and cover their ears – there must be a nicer way to put it.

  '… and their stripes separate as they get older, see?'

  She's right – it's like Gisele pulling on a catsuit meant for Kylie.

  'With the Bengals, the
stripes remain close.'

  'It's Stephanie about the cubs,' Ty cuts in, appearing out of nowhere to hand Carrie a cellphone. She excuses herself, leaving Ty to glare at us.

  I wait for him to speak, perhaps pick up the tour, but he says nothing.

  'So what kind of things will Sasha be doing while she's here?' I ask, as he whips out a pair of pliers and sets to bending some spiky prongs of fencing round to a safer position.

  'Oh we're going to have her manicuring claws, getting the panther coats to shine like a Pantene ad,' he deadpans. 'Maybe improve their catwalk skills …'

  That would be a good pun if it wasn't delivered with such spite.

  'I guess we really should begin by finding one that matches her outfit,' he continues. 'How about you, Carlito?'

  A fuzzy-furred snow leopard rears up and throws himself against meshing. Sasha stumbles back, terrified.

  ‘No? Well, maybe she'd do better with the ladies.' Ty lets himself into a cage of seven or eight slinky-hipped tigers. 'Hey girls,' he greets them as they swish around his legs like house cats. 'I guess they just look like walking handbags to you, huh?' he stares pointedly at Sasha through the fencing.

  Sasha looks as if she's been slapped. I'm too stunned by his aggression to speak. Could this just be his strange sense of humor?

  'So you're a model?' He comes out and says what is obviously gnawing at his guts.

  'Ex,' Sasha clarifies.

  'D'you know Sonia Connor?'

  'I worked with her once but I wouldn't say we were friends.'

  'She's no friend of ours either.' Ty rumples the fur on one of the adoring tigers at his side. 'She claims she cares about animal welfare then goes out in a vintage coat with a fur collar and when someone asks her if it's real she's all, "I dunno!"' he snorts. 'If she cared, she'd know.'

  'Not all models are that fickle,' I begin.

  'What about Naomi Campbell?' he challenges.

  I knew she was coming next. 'You mean the hypocrite who claimed she'd rather go naked than wear fur, then paraded down a catwalk in dead animal skins?' I rally, hoping to beat him at his own game. Before he can speak I add, 'Look, there are plenty of beautiful women in this world who genuinely care about animal rights.'

  'Yeah, but funny how they always choose the beautiful animals to protect, isn't it? Ones they consider worthy of their looks. Go save a hippo or an alligator, that'll impress me. All we need is another damn supermodel who thinks this is some kind of photo opportunity!'