The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA

by Belinda Jones

  'Cab!' Zoë calls me over.

  She's starting to look excited, I guess the adrenalin is kicking in.

  'Nervous?' I ask her.

  'A bit!' She grins, looking anything but.

  As we drive along, I notice she hasn't taken her eyes off me.

  'What?' I demand.

  'Nothing!' she trills.

  'We're just about to …' the driver connects with Zoë in his rearview mirror.

  'Close your eyes!' Zoë reaches across and puts her hand over my eyes.

  'What are you doing?' I fluster.

  'Sshh!'

  I sense the car slowing to take a turn.

  ‘Okay, now!' I hear the driver's voice.

  Zoë removes her hand.

  'What's going—Oh my god!' I gasp at the lurid pink billboard before me: 'The Madonna Inn!'

  Zoë gives a gleeful gurgle at my reaction.

  My mouth continues to gape like I'm in mid-dental procedure: 'I can't believe I'm here! This is my fantasy!'

  'Happy Birthday!' Zoë cheers.

  'Oh Zoë,' I blub. Turns out my eyes are going to spill over before her cleavage.

  She pulls me into a hug.

  'What about your audition?' I muffle into her shoulder.

  'There isn't one!' she pips.

  'You little minx!' I pull back to look at her. 'The whole thing—'

  'Made up to trick you – see what a good actress I am!'

  I beam at her, overwhelmed. 'This is the best surprise I've ever had.'

  'It's about to get better,' she winks. 'Wait there!'

  As she darts into the registration nook, I step from the cab and gawp over at the jumble of elliptical boulders – some sand-blasted smooth, others retaining their oyster-shell ridges – set around a selection of rock pools and gently burbling fountains. The building they front peaks to a witch's hat turret and is painted icing sugar pink. It’s like a cross between Bedrock and a fairy grotto, with a bit of Quality Street detailing (ye olde lamps, horse-drawn carriage motif) thrown in for good measure.

  I'm dying to peer inside but already Zoë's back with a key and a room map.

  'I've just got to fill out the registration card but you can go on up, room 139.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes go, your present is waiting for you in your room.'

  I get a present too? This is unbelievable.

  I bound up a hillside driveway that would normally have me wheezing after one stride – funny how happiness gives you so much energy. It’s the building at the top takes my breath away – all painted white with its three-tiered verandas and carved wooden balustrades it puts me in mind of a Mississippi showboat. With a couple of dovecots tacked on either end.

  I study my map. Room 139 is on the ground floor in the middle. I burrow down a corridor and then spy the door plaque that goes with the number – Jungle Rock. Oh my god! This room is legendary!

  I fidget the key in the lock and burst into a vast carpeted cave dominated by two king-size beds hiding beneath zebra print counterpanes. Though the layout is open plan the beds appear to have their own rooms. I sprawl like an animal skin on the one nearest the door and then hurtle into the bathroom. There it is the shower that cascades down the rough-hewn rock like a waterfall! I step inside and run my hands along the patchwork of lacquered granite – blood reds, charcoal greys and muddy eggplants, all bonded together with concrete. I take a sniff of the Madonna Inn shower gel and then dance back into the main room. Which bed shall I claim? The one I've mussed up or the one over here by the—I jump back, freaked out.

  There's a body in the second bed.

  Chapter 33

  My first thought is that I've got the wrong room and I dart towards the door in a panic. But then I reason that the key worked and it's unlikely someone would be calling it a night at 6pm. Recalling Zoë's words, I decide to check to see if the mound is in fact gift-wrapped.

  Au contraire. It's naked.

  And there's something familiar about the duckling-blond hair and freckly shoulders.

  My heart swoons. It's Elliot.

  'My present…' I sigh, in disbelief.

  I tiptoe closer. Can this be for real?

  I lean closer, so I can awake him with a kiss…

  ‘SURPRISE!'

  Sensing a stampede behind me, I swivel round to find Helen, Sasha and – urgh! – Elise colliding as they rush towards me.

  'I gave you the wrong key!' Zoë apologizes, bringing up the rear.

  'We were all waiting in the other room!' Sasha pants as she slides beside me on the floor to give me a birthday squeeze.

  'Elise, why didn't you wake me?' Elliot stirs, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

  'You looked so peaceful!' she chimes.

  'I wanted to be in on the surprise,' he complains.

  ‘Trust me, you were the surprise.' I think to myself.

  'Well, Happy Birthday, Lara!' He reaches out an arm and coaxes my head towards him. My lips meet his – soft, warm, sleepy – a two-second taster of what might have been/almost was. I cringe, imagining the scene if the girls had burst in even a minute later – me caught kissing a sleeping Elliot. Elise would have freaked, so would Elliot for that matter. It was all in my head. As if he'd offer himself to me like that. What was I thinking?

  As Helen and Zoë pile on the bed, Elise smothers herself over Elliot. I can hardly bear to watch. The only good news is that she's inadvertently snagged the sheet away from him and it's gaping all the way down to his fuzzy tummy.

  'So whose fabulous idea was this?' I brazen, trying to summon up my former enthusiasm.

  All heads turn to Elliot.

  'I just remembered the name of the place. Helen made all the arrangements,’ e shrugs.

  'The lying and deceit was all Zoë,' Helen adds.

  Zoë chortles. 'I was so good!'

  'Well, thank you all – I can't believe we're all here together!'

  Elise nuzzles deeper into Elliot. I have to get away.

  ‘So when do I get to see my room?’

  ‘Now!' Zoë leaps to her feet. 'Come on, everyone!'

  'You'll have to excuse us,' Elise leers. 'We've got some catching up to do.'

  Elliot looks far too exhausted for what she has in mind, yawning: 'What time are we eating?'

  Zoë gives me a look as if to say: See, he's more interested in his stomach than shagging her.

  'I've booked a table in the Gold Rush Dining Room for eight,' Helen informs him. 'Shall we see you down there?'

  'Definitely!' Elliot nods. 'Both of us this time.'

  I think I preferred the La Valencia arrangement.

  As I close the door on Jungle Rock it occurs to me that Sasha should really be the one waving us off with a spear.

  'What's your room like, Sash?'

  ‘Do you want to see it? It's right here,' she offers, dangling the key. ‘Zoë’s choice…’

  'The Tack Room?' I read the plaque on the door.

  'As in ponies?' Helen suggests.

  'Well, riding crops maybe,' Sasha mutters as she swings open the door to reveal a blaze of red walls, red doors, red carpet, red sofa and red leather bedspreads. Bright pillarbox red. I kid you not.

  'You don't get these at Laura Ashley,' I coo, stroking the scarlet hide.

  'There's twisted rope on the front of the wardrobe,’ Helen notes. ‘Isn't it all a bit bondage?'

  'Yes, I'm going to tie Sasha to the bed tonight with her own hair!' Zoë cackles, reaching to whip off Sasha's baseball hat.

  Sasha leaps back as if she's just been electrocuted.

  ‘Are you all right?' I ask, slowly moving towards her like she's a startled deer.

  'I didn't want to make a big deal. This is your day, Lara.' She takes another step back.

  'A big deal about what? Am I missing something?'

  'No, but I am!' Sasha heaves a sigh and then removes her droopy cotton sunhat. No hair comes tumbling down.

  Along with Helen and Zoë, I suck up all the ai
r in the room with a sudden intake of breath.

  'Your hair!'

  'Where's it gone?'

  'Did you have an accident?'

  Sasha shakes her head. Gone is the swishing sound. All that remain are soft wisps of silk curling around her ears. 'What do you think?'

  Helen reaches forward and rumples her flattened hair to life. 'Very Charlize Theron.'

  'You didn't do it for Ty, did you?' I wonder out loud. 'To try and make yourself less attractive?'

  Zoë looks confused.

  'No, honestly,' Sasha assures me. 'I actually did it for Oliver. And for me.'

  'Who's Oliver?' Zoë perks up. 'Is he a hottie?'

  'Oliver is a mountain lion.'

  'Is this going to start making sense some time soon?' Zoë frowns.

  'I know it's only been a few days but I think I'm in love!' Sasha swoons.

  'With the lion?' Zoë checks.

  Sasha nods.

  'What about Ty?' I ask.

  'Don't tell me – Ty's a tiger!' Zoë tries to join in.

  'No, he's the guy who's been horrible to Sasha,' Helen reminds her.

  'That bastard, just wait till I get my hands on him!' Zoë growls.

  'I may just beat you to it!' Sasha shares a knowing look with me.

  'Have you kissed him yet?' I so want the answer to be yes.

  'Has she kissed the guy she hates? What is going on?' Zoë is indignant.

  Sasha goes back to the beginning, first explaining how Oliver would get freaked out at the slightest glimpse of her long hair (hence the haircut) and how the once-hostile Ty is now her suitor. And she, in turn, his suitoress. Then she answers my question: no, she hasn't kissed him yet. They're still just learning to trust each other – she needs to know that he won't get aggressive and snipey again and he needs to get over his fears that she's a diva in disguise.

  'But I'd say it bodes well,' she smiles shyly.

  'Well, don't leave it too long,' Zoë cautions. 'When you get back you've only got one more night with him.'

  Sasha's face falls. It would seem she's found her groove at Tiger Tiger and, judging from her expression, the thought of going back to how she was before terrifies her.

  Helen takes her hand. 'Trust The California Club,' she soothes. 'By the end of the week your wish will come true.'

  Sasha looks confused. 'But I've already got my wish, I mean, I found somewhere where looks don't matter.'

  'Your real wish,' Helen whispers.

  Sasha looks at her, wide-eyed. At the same time my heart dips. Can The California Club read the invisible ink behind what we wrote down on our slips of paper?

  'You mean the wish they grant isn't necessarily what we wrote down?' I have to be clear on this. Is there still a chance for me and Elliot?

  Helen smiles enigmatically. 'What you wrote is just the starting point.'

  'Come on, Gypsy Rose Lee – spill!' Zoë heckles.

  Helen takes a seat beside Zoë, lays a hand on her cheek, closes her eyes and says, 'I see a man with a large penis in your recent past …'

  'Who told you?' Zoë leaps back.

  'Guilty!' I raise my hand. I was dying to tell someone and the others were all busy when I tried calling them en route to Union Station.

  'Something I should know?' Sasha raises an eyebrow.

  When Zoë's done telling the Eddie Powers story, Sasha asks me for a Joel update. After my near-miss with Elliot I want to run to Joel's consoling arms all the more but explain that I've let him slip away with no means of contacting him. I'm just about to get paranoid that he deliberately vanished without trace, never having any intention of seeing me again, when Zoë turns our attention to Helen's sex life.

  ‘So where's Reuben tonight?'

  'Oh he's um, home or out, I'm not sure. Surfing, probably. Who knows where!' She gives a strange unnatural laugh.

  'So which is better, surfing or sex?' Zoë probes.

  'Reuben says that if you reckon surfing's better than sex then you're not doing it right!'

  'But what do you say?'

  'Sex with a surfer is the best!' she laughs.

  'Really?' It's the one species Zoë hasn't tried and she's obviously concerned she's missing out.

  'Well, not just any surfer. With Reuben.' Her eyes shine bright. 'He's The One, for sure.'

  We all give a 'dreams-really-can-come-true' sigh then Helen gets to her feet and asks, 'Ready to see your room now?'

  'You betcha! Where is it?' I ask, peeling myself off the shiny bedspread.

  'Over the other side, three floors up.' Helen motions ahead. 'You're sharing with me, hope that's okay.'

  'Of course!' Darn, I won't be able to have a good cry and purge myself of the Elliot disappointment. 'Is there a mini-bar?' I try and sound casual.

  We follow Helen up a spiral staircase lined with bright green carpet for that essential astro-turf look without the hazardous grazing possibilities.

  'Up again!' she calls as Zoë and I pause for breath on the second floor.

  Another spiral twirl and she steps back to let me insert the key.

  'Carin,' I read the hand-painted driftwood plaque.

  'Apparently it's a Swiss word of endearment,' Helen tells me.

  I open the door.

  Just as the Tack Room was an assault in red, this is like dreaming in bubblegum – I've never seen so much pink! I look up at the vaulted ceiling where painted wooden beams fan out from a central peak and find a hefty burnished gold Cupid bearing a seven-stick candelabra.

  'Imagine if the hook gave way – you'd be crushed in your bed!' Zoë shudders.

  'But what a way to go!' I run my hand over the bedspread – layer upon layer of beautiful roses. Crossing the berry carpet I slot into one of the two high-backed leather chairs the color of pink sugared almonds to get a different perspective. Everywhere I look there's mirrors surrounded by swirling serifs of dark gold and more and more pink – pink velvet curtains (blush fading where the sun has seared them) and even a pink leather ice-bucket. Hello …

  'The champagne!' Sasha remembers. There's a sloshing sound as she pulls out the bottle. 'All the ice has melted …'

  'I don't care!' I'm right by her side holding glasses at the ready.

  'I'll go and get some more.'

  'Open it first!' I beg.

  Helen takes over to pop the cork and fills four glasses to the brim.

  'To Lara, on her birthday! May this be the start of a year filled with many wonderful surprises!'

  'To Lara!' they chorus.

  We take a slug, wincing at the lukewarm taste.

  'I'm getting ice.' Sasha heads for the door.

  'I'll come with you, I need to get a Coke from the vending machine,' Helen joins her.

  'So do you like the room?' Zoë twirls around like a little girl in her best party dress.

  'I love it!' I really do. My only complaint is that it doesn't come with a Romeo type in velvet and brocade, spouting poetry.

  'We all took a vote and decided this was the most you – it's that quirky thing you like but by far the most romantic.'

  I raise an eyebrow. I'd hardly call my current situation romantic. I feel like I've lost Elliot all over again. As self-pity tickles my tear ducts my survivor instinct urges me to 'Step away from the Cupid!'

  'Is that another balcony?' I ask, making a dash for it, staring intently at the sloping yellow mountains beyond the grazing fields.

  'That's the one they were hiding on,' Zoë tells me. 'When I came in they all jumped out at me thinking it was you! And all the while you were …' she trails off.

  'Did you think, for a moment, that he was in bed waiting for you?'

  She searches my face for the truth.

  'Just for a moment,' I confess, unable to look her in the eye.

  'I've wished so hard for him to fall in love with you!' Zoë agonizes.

  'I know,' I smile, touched by her campaigning but determined not to feel sorry for myself again tonight. How can I complain when I've got my own
calamine castle to play in?

  But then Zoë slips a comforting arm around me and leans her cheek on my shoulder and I crumble.

  'Why can't I let go?' I sigh into her. 'Even after getting it on with Joel who is entirely divine?'

  'Because you love him. Next question.'

  I smile for a second then sigh. 'Should I let go? Is it time?'

  'Not yet. At least give it to the end of the week. You heard what Helen said to Sasha – secret wishes can come true too.'

  ‘But really, honestly, realistically?'

  'There's definitely something wrong between him and Elise and maybe when he figures out what it is, he'll finally see the light.'

  'You think they're on shaky ground?'

  'There were cracks showing at La Jolla beach, you said he seemed a bit iffy in Yosemite and after tonight, trust me, those cracks will develop into fissures.'

  'What?' I choke at Zoë's metaphor follow-through.

  'Is that the wrong word?' she frowns. 'Fissures?'

  'No, it's the right one, that's what's so shocking.'

  Zoë looks proud of herself, despite my dig, then continues with her take on the situation: 'I think being with us all again is making Elliot realize how far off the mark he is with Elise.'

  'Maybe …' I concede.

  'Look, even if you don't have one hundred per cent faith in The California Club, you've got to believe in the power of the Madonna Inn! This place is you, you're on home turf here. Progress will be made tonight, I promise.'

  'How can you be so sure?'

  Zoë reaches back into the room and lugs over a book the size and weight of a paving stone.

  'What's this?' I groan.

  'Your birthday present! It's a coffee table book about the Madonna Inn.'

  'Where's the concrete coffee table that goes with it?'

  Zoë ignores me. 'It's from all of us. I haven't had a chance to sign it yet but Elliot has. Read!’

  Hey Beautiful Birthday Girl! HAPPY 30th!

  I'd tell you to make a wish but I guess we've already done that!!

  Actually, La, make as many wishes as you like – one for every cupid in this crazy place! You deserve to have all your dreams come true this year – that's what I'm wishing for you! (And with two of us at it, how can the universe resist?)