“Who says? I’ve never lived by anybody else’s rules,” he said and then swallowed a few mouthfuls of water and looked at her. Then he replaced the lid and deposited the bottle under the blanket to keep it out of the sun.
“Have you ever had a long distance relationship before?” she asked.
“No. But I’ve never met anyone like you before.” He held eye contact with her until she broke it. She turned her eyes toward the ocean and breathed in the salty smell. Joe watched her for a moment and then he stretched out again on the blanket, lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head.
“What is it about me that you find so different?” she asked, maintaining her body position and glancing over at him intermittently.
“Your determination. Your intelligence. Your grace. Your intensity. Your sincerity. Your compassion. And your heart-stopping beauty.” He turned his head and stared at her. “And I think also it’s the way you make me feel. Should I go on?”
“I make you feel?” she asked.
“You bring out something in me—something I like. Maybe it’s your hurt.” Joe sat up and looked her directly in the eye. “I want to take it away.”
Evie’s eyes fell again on Joe’s body and the sun illuminated all the rippled muscles. She studied his chest and stomach and noticed a small angled scar just below his ribcage. She wanted to touch it and she did. His eyes followed her hand.
“Joe, how did you get this scar?”
“Oh, just one of life’s battles.”
“You got that in a fight?”
“Yes.”
“What were you fighting for?”
“I guess you could say I was fighting for principles.”
“Did you win?”
“I’m still here.”
“It must’ve been a pretty intense fight.”
“Physical wounds are visible, but I don’t think they have the effect on one’s life that emotional ones do.”
“I guess.”
“Actually,” he looked down again at the scar, which was barely visible on his tan skin, “that experience probably did make me more stubborn than I was before.”
She smiled slightly and looked down at the sand where she was drawing delicate geometric figures with her finger. “Joe, what do you want from me?” The words sounded crude and accusatory and she was sorry she’d asked the question immediately after her mouth finished forming the sounds. She erased the sand art with a swipe of her palm.
“Evie, can I be totally honest with you?”
“Yes, please.”
“When I first saw you, like any man, my first instinct was to want you sexually, but now I just want you. I just want you. In every way.”
After a few moments, voices could be heard behind them. A group of teenagers were making their way through the sandy passageway toward the open unoccupied beach carrying surfboards, diving gear and coolers.
“Well, I guess our exclusivity ran out,” she said, thankful for the well-timed distraction.
“Let’s go get wet,” he said as he stood and stretched.
17
Evie stood and dropped her hat. They walked hand in hand to the water’s edge, and she watched Joe wade out a few feet and dive in. She stepped more carefully, the tender soles of her city feet navigating many new sensations. The water was brisk, but after a few moments, her body began to adjust to the temperature. Joe swam out a few yards and returned to encourage her. He grabbed her gently by the waist and held her steady as the foamy surf undulated around them. They walked out to shoulder depth. She felt herself succumb to the motion of the water and to him.
He held her suspended in the water and she felt serene, despite the murky ocean water of the Pacific, which obscured the view to the sandy bottom. In tandem she realized that she might be equally ready to accept the serenity that Joe’s presence provided, despite the murkiness of him, and all the aspects of him that as yet were hidden from view.
After an hour-long swim, they jogged out of the surf and toweled off, laughing and gasping for breath. They gathered their things from the beach and quickly made their way back to the car. Joe pulled out a small cooler from the trunk and offered Evie a selection of juices and beer. She selected a Heineken and he opened it for her. He opened a John Adams for himself, shook out the blanket and then paused to watch her sip her beer.
“It’s about a half hour drive to my house. Would you like to change out of that wet suit?”
“Yes, good idea.” She refolded the clothing that she had been wearing when they had arrived at the airport, took a pair of tan cotton pants and a white linen camisole from her bag and walked to a building at the entrance that bore an announcement of the presence of a ladies room. When she emerged a few moments later, Joe was wearing a pair of slightly wrinkled linen pants, Topsiders and a lightweight faded blue jean shirt open at the neck. She deposited her wet clothes in a bag in his open trunk and took her seat in front. After closing the trunk, he slid behind the wheel.
“You can recline in that seat.” He leaned across her and pressed a lever on the side of her seat, adjusting the position until she nodded approval. The midday sun warmed their damp hair. Evie took a deep breath of sea air and savored the post-swim exertion high.
They drove, listening to the flamenco guitarist play one romantic piece after another. A short distance from Joe’s house, a few drops of rain began to fall and then a steady stream. Joe put the top up, but not before they had gotten fully wet again.
“I thought it never rains in California,” she said laughing.
“Well, I guess not in the California of whoever it was that recorded that song.”
They ran to the house and Joe unlocked the door. It was an A-frame split-level that sat on the edge of an ocean inlet. Inside the door, they were greeted by two Doberman Pinchers, who had apparently been anxiously awaiting Joe’s arrival. Evie recoiled upon seeing the dogs and their exuberance.
“Aren’t Dobermans dangerous? I thought they’re known for violence. Without warning,” she said, careful to stand behind Joe as she spoke.
“No. That’s propaganda circulated by people who don’t really understand the breed.” He patted his chest and caught one of the Dobermans in mid-air as it leaped up to meet his gesture. “It’s been reinforced by the perpetuation of that image in the media, but it’s simply not true,” he spoke as the dog covered his face with licks.
He scratched the dog’s head with his free hand and then gently placed it back on the floor. “It’s all in how you raise them.” Joe turned and looked at Evie. She had backed against the door and was watching with wide eyes. He knelt down, glanced back at her frozen position and grinned. “C’mere, killer,” he called to one of the dogs.
Evie glared at him and shook her head in mock disgust at his joke. Both dogs were focused on Joe, their tiny tail stubs wagging in unison. She walked over to touch one of the dog’s heads. Once she moved closer, she realized that the dogs had not completely grown out of puppyhood. The dog she touched responded with an enthusiastic tongue kiss that covered her extended hand.
“What are their real names?” she asked.
“That one is Ajani, a male, and the other one, a female, is Ayoka,” he was still smiling as he spoke.
“Are those Indian names?”
“African. Ajani means ‘he who wins’ and Ayoka means ‘one who causes joy.’” Joe looked at Evie and watched her quizzically examine Ajani.
“They’re very nice. Very nice.” She petted Ajani. “And they smell so good.” She sniffed Ajani’s head and noticed a two-inch soft cotton object taped inside his ears that kept each ear erect. “What’s that in his ears?”
Joe smiled and said, “Tampons.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, really …”
“No joke. Tampons work really well for training their ears.” Joe laughed and played with the taped ear. Evie looked more closely at the ear support and smiled in understanding.
“Hmmm. Who takes care of them when you’r
e traveling?”
“My housekeeper comes by every day when I’m gone.”
He stood and retrieved towels for them from a first-floor bathroom. He and Evie were still dripping from the rain shower as he lead her to an enclosed sunroom with a balcony overlooking the inlet. She began to apply the soft cotton towel to her arms and face. The dogs laid down across the doorway in silent observance. Joe rubbed his face with the towel and sat on a long wicker sofa and watched Evie towel off. She could feel his eyes staring at her again and out of a sudden plan of revenge for his teasing, she slid over to the wicker sofa and wrung out her wet hair over him so that a river of large water drops landed on his chest and face.
He leaped up and grabbed her by the wrists. Laughing, he wrestled her to the sofa, landing half on top of her, pinning her arms to the surface of the cushions. Her own laughter caused her to breathe hard. Still laughing, their faces were inches apart. He lowered himself slowly and allowed his mouth to cover hers.
The sensation of his mouth on hers was almost unbearable for her, overpowering like the first view of a two-hundred foot waterfall unexpectedly discovered while walking in the forest. Stop … no please don’t. She let her instincts take over and her mouth kissed back. Their lips found contact again and again. She draped her arms around his neck and he pressed into her, their wet clothing squished between them. In what seemed like some distance away, a telephone began to ring. He ignored it, but reluctantly agreed to get up and answer it when she insisted. It had seemed perfectly timed. As much as she wanted him, she knew she was not ready.
He disappeared into the other room and Evie sat up on the sofa and looked out into the evening through the sunroom windows. An unknown euphoria. The sun was setting in a spectacular display of pastel reds and oranges, and the low-grade sparkle on the water was slipping into the framework of moonlight. Thoughts of Gerais Chevas were buried in the back of her mind beneath growing layers of relaxation. And the fresh palate of images of Joe. His smell. His taste. His touch. The sensation of his body lying on top of hers. And no one knew where she was. She could pretend for the moment that this was her reality.
She closed her eyes for a few moments and then stood and stretched and shook her head clear. She resumed towel-drying her long hair. While she tossed her damp hair she noticed a series of interesting carved masks hanging on the wall among framed photographs of wild animals, which she assumed were the result of Joe’s work with a camera on African jaunts. She walked over to examine them more closely. She picked up a carved figurine with a look of sheer terror carved into its wooden face and was studying it when Joe re-entered the room.
“What’s this?” Evie asked with curiosity in her voice, looking back at the direction of his footsteps.
“Just something I dug up in my backyard,” he said, his dimples gracing his smiling face. Evie gave a look of resolve to his humor.
“You have a lot of African art.” She walked back toward the windowed wall. “Did you collect it all while you were there?”
“Mostly. Some were gifts. Where were we?” He came over to where she was standing and placed a hand on the wall on each side of her, collecting her between his outstretched arms. She thought he was going to continue kissing her, but he stood there smiling at her, his eyes sparkling.
“I have some bad news,” he said.
“What?”
“I just realized there’s no food in the house.”
“Oh, that’s okay.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come. Want to go out for dinner?”
“Actually, I really need a shower.” She cupped her hands over his arms and gave him a quick kiss. “How about some takeout?”
“Okay,” he said, walking back to the sofa for his towel. He finished rubbing his hair with the towel and draped it around his neck. “You like Mexican? I can drive down the coast to a great place that has organic vegetable burritos.”
“Mmmm. That sounds great,” she said softly. “Are you sure you don’t mind if I don’t go with you?”
“As long as you’re here when I get back. I need to stop by a food market, too. It’ll take an hour.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
Joe nodded at the two pups. “Are you comfortable with the dogs loose or should I crate them?”
“No, let them roam. They seem to’ve accepted me.”
“They know quality when they see it.”
18
After a hot shower Evie walked back out on the sunroom balcony in her towel. It was so quiet, as if the silent sanctuary of a distant ocean isle had been transported to the shore before her. She looked around quickly and confirmed to her satisfaction that the privacy of the balcony was complete. The closest neighboring house was a half-mile around the naturally curving cliff and there was a dense collection of palm trees and other leafy accumulations on each side of the bluff where Joe’s property was located. She looked out over the Pacific. The balmy evening was sinking in around her. She felt lighthearted in defiance of the rumbling of unrest that lurked in her unconscious. She inhaled the oceanic perfume and looked up to find a silky moonlit sky ornamented by an array of star shapes.
A salty gust of wind erupted and displaced her towel. The folds of cotton fell around her feet, leaving her naked in the moonlight. She gasped but stood that way for several moments, in surprising tranquility, enjoying the sensation of the dry warm evening air on her skin. She wondered what an African night would feel like. She suddenly craved Joe’s presence, his touch. It was very erotic to be standing nude on his balcony, where he had surely been soothed by the same dry, warm air. His essence was all around her. It would be so easy to succumb to her immense physical desire for him. Perhaps too easy. It just didn’t happen this easily, this neatly. Not for her. In any event, she was pleasantly surprised at the expulsion, albeit temporary, of Project Neon from her conscious mind.
The telephone rang, severing her chain of thoughts and capturing her attention. There was an open kitchen window overlooking the sunroom balcony where she stood. The sound of the ring was clear and prominent, so she guessed the telephone was in the kitchen. Out of a sudden awareness of the existence of other people, she retrieved her towel, but her gaze turned back toward the ocean and she longed to drift back into that meditative state.
After three rings, she heard Joe’s voice announce, “Hello. Yeah, you’re talking to a machine. After the beep, make it count.”There was a beep and silent slice of a second. Then Evie heard an alto female voice. “Joe. Sandra. Oh Joseph. I’ve been thinking. Really honest, hard thinking. I’m … I’ve been a real bitch. I see now that I WAS jealous. I can’t believe I let that come between us. Can I see you? I need to see you. I miss you. Call me. Please call me.”
Despite the sound of the soft washings of the rocks below, the message drifted out to Evie. That must be the girlfriend Joe spoke about. I could have done without hearing that. She wrapped the towel tightly around her, retreated to the bathroom and put on a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt.
Maybe the workings of the answering machine or maybe the jolt of reality suddenly caused Evie to think about her own voice mail. In some kind of beach-inspired rebellion, she hadn’t checked it since she’d left the office on Friday. Joe had encouraged her to avoid it. There were conflicting voices in her head that advocated checking it, not checking it. She finally decided to check. In the end it was always better to know. Wasn’t it? She walked back into the sunroom and turned toward the kitchen. She located the telephone mounted on the wall beside the open window and dialed.
You have [beat] three new messages. Message One [beat] left Friday six o’clock p.m. [Adam speaking] “Hey Evie. Adam. Glad to hear you’re taking some well-deserved time off. We got a new draft from SerosaSoft. They came a long way toward meeting our concerns, but there are a few issues we should discuss. Call me when you get back, but don’t rush. Not so much time pressure now. We should be able to wrap this up fairly quickly.” End of message. [beat] Message Two [beat] left Saturday 10:26 a.m. [in
the weak voice of Hanover] “Hello, Evie. I owe you a debt of thanks for your fine work in my absence. I’ll try to see you when I come in this week. I’m on the mend and grateful to be alive. Thanks again for your help.” End of message. [beat] Message Three [beat] left Saturday 11:42 a.m. [an unknown female voice with an accent] “Eveleen, I’yave some information for you. Information about Project Neon. I need to see you. I call again.” [beat] No more messages.
She hung up the phone in a foggy state of mind. All the soothing sounds of the ocean, the peacefulness of the evening, the intimacy developing with Joe was sucked into a vacuum. She felt chilled and alone as the existence of Project Neon crashed back into her consciousness.
Did she recognize the voice? No, it was completely foreign to her and with an accent of some kind, possibly Latin but unclear. But the caller knew her name. Information about Project Neon. No specifics. Nothing in the message of substance. If this caller was part of the setup, it was clever in its brevity. Such a vague message could be interpreted as a common communication between lawyer and client. And there was a tone in the voice. A tone of familiarity, of frequency. The woman sounded like she was calling someone she knew—as if the tone of the message had been calculated to undercut Evie’s claim that she’d had no involvement with Project Neon. For anyone hearing it, she wondered if the message would be read as incriminating or exculpatory. When she got back to her office, she would have to find that mini tape recorder and capture the message in a permanent form. Maybe Joe had one.
The message had been brief and included no names or contact information. And she was in the wrong place to receive any follow-up phone call. No matter what information was being offered, she would not be able to receive it. She looked at a clock on the wall. It was now 7:30 p.m. California time, 10:30 p.m. New York time. She briefly considered returning to New York immediately, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not yet. No matter what awaited her back home, she had to spend a bit more time with Joe. She’d promised to be here when he got back, and she wanted to be. Not only for the benefit of their budding relationship, time with Joe also presented an opportunity to try to solicit some help understanding the technological assault she was under. She would plan to leave tomorrow.
Wearing the Spider (A Suspense Novel) (Legal Thriller) (Thriller) Page 17
