Girlfriend of a Surfer

by Bebe Wilde

  I smiled back then looked out the window again, my eye catching a newly opened shop I had noticed a couple of weeks earlier but had forgotten about. I pointed to it. “Hey, that’s new. Let’s go check it out. I’ve been curious since it opened.”

  “That guy is such an asshole,” she said. “I went in there the other day and he was hovering around me like he thought I was going to steal something. He shouldn’t have been worried. It’s mostly old junk that no one would want.”

  “I want to go,” I said. “We might find something great.”

  “We won’t,” she said. “It’s mostly crap. And very overpriced.”

  “Come on, take me,” I said. “Please?”

  She groaned, “Whatever,” and pulled into a parking space in front of the place and we got out of the car and walked into the store. It was a vintage shop that was jam-packed with a hodgepodge assortment of stuff. The place was nice, like an upscale boutique, except that everything in it was used. There were clothes and some nice furnishing and some knickknacks. I liked it. She was right about the asshole, though. He came out of the back and said with a nasal, and almost hostile, “Hello, how may I help you?”

  I smiled at him and said, “Just looking, thanks.”

  He gave a slight snort, looking over us like we were something the cat drug in. “Well, let me know if I can help you.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes and whispered, “See what I mean? Asshole!”

  I shrugged and looked around, picking things up and gasping at the prices. Fifty bucks for an old glass ashtray?! No one even smoked anymore! Well, Bear did occasionally when he had tied one on, but I sure as hell wasn’t spending fifty bucks on him.

  I put the ashtray down and turned to the checkout counter, which was this old glass and deep brown mahogany display case which looked like it had come from an old candy store. I bent down to look at the display inside and my eyes fell on this beautiful black leather satchel bag. It had one single top handle and just took my breath away. I got excited. I had to see it.

  “Oh, can I see that?” I asked and pointed at it.

  He sniffed and rolled his eyes like he didn’t like the fact that I was bothering him. Even so, he came around the counter, pulled the purse out and set it on the counter. I smiled at him, then grabbed the purse, turning it around and looking inside.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. “So well-crafted.”

  “It’s Valextra,” he said and waved his fingers a little. “Don’t you know Valextra? It’s vintage.”

  God, he was such a snob. It was like he thought he was speaking a foreign language to me and trying, in vain, to get me to understand his words. No, I did not know this brand. Sorry. I didn’t get to Rodeo Drive much. I sighed a little under my breath and was about to ask the price but realized that I couldn’t afford it. If you have to ask, you can’t afford, right? Right. I pushed the bag back over to him and said, “Thanks.”

  He nodded like he knew all along I wouldn’t be buying it and practically snatched it away from me. I grew embarrassed. I wasn’t poor, but it was obvious to him that I apparently couldn’t afford the luxuries of life.

  “You ready?” Quinn asked, coming up to me.

  I nodded and we left, getting back in her car and headed to our favorite burger joint. I was quiet, contemplating my life, wondering if this was all there was. Damn it! I hated existential angst! I thought about it. No, what had got me going was my car being on the fritz again. Damn that car anyway.

  “You’re quiet,” she said.

  “I really liked that purse,” I said. “I should have asked the price but I was afraid to.”

  “I went in there before, remember?” she said. “He wanted a hundred and fifty bucks for a scarf. I can’t imagine what he would have wanted for that purse. You could probably buy a new one cheaper.” She paused and affected his voice, “‘It’s Valextra. Don’t you know Valextra?’”

  I said, “Maybe he’s got layaway.”

  She glanced sideways at me and we cracked up. Damn it! I loved that purse. But, apparently, it was not meant to be.

  My cell rang. I fished it out of my purse, saw that it was Bear calling and considered not answering it. Quinn stared at me. I groaned, picked up and put him on speaker so she would have to see what I had to put up with. “What is it now?” I asked.

  “Hey, baby,” he said. “Would you do me a fave and pick me up a twelve pack when you get my lottery ticket?”

  “You are too white trash for words,” I said and nodded at Quinn. See? See what I have to deal with?

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” he said.

  “Go to the store yourself,” I said and pointed at the phone in exasperation. Quinn laughed a little and shook her head at me.

  “I don’t have a way to get there,” he replied. “You have the Beast.”

  I groaned and said, “Why do you waste our money on the lottery? I mean, why do you waste my money on the lottery? You’ll never win.”

  He paused as if considering this, then said, “If you never play, you can never win.”

  “That’s what they tell you, Bear,” I said and elbowed Quinn. “To keep you playing forever.”

  “Stop it,” Quinn whispered, laughing.

  “I will win the lottery,” he said. “Come hell or high water, I am winning.”

  “Your aspirations astound me,” I told him. “Fine, whatever.”

  “The numbers are twenty-eight… Are you listening?”

  I glanced over at Quinn, who was getting a big kick out of this. “I am listening, Bear. I am.”

  “Okay, the numbers are twenty-eight—”

  “Twenty-nine, thirty-five, forty, forty-eight,” I finished.

  “And the jackpot number is—”

  “Thirteen,” I said. “Sounds like a winner.”

  Quinn laughed out loud, then covered her mouth with her hand.

  “You got it,” Bear said. “Who’s that laughing?”

  “Quinn,” I said. “She just heard a funny story on the radio.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Did you get the numbers?”

  “Bear, I know the numbers by heart because I’ve been playing them for five years,” I said and groaned. “Do you not get that?”

  “No, no, no!” he exclaimed “I don’t care. I don’t want you to mess this up! You have to write them down. They’re twenty-eight—”

  “I already know them by heart,” I snapped. “I am not writing them down! Listen, I have to go. Bye.”

  I hung up and glanced at Quinn, then we both cracked up. She said, “You two are too funny for words.”

  “Well, he is,” I said and wiped at my eyes. “But sometimes he gets on my nerves so bad! He actually thinks he’s going to win the lottery! And, get this, he says the only reason he plays is for me! What a dork! And the thing is, if he started surfing professionally again, he’d have all the money he wanted!”

  “Ah, come on, he’s so fucking cool,” she said. “I’d kill to have a guy look at me the way Bear looks at you.”

  “Bear Aurelius Dillon,” I said, shaking my head and rolling my eyes.

  “See? His name is even cool! His initials are B-A-D. They spell Bad.”

  I’d never thought of that, but it made sense. B-A-D. Bad. His mom was a hippie with delusions of grandeur, hence his middle name of Aurelius, and his dad was a former champion surfer himself who sat him on his first board when he was only two and made him catch a wave as soon as he could stand on it without falling off. We rarely saw his parents, mainly because his mom was a world traveling jewelry designer—mostly beads—and his dad was still looking for, or rather addicted to looking for, the perfect wave. It was no surprise to anyone when they got a divorce when Bear was quite small.

  “I know, he’s bad,” I said and sighed. “He’s so, so bad.”

  “But he’s cool, Willa,” she said.

  “Please don’t defend him so much,” I said. “You’re supposed to
be on my side. You’re my friend.”

  “I am your friend,” she said. “But he’s such a sweetheart!”

  “No, he’s bad,” I said, shaking my head.

  “He is bad, but in a good way,” she said and laughed. “But you love him, don’t you?”

  I did. I had to agree. He was cool and it was nice having a cool boyfriend, even if I wanted to throttle him ninety-nine percent of the time. Everyone in the world tried to be cool and it came so naturally to him. How was that possible? I had no idea really. And he was really sweet to me. He’d do anything I asked. Well, not really, but he’d tell me he would. That meant something, right? But, yeah, he was cool. He was so cool he was hot. Too bad he got on my nerves so badly.

  Then something turned over in my mind. I suddenly realized what was wrong with me and it wasn’t me at all. I suddenly knew what I needed to do in order to move on with my life. “I think I want to break up with Bear,” I said and turned to her.

  “What?!” she screeched, as if I said I was breaking up with her and not Bear.

  “That’s a little reactive,” I said, staring at her. “But, seriously, I think I want to break up with him.”

  “Are you insane?” she said. “He worships you.”

  “I think you’re overstating it a little,” I said.

  “I am not,” she said. “Think about what you’re saying.”

  “I’m saying I’m getting a little tired, that’s all,” I said. “Do you know how hard it is to live with a guy like Bear? It’s hard. Like, really hard. All he thinks about is surfing and everything else comes in second.”

  “Come on, Willa,” she said. “Again—think about what you’re saying.”

  I sighed and shook my head, then pointed to the restaurant. “It’s there! You’re about to pass it up!”

  She took a sharp right and we slammed into the parking lot, then into a space. She put the car in park and said, “You can’t break up with him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t want you to break up with Bear,” she said.

  “You don’t want me to break up with him?” I asked, feeling all sorts of disbelief.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You don’t,” I said. Unbelievable. “You’re supposed to be my friend! You just said you were!”

  “And as your friend, I won’t allow you to break up with Bear,” she said. “It would be the wrong thing to do. He loves you, girl, and that’s something.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “Tell me why you don’t want me to break up with him.”

  “I just don’t,” she said.

  I stared her down.

  She sighed and said, “You two are perfect together.”

  I kept staring. “Get to it,” I said.

  “Because you guys throw rad parties,” she said, on the verge of exasperation. “And you’re so good together. And the parties are legendary.”

  I was stumped.

  “Seriously, the fresh guacamole, the bonfires on the beach, the kegs. Liquor that gets passed around in paper bags. It’s better than a music video! Seriously! And I have never had as much good sex as I have had with those surfer dudes. And there’s so many of them! It’s like a smorgasbord of prime cut beef.”

  I imaged a row of tanned hot surfers in their board shorts lined up on a sunny beach. “Well, you do like beef,” I said, thinking about it. “Wait a minute! You want me to stay with Bear so you can get laid on a regular basis?”

  “That’s part of it,” she said. “Is that wrong?”

  “A little,” I told her.

  “It’s just I’m not like you,” she said. “I’m not any good with men, you know? They mess everything up and they’re always calling and bothering you. And the sex is always so subpar. You never dated that much so you don’t know what it’s like. It’s a nightmare!”

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” I muttered and rolled my eyes.

  “And those surfer guys,” she said and bit her bottom lip. “They’re just so sexy. And they’re so free. And their bodies are so rad! No fat on them, just muscles and… Um! And they don’t want your number but when you see them again, they’re cool, you know and you know you could get it on again and it’d be okay and not weird. I don’t know what it is about them, but they make the best lovers.”

  “You think I don’t know this? Why do you think Bear and I are still together?” I mean, seriously. This wasn’t news to me. If Bear was any indicator of that, surfer dudes certainly rocked in bed and Bear was the best I’d ever had. I didn’t know about any of those other dudes, though. I’d just have to take her word for it.

  “It’s like they don’t want anything from you but you,” she said. “And when you’re done, you’re done, but in a good way. I know that sounds weird. But, really, it’s kind of freeing, you know? Because sometimes, a woman just needs to get some.”

  “I understand that,” I said.

  “But that’s not my point,” she said. “The point is that it’s really hard to find a good man, Willa. And you found one. So what if he wants to surf all day? Do you ever worry about him cheating?”

  “No,” I said. In fact, it rarely crossed my mind and when it did, I immediately dismissed the thought. We had sex on a daily basis, usually. Sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than twice.

  Quinn continued, “What you and Bear have is special. I’ve never had that! If I had it, I would never let it go.”

  I didn’t know how to react to what she’d just said.

  “I’ll tell you this. When I get ready to get married, I’m marrying a surfer,” she said. “I don’t care if it is me bringing home the bank. That’s the kind of man I want.”

  “You’re crazy and don’t know what you’re asking for,” I told her.

  “What? A life of good, hot sex and someone who has other interests besides what I’m doing? It’s the best of both worlds.”

  “Well, you better get ready to move close to the beach.”

  “I’m not that far from the beach now,” she said.

  “You’re still not close enough,” I told her, shaking my head.

  “I can move for love,” she said. “What do I care?”

  “You. Are. Crazy.” I nodded as I said this. She just looked at me. I stared back and sighed, then said, “Your problem is that you’re too independent. I don’t think you’ll ever get married.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “You keep your condo in pristine condition,” I said. “You even iron your sheets!”

  “They’re linen! You have to!”

  “No, you don’t, Quinn,” I said. “And you organize the food in your refrigerator.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t see a surfer dude fitting into that. Head’s up—they’re messy! If you let a surfer move in with you, your condo would be trashed in thirty minutes or less. It would be unrecognizable. And the sand? There’s always sand everywhere!”

  “How hot would he be?” she asked, all dreamy eyed.

  I laughed and gave her arm a small punch. “Hot. Really, really hot.”

  “Then he can make a mess,” she said and wriggled her eyebrows.

  “I think I’m going to get you a t-shirt made that says Surfers Make the Best Lovers,” I said. “No, no, it would say, Surfers Know How to Do It in the Water.” I thought about it, then tried one more time, “No. Surfers Do It Best Wet.’” I came up with another one, “I know! I know! Surfers Know How to Drop In!”

  “Oh, that’s funny,” she said, laughing. “Wait a minute. What is drop in? Is that like when someone comes over unannounced?”

  I cracked up. She was too funny! “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just when some surfer basically takes another surfer’s wave. Wah!” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “It’s actually the only thing that pisses Bear off. But, of course, I am using it in an entirely different context.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, nodding that she got it, kinda. �
��Well, I like the last t-shirt best. And I will wear it to bed every night.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Because, of course, you wouldn’t be seen dead in public in a t-shirt.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said. “You’re right.”

  “And then you can start a sex blog,” I went on.

  “An anonymous sex blog,” she corrected.

  “No, not anonymous,” I told her.

  “God! No! I’d never do that!”

  “You will,” I said. “And you can tell all your adventures about having hot sex with surfers.”

  “Stop it! You’re awful!”

  I ignored her and flipped my hair around and, as if I were doing a voiceover for a movie, then began, “‘Day One: I met a surfer named Beanie’—because they all have some stupid names like that, right? Like, they call him Beanie because he likes Beanie Weenies or wears beanies or something. Maybe it’s because he farts all the time.”

  “Stop it!” she screeched, laughing.

  “No, no, listen. But he will never tell you why he’s called Beanie and no one else will, either. Because it’s just like that.”

  “You are awful,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said and continued again as if I were doing a voiceover, “‘Beanie told me he’d caught a thirty foot swell off the coast of Santa Cruz. I knew he was lying but I fucked him anyway. He shot a little too quickly, but then he just said that I should have been there yesterday.’”

  “Yesterday?” she asked.

  “That’s what they all say,” I told her and took on the classic surfer dialect, “‘I caught a few good waves today but, man, you should have been here yesterday!’”

  She laughed even harder. Then she calmed down and said, “That’s too funny.”

  “Well, you were the one who fucked him. Tell me, did he get it up again?”

  “You are so going to hell for that!” she squealed. “You are so, so bad!”

  “God, I hope not,” I said, laughing. “Well, it’s your sex blog.”

  “It all sounds divine,” she said and wrinkled her nose a little, as if trying to convince herself. “Doesn’t it?”

  “As I said, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”