Adventures of Pebble Beach

by Berger, Barbara

  No, none of that triggered Pebble’s outburst. When it finally happened, it was because Albert was acting like a jerk. Throughout the course of the night, Pebble found his drunkenness increasingly irritating, but she did her best to tolerate it. She knew she’d lost contact with him completely – she might as well not have known the man at all. Still she managed to keep a tight lid on the cauldron of feelings boiling inside her, not an easy thing for Pebble to do. She just wasn’t one of those real controlled people. (She might look good at business meetings, but this was something else!) All night long she kept telling herself to just go with it. The whole thing would soon be over. The party, her trip to Greenland, everything. Even the fantastic lovemaking would soon vanish down that insatiable tunnel called Time. As long as her head was in this “philosophical” mode, it wasn’t that hard to keep her mouth shut and just let it all pass. But there was another, a not-so-philosophical part of her that also struggled to be heard. It was the part of her that wanted a decent life now – that part of her that felt she had a right to be treated with respect now. Which was why the tiniest dent in her very fragile armor probably allowed this long-suppressed craving to come gushing forth – even if she was trapped in a snowstorm at the end of the world. Respect – yes that’s what she wanted! And no man had ever given her that. She was always the subordinate; that was the story of her life, her career, even in these heady times of equal opportunities for women. It just hadn’t seemed to have filtered down to “her” house or “her” husband or “her” sons. She’d always been the “caretaker” – the one who’d put her needs, her desires aside, for the common good. Obviously it was time for Pebble to graduate, even if she didn’t know she was fast approaching graduation.

  Any fool could see there had to be grief down the road, even if Pebble, ever the optimist, tried hard not to look. And there was another thing which added to this oppressive atmosphere: It’s not much fun sitting around almost sober with a bunch of drunks on an icecap when you’re all alone and definitely past your 40th birthday.

  It made Pebble feel like an outsider. An outsider to her life, to the world, to everything. It was scary. All these people drinking themselves to oblivion as fast and furiously as they could; and she couldn’t join. She was incapable of letting go that much. So instead she started feeling panicky again. It just kind of crept up on her while she was sitting there saying something completely senseless to someone who was too drunk to understand anyway. That was when her heart started missing a beat or two. She tried not to notice, but it happened again and again, even if she changed partners or topics. Pebble started to sweat anxiously. She became strangely aware of herself and her body. Her breathing was shallow and irregular. God I’m so nervous I could die. I wish I could get out of here. It was almost impossible to feel calm and accept that there was no way out. Why can’t I just drink myself to oblivion like everyone else? Why do I have to be the only one who’s concerned about the fate of the world just now? Why can’t I be off-duty, too, just for a little while? It would have made Pebble’s life so much easier if she could have. But she couldn’t. The woman wasn’t put together like that, she was too New York and too smart for that. She knew she’d made a wrong turn. That was the problem. And high-achievers have a hard time forgiving themselves. It feels like the end of the world. Look at me! Look at my life! What have I done? Especially when you make a serious wrong turn and it takes you all the way to the North Pole. Pebble wanted out. Being stuck in Holsteinsborg was no fun. Pebble was having a full-blown anxiety attack. I might get hysterical. Pebble didn’t like herself. I might lose control! Pebble asked for a refill. Why do I have to feel like this? Anxiety attacks are no fun. Why can’t someone help me? She hated Albert for being so occupied with himself. God, men are such shits. Pebble wanted a man who’d take care of her. That’s what she’d wanted from the very beginning. He should respect her and take care of her. That was it. Pebble was no different from any other woman. But no such man seemed to exist. All the men Pebble knew had a hard enough time taking care of themselves. It was a stupid dream anyway. Damn!

  The memory of that incredible tingling sensation that swept through her body when her helicopter first landed in Holsteinsborg a week earlier was long gone. All her nervous energy was focused on feeling bad. Pebble hated everything about Albert and Greenland. She was tense as a zombie.

  “Albert,” Pebble turned towards Albert and said in her sweetest voice, “let’s go.” She wanted desperately to make her problems known.

  They were sitting on the couch. The ashtrays on the stained mahogany table were piled high with cigarette butts. Empty and half-full glasses were scattered everywhere. Most of the people had already left. At least Steen and Annika had, much to Pebble’s great relief. Pebble was sure Annika had taken the spirit dancers with her.

  When Pebble asked Albert to leave, he looked up in surprise, as if Pebble had rudely interrupted his conversation. He’d forgotten all about her and the time and was in the middle of another immensely profound discussion with Martin. Obviously Pebble Beach, nice as she was in bed and nice as she was to have around, had no sense of timing. Anybody in their right mind could see that Albert wasn’t ready to leave.

  Kirstin and Pebble exchanged looks. Kirstin wanted them to clear out, too, but she didn’t dare say anything. She’d been walking around on eggshells for the last couple of hours, trying to avoid Martin’s drunken wrath.

  “Albert,” Pebble’s voice was calm, “would you please give me the keys to your house so I can go home. I’m really tired.” If respect wasn’t forthcoming, Pebble decided to give herself some. It finally dawned on her that she was a grown-up woman and she could go home by herself if she wanted to.

  It was no big deal – until Albert refused to give Pebble the keys to his house.

  “How will I get in, if you have the keys?” he replied with all the logic of a drunk. What was the woman thinking?

  Pebble was so surprised she didn’t know what to make of it. How could he refuse to give her the keys? It wasn’t like she was asking him to do her a big favor. No sacrifice whatsoever was involved and besides, Albert was supposed to be her great love. As far as she’d gotten in the scenario anyway. What was going on?

  “You inconsiderate bastard…” The words just flew out. She knew she wasn’t supposed to say that, but she didn’t care. She’d crossed over a bridge. Martin and Kirstin watched Pebble and Albert with ghoulish curiosity. These two, the supposed-to-be-madly-in-love lovers, were the talk of the town. Pebble had flown all the way from Copenhagen to be with this hunk. The looks on their faces said it all. Pebble registered every nuance and wondered why Martin and Kirstin were suspended in mid-air with their mouths wide open. She wasn’t sure if it was shock or satisfaction she read on their faces.

  “I came all the way to Greenland to be with you…” Albert sat as if turned to stone. “You useless bum!”

  It was as if she’d slapped him.

  The look on his face stunned her. It said, “I really do love you, in my own way.” She didn’t want to hurt him, even if he’d hurt her. Men are strange, she thought, knowing that she’d never forget him even if they had no future.

  He tried desperately to regroup, but the liquor slowed him down. It was pitiful to watch. Pebble knew he didn’t want his friends to see him like that. “You’ll have to go to the Seaman’s Home,” he said finally, groping after his dignity. It appeared to demand an enormous effort to press the words out of his mouth. His life had changed. It was almost as if he’d said, “Where’s my Pebble Beach?” But he of course he didn’t.

  Pebble tried not to notice his loss. She focused on the slur in his voice. It was worse than ever. How can two people like us possibly love each other? But she knew she loved him, hopelessly, desperately. The Seaman’s Home was the only place in Holsteinsborg that was almost a hotel.

  Pebble wanted to scream, cry, pull her hair, let all her fear and disappointment come out – for once in her life. She wanted to mourn for every
thing that she’d never have. But she couldn’t. People don’t do things like that in public. Instead, one large tear popped out of the corner of her left eye. It was for “impossible love”. For Pebble and Albert’s. But Albert was too drunk to notice.

  She wanted to kneel down besides him and touch his face tenderly and make all the bad things go away, but instead she stomped out of the room.

  She found herself sitting on top of Kirstin’s washing machine which was stuffed into the long entrance foyer of the house. Coats lined the walls, and ski jackets, skis, hats, gloves and boots. It was a cluttered, gloomy, drafty place. Pebble sat on top of the washing machine and cried. Not a lot, but some. Because not being a stranger to life, she basically knew that this was the way things were. It is hard to get what you want for more than a minute or two anyway. If you did, you were very lucky indeed. And as she figured it, she’d somehow gotten her share. So she swung her legs back and forth to keep herself warm. Surprisingly enough she felt quite content, her anxiety had passed now that the dream was over. Once or twice, her foot hit the door of the washing machine, by mistake, and when it did, she muttered, almost happily, “Damn,” to nobody in particular.

  Pebble was still cold so she put on her thermal overalls. She considered leaving and probably would have if it hadn’t been 30 degrees below zero outside. She’d really had enough. And it was comforting to know she’d passed her limit. She felt comfortable with that. But she couldn’t just go. You just don’t go wandering around Greenland in the middle of the night in the dead of winter. There weren’t any cafes down the street where you could drink black coffee and nurse your wounds. And besides, Greenland wasn’t exactly a hot spot for your average big city woman. So Pebble just sat and let Time pass, which was really quite okay.

  All her madness fizzled out. She felt quiet inside. She knew if Albert had had any idea of how bad she was feeling in there he probably would have said to her, “What’s the big deal, sweet-heart? You’ve been alone all your life anyway.” But he didn’t – and that was the rotten part – he didn’t know how bad she felt because he was just too damn drunk to notice.

  Love is just too depressing, Pebble was dissecting something that was over. Done. That was when Albert turned up in the entrée turned laundry room looking absolutely divine.

  Why does he have to look so good? Pebble thought he could have been in a Calvin Klein ad for “Obsession” – that was how good he looked to her. So you see it was difficult and complicated, too. Because Pebble had passed that dangerous age of 40 or so, which didn’t make it any easier. And Albert, besides being an alcoholic, was really a kind man. And he loved Pebble, too, in his own way, behind all the he-man bravado. And Pebble was more than just single; she was “newly divorced”. She wasn’t used to being on her own and she didn’t like it. Her heart ached for a man – a real man, to touch and love and care for. Her body cried out in the cruelest most pitiful way. Oh Lord, please give me someone to love – someone kind, someone gorgeous, someone rich and considerate – someone wonderful and handsome and thoughtful. And you see it was so bad, this yearning, this aching that Pebble couldn’t help feeling, well, if he (that thoughtful, kind, loving man) wasn’t around, well at least Albert was. Albert was real love, of a sort. And he had this smile, this devilish, macho, he-man smile that women couldn’t resist. Pebble had no illusions anymore; she knew she wasn’t the only woman who’d fallen hard for him. He had this wonderful, slightly used body, that was hard and muscular and which worked wonders on her aching loneliness, even if his voice was slurred and he treated her badly. Somehow, the lack of respect changed nothing. Maybe it was because she was that needy. Or maybe it was his lovemaking. Because no matter how drunk he was, Albert could make love. It was like the wind on a day so hot and stagnant that you were begging for mercy. He revived her, made her come alive, why else would she have flown halfway across the world to be in the arms of a man she hardly knew. So you see it wasn’t easy to be mad. Because in fact, she’d asked for it. Albert hadn’t sold her a bill of goods. She was the one who’d just shed a tear or two for impossible love. She was the one who was stuck as close to the North Pole as any reasonable human being could possibly want to be – without any chance of a dashing captain from Air Greenland knocking on the door and asking her if she’d like to leave immediately – yes immediately – yes right this very minute for Copenhagen…Which was why, dear reader, it wasn’t long before Pebble found herself out on the icy street, laughing with Albert.

  “Ma chérie.” He had a way with those French words and the cold air seemed to revive him. He was able to focus his full power on her, in spite of the liquor. She was amazed. He said things she’d never thought she’d hear him say.

  “Since you came into my life,” she felt his muscular arm right through his pilot jacket, “how can I tell you…I feel like I got a second chance…”

  Pebble looked into the sadness of his very brown eyes.

  “If it’s true about Franz,” he almost stumbled under the weight of his words, “I know I will never love another woman again.” He paused dramatically, a true Frenchman, arms outstretched in middle of the snow-covered street. “You will be the last woman I ever love.”

  Bullshit, she thought as she drowned in his eyes. She’d already forgotten that she’d just called him an inconsiderate bastard. Can you imagine Albert never touching another woman? Pebble knew it would never happen. He was too…well…too sensual, even if he was a loner. But it was nice to toy with the idea for a moment, even if his body, the pain in his eyes, cried out for a woman. Pebble knew Albert would always need somebody to take care of him and there were plenty of suckers around. She knew she’d been had and loved every minute of it.

  “Albert,” she pressed her slim body towards his and put one gloved hand against his chest as they walked into the wind, “there will never be anybody but you…you must know that…”

  What the fuck, she thought, if he can tell me a pack of lies, so can I.

  It was only later, when she’d shut the bathroom door back at Albert’s house that she had time to review the whole sordid evening. The motley crew of people, the booze. She was thankful none of her friends knew what she’d done. She would give them some bullshit story about what a great guy Albert was and how wonderful it had all been. God it’s crazy to be a woman in her 40s trying to grow up and stay young at the same time.

  She removed as much of her mascara as she could and splashed cold water quickly on her face. She was in a hurry. Albert was waiting for her in the bedroom. He continued to say delicious, wonderful things to her all the freezing way home. Nothing made any sense. She knew she hated him for humiliating her with all his ignorant, inconsiderate boozing and that she loved him for making her feel alive again…But who can find happiness with an alcoholic no matter how alive he makes you feel? I’m too tired to sort it all out, too tired, too drunk, too confused, too horny. What she really wanted was to have Albert fuck her brains out. He could do it, she knew. He’d done it before. Brought her as close to heaven as she’d ever been…He could do it again, just one more time, she was sure, even if things had changed, even if real life had entered the picture…We’ve crossed a bridge…I know…and we’ll never be able to go back. The spirits hadn’t left her after all.

  She flushed the toilet and ran naked across the hall to the bedroom where she found him, stretched out on the bed, fully clothed and sound asleep.

  * * *

  Did anything else happen during Pebble Beach’s stay in Greenland? Well, nothing much except on the way back to Copenhagen, on the airplane, Pebble Beach happened to sit next to this gorgeous 24-year-old and she immediately decided that she was going to have an affair with him.

  He was, after all, young. And she was, after all, certainly not getting any younger.

  Chapter 8

  Pebble paced the blue-carpeted floor of Peter Cato’s black and grey high-tech office. His clean, minimalist furniture glowed sinisterly in the dim Copenhagen afternoon sunlight. Pebb
le couldn’t believe what was happening.

  While she’d been gone, Einar Bro’s people had launched YourLift, a product almost identical to WonderLift, precisely thirteen days before Fem-Ads’ scheduled launch. It was a catastrophic blow to Fem-Ads. YourLift was selling phenomenally well. The new product had effectively wiped WonderLift right off the map. They wouldn’t get a second chance. God only knew the consequences for Fem-Ads, maybe they would fold. All their resources had gone into launching WonderLift.

  “Jennifer saw you at the Hotel D’Angleterre with Einar right after our WonderLift strategy meeting, Pebble.”

  Pebble was in shock, trying to regroup.

  “She says…you were so intoxicated you didn’t even notice her when she passed your table. She said you were holding Einar’s hand.”

  Jennifer was Peter’s secretary.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Peter – but it wasn’t me. I didn’t tell him about WonderLift. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Why should I, Pebble?” Peter Cato, the very cool Dane, was livid. Danes seldom lose control, but Peter was very close. Pebble knew he’d staked his private fortune on Fem-Ads. “You turned in your fabulous campaign only a week later. God, Pebble…you’re so talented…how could you?”