Going with Gravity

by Masters, Cate

  A tear streaked her cheek. Her words came out as a whisper. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Allison.”

  Yesterday, her name on his lips had felt like a miracle. Today, it felt like a curse. For the first time in so many years, she’d trusted someone fully.

  She’d never let it happen again.

  She walked toward the boarding area. “I have to call Michelle. Straighten this out somehow.”

  He held her arm. “Hey, fuck Michelle. Talk to me.”

  Was that his aim? To fuck Michelle? But why go through her? Guys like him never paid attention to her. None of it made sense.

  Allison shook her head, forced herself to look away from him, to not get hypnotized by those eyes again. “I can’t right now. I can’t even think straight.”

  The Blackberry buzzed. Michelle’s name appeared in the display. “It’s her. God.”

  He frowned at the device. “Don’t answer it.”

  She punched the phone on. “Hello.”

  The shrieks emitted through the phone felt founded, for once. “I’m on my way, Michelle. I couldn’t get another flight yesterday. No, there were no other flights to Hawaii. Yes, I know you expected me yesterday. I had no control over the fuselage… Yes. Yes. All right. Bye.”

  He touched her arm.

  She shrugged it away. “I feel sick.” She ran to the ladies’ room and stayed there until her stomach settled. Splashing cold water on her face helped a little.

  The announcement came over the intercom: Flight 145 to Hawaii. Now boarding.

  Bracing herself, she walked out to the boarding area. Five hours of awkwardness lie ahead.

  Wes stood by his carryon, hands in his pockets. “Are you all right?”

  “We have to board now.” She walked ahead.

  “I know. Hey…” He reached for her.

  She turned, silently pleading for him not to argue. Not now.

  He studied her face. He clenched his jaw, picked up his bag and followed her.

  Of course, the one man with whom she could communicate with a mere look had to be a snake. A gorgeous snake, but a snake nonetheless.

  This would be the longest flight in the history of aviation.

  ***

  The plane rumbled off the tarmac and climbed through the clouds. The worst kind of takeoff, not being able to see ahead of the nose of the plane. Anything could lurk in those clouds. A bird. Another plane.

  Fate had doomed this trip from the outset. The most frightening prospect was that of Michelle awaiting Allison’s arrival, ready to hurl more screamed accusations.

  Wes drummed the arm rest until the pilot announced passengers were free to move about the cabin. Unstrapping his seat belt, he stood and walked to the back.

  He might be able to use the rest room on this flight, but she couldn’t. Airplane rest rooms would be taboo from now on.

  She pulled her portfolio to her lap and scanned through the articles. She hadn’t even read them all yet.

  When Wes slid into his seat, she kept her head down. He inhaled deeply and opened a magazine.

  The flight attendant’s cart clacked along the aisle until it arrived at their seats.

  He ordered a vodka and cranberry juice, then turned to her. “Allison?”

  She said to the woman, “May I have a bottle of water, please? Thanks so much.” Rummaging through her purse, she found pain relievers and popped two.

  “Head hurt?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Aren’t you going to speak to me at all?” His eyes searched hers, no humor in his face.

  Yesterday, she’d opened herself to him physically and mentally and would have in any other way if he’d asked her to. The price for trust ran too deep. He’d drained her last reserves of emotion from her, then as good as left her for the vultures to shred apart.

  So much for being savvy. She’d never seen it coming.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He angled himself to face her. “I do. You said it yourself. Some reporters speculate on whatever they don’t know. This guy’s obviously unscrupulous. Looking to make a name for himself.”

  She looked away. His sincerity was palpable, whether rehearsed or real. Until she’d worked things out with Michelle, she couldn’t chance any more mistakes. “Please, Wes. Leave it alone.”

  “You mean leave you alone.” Irritation filled his voice. A new side to the easy-going surfer boy.

  She turned to him, her jaw set. She’d put up with enough emotional bullies in her life. He wasn’t going to join the long list. “Yes. That’s what I mean.”

  His nostrils flared, and his eyes shone with anger. “Fine.” He strode to the flight attendant, and flashed his brilliant smile at her. The woman glanced back, nodded and walked to the front. Wes followed her into the first class cabin. He didn’t glance back.

  And he didn’t return.

  ***

  Inside the Honolulu International Airport, she switched on her Blackberry and called Michelle, but reached her voice mail. Just as well. She was on the ground, Allison said, and would call her again from the hotel.

  Oahu. The Gathering Place.

  Leave it to Michelle to take the meaning to the extreme.

  To top it all off, her bag was headed back to New York. The clothes she wore smelled of sex. And Wes.

  Maybe she could make a small fire on her hotel balcony.

  Near the exit, a woman with long, dark hair draped with gorgeous leis smiled at her, holding out a flowered lei.

  Their strong fragrance would mask her stale smell, but Allison held up a hand to decline. “No, thanks. I’ve been laid too much already on this trip.”

  The woman smiled, and urged the flowers toward her. “You can never be lei’d too much.”

  Allison wouldn’t debate the point.

  With no baggage to claim, she headed straight for the taxis lined up outside the doors.

  “The Princess Sheraton, please.” Michelle might be able to afford the luxury Kahala Resort – popular with celebrities, and just Michelle’s style – but Allison had to watch her budget.

  The twin room held two double beds and looked out across the hotel pool, with the ocean barely visible between tall stone buildings. Just as well. The ocean’s allure had been tainted, too.

  She winced at the beds, remembering this morning. And last night. It seemed so long ago.

  Allison gave herself a mental slap.

  Enough was enough. If her career had taught her anything, it was to acknowledge mistakes, then move forward.

  Her laptop had sat unabused for two days. Time to put it to work. The room had an Internet connection; she needed contact information for the Hawaii Tourism Authority.

  At least her time with Wes yielded one good thing.

  Guilt haunted her until she reminded herself: he used her. Turnabout was fair play, as the saying went. The thing about revenge, it wasn’t sweet. Just sad.

  When Allison got through to the authority spokeswoman, she agreed to meet Allison and Michelle in the morning.

  Now all she had to was convince Michelle.

  Allison called, but her cell phone went directly to voice mail again. What was she up to?

  “Hey, Michelle. It’s Allison. I set up a meeting in the morning with the tourism authority. If we can get them to agree to use the photo as a promotional tool for the islands, it’ll be explanation enough for the rest of the world. We’ll say the shot used by the press was unauthorized and not intended…” she cleared her throat. “For public consumption. Give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

  Wes might say it was his idea, but she could argue he was vindictive because she jilted him. Would anyone believe her capable of dumping him, and not the other way around?

  Curiosity curled through her brain. At the desk, she Googled Wes Hamilton on her laptop.

  More than eight hundred pages came up. His web site touted him as a pioneer, a visionary. Sports magazine sites revered him as almost a g
od to surfers, setting impossible standards no other could attain. Gentleman’s Quarterly depicted him as a suave man-about-town in designer clothes. Whew, he was even more gorgeous in black and white. With his classic good looks, he could be a god.

  And she had cut him down without letting him explain himself.

  The local newspaper articles left a bad aftertaste. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for other media outlets to pick up on an article without verifying its sources. An inaccurate story could circulate for years.

  She threw herself on the bed, arms and legs splayed. An unpleasant smell invaded her nostrils. Her clothes. And lack of panties.

  Time to go shopping and shed these clothes, along with the memories staining their fabric.

  ***

  By late afternoon, Allison’s nerves had tightened, despite topping off a successful shopping trip by sitting by the hotel’s beautiful pool, actually reading her novel.

  Michelle neither called nor answered her phone. Her own version of turnabout being fair play, most likely – Allison could hear her now: You had your phone off and I couldn’t reach you...

  The residual fallout from this would last months, if not longer.

  After her sixth voice mail message (possibly the magic number? Tit for tat?), Allison strolled through the hotel lobby.

  A display of old photographs caught her eye. The hotel’s namesake, Crown Princess Victoria Lunalilo Ka’iulani Cleghorn, a beautiful girl, lived on the Ainahau Estate located on this property. Saying she would only marry for love, the princess refused to marry for political gain, and at the age of twenty-three, died shortly after Hawaii was annexed to the United States…

  Allison sighed. Another sad story. Commercialization of sad stories apparently thrived in every era.

  She rode the elevator to her room to escape. Everyone else in the hotel traveled in pairs. Couples, to be exact. Middle-aged couples, newlyweds, teenagers – even seniors. And why not? Hawaii was a romantic paradise with its lush foliage and postcard perfect beaches.

  The beach. A stroll would help unwind her. She didn’t even need to change, just tie a sarong over her suit.

  As tempted as she was not to bring her Blackberry, she palmed it, along with her room key card.

  In minutes, she reached Waikiki Beach. To the east, the dormant volcano Diamond Head loomed. Half the two-mile stretch of beach was set aside for surfers. As she watched boarders of all ages ride the long rolling break of the waves. She found it impossible not to look for Wes in their midst, though he would never surf such small waves. She missed him with an ache that reached inside her bones. As the sun emblazoned the water gold, she stood, acutely alone.

  Why couldn’t she snap out of her funk? It went against her nature to wallow like this.

  Maybe she just needed a good meal.

  Back at the hotel, Michelle still hadn’t called. Allison left yet another message. Maybe Michelle needed to one-up her on the number of voice mails before calling back. Somehow that didn’t sound plausible either.

  Allison went to dinner, accompanied only by her book. When she reached the part where the guy tracked down the girl to tell her he couldn’t live without her, Allison closed the pages, pushed her half-eaten dinner aside, and signaled for the check. She dragged herself back to her hotel room and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  By seven the next morning, Allison still had no messages from Michelle.

  Only one option remained. Take the meeting with the tourism authority rep alone.

  Wearing her new flowered split skirt and ruffled-collar blouse – a more relaxed version of her former self – Allison walked the mile and a half to the convention center.

  When a man and woman greeted her enthusiastically, then their faces hardened when they realized she wasn’t Michelle McCarter, Allison’s hopes faded. She apologized for Michelle’s absence, telling them she had a family emergency – nothing else could have kept her away. She lavished compliments about their thorough web site and anything else she could think of. The tourism group agreed, finally, to use Michelle’s image, but cautioned it couldn’t pay her what she made as a model. Allison told them Michelle would do it because she loved Hawaii so very much.

  Only nine thirty the morning after her arrival, and one problem was near to being solved. How many more lurked ahead was another matter.

  As Allison walked the streets, she expected every man to be Wes, or to see him at every sidewalk café, or in line at stores she passed. By eleven-thirty, her stomach grumbled for food. A little restaurant with outside tables beckoned her, so she sat, watching couples stroll hand in hand.

  A boy who looked about twelve stopped at her table.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m Keoni, your waiter.” He handed her a menu.

  “Oh, sorry. You look so young.” Was it her destiny to embarrass herself with males of all ages from now on? “Can I have an iced tea, please? And do you have today’s newspaper?”

  The boy returned with a glass in one hand and the Honolulu Star Bulletin in the other and set both on the table. She ordered, then paged through the paper. Thank goodness, nothing about Michelle. No photos, not even a blurb.

  Michelle had managed to stay beneath their radar. Overnight, at least.

  Where was she?

  Absently, she turned the page, lifted it to turn again when a name caught her eye. Eva Hamilton Campbell. The photo looked to be from the seventies. A beautiful blond with blue eyes, just like Wes. The obituary said she’d passed away from congenital heart disease. Yesterday.

  Yesterday. When she and Wes were boinking in the bathroom.

  How awful.

  The viewing was scheduled for tomorrow, and the funeral the following day.

  She folded the newspaper. Poor Wes. He must be devastated to have missed seeing his mother alive one last time. When he said she was ill, it hadn’t occurred to Allison he meant dying.

  When Keoni brought her check, she asked if he knew where she could find a phone directory. She’d never asked Wes for his number. And she hadn’t given hers.

  Keoni brought a phone book and change on a small tray.

  No Hamiltons or Campbells listed.

  The Internet could provide enough detail about the funeral home. Later.

  Right now, she wanted to lose herself. Regain some perspective. She rented a scooter and visited the Honolulu Zoo, then Pearl Harbor. By six-thirty, hunger steered her toward Waikiki. After she returned the scooter, she looked for a restaurant with less people waiting. Not that it mattered. She had no schedule to adhere to.

  She walked back to her room, and gave the telephone a cursory glance. Of course. No flashing message light. Anyway, Michelle would have called her cell if she’d wanted to get in touch.

  At ten thirty, Allison settled in bed to read when her Blackberry buzzed.

  Michelle. Finally.

  “Michelle, what’s up? Where are you?”

  Her words slurred to one long, “I’mattaparty.” She giggled, and a man’s murmur hummed in the phone, followed by slurpy smooching.

  Allison winced. “I need to talk to you about a photo shoot for the Hawaii Tourism Authority. They agreed to use you in their promotions, but we need to do it soon.”

  “Whaddayamean? I dinnsaytheycould.”

  “You didn’t show up for the meeting this morning, so I made the deal for you.”

  No less sluggish, her sentences were at least more distinct. “You don’t make deals for me. I decide. Not you.”

  “Michelle, this is the only way to explain that nude beach photo. It’s a damn good one, too. An opportunity for some positive press. I suggest you go with it.”

  Cackling, Michelle asked, “You suggest? Or your surfer boyfriend?”

  A chill ran through her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re shacking up with him on my dollar, you stupid slut. Don’t think I’m going to pay you for this trip. I’m tired of you taking advantage—” />
  “On your dollar? You pay me half what I’m worth and cover less than half my expenses!”

  “Gimme a break, Allie. You think I don’t know you overbill me for everything?”

  Allie. Michelle knew how much she hated that nickname.

  Heat crawled up Allison’s neck to her cheeks. “Overbill you? You don’t pay half of what you owe me!”

  “I don’t pay because you overbill me! Then you run around with some brainless surfer dude instead of working.”

  Allison strained to control her temper. “You have some nerve. I work sixty hours every week for you. Instead of being grateful for getting you out of the messes you make, all I get is abuse. I’m sick of it, Michelle.”

  “You’re sick of it? I’m sick of it.” A male voice asked Michelle to keep it down. Fuck off, asshole! she screeched.

  Calm came over Allison. Tonight was one mess Michelle would have to clean up herself. Even if no media had attended this party, someone always had a cell phone or digital camera, and never hesitated to use it. And share it. It would probably appear on YouTube tonight.

  Allison spoke in a steady voice. “You’re just angry because I was in the news for once instead of you. Well, someone had to detour the press from you. You can never seem to stay out of trouble long enough for them to print a good word.”

  “How dare you? As if you’re some sanctimonious angel. All your preaching at me, and some pimply kid with a camera catches you and your boyfriend coming out of the rest room together! I hoped you learned a good lesson from all this.”

  “What did you say?” A pimply kid? With a camera? An inkling of realization took root.

  Michelle sneered, “Don’t act so surprised, Allison. It happens to me all the time. Welcome to my world. Only this time, it’s your own freakin’ mess! Miss High and Mighty behaved stupidly! And you can’t handle it!”

  Allison sighed. Her boss really had no clue. “I didn’t take a vow of chastity when I took this job, you know. Although I’ve given you all my free time, all my energy these past two years, and had no time for a life of my own.”

  “All your energy? If that’s true, you need to recharge, sweetie, because the only energy I see is pretty pathetic.”

  Allison felt liberated by the thought that the only thing that could be construed as pathetic was to put up with Michelle any longer.