Air (5 page)

Chase appeared at our sides and said, “What gives?”

“We have to go to this mall signing that we totally thought was tomorrow. Could you drop our surfboards back at the Grove Hotel? The girls at reception will hold them until we're back later.”

“No problem. You'll be at the party tomorrow though, right?”

Zeke looked at me for an answer.

“It's up to Iris.”

I very nearly said, “
No, I've changed my mind
,” because, I suddenly had a really bad feeling about that party. But Chase looked so hopeful, and I'd just met him, and he was Zeke's friend and I didn't want to disappoint anyone.

“We'll be there,” I said.

Messing up the day of the mall promo was a seriously unprofessional screw-up on our part, but I trusted Zeke to lay on the charm and stop us getting a bollocking.

We had a two-minute loo-and-snack break, then caught a cab to the Dolphin Mall. Sitting in the taxi, with Zeke staring out the window, I had nothing to do but think, and my brain kept going back to the girls I'd met. Zeke definitely had some history with Inga. No doubt about it. And Amber had just taught him Spanish? Yeah, right.

Zeke kept looking at his watch, stressing. Even with the taxi driver weaving through the traffic like a pro, we still arrived at the mall fifteen minutes late.

It was just a poster-and-merchandise signing, but bona-fide surf fans were going to be there and we couldn't skip it, even if we did both reek of massage oil, sweat and sunscreen.

Most of the people that showed up roughly 99.9 percent, I guessed would be there for Zeke. I knew this because we'd done around twenty of these events already, in various surf
towns around the world, and the fan breakdown was always the same.

The queue for the Billabong store was out the door, snaking past a Dunkin' Donuts, a kids' clothing store and all the way down to Ron Jon's Surf Shack, which actually looked better than the Billabong store.

Zeke looked fine in his shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops. He'd shaken his hair out from the topknot and, like always, it had dried perfectly tousled, whereas mine was a bleached-out mess of frizz. My face was pink with sunburn, my T-shirt was creased and I had Cheeto breath.

As we walked past the queue of surf fans, I heard a bunch of people saying, “There he is!” and “Oh my God, I can't believe it!” Then another voice said, “Gross! Who is
she
?”

I turned toward the voice, and made eye contact with the girl, who didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed.

When we entered the store, a local photographer in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and white boat shoes greeted us with a big smile.

“Zeke and Iris, welcome to our store!”

“Thanks,” Zeke said, shaking his hand. I looked up at the back of the store and saw a bigger-than-lifesize picture of Zeke, standing in board shorts right next to Dave Rastovich, Greg Long and Joel Parkinson: some of the best surfers in the world. The legends.

“And welcome to Florida. Y'all having a fun vacation?”

“Yeah, loving it,” I said, shaking his hand and trying my best to reflect his level of enthusiasm back at him. It had been pointed out to me that even when I wasn't being sarcastic, something about the inflections of my voice made me sound as if I was.

“Sorry we're late,” Zeke said. “We thought this was tomorrow. We'll stay on a little to make up for it, if you need us to.”

“No need to apologize. We're just stoked to have you visit our little store.”

Several members of the store staff were staring at us, but none of them came over.

“Is there a rep from Billabong here?” Zeke asked, looking around.

“Right this way. You need anything else before you get started? A soda or something?”

“Do you want something, Iris?” Zeke asked.

I shook my head.

“Then no, sir; we're good to go.”

The photographer led us to the back of the store, past two junior male Billabong riders, and there, sitting at the back of the store, with her legs crossed and her red hair tied up in a glossy bun, was one of my favorite people on the planet.

“Saskia!” I said, rushing toward her. Zeke was right behind me.

Saskia was basically the reason I'd even made the tour, and I owed her everything.

“Iris!” she said, hugging me tight and sounding excited. “Took you long enough. I thought you weren't going to show!”

“Had the wrong day. Why didn't you tell us you were going to be here?”

“Wanted to surprise you. How are you, darling?”

“Good. I really missed you!”

“I can't believe you're here!” Zeke said. “We missed you so much.”

I stepped aside to let them embrace.

Tears that made no sense were pricking at my eyes, because I could feel it flowing through me sheer joy.

“So you're working for Billabong since when?” Zeke asked.

“A few weeks. It's only an internship, but it's a start.”

“Congrats,” Zeke said. “Anders was so mad you ditched him.”

“I couldn't stand being his PA for a minute longer. He's turned into a right little fascist these past few months. I know he's having personal troubles, but honestly, he was making my life a misery.”

“Personal troubles? Did you know that, Zeke?” I said.

“Yeah. Split up with his long-term girlfriend.”

Zeke knew Anders was going through something like that and didn't tell me?

“You didn't say anything.”

“It's not really my place to talk about someone else's personal life.”

The store manager came over and asked Zeke if he could start signing, since the people in the queue had already been waiting a while and were getting restless.

“Yeah, I'm so sorry. We just got caught up. I'll be right there.”

They walked away together and I couldn't help feeling a little bit embarrassed that the manager hadn't asked me to go with them.

“I should get a move on too, although I'll probably only have to sign one poster.”

“Don't do yourself down. I had a look at your Twitter. Thirty thousand followers is absolutely not to be sniffed at.”

“I tweet some sick surf pics, so they're probably following me for that . . . Anyway, congrats on the job. Stoked for you, mate.”

“No bugger wanted to sponsor me to surf, so at least this way I get to follow the tour. And even better, I'm going to be interviewing the surfers beachside for the webcast on Saturday. I'll have to do you too so to speak.”

“Wow, cool job.”

“Not really. They're not paying me, and I'm sorting out my own travel and hotels, so I suppose it hardly counts as a job at all.”

I winced. Saskia was working for free. Actually, worse than free. This internship must be costing her thousands in travel and board. She was from a wealthy family, sure, and probably had a fair bit in the bank, but if it wasn't for me, she'd have won the Billabong sponsorship and would have been on the tour, getting paid to surf. I owed her everything.

I looked over at Zeke and saw him signing a surfboard in black Sharpie.

“I've been wondering how you've been getting on,” she said. “It's not easy at first leaving home. Everyone struggles.”

She stretched her arms above her head, as if she was about to go into a sun salutation, and then thought better of it.

“Zeke never seemed to have a problem,” I said.

I looked over at Zeke again, chatting and laughing with the very pretty owner of the surfboard. The girl turned and held up her long hair so that he could sign the back of her neck. At least he wasn't signing a cleavage, which was a frequent request.

“Not true. He struggled too.”

“I doubt it.”

“Ha I happen to know that the first time he took a flight on his own, to a contest in France, he got himself into a right pickle. He was far less confident back then shy, even and liable to panic. Poor thing couldn't speak the language, didn't know how to get to his event and couldn't find anyone to tell him. He'd been wandering the airport for an hour, and was so desperate for the toilet and so worried about his big-wave boards being nicked while he was in the loo that he gave up the whole thing as a bad lot and got the next flight home to Honolulu.”

“No way. That did not happen.”

Zeke, my world traveler, had missed a surf contest just because he couldn't figure out how to go to the loo without having his gear stolen.

“Promise you, it did. It's scary for everyone at first. You just fake it until you make it.”

Faking confidence was definitely a skill I was learning.

I gave her another hug and said, “I'm really glad you're here. Let's spend some proper time together, all right?”

“Will do, kiddo. Where are you staying?”

“South Beach. Grove Hotel.”

“I'm in the Colony. The manager here said he'd give me a lift back after the signing. I'm sure you guys can jump in too. Save on taxi fares.”

“That'd be awesome.” I didn't want to rub it in by pointing out that Billabong reimbursed my work-related expenses.

She kissed me lightly on the lips and then went off to hover around Zeke and confer about Billabong's plans for total global domination of the surf market. I stood to the side of them, at
a different table, and chatted to three eleven-year-old fans who wanted my signature on promo posters of me surfing J-Bay in South Africa.

It was always exciting to meet fans, and I tried my best to reply to their questions with interesting answers, but I couldn't concentrate, and couldn't stop grinning. I felt completely euphoric. I had a friend in Miami.

“That went good,” Zeke said, as we hit up the nightwear section of a department store in the same mall. The signing had lasted a couple of hours and the store was only thirteen minutes away from closing.

“Yeah, it did. So did you sign any nice racks?” I asked him.

“Not today. Some arms; one ankle.”

“And one neck.”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Sucks to be you, Zeke Francis,” I said, smiling through gritted teeth.

“How about these?” Zeke said, holding up some blue plaid pajamas that looked as if they'd been designed for old men or toddlers.

“Er . . .”

“Excuse me, ma'am,” Zeke said, turning to the blond girl who'd been hovering around us, eavesdropping, “we're going to the Tanashian pajama party tomorrow night and have no clue what to wear. Can you help us here?”

“You need a silk robe for sure,” she said to Zeke, producing a deep red silk dressing gown that wouldn't have looked amiss on Hugh Heffner, “and the matching shorts.” Zeke took both of these items, and without looking at anything else in the store, or even checking the sizing or price, and said, “Done. My girlfriend needs something too.”

“Yellow would be good with her coloring,” she said, handing me a slip.

“I can't wear that out,” I said, fingering the lacy cups and feeling quite sure that my nipples would be on show.

I turned away from her, and picked up a red striped shirt.

“It's not exactly fashion forward . . .” she said, seeming disappointed in me. “How about this?” She handed me some stretch-cotton bum-skimmers and a matching vest, again in buttercup yellow, which came with an overshirt.

Zeke raised his eyebrows at me, and I nodded. “She'll take it.”

I caught a quick glimpse of the price tag on the shirt alone $149, which seemed insane and was mouthing this sum to Zeke, when he put up his hand and said, “I got this.”

The woman rang up our purchases, and charged Zeke's American Express with over five hundred dollars of nightwear, which Zeke appeared totally fine with, even though it seemed to me like it would have been better for the charity if we just gave them the money and wore our own clothes.

“Thanks, Zeke, but let me transfer the money into your account.”

“Relax.”

We returned to the Billabong store, and waited outside for the manager to cash up. Saskia came clip-clopping out in her
super-high heels, ushering the two young lads in front of her, who were being picked up by their parents. She'd let her hair down, and it swung as she walked.

“Thanks so much for coming to our store,” the manager said, pulling down the shutter. “You're welcome here any time you're in Florida.”

“We won't be back for probably a year,” Zeke said, “but if you want us to come do another signing then, just get a hold of our publicist, Whitney, and she'll arrange it. I think I have her card here,” Zeke said, flipping through his wallet.

The manager led us to his minivan, and Zeke sat up front, to be polite, I guessed, while Saskia and I piled into the back.

“Are you good for a catch-up tomorrow?” I said, feeling really happy at the prospect of some girl time. “Let me take you somewhere decent for lunch. Caviar. Lobster thermidor. Whatever you want.”

“Lobster thermidor?”

“Isn't that what you London people eat?”

She laughed. “Never eaten a morsel of crustacean in my life. Not my thing.”

“Well, whatever you fancy. My treat.”

“Not necessary, sweetheart. I can pay my way.”

“You're doing enough of that as it is. Because of me. Let me do something nice for you.”

“You don't owe me anything, Iris, but Zeke invited me to the Tanashian party, so we can catch up then?”

“Deal.”

“You folks seen the sights?” the manager said, taking his eyes off the road to look at us in the rearview mirror.

“We only got here last night,” I explained, “so we've been mostly checking out South Beach.”

“You gotta go see Everglades National Park! My brother-in-law has an airboat tour down there. Here, I have his card.”

He riffled through the glovebox and pulled out a few business cards and passed them to Zeke, who handed them out.

I put it in my wallet to be polite, and Saskia did the same. When she looked up, she gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and said, very quietly, “So, I have a boyfriend.”

“Ooh! Details! Anyone I know?”

“Yes, actually: Gabe Monterroso.”

Gabe was a Brazilian pro-surfer, with epic dreads, who lived for two things: longboarding and computer programming. He was planning to retire from pro-surfing at twenty-five to start his own computer-games company. Zeke had known Gabe since they were groms, as Gabe's family had traveled around contests in huge vans kitted out with every games console on the market and all the lads on the junior tour had hung out there in between heats. He was absolutely not the sort of bloke I imagined Saskia shacking up with, but he did have a very cool, very large family, and I knew from the way Saskia talked about Zeke's family that she valued that, particularly since she was an only child who'd spent years in boarding school.

“Oh, I love him! When did that happen?”

“It's only been a couple of weeks. He's going to be at the media launch party on Thursday actually. What are you wearing, by the way?”

“Buying a dress here. What about you?”

“I have a vintage Valentino that used to belong to my mother. It's terribly revealing, however, so I might wear my new Prada.”

It was times like this that I remembered just how different Saskia's financial situation was from mine. I had two grand in a savings account and a few grand in my current account. Saskia had once let slip how much she had left in her trust fund, after burning through some of it on a lavish trip to the Caymans, and I knew she was worth more than my mum and dad put together.

We dropped Saskia off at the Colony and the manager drove us on to the Grove.

“Y'all have a good night,” he said, as we climbed out. “And don't forget to go do the gator tour!”

“Sure thing,” Zeke said. We gave him a wave and then walked up to the entrance of our hotel, where the doormen rushed to open the door for us. Zeke slipped them a few dollars and said to me, “Hey, it's so cool that Saskia's here!”

“Yeah, she's the best. Did you know she has a thing going with Gabe?”

“No, but I can see that. They're both the same way.”

“Are they? They seem completely different from me.”

“No, they're the same. Super-organized. Driven to succeed. Type A.”

I was none of those things.

“And they both have a thing for cleaning. Gabe's condo is like a show home, just with a whole lot of computers. And you know Saskia is obsessed with interior design. Even the pillows on her couch have places.”

I felt a pang of disappointment in myself. I knew for a fact my constant messiness was getting to Zeke. He never said anything, but I could tell he was irritated when he had to move my stuff off all the surfaces to find whatever he was looking for.

We stopped outside the lift and Zeke said, “I think I'm gonna call Anders see if there's any news about Burnsy.”

“Good idea. Say hello from me.”

Inside the lift, the reception on Zeke's phone cut out, so I phoned from mine.

Anders answered the phone with, “Problem? Zeke OK?”

This was the sort of thing that wound me up about Anders. It was as if he was determined to prove to me how inconsequential I was in his eyes.

“Yes, he's terrific.”
And so am I, thanks for asking
, I thought. “We're just ringing to see how Arron's doing.”

“Not great.”

“I thought you said he was going to be all right?”

“Physically, yes. But he says as far as surfing goes, he's done.”

“No way!”

“I mean, I hope the lad'll change his mind, but it's not looking likely. He really thought his number was up there. Says he's out.”

Zeke was staring at me, waiting for me to tell him what was going on.

“Put Zeke on.”

“Shall I put you on speaker?”

“Pass him the phone.”

We stepped out of the lift, and I passed Zeke the phone.

“No, I haven't,” he said. “No, nothing. Maybe next week. I don't much care either way. Yeah, I'll let you know if I do. OK, bye.”

He passed it back to me.

“Iris?” Anders said.

“Yeah?”

“Hang tight and look after Zeke.”

And there it was again. Typical Anders. Always trying to protect his most valuable asset.

“He can look after himself just fine,” I said. “Say hi to Arron if you talk to him and send him our love.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and turned to Zeke. “I can't believe Burnsy's saying he's given up surfing for good.”

“He nearly died, Iris. He'll come around, but he's in shock.”

“I hope so. Nothing sadder than an ex-surfer,” I said, trotting out the old surf-bum phrase that had been knocking around for decades.

“He'll surf again for sure,” Zeke said, letting go of my hand.

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“He might not though,” I said.

“If he can't surf, he'll wind up killing himself.”

“Shut up, Zeke.”

“I'm serious.”

“Why would you even say that?”

He held up his forearm to me, and there it was, tattooed in black letters:
Surf or Die
.

“Because I would.”