Air (7 page)

Chase gave us all a lift to Coral Gables in his fancy blue sports car; Zeke in the front, and me, Saskia and Gabe squashed into the back. Saskia had gone for some antique black silk nightdress that was backless and floor-length, and Gabe was in Bart Simpson pajamas and army boots.

When the house came into view, I heard myself say, “Farking 'ell!”

“So, Chase, you're the eldest brother, you say?” Saskia said, giving me a wink, “Heir to the family fortune?”

Gabe scoffed and said, “Millions of people in this world are living on a dollar a day.”

“Hey,” Chase said, “this party is for charity, remember, so quit being judgmental. My folks worked hard for this house.” He was smiling as he said this, but I had a feeling Gabe had touched a nerve.

“If by working hard, you mean inheriting a bunch of money . . .” Zeke said.

“OK, so maybe luck played a small part,” Chase said, grinning now.

“How many loos does it have?” I asked, still staring at the house, completely in awe that this was home to Chase, who had seemed so normal to me. I remembered how pleased my mum had been when she'd saved enough money to put in a tiny downstairs toilet. No more waiting for Lily to finish washing her hair while we hopped about outside, shouting, “Hurry up!” and banging on the door.

“If by loos, you mean bathrooms, then it has six,” Chase said.

“That's a lot of toilet roll,” I said, imagining a Morrison's trolley full of it.

Beyond the wrought-iron gates, a long driveway led to a house like some ancient Roman palace, all white walls, pillars and huge vertical windows. Behind it, a golf course rolled out in all directions.

I got out my phone, took a photo of it, and sent it to my mum and Kelly. Kelly replied instantly with “Well jell!!!” and five kisses. My mum replied with “Very nice indeed.” And then followed it up with, “I forgot to say! We won half a pig in the meat raffle! Night night.”

We were early, but the place was already jam-packed with partygoers. Saskia and Gabe went off in search of food, as both claimed to have not eaten carbs in a week.

Expensive sound equipment was racked up to one side of the infinity pool, and the music was thudding so loud it seemed like my skull was vibrating in time with it. But the thing that really stood out, the thing that became instantly
clear, was that what Chase termed a “pajama party” did not fit my definition of a pajama party, at all.

True, most of the men were rocking comedy pajamas with printed superheroes or cartoon characters, or were doing the bare-chested boxers and dressing gown thing, like Zeke, but the women were kitted out in basques and sheer slips, and many of them had opted for bras and pants. Amber had on emerald lace underwear and huge, real-feather wings, like a Victoria's Secret model, which, it occurred to me afterward, she probably was. Basically, there were boobs and bums everywhere.

Zeke looked amused by this, but I turned to Chase and said, “Pajama party? Really?”

“Yeah, maybe I had that wrong. It kinda looks more like a lingerie party.”

I undid the buttons of my overshirt and knotted the ends over my navel.

“You know you could just take that off, if you're uncomfortable,” Zeke said.

“Yeah, no.”

Chase and Zeke went off to engage the DJ in mysterious chat of some sort, and a curvy older woman in a long nightgown and feather wrap, who it transpired was Chase's mum, came up to me and said, “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” I said, touching the knot over my stomach and wondering if I should have in fact ditched the shirt, and just gone with the shorts and vest, which would at least go a little way toward blending into the scantily clad crowd. “Nice boa.”

She shimmied it over her shoulders and said, “Oh, this old thang? Here, you can borrow it, as you like it so much.”

She handed me her boa of golden feathers and I wound it a few times around my neck, like an actual constrictor, and then immediately loosened it, as the feathers tickled my nose.

“You came with Chase?”

“Yeah.”

“You're his girlfriend?”

“Zeke's.” After six months of travel I was well and truly fed up of having to define myself by whose girlfriend I was, but I didn't want to seem rude.

“Really? I never knew Zeke to have a girlfriend before. Truth is, I always wondered if he was gay, although it turns out that was his brother!” She followed this with a little laugh, that made me feel uncomfortable. “Oops. I hope I haven't just outted someone!” she said, and laughed again.

“Not at all. I know Wes really well, and his boyfriend Elijah too. They're awesome.”

“What's your name, hon?”

“Iris. Nice to meet you. Thanks for inviting me.”

She smiled at this, and I realized that she hadn't invited me. Chase had. She hadn't even known I was coming.

“Veronica. Enjoy the party,” she said. “Oh, did you make your donation to the charity yet?”

“Zeke has the check in his wallet.”

“Well, don't forget. That's why we're here. It's not just an excuse to wear pretty nightshirts in public, you know,” she said.

“What is the charity? Chase said it was something to do with depression?”

“Teenxiety. Our target for tonight is thirty thousand dollars. Here's hoping.”

It was an ungracious thought, and I knew it, but once again it occurred to me that maybe this fundraiser wasn't the best way of getting money to the charity, given that the sound equipment, cocktails and buffet probably cost more than that. But who was I to criticize people raising money for charity?

“Go dance. Be merry.”

And talking of dancing, Zeke already was.

It was no secret that Zeke liked to dance. He made out that he didn't, but all it took was one beer and he'd start throwing shapes. Two beers in and he busted out the big moves, but I liked that he didn't give a toss what anyone thought of him and just went for it.

He spotted me hanging around by some empty chairs, danced over and grabbed my hands.

“I just need a bit more Dutch courage first . . .”

“No, you don't. Get over here.”

As we danced to Katy Perry I tried to imagine how it must feel to be Zeke, self-confident and free enough to do the twist in public without his head providing a running critique on how he must look to anyone watching.

Three whiskies in and Zeke got up on stage with the DJ and did a karaoke rendition of “Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay.”

Listening to him belt it out, I could see that the song actually meant something to him. He even did the whistle part at the end, although he stopped halfway through to laugh and he couldn't recover.

“Nice one, Zeke. I loved that.”

“Yeah, it's kinda my jam.”

“Really? Because, let's be honest, if you're watching the tide roll away, you're generally
in
it.”

He laughed. “Well, you know, I've always wanted to be the kind of person who could relax more.”

Chase appeared in between us, a hand on each of our backs and said, “Duet.”

“I don't sing in public,” I said, feeling as if I'd already made quite enough of a spectacle of myself on this trip.

“Yo, I meant Zeke and me.”

“Oh, in that case, knock yourselves out.”

“What song?” Zeke asked.

“I'm thinking we stay retro,” Chase replied.

“‘House of the Rising Sun'?” I said.

“Uggh, nope. Way cooler. Guess again.”

Chase's version of “way cooler” transpired to be the Lovin' Spoonful's “Summer in the City” and somehow, and I would never ask how, Zeke knew all the words.

They followed this up with Scott McKenzie's “San Francisco” and Cyndi Lauper's “Time after Time,” which was surprisingly touching, and people clapped along as they gazed into each other's eyes and did a slow waltz around the pool.

Sweaty but happy, Zeke turned to Chase, who was cracking open his second bottle of eight-hundred dollar champagne, and said, “Can we swim in the pool?”

I butted in. “Neither of us has a cossie, Zeke.”

“So we'll wear this.”

“All right, if you want everyone's outfits to go completely transparent.”

“Definitely,” Chase said, giving me some comedy creep-eye.

Zeke gave him a light punch on the shoulder and said, “Don't make me hurt you, bro.”

“Ha, I love that you see that as a possibility.”

“You may punch harder, dude,” Zeke said, “but I'm faster.” He got his fists up and started ducking and weaving.

“Yeah, at running,” Chase said.

“Hey, you remember the time you busted up my bike and launched it into the ocean, and Garrett and Wes stripped you naked and threw you in a patch of wood-nettles?”

Chase winced and said, “They're still on my hit list for that.”

I felt it again—the closeness they had, the history, and I missed Kelly so badly that I considered sitting down with my iPhone and flipping through old ussies of the two of us on Fistral.

“Come on, I wanna show you something,” Chase said, linking arms with me and Zeke.

We walked through a corridor busy with cocktail-drinkers and into the kitchen, where Zeke started inspecting the units. “What wood is this? Koa?”

“Yeah, Mom had it imported from Hawaii.”

“Nice.”

“The cabinets are handmade. Blue marble floor. I actually helped design this kitchen,” Chase said, looking proud of himself.

“If you ever remodel, call me,” Zeke said. “My pop always built his cabinets from scratch, with, like, eucalyptus and coconut wood, and I used to love helping with that.”

I had nothing to contribute to a conversation about kitchens, and when “Thrift Shop” came on the sound system, I said, “We should totally dance to this.”

“No can do,” Chase said. “Didn't you see me earlier? I was tripping over Zeke's feet. I dance like a cinderblock.”

“Really? I thought you'd be a great dancer.”

“And that is what the people call judging a book by its cover.”

“But even your name makes you sound like a good dancer.
Chase
,” I said, doing a weird little wiggle dance that made no sense whatsoever.

“Ah, Chase is actually not my birth name. Zeke knows it, but he's sworn to secrecy.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “Bet I get it out of him.”

“No, I made a promise,” Zeke said. “It's been eleven years and I've never told a soul.”

“Yeah, but you can trust me. I won't blab, will I?”

“Iris, he made a
vow
,” Chase said. “You can't mess with that.”

I was smiling, but Zeke and Chase both had serious faces on, as if the mere idea of Zeke telling me Chase's birth name was scandalous.

“What? Come on, tell me!” But Zeke just shook his head.

“What can I get you guys to drink?” he asked, sliding off the countertop where he'd been perched.

Chase jumped in first with, “Surprise me.”

“Really? You're like the pickiest drinker on the planet. How about you, Iris?” he said, turning to me.

“Half a Coke. Thanks.”

“Get her a real drink,” Chase said. Then he turned and sang at me, “
You're in Miami, girl.
”

“Alcohol is not her friend. She already had some tonight and she usually gets drunk off of vapors, then spends the next three hours puking or running to the john.”

“Rude. I'll have a mojito.”

“Whaat?” Zeke said, looking pained. “Anders was pretty insistent you stay off the liquor. He'll have a coronary if you wind up getting busted for underage drinking.”

“What a tool,” Chase said, picking a piece of olive out of his teeth with the edge of his credit card.

“Zeke,” I said, “
you're
underage and you're drinking! Why is there one rule for you and one rule for me?”

“Because I can have three beers and not fall over.”

“Stop stressing,” I said. “
You only live once.”

Zeke couldn't really argue with that, since he basically had it tattooed on his back.

“OK,
one
drink. After, you think we should head back to the hotel?”

“You guys aren't leaving yet,” Chase said. “The night is young.”

I shrugged, like it was nothing to me either way, but I secretly felt a shiver of nerves. When Zeke had suggested this holiday, in a super-fancy hotel, I thought it was to get some uninterrupted, decent alone time together, since Anders usually made us get separate accommodation during our contests, saying something like, “Let's try to keep up an appearance of decency, shall we?” which I thought was ridiculous, since anyone who knew about professional surfing knew me and Zeke were together. The sort of together where you sometimes wake up together. Since arriving in Miami, apart from those brief moments in the marquee
and the alley, we had not exactly connected, and in the hotel room it was as if an invisible force field was running up the center of the bed. But there was something in Zeke's face that made me think that could be about to change.

As if deliberately dispelling this idea, Zeke touched my arm and said, “Just promise me you won't throw up. I'm, like, emetophobic or something. Blood I can handle. My baby cousin's dirty diapers I can handle. Pee, no problem. But vomit? Count me out.”

“I promise.”

Two hours later, when Zeke and Chase were fully over the high of serenading each other in front of four hundred strangers, and Saskia and Gabe had locked themselves into one of the bathrooms, we were into the chill-out portion of the evening, stretched out on sunloungers under a sky full of stars.

“So, buddy,” Chase said to Zeke, under his breath, “you get it yet?”

I could have sworn Zeke did that thing where you pretend not to hear something, just to buy yourself more time to answer.

Zeke and I were sharing a sunlounger, and I was nestled into the side of his body.

“What was that?” he said.

“You get it yet?” Chase asked, louder this time.

“Get what?”

“Buddy, come on, you know what I'm talking about here.”

Zeke shrugged.

Zeke never did that. You asked Zeke a question, he answered; no bull, no front.

“Is that a no?” Chase said, confusion in his eyes. He looked from Zeke to me and back again.

“What haven't you got?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Zeke said. “Nothing important anyways.”

Did Zeke get what exactly? Something secret? Something for me? A birthday present?

“Me and my big mouth,” Chase said, looking sheepish.

“What am I missing here?” I said to Zeke.

“Don't sweat it,” Zeke said. “For real, it's nothing you need to worry about.”

Zeke and Chase reached across the void between our loungers to fist-bump, their touch gentle, and I felt totally outside. They'd known each other for years and had history that I could never be part of.

“So how do you guys know each other?”

Chase laughed, “I was Zeke's best friend since kindergarten. Oh, and I was also his dealer, but, you know, not until a few years later.”