Mad Love (5 page)

I look out on the ocean and take a deep breath. The sea is so soothing. Talk about Zen and being able to find my very own peace here, I’m already never wanting to leave. Is eleven days enough? I can’t wait to pull out my pencils and sketchpads and get started on my view.

The phone rings and I’m jolted back to the moment. I walk inside to answer it, knowing it’s probably Erik and Orie freaking out in joy.

I pick up the phone and gush. “I know, I know. I’m dying too. This is incredible!” I say, giddy with excitement. “It’s like early Christmas!”

“I’m glad you like your room,” a sexy voice I remember oh so well says back to me.

Oh. My. God.

I can’t seem to find my voice. How did he find me? Okay, easy enough.
Why
did he find me? Why on earth is he calling me?

“Sophie? It’s Clayton.”

“Uh. Hi.” I try to sound calm and cool. “I’m so sorry, I thought my friends were calling me.” My voice wavers unsteadily and I know I must sound like a complete idiot.

“That’s not a problem,” he says. I can almost feel his smile through the phone. “This place is quite spectacular.”

You’re spectacular, I think to myself as I smile like a cheeseball. My mind wanders to dreamland. I try to think of something clever to say back but I draw blanks.

“Yeah.”

Yeah? That’s all I can think of? What a loser. There’s that awkward silence again.

“Are you staying in an overwater villa?” I quickly ask.

“Yes. I’ve stayed here once before, so I knew what to expect when I arrived.”

He’s stayed here before? Probably with a girlfriend or something.

“Alone?” I spout out before I can stop myself. Oh no. What is wrong with me?

“I’m so sorry! You don’t have to answer that,” I quickly blurt before he can speak. Why am I so awkward? Why would I even ask him that question? I have no right. I don’t even know the guy!

He laughs into the phone. And it sounds so sexy, even though it’s at my expense. “It’s quite alright. It’s an appropriate question. I did come with someone the last time I was here.”

Probably a model, I think sullenly. I bet he only dates Victoria’s Secret models. The crème de la crème. The ones in the Angel fashion show televised every year. The ones who make every hot-blooded heterosexual man drool with desire.

“It is a very romantic place,” I say. Understatement of the century. Try, it’s like the most romantic setting a couple could ever wish for.

“It is. But I was here with the wrong person.”

Oh?

I can’t stop the rush of pleasure I feel from those words. Visions of me being the right person flash through my mind. I picture us holding hands, walking along the beach, staring into each other’s eyes—

Sophie!
I quickly pull myself out of my reverie and give him a suitable answer.

“We’ve all been there.” There. That sounds cool. To be honest, I’ve never actually traveled on vacation with a man before so I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t need to know that. And it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know that being here with someone you love or are, at the very least, massively sexually attracted to, would be the vacation of a lifetime.

“Have you?” he asks, and there’s a sharp tone in his voice.

“No,” I answer honestly, but my hand smacks my forehead in horror. Why did I just say that? Me and my verbal diarrhea! I’m supposed to make myself sound worldly!

“But I’ve heard stories from my friends.”

“Ahh.” The amusement is back. I throw myself on the bed and close my eyes with the shame of it all. Why don’t I possess the skills of a cool chick?

“Yeah, well, I hope you have a better experience this time.” This is the lamest thing I can say, but all I want to do is get off the phone now before I embarrass myself even further. And let’s be real, it is entirely possible, given the conversation so far.

“I think I will. It’s definitely looking better already.”

Did I hear him correctly? Is it possible that he could be referring to me? The thought is too good to be true.

He continues smoothly, “I’m having my friends over to my villa for dinner and drinks tonight. I’d love for you and your friends to join us.”

My heart stops.

Am I dreaming? He’s inviting me over for dinner? In less than three seconds I picture myself arriving in a long, beautiful gown, with my hair
perfectly curled, fake lashes and all. Oh shit. Did I even bring anything appropriate to wear? I think I only have summer dresses and flip flops. I wonder how late the gift shop is open?

“So what do you think?” He asks when I don’t answer.

“Umm, sounds great.” I hope I don’t sound too excited.

“Great. Everyone is arriving from their rooms at seven pm. I’m in the Ocean Haven. It’s the bungalow at the end of the walkway. From your room number I think you might be close by.”

Close by?

Try right next door.
He’s staying in the Ocean Haven
, I tell myself. That’s fifteen thousand American dollars a night! Forget that! He’s right next door to me.

Right. Next. Door.

I get up off the bed and walk out to the deck and stare at the wooden wall separating us. Okay, there’s some water separating us too, but still, we are really close.

“Umm, yeah. Okay. Sounds good,” I manage. I try to keep my voice down, thinking in paranoia that he can hear me walking around the deck. He obviously can’t, but I do have an active imagination.

“See you tonight, Sophie.”

“Bye.” We both hang up at the same time. I let out the breath of air that I’ve been holding inside. Of all the odds?!

He’s the best looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s staying in the biggest villa on the same damn resort. And he’s right next door to me. I have to tell Erik and Orie. I grab the phone and before I can hit the talk button, it rings again. This time, I answer way more coolly.

“Hello?”

“Did you plan on calling your mother and me to tell us you got there safely?” my father’s voice practically screams through the phone.

Oh shit.

I totally forgot to call my dad.

“Sorry dad. We literally just got here.”

“That’s not true, Sophie. Your plane landed three hours ago. We tracked your flight.” Ugh. I forgot how anal retentive my father is.

“Dad, you should have been CIA.”

“I find no humor in that statement.”

“I’m sorry, dad. I’ve just been overwhelmed by this place. You and mom would love it here. It’s so unbelievable,” I tell him apologetically.

“It should be. You’re spending your life’s work on this vacation.”

Really?

“I wouldn’t have to if you had paid me more as an intern,” I argue back. “I’m lucky I was even able to save a dollar with the salary you gave me.”

Silence.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to say to my dad when he’s already pissed off at me. But let’s be real, it’s not like I got any special treatment because I was his daughter. Still, he is my father and I love him and I’ve thrown a lot at him and my mom these past couple of weeks.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired from jet lag.” My tone has lost the bite.

“I accept your apology.” His voice is filled with concern as he says, “Your mother and I just want what’s best for you.”

“I know, daddy,” I tell him, sighing loud enough that I hope he can hear. “But what you want and what I want are two different things.”

“Sophie, do you know how hard it is to make a living as an artist?”

Here we go again, I think to myself. The gates have opened and my dad is definitely going to attack. I walk outside and lay down on a sun chair. I stare out at the ocean and prepare myself for the argument he’s been giving me since I shocked the shit out of him with my decision.

The glimmer on the water distracts me. It is really quite spectacular. I think of Clayton and smile. I should paint a profile shot of him staring out over the sea. That would be a pretty hot painting.

He doesn’t notice that I haven’t answered him.

“Being an artist is not an easy dream. How many Van Gogh’s were there? Picasso? Warhol? Only one. Those are the names you know and remember. Success like theirs is like winning the lotto.”

I state the obvious. “I know it’s not easy, dad. I’m not saying it’s going to be.” He’s right, of course. My logical father has a rational way of looking at things, but still. Nothing is easy in life. And as my father, shouldn’t he be encouraging me? Telling me that I’m so talented that if I work hard enough I could potentially be one of the greats?

“I love you, honey. But listen to me. Pick something that you have a fighting chance at, for the love of God!”

“Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to follow my dreams?”

“Not if your dream is barely going to support you and cause needless heartache from all the rejection.”

“Gee, thanks for believing in my abilities, dad.”

“I do believe in your abilities. Your mother and I think you’re exceptionally talented. But honey, you live in Los Angeles, a city where you see struggling actors, actresses, writers, directors, every day. Being a painter is no different. I thought you were smarter than they are.”

“I’ve never claimed to be smarter than anyone. All I know is that I’m good. And it makes me so happy, in a way that nothing else does. Don’t you want that?” I fight the tears that threaten to fall from hearing the censure and sting in my father’s voice.

“Of course I want that. What kind of person do you think I am? If it makes you so happy, paint on the weekends.” That’s
his idea
of a compromise.

“Dad, I’ve watched you all my life. You are prepping for cases on the weekend or if you’re not doing that you are so exhausted you just want to relax. And I don’t blame you for it.” He needs to hear this. I need to make him really hear me. “I don’t love law like you do. I just don’t. Please understand me. None of this is personal. None of this has anything to do with you and mom. It’s just me. And it’s what I want and need to make me happy.”

There’s a long silence as my father digests my words. Finally, he lets out a breath and sighs.

“I just don’t understand, honey. Try and help me wrap my head around this chain of events. A short while ago you were enrolled in law school and
doing very well, especially for someone who doesn’t ‘love it,’ as you say. You were dating Jerry, a man you’ve known all your life. A man your mother and I love—”

“Then the two of you can date him.” The words pop out before I can stop them.

“Watch your tone, young lady.”

“I’m sorry, but Jerry is none of your business, Dad. That’s my personal business and I don’t want to talk about it. And honestly, you of all people should at least support me in my decision to break up with him. All my life you’ve told me the story of how it was love at first sight with mom. And you just knew. Don’t you want that for me too?”

There’s a long silence again. I know my dad is thinking about all the things I’ve said. And I know he doesn’t appreciate them one bit. But tough. This is me. Or at least, this is the new me.

“For someone who has no interest in being an attorney, you sure know how to win an argument.”

“That has nothing to do with law school. I grew up watching my father, who happens to be the best trial attorney around, win almost all the time. It was inevitable that I picked up a thing or two.” My voice is raw with emotion and I know he can hear it.

“I love you, Sophie. You know that. Your mother and I just want you to have everything we didn’t.”

“Everything you didn’t, but not everything you did?”

“Sophie—”

“Dad, you guys had the freedom to choose your professions and each other. Give your daughter that same gift.”

“We’ll talk about it when you get home.”

This is code for I’m not convinced and neither is your mom, and we know what’s best for you.

“Alright, Dad.” I’m only saying what he wants to hear to give him some peace of mind over the next few days. I have no intention of talking about it anymore. “I have to go and meet up with Erik and Orie,” I say. I want to get off the phone. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too.”

Before I hang up, I can’t help but ask, “Does mom hate me?”

“Your mother could never hate you, sweetie.” He pauses for a moment. “She’s just disappointed.”

Knife.

Straight through the heart.

“Bye, Dad.”

“Be safe,” he says to me before he hangs up. I close my eyes and stretch out on the lounge chair, suddenly exhausted by it all, and let the sizzling sun soothe some of my problems away. I’m dead asleep within seconds.

4

A few hours later, I’m awakened by splashing in front of my villa. I look out to see Erik and Orie swimming in circles in the water. They look like you’d picture ancient, exquisite merman. I walk to the edge of the deck and stretch. The nap definitely helped with my mood and jet lag.

I slowly peel off my t-shirt and stand in my bikini. Orie whistles loudly in admiration.

“Hot bod!”

“You look so skinny,” Erik says in approval. Erik loves skinny. I joke with him that this disease came over him when he moved from Oregon to Los Angeles, because in LA everyone is obsessed with their weight. It’s not uncommon to hear people say things like, “The skinnier the better,” “You look amazing … Did you lose weight?” “If she’s throwing up, it’s done wonders for her body,” and my personal favorite, “She looks so emaciated, almost like a bobble head. I’m so jealous.”

“You have mental issues and suffer from body image dysmorphia,” I tell him as I roll my eyes.

“I’m completely okay with that,” he answers with a smile.

I change the topic. The last thing I want to do is have a discussion about being skinny. All I want is to have a pizza sent to the villa.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“Three hours,” Erik says as he swims closer to the deck. He splashes water at me and it feels great.

“You’re lucky you don’t burn,” Orie says with envy.

“That’s the Italian in me.” My mom has told me that her mother and her friends used to compete to see who could lay out in the sun the longest. Apparently, my grandma would always win, and the only protection she
used was olive oil, which she rubbed generously over her body. Dead serious. And no joke, my grandma has the best skin ever.