The California Club (13 page)

‘You look so comfortable out here,' I note, shaking off the latest dousing.

'It took me a while but Reuben has been amazingly patient. He used to be a lifeguard so I felt in safe hands.'

‘A lifeguard, really? Did he teach you any tricks of the trade?’

Helen thinks for a moment. 'Well, if you do try and rescue someone you first have to acknowledge that you are seriously putting your own life at risk – most times they'll grab on to you in the panic, pushing you under so you have to pretty firm with them and get them to follow your instructions or they'll drown you both.'

'How firm?'

'Splashing water in their face or bending their thumbs back to breaking point if they continue to grab at you—'

'Oh god!' I gasp.

'It's a life and death situation,' Helen asserts. 'I think the best trick if someone has locked their arms around you is to push them upwards by the elbows and you go down deeper into the water – they're not going to follow you there, they want to get up!'

'All this just to get them to behave – then you have to rescue them too!' I shake my head.

As Helen explains the various procedures, I watch the sun sneak behind the one cloud in the sky. It's chilly without the direct rays but I'm reluctant to go in, wanting to prolong the anticipation of wrapping a warm towel around me.

'Do you ever pinch yourself – you know, that this is your life now?' I ask.

'Every day,' Helen affirms.

'Really?'

'Sometimes twice a day.’

‘And it's all because of The California Club?'

'Well, a lot of this was here already …' Helen flicks me with seawater to make her point.

'I know that!' I swipe her back. 'But it really works, this program or whatever it is?'

'It does if you believe in it.'

I think for a moment. 'Do you think I could have chosen a better wish?'

No reply.

‘Helen?’ I look over and find her sights eagerly trained on a guy in khaki shorts loitering on the edge of the parking lot. There's something weird stuck to his leg… I try to focus – oh, it's a tattoo – one of those jagged Maori tribal prints running the length of his right calf. I'm about to comment on how that design has been done to death when I notice the delight in her eyes.

'Is that Reuben?' I ask.

'I'll be back in ten!' is her reply as she slides on to her stomach and swooshes back to the shore.

'As in Hang Ten?' I call after her.

No reply.

I continue to bob on my board as a daddy surfer skims past with his three-year-old son
on his shoulders
then return my gaze to Helen and the tattoo guy – they seem deeply engrossed. He's wearing sunglasses and the hood of his sweatshirt is up so I can't get a good look at his face but he definitely looks cool. I wonder if it is her boyfriend. Let's see if they kiss.

'Yikes!' There's a thud-jolt as Zoë's board collides with mine.

‘I think my hair is dreading,' she frets, with good cause. 'Me and Sasha are going in. You coming?'

'Where's Elliot?' I twist around, scanning the swell.

'Way over there.' Zoë points to where the current has lured him south. 'Maybe you should go and round him up?'

'Okay,' I smile, enticed by a vision of the two of us floating into the sunset together. What a life we'd have: taming seahorses, diving for sunken treasure, playing Frisbee with the starfish…

I glance back at Elise, still hunched grumpily on the shore even though Helen is now by her side, her khaki-shorted friend nowhere in view. Can't have been her boyfriend then or she would have introduced him.

Flipping onto my stomach, I start propelling myself through the water towards Elliot. I'm just thinking how chilled he looks sitting there – staring out to where the dark green waters meet the streaky orange sky – when his spine straightens and he looks strangely alert. Uh-oh – I fear the mother of all tidal waves looming on the horizon but no, it remains sloppy choppy as far as the eye can see. All the same, I get a nervous shiver. I don't like coming this far out to sea.

I throw another glance back at the shore. From my long-distance squint it looks like the girls are tucking into some goodies. I want to get back to safety and snacks but the pull to be with Elliot is stronger. I'm nearly with him now, just twenty or so meters to go.

Head down I paddle on until, amid the sloshing water and my grunting efforts, I realize I can hear my name, 'Lara! Lara! LARA!' getting louder and more frantic. I scramble into a sitting position. Where's Elliot gone? His board is dragging sideways but I can't see him. My heart batters at my ribcage. All of a sudden I spot his contorted face straining out of the water, 'Get help!' he yells. His panicked eyes meet mine and then he disappears under the slapping waves, forced down by a heavy hand.

Where he sinks, an old man rises up, wild with fear. Limbs thrash and flail. For a moment I think Elliot is being attacked but as their positions reverse, I realize he is trying to save some old geezer and the old geezer is trying to use him as a float, just as Helen predicted. Helen! I swivel around and call and wave frantically towards the shore but the wind just blows my cries back into my face. Even if they did hear me, they're too far away to act fast enough. One more look at Elliot and I've plunged into the water, tears mingling with the salt. Got to get to him and do the elbow push-up shove and then break the old guy's thumbs! Is that right? Oh god! What if I cack-handedly elbow someone in the throat or concuss them with the surfboard I'm dragging behind me?

For the first time in my life I ask myself, 'What would Pamela Anderson do?' Not having a body double to hand, I enter the fray grabbing for something – anything – to pull up to the surface. What the hell is that? I gasp for air. Eurgh – old man's bottom! I splutter as I come face to face with Elliot.

'Quick, pass your board over!' he gasps.

I pull it between us.

'Grab on to that!' he urges the old man, wriggling free of his desperate grasp.

The old man grips the board as if he's hanging from a window ledge, not entirely convinced he's alive.

'Reach across,' I guide him, using all my strength to push his saggy-skinned legs up to the surface so he can lie out flat.

Now I'm panting. Through stinging eyes I look for Elliot. He's nowhere to be seen. Milliseconds before cold dread sets in he appears on the other side of the board.

'Are you okay?' I gasp.

'Yeah, you?' he chirrups, jaggling his ears with a level of blasé-dom reserved for the seriously in-denial.

I decide to play along with him and shrug, 'Never better!'

'Great! Hop on!' Elliot motions for me to slide on to the back of the board.

As he holds the front steady, I take my position. 'If only we had something to paddle with, it'd be like Hawaii Five-O!' I declare.

'Meets One Foot in the Grave,' Elliot mutters before politely enquiring, 'Are you all right, sir?'

Three successive blinks apparently means the old man is fine.

'Okay, your turn,' I tell Elliot, patting the board.

'I can't.'

'It's okay, I'm sure it'll take all three of us.'

'No really, I can't.'

I frown confusion.

‘He pulled my trunks off in the struggle,' Elliot whispers.

As my eyebrows raise, my eyes drift downwards.

'Don't look!' he exclaims, frantically swirling up the water around his groin.

'I'm not looking!' I lie.

I can't believe I've just had a near-death experience and yet my face is plastered with a silly grin.

‘Don't be surprised if there's a news report tomorrow saying half your ocean is missing.' Elliot collapses on the sand, still spitting seawater.

'If the news says anything it'll be "Jet-lagged hero saves saggy-bottomed old man,"’ cheers Helen.

'Followed by "Raven-haired beauty saves jet-lagged hero."' Elliot winks at me.

'Wash your mouth out with this.' Elise thrusts her lukewarm bottle of Evian at Elliot.

I smile to myself. I know it's the compliment not the salt she wants him to swill away.

'I've got something better than that.' Helen rummages in her rucksack, producing a bottle of José Cuervo tequila, a stretchy-string bag of limes and a penknife. ‘Thought we'd have a few shots to revive us.'

‘Hair of the pero!' Zoë enthuses.

'Did you bring any salt?' Elise reaches over to nose in Helen's rucksack but Helen is too quick for her: 'Just lick your skin!' she grins, whipping her bag out of reach. 'Suck, swig and bite the lime!'

'But my skin's not salty,’ Elise complains. ‘I haven't been in the water.’

'I know!' Zoë whoops. 'Let's do it so we lick each other!'

A collective 'Ewwww!' greets her suggestion.

'I think it works better when there's more than one guy present,' Helen notes.

'I don't mind,' jokes Elliot.

Elise finds this hysterical. In a parallel universe.

'Well, just for one round, then,' concedes Helen. 'We'll spin the bottle to see who licks who.'

'And where!' Zoë whispers under her breath.

Half an hour later I've tasted Sasha's collarbone, Helen's bellybutton and the inside of Zoë's left knee, twice. Though I'm horribly dismayed I didn't get to lick any part of Elliot, I am at least grateful that my tongue is the type that can become a spear-like point at the tip – when it came to licking Elise's toe I was keen to make only a pinhead point of contact. And even that – Urgggh! I shudder at the memory.

'Oh buggering bollocks!'

I look up to find Zoë wrenching angrily at her hair.

'What's the problem?' I ask.

'I can't get the comb through it – it's gone all matted and weird. Feel that!' She extends a tendril to me.

'Zoë, that's a piece of seaweed,' I sigh, yanking it free.

'Oh.'

I smack her hands away and use the now empty stretchy lime bag as a band to tie her hair up on her head where she can't mess with it any more.

'Thanks,' she smiles, seemingly satisfied with the bunched wheatsheaf look.

A comfortable lull settles. I wonder if now might be the moment to tell everyone about the B&B? I'd rather not make the announcement in front of Elise but if we're going our separate ways tomorrow I can't really put it off much longer.

'Um,' I shuffle up on to my haunches. 'I've got something to tell you all…’

'Hold on!' she halts me as her cellphone starts ringing.

Saved by a
Surfin' USA
jingle.

She 'mmmm-hmmm's into the phone and then flips it closed.

'He's back,' she announces. ‘Time to get your assignments.’

Alex is already in position in La Sala when we bundle in and take our seats.

'Who shall we start with?' He shuffles through our paper wishes.

'Elise!' we chorus, curiosity getting the better of us.

'Ah yes,' he says and then reads: 'I want to gate-crash a self-help group and tell them to get a life!'

We all burst out laughing. All except Elise. That'll teach her to be so judgmental!

'Don't tell me you're going to have me walk in on one of Oprah’s stadium events and tell her to get a life!'

‘We wouldn’t make you do that,’ Alex smiles beatifically. ‘You’d get lynched.’

Mild tittering.

‘We think you could benefit from getting a little inside knowledge of the self-improvement groups you are so scathing about. You might be dismissing something that could really help you.'

'I don't want to be helped!' she protests. 'I'm fine as I am. I certainly don't need to get all pally with my inner child or summon my spirit guide!' Elise strops off towards the door then skulks behind a pillar, not quite bold enough to exit altogether.

Meanwhile Alex turns his attention to Zoë. 'I want to swap lives with a Hollywood actress.'

'Are you going to send me to LA?' Zoë leaps to her feet. 'Oh please! Oh please!'

'Yes we are. You'll be right in the heart of Hollywood and we're going to make it as real an experience as possible.'

Sounds a bit cryptic.

'Do I get a choice of stylist, cos I think Rachel Zoe-‘

‘You'll get a detailed brief on arrival,' Alex shushes her and turns to Sasha. 'For you, we've found the perfect place where looks don't count – the Tiger Tiger animal preserve. It's where all the retired movie cats go. Believe me, they don't care whether you're a Pretty Woman or the Elephant Man, so long as you treat them right and feed them on time.'

Sasha looks mortified. She never was the world's greatest animal lover. Surely Helen could have advised The California Club against such a mismatch?

'Will she have to muck out the cages?' asks Elise, from behind the pillar, obviously trying to find suffering in other people's choices to console her.

'She'll have the full animal care experience,' is all Alex is prepared to say.

I catch Sasha looking at her nails, presumably deciding that if they're going to get wrecked she may as well start chewing them now.

'Elliot!' Alex continues. 'Just get me to California's biggest theme park.'

'Bring it on!' Elliot cheers.

'Did you know that the biggest park in the state is actually Yosemite National Park?'

Elliot pulls a face. 'I didn't realize there were rides at Yosemite, I thought it was all …' he spits the final word: 'nature.'

'It is.'

'So what's the "theme", then?'

Alex shrugs. 'Trees, I guess.'

'Bit tenuous, isn't it?'

'Maybe it would do you some good,' Helen ventures. 'All that time you spend in front of computers.'

'So this isn't really about making my wish come true, it's about me doing what you think will do me good?' Elliot challenges Helen, with a fond smile.

'You might like it,' Zoë chips in. 'Great outdoors, camping, bears.'

'Do you want to swap with me?'

'No.' Zoë shrinks back, protective of her assigned glitz.

'What about Lara?' Sasha asks on my behalf.

Alex takes my scrumpled sheet and reads: 'I wish I could have some special one-to-one time with each of my friends, enough to create a memory that would last a lifetime.'