The California Club (27 page)

'Oh you can forget that!' I grumble, following him across the room. 'Last night he gave me his blessing to get it on with you!'

'That's just his defense mechanism kicking in,' Joel shrugs, ushering me out the door. 'But still, it's good to know.'

I turn back to see if he means what I think he means and he greets me with a wink.

Hmm. Maybe tonight is the night after all…

The Ahwahnee hotel breakfast easily makes it into my Top 10 Alternatives to Cheerios: poached eggs with spicy vegetable hash and a sneaky side of raisin brioche washed down with a keg of cranberry juice, all served in a trestle-beamed banquet hall creaking with wrought iron chandeliers. Most dramatic. Yet even this can't pip my all-time number one breakfast – the five of us Beau-Belles hung-way-over at The Grand Hotel in Brighton gorging on bacon and eggs and a fifteen-story stack of toast. The night before we'd been to a summer ball that coincided with Zoë's birthday so we'd decided to go all-out with full Buccaneers-style ballgowns and treat ourselves to a suite – three in the bed (me, Sasha, Helen), Elliot on the sofa and Zoë in the bath. Her idea.

The next morning over two hours and at least ten cups of tea we dissected who kissed who, who vomited, who flashed, who cried, who hid the band's cymbals, etc. (And wondered what on earth people who behave themselves of an evening have to talk about the next day.)

Not that any of the middle-aged Americans at the tables around us seem to be having a problem with producing lively banter. Maybe it's because the breakfast hours at the Ahwahnee are so civilized – no 9am cut-off here. I'd definitely have extended the breakfast hours at the B&B if I was in charge. Who wants to get up early on holiday, especially in a clubber's paradise like Brighton? I'd serve the full monty till noon. And happily deliver fry-ups to the bedroom instead of a paltry croissant in a basket.

'Where's your mind at?' Joel tickles my chin.

'Breakfast in bed,' I tell him.

'You only had to ask!'

I smile and roll my eyes. 'Are you done?'

Joel takes a last slurp of his cafe latte then helps me and my bumper belly to my feet.

'That was so good,' I sigh, then lean close. 'Did you get the stash, man?’

Joel gives his rucksack a pat.

Despite warnings about keeping all food in sealed canisters, we set off from the dining room wafting chocolate chip muffins from beneath the leather-trimmed canvas. (As much as I initially admonished him, I too am secretly hoping to attract a bear.)

'Now. Elliot's imagination will have been running riot overnight,' Joel begins as we head towards the lobby. 'You'll want to play on that when you see him.'

'Do you think he'll presume that we, you know?' I furrow my brow.

'Well, it would have been slightly more convincing if you hadn't passed out before he left but nevertheless, alone with a man of my dastardly charms …'

'I didn't stand a chance!'

'Exactly. So when you see him – Oop! Here he is now.' Joel raises his arm to greet my disheveled friend. 'Elliot! Good morning!'

'Morning,' he mumbles, shuffling over like one of the living dead.

'Sleep well?' Joel chirrups.

'Not really,' Elliot croaks. 'I woke up looking like Benicio Del Toro!' He tries to joke away the bags under his eyes. 'You?'

I look at Joel to see how he's going to answer. Joel looks at me. A wicked smile spreads across his face.

'Not that it's any of my business,’ Elliot back-pedals, looking mortified.

I bite my lip and stare at the floor, knowing I can't be trusted to maintain the mystique if I speak.

'Er, Lara, I don't know what your plans are for today …'

Elliot's talking to me like he doesn't know me, this is so bizarre.

'But I'm doing a bear talk in an hour and I wondered if you wanted to come along?' Judging by his anxious tone of voice, he needs the moral support.

'Of course! I'd love to!' I possibly over-enthuse. 'That's if …' I look to Joel for approval. Am I allowed out by myself?

'You go ahead. I've got a climb planned. Either way, I think our first stop had better be a clothing store,' Joel decides as I trip up yet again on his trackie bottom legs trailing over my feet.

'There's a good one just up here at Yosemite Village.'

Elliot guides us, walking a few paces ahead, thrashing at the undergrowth with a stick. Joel gives me a knowing look but I'm not convinced – is this the behavior of a jealous man or a friend merely peeved that they're not getting the attention they're used to? Of course, it's also possible Elliot is just grouchy from lack of sleep. He was in a tent, after all. I look up at the sunlight glinting through the leaves and decide I'm not going to let second-guessing games ruin my mood: even though I'm picking my way along the dirt track in slippers I have a spring to my step that I haven't experienced in a while. Being engulfed in greenery feels so new and exciting. I wasn't expecting to experience such a lift. Could there be a Grizzly Richards in me, trying to get out? If I stayed here long enough would I grow a beard? There is that concern.

Once inside the clothes shop the boys turn into fashion stylists, assessing my physique and coloring and trying to decide what will suit me best.

'How do you feel about forgoing traditional hiking colors?' Joel queries.

'Sorry?'

'Only I think you'd look good in this heather t-shirt,’ he suggests, holding the soft purple up to my face.

Elliot nods his approval and then thrusts a pair of trousers at me. 'Look, these are great – you can unzip them at the knee and make shorts!'

'How fabulously versatile!' I coo. 'Maybe I'll be really daring and just wear the knee-to-ankle bit!'

Neither of them laugh – they're concentrating far too hard on completing the outfit.

'What about getting some proper hiking boots?' Joel suggests.

Elliot's not convinced. 'I think that's maybe going too far.'

There's not much else here – she should at least try a pair.'

'She'll never wear them again.'

'Hello?' I remind the chaps that I am over four and able to make up my own mind.

'Can I git yer somethin'?' the gruff lady shop assistant doesn't seem to like the way I'm handling her Timberlands.

'Do you have these in a UK size 5½? I think that's about 7½ US.

As she rifles through the boxes I sit on the bench and roll up the tracksuit bottoms, unsheathing my sparkling scarlet toenails. She finds my size but there's a moment of hesitation before she hands them to me – as if she has doubts about the boots going to an appropriate home.

'Hope you don't mind me saying,' she grunts, 'but yer real feminine!'

Elliot snickers into the rack of hats. I don't blame him. I've never been called that before. Especially not as an insult.

The boots are even heavier than they look. ‘They'd snap my ankle in a second, wouldn't they?' I try to win her over by seeking her advice.

'Why dontcha try these,' she says offering me some strappy-Velcro open-toe numbers. They got sturdy soles and y'can always wear socks if yer git cold.'

'Sold!' I say, eager to be on my way.

On our way out we find ourselves in the camping accessories department. Elliot and I are admiring a mosquito net slash hat combo that gives you that essential beekeeper look, and an ingenious solar-heated camp shower, when Joel sneaks up behind me and presses something into my hand: 'Here – present for you!’

I rustle open the brown paper bag and pull out a shiny silver package with a Mountain House logo.

'Is it coffee? Oh no – freeze-dried blueberry cheese-cake!' I hoot as I read the label.

'Just in case you get stuck in the snow again with no food!'

‘That's brilliant, thanks!' I give Joel a kiss on the cheek. 'Is it powder or something?' I ask squeezing the foil between my fingers.

'Why don't you try it?'

'Oh no! I'm going to save it for a real emergency.'

'I wasn't sure which flavor you'd like – they also do seafood chowder and scrambled egg with real bacon!'

'No way!'

'Wait there!' Joel darts off again.

Elliot looks wistful. 'I should have done that. The old me would have done that.'

'What do you mean?' I ask, concerned by his tone.

'Remember the time I bought you that
King & I
plate?'

I smile. 'Of course!’

It was part of a set commemorating Rodgers & Hammerstein's contribution to musical theatre. Elliot paid $10 at a flea market but it was the fact that he'd remembered my favorite duet that really made it invaluable.
We Kiss In A Shadow
was the title.

The fretful look remains on Elliot's face. 'Lara, do you think I've changed?'

'How do you mean?' I need specifics before I blunder in and let him know that I think Elise is sucking the fun out of him.

'I don't know what it is. I feel like I used to be more game, more spontaneous.’ He looks mildy confused. ‘Everything seems to be slowing down.’

‘It’s called aging,’ I tease.

‘Oh don’t say that!’

‘I suppose it was just a more carefree time when we were all together,’ I reason. 'Everything we did was a laugh, however silly.'

'Maybe that's it,' Elliot looks like he's hit upon something. 'I don't think I've done silly in a while.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' I say, gravely.

'Do you think it's gone, or can I get it back?'

'Stick with me, buddy,' I grin. 'You'll get more silly than you can stomach.'

'Really?' Elliot looks hopeful.

'We'll do something fun this afternoon. Something you've never done before.'

'Can we do a runner from here?' Elliot suggests.

I shake my head but before I can answer Joel reappears with another gift, this time for Elliot.

'Didn't want you to feel left out, dude!'

'Th-thanks,' Elliot stammers, accepting a T-shirt bragging I MADE IT TO THE TOP! 'Did they have any that said, I STOOD AT THE BOTTOM AND LOOKED UP?' He gives a wobbly smile.

Joel laughs and slaps him on the back. 'You should give it a go – I'd be happy to take you up, if you fancy it?'

'Oh no!' I cry. 'Not that I don't think you'd be a natural,' I tell Elliot. 'But I just couldn't bear to watch.'

'You're not coming up then, Lara?’

‘Are you insane?'

'Partially,' he admits.

'I'll be happy on that little tram thing that tinkers around the valley floor, thanks very much,' I tell him.

'Okay, just promise me you'll wave as you go past.'

'As long as you promise not to wave back,' I shudder.

It's nearly time for Elliot's bear talk. Joel joins us for the initial stroll through the meadow then breaks away from the pack.

'Look out for me on Half Dome,' he tells us. 'Otherwise I'll see you back at the hotel about 6pm.'

I turn to Elliot. 'Is there some plan I don't know about?'

'His friend rang while you were in the changing room – Jen? – she says we're welcome at the wedding reception tonight.'

'Really? Do you want to go?'

'I thought you probably would.'

'I'm not sure – it does throw up another clothing dilemma.'

'Your suitcase should definitely be back with you by this afternoon but if not one of the bridesmaids will have something you can borrow – apparently they've come with a full-size trunk just for one night.'

'Okay, I'll think about it,' I concede.

‘That's my group.' Elliot nervously points out a small gathering of hikers.

'Go David Attenborough!' I cheer as Elliot takes his position.

'From the chaparral-covered foothills to the high Sierra crest there are 4-600 black bears roaming Yosemite,' Elliot gets off to a poetic start. 'We often get asked whether you can outrun a bear. Well, the fastest human can run 23 m.p.h. A bear can run between 25 and 30 m.p.h. You might think you're in with a chance but let me tell you this – a bear can keep up that pace for ten hours!'

We all 'oooo', impressed.

'Now, you'll hear me talking about black bears but did you know that only five per cent of them are actually black? The majority are in fact brown or even cinnamon and vanilla.'

He's doing great! I give him a discreet thumbs-up.

He responds by offering another fact, seemingly for my benefit. 'You've probably all been warned about bear break-ins. This is a serious problem – the bears are smart. These days if they see a bear trap they've learned they don't slam hard so they leave a foot outside and back out once they've nabbed the food. And when it comes to sniffing round cars, they do it at night while we're asleep.'

A six-year-old in a pink anorak sticks up her hand. 'If they're so clever why don't they break into the grocery store at night?'

His first heckler. Elliot opens his mouth then closes it, saved from having to come up with a response as all eyes are drawn to a frazzle-haired woman strolling by with a cat on a leash.

'So!' he says, regaining our attention. 'Now we're going to play a little game and see if we can learn a bit about the noises a bear makes.'

He hands out a series of cards each with a different instruction on it. 'Clicking teeth' goes first.

'Very good,' he praises the little boy giving his milk teeth a hearty gnashing. ‘That's a signal a mother gives her cub to climb a tree.' He points to the next child, who obviously got 'Grunt.' That means 'Come here now!'

An elderly gentleman hums.

‘This is what bears do when they are content!' he tells us.

'We need a couple for this final one …' Elliot looks around. No volunteers. 'Lara – may I?'

Whatever it is, he may. I step forward and allow him to nuzzle at my face.

'Any idea?'

'Kissing!' squeals the pink anorak in delight.

'Correct!' Elliot cheers.

I remain in a state of bliss until, for his grand finale, Elliot pulls what used to be a black bear out of his rucksack. It's skinned. Dead. Rolled-to-fit. Horrible. As he unravels it and passes it around the group one man shoves his hand up its head like a puppet.

'Where are its eyes?' pink anorak asks, on the verge of tears.

The bear is passed from one reluctant pair of hands to the next. When my turn comes I shrink back from its bristly touch.