Find Her, Keep Her (15 page)

I walk on automatic pilot. The trees are short and stout. They may be white oak and beech. I’m snapping away at the beauty, and the farther I walk, the deeper into the forest I go. I can smell sassafras–nice. The green foliage, hovering low to the ground, the tree trunks twisting like they’re dancing, the mystery of not knowing what’s around the corner all make this walk feel like a suspenseful scene in a novel. All I can hear are birds chirping and my camera clicking.
 

When I glance down at the wet trail, I remember yesterday and Belmont taking me to the ground in a moment of passion. Having him here with me would be nice. I wouldn’t get any work done, but he’s pleasing company.

He’s a gigolo
, a voice whispers in my head, attempting to taint my feelings for him.

I sit on a stone bench under a canopy of trees. A few seconds later, a group of people pass. We smile at each other. Another group passes. Then there are more and more. They’re not all dressed up, but I take it that they’re heading to the same place. Curiosity makes me follow them past a meadow of wild flowers until we’re out of the woods. I gaze out at the waves that roll onto shore from the horizon. It’s a breathtaking sight—the fishing village to my left and the cliffs to my right. In the center, a wedding is about to take place.

Then it dawns on me—this should be my angle.
 

Wedding Island…

Nuptial’ville…

Wedding Crasher…

That’s what I’ll do! I’ll write an article on all the different weddings on Martha’s Vineyard. With fifty or so a day, it shouldn’t be difficult. Fueled by my new purpose, I head back to the road to summon the cab. I hadn’t realized how far I’ve come.
 

Once I reach the road, I call Todd, and he’s quickly on the way.
 

As soon as I slide into the backseat, I announce, “I’m crashing weddings.”

“Like the movie…” he comments, grinning.

“Yes. I plan to blend in and take pictures. I wish I could get a list of all the weddings taking place this week.”

“I can get you that,” Todd says. “I’ve got a friend who works for the recreational licensing department. You need a license for every damn thing here on the island.”

“Really?” I nearly shout. “You can do that for me?”

“Yeah. Why not? You’re nice, and I like you.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Please!” I’m so excited that I clutch his shoulder and shake him a little.

He laughs, delighted he could make someone so happy. “I’ll make a phone call. I’ll see if I can get it for you today.”

He does just that. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat as he speaks to his friend. At first, the friend seems hesitant. When Todd mentions that I’m staying at Jack Lord’s compound, there’s a long pause. He says “yeah” a few times. Then he hangs up.
 

“Two hours,” he announces.

“Thanks!” I sing in celebration.

Since I’m hungry, he takes me down-island into Oak Bluffs to have lunch at Linda Jeans, a diner on Circuit Avenue. I ask him to drop me off on Oak Bluffs Avenue, and I’ll walk to the diner. Since I have two hours to kill, I want to tour the popular street and take some pictures.
 

“Be back in two or less,” Todd assures me before he drives off.

Once he’s off, I realize that I still haven’t paid him. I’m sure my bill is close to a hundred bucks, if not more.
 

Circuit Avenue is an average, quaint little tourist trap. I don’t find tourists traps at all repulsive. Au contraire! They have been built for our amusement, and isn’t that what vacationing is all about? I click pictures of T-shirt shops, the candy store and the ice cream parlor. I take the stairs into the one and only coffee shop on the street since it’s about time I got my latte fix.
 

I enter and before I take the first step toward the counter, to my surprise, I see Charlie in a booth with a girl who looks to be a teenager! She could not be his hot, heavy phone call from earlier. I think my shock shows because he hops up out of the booth and comes over to me.

“What are you doing here?” he whispers near my ear.

“Getting coffee. What are you doing here?” I glance at the girl. Goodness, she’s young.

“I’m with a friend.”

“How old is she?” I whisper, hoping she couldn’t hear me over the crazy rock instrumental from the seventies playing.
 

“I don’t know–legal,” he replies.

I snicker at how stupid that answer is. “Charlie, she’s really young. How old are you?”
 

“The same age as you.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“Get the hell out of here!” he nearly shouts.

“Yes. Are you thirty-five?”

“I’m twenty-seven. I thought you were younger.”

“What?” I grin cynically. “You thought I was jailbait like her.”

“She’s not jailbait, Daisy.”

“She’s not twenty-one, and if she told you she was older than that, then she’s lying.” I don’t know why I’m going at him so hard. I mean, why do I even care? If her parents don’t burn him at the stake, then why should I? “Never mind.” I wave a hand passively. “Have fun.”

“Wait.” He takes my arm before I can take one step. “I’d still rather, you know, be with you.”

“Not an option,” I quickly say.

“I know. I’m merely stating a fact.”

“You better hope that girl is at least eighteen,” I say after taking another look at her. She’s scowling at us. Then I realize Charlie has a hand on my waist. “Later, Charlie.” I kiss him on the cheek and go order my vanilla, non-fat latte.

Charlie returns to the booth, says something to the girl, and they get up together and walk out the door.

That was weird.

I take my latte across the street to Linda Jeans for lunch. I sit in a booth across from the bar and order a tuna sandwich and garden salad. I take out my pad and jot down some notes as I go through my shots, recording the sights, smells, touches, and tastes of my walk.

I get distracted when I hear a man at the bar say, “Jack.” I wonder if he’s referring to “my” Jack. I should probably call Belmont to tell him I’m very close to forgetting last night’s ordeal. My major organs miss him–my heart and brain. My skin craves his touch.

“He’s got a full crew in Gay Head,” one of the men says.

They’re both wearing dusty denim pants and work boots.
 

“He’ll put you on. Don’t worry about it,” the other one replies.

“What’s going up in Gay Head?”

“Some hippy commune.”

The other guy laughs. “How long?”
 

“I don’t know. They keep changing the plans. They’re all involved—the reservation, conservationists, and city hall. Troy’s pulling his hair out.”

The guy who’s looking to get put on a crew snorts.

One of them, the one with the shaggy haircut but clean-shaven face, looks at me. He grins. Jeez, I’ve been staring without even realizing it. He lifts a hand, and I’m forced to exchange the gesture. I put my eyes back on my work. As soon as I do, the waitress sets my order in front of me.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

“You’re welcome,” she replies.

I keep my eyes down to eat, however I continue listening to the men talk about Jack and his job sites. Apparently some men on the crew just returned from Haiti. They were working for him there, too.
 

“He’s got work almost everywhere,” the one guy says.

Their conversation turns to how the Patriots are faring, and that’s when I stop listening. I’m up to ten pages of notes when Todd sits down across from me and drops a thick packet next to my plate.
 

“Here you go, Daisy!”
 

“Thanks!” I beam as I open the large orange envelope and slide out a small stack of papers listing the details of the weddings occurring on the island.
 

“She said that list goes out until the 15th of December.”

“Nice…” I study the data. “How much do I owe you for all of this? I mean, put it all on the bill. The ride to Menemsha, the ride here, the wait—”
 

“It’s nothing. Just doing a favor for a new friend.”

I squint suspiciously. If he lets me off the hook without paying a dollar, then that will certainly be a first. “What’s going on?”
 

“Nothing. It’s free. You don’t like free?” He smiles. “This is the Vineyard. We’re giving here.”

I open my wallet even though I smell Belmont’s interference. “Well, if there’s anything I can ever do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.” I give him my card.
 

That reminds me of when Belmont gave me his gray business card. I still don’t understand what’s stopping me from making that first move. Maybe it’s the list. I’m too excited about my story and wedding crashing with my camera to be distracted. If I call him now, then he’ll want to bed me, and I’ll want him to bed me.

“You got it,” Todd says. “You still need a ride, don’t you?”

“Oh!” I say and lift a hand to claim the waitress’s attention.
 

We head back to Jack’s house after I pay the bill.
 

Chapter 10

It Ends With A Kiss

There’s a sticky note on the door that has, “We’ll talk when you’re home,” written in Maya’s handwriting. Wow, is she overconfident. I snatch it off the wood, crumple it up, and throw it in the kitchen trash can.

It’ll actually be good to get out tonight to see if they’re any hotspots to write about, but I’m still obsessing over the bathtub upstairs. Every girl has her vice, and mine is a scrumptious bath. Before I program myself another hot bubble bath, I email Dusty Burrows and pitch my new idea to him while telling him why Martha’s Vineyard isn’t suited for the taxicab series. I have a message from my mom, but I’ll open it later. She’s probably just checking in; she does that once in a blue moon.

I notice some changes as I stand between the bedroom and bathroom. The bed has been made, the sink and tub have been scrubbed, and a lemony-fresh scent lingers. Belmont’s housekeepers must’ve come while I was out.

I hurry over to the vanity and pick up my cell phone to ask him to join me, but then I reconsider. I still don’t have the extra time to be sidetracked by Belmont Lord. I’ll wait until tomorrow to apologize for my overreaction and tell him that, beyond reason and without a doubt, I love him. Tomorrow has to be dedicated to crashing weddings and taking enough photos and gathering enough details to send something a little more solid to Dusty. If Dusty refuses to accept my new angle, then I’ll pitch it elsewhere. Decision made, I strip out of my jeans, T-shirt, and underwear and ease into the tub.
 

I could choose to read
The
New York Times
or listen to Billie Holiday, but instead I close my eyes and think about how naked I am. I still don’t understand why Belmont is so turned on by me. I’ve never gotten the general fascination men have with a woman’s anatomy. They’re just breasts and butts and arms and legs and whatever else they find so tantalizing. Men have the same body parts, for goodness sakes! I can’t deny how he makes me feel–desired, needed, and more beautiful than I thought I could ever be. Finally, I feel like a woman.

Memories transport me back to yesterday. The ocean water was cold, but our mouths were delicious and warm as we kissed against the jagged rock. As I relive that moment and simper, the doorbell chimes.

My eyes pop open and my heart pounds. Who in the world could that be? It can’t be Belmont or Charlie because neither of them is big on ringing or knocking. According to Maya’s Post-it, she and Adrian have shipped out. Although she could be staging a fake-out, but I think she’s gone.

Maybe it
is
Belmont. Instead of coming right in, he’s allowing me to make first contact by unlocking the door and inviting him in. Am I ready to sacrifice my plans for tomorrow to make love to him tonight?

Absolutely!

I stand so fast my head turns dizzy. The doorbell chimes again.

“Coming!” I shout even though there’s no way he can hear me from up here. My skin is still wet when I wrap my red kimono robe around me. It clings uncomfortably to my wet skin. It won’t be on long anyway. I hear the pitter, patter of my damp feet as I run down the hallway. Since my feet are wet, I carefully descend the stairs.

Once I make it to the door, just to make sure it’s him, I look through the peephole.
 

I gasp and step back.
 

Maybe this isn’t happening.
 

Maybe I’m still upstairs in the bathtub and I’ve fallen asleep. I pinch my arm.

“Mom, is that you?” I ask cautiously.

“Yes, it’s me.”

I anxiously turn the two bolt-locks and swing open the door. “Mom?” I’m still stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your friends told me you were here.”

“Maya?” I ask, thinking maybe she was telling the truth after all when she said she spoke to my mom.

“No. Belmont Lord. He flew me in.”

I’m speechless. I still can’t believe I’m looking at Heloise Krantz in the flesh. I haven’t seen her since Easter. She has the same long, bone-straight salt-and-pepper hair and the flawless skin of a teenager. My mom is fifty-five, but she’s always taken for a woman who’s in her early thirties. She’s a mixture of French, Spanish, and English, while my dad is Senegalese and Creole. They’re probably the reason why I’ve been infected by the traveling bug. I’m a product of the world.

“Daisy?” she gently asks. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Oh yes,” I reply spastically and step back. “Why would Belmont call you?” I close the door behind her.

“He said you weren’t in a good place. He filled me in.”

“On everything?” I ask.

“Everything,” she confirms. “Daisy, why didn’t
you
call me yourself?”

I roll my eyes as if the answer is obvious. “Mom?”
 

“Why do you say, Mom?” she replies snippily in her barely there French accent.

We’re getting off on the same foot as usual.
 
“Just… Nothing.” I shake my head, mindful that I’m behaving like a moody teenager.