House of the Blue Sea (7 page)

“He thinks he wasn’t good looking enough, or lucky.”

“Looks and luck are part of the equation, and fitting into one of the boxes they need filled. It happened the box he best suited wasn’t in abundance.”

“So I take it you fit into a box that is more in demand.”

“I did, as in past tense. Age is yet another factor in the equation, and another we have no control over. You see, that’s the wretchedness of it. I can do the best job of playing a particular part, but if I wasn’t given the right looks or I don’t speak with the right accent or I’m at the wrong age, that’s it. When I was in my twenties and thirties and even forties, there were more boxes I could fill. Now there are only a few, but still a mob of us old guys lining up to fill them.”

The darkness that clung to Mark was starting to take shape in Sandra’s mind. She was quite familiar with the challenges of having a career that wasn’t meeting one’s needs or expectations.

“What drew you to acting in the first place?” Sandra asked, already knowing Paul’s version of the story.

“Well, ironically, Paul did. I’m not sure I’d be here if it weren’t for him ... and my mother.”

“Your mother wanted you to be an actor?”

“No, my mother wanted me to be like my older brother. I was determined to be a physician with Doctors Without Borders, travel the world helping people. Then my brother Matthew decided to go into medicine. I’d competed with him in academics, in sport, and every other damn thing throughout my youth, I wasn’t going to compete with him in my career. When Paul said he was going to the drama academy, I thought ‘what the hell’ and went with him. I knew Matthew would never choose such a thing. It was safe territory.”

“And you succeeded—quite nicely it would seem. Was your mother pleased?”

“Funny thing is, she died not long before my first major movie role. She’d seen me on the telly, and she’d always mention it, but still she’d go on about Matthew and his practice and some miracle he’d performed, some life he’d saved. He could do no wrong.” Mark inspected the fingernails of his right hand, smoothing his thumb over each one. “Never make your life choices based on another person’s expectations of you, the moral of my sad story.” Mark drummed his fingers on the table and looked over his shoulder to the kitchen door. “Where is that man with the blasted coffee?”

***

“T
he omelette is delicious. How goes the granola sundae? Getting through it?” Mark asked, making yummy noises as he chewed the final piece.

“It’s quite tasty, thank you. And there’s no
getting through it
. You should try it sometime. You might surprise yourself.”

“At my age I’m well beyond surprising myself.” He took a mouthful of coffee.

“Well isn’t that a sad state to be in, and at such a young age.”

“Young? If I were young I wouldn’t be
here
.” He flung his arm in a half circle.

Oops, she’d managed to prod another of his prickly spots. Oh well, have to talk about something and bold seemed a better strategy than bashful. Trisha and Nick would both be proud. “Yes, young. And what on earth is wrong with
here
? The sun, the sea, the palm trees swaying in the breeze—to most people this is paradise.”

“Paradise is entirely relative. One person’s paradise is another person’s
hell
.” The word hell seemed spat out.

He’s just a man, Sandra, don’t be intimidated
. “So ... why are you choosing to be here, if this is
hell
?”

“And how is that any of your bloody business?” He jumped to his feet, throwing his light wicker chair onto its back. He stared at her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

She didn’t know how to respond. She dropped her eyes to the table and picked up her ceramic coffee mug, sipping the warm liquid, the sweetness of caramel blending with the bite of coffee bean on her tongue. She could feel his stare like two burning points on the top of her head. Maybe if she closed her eyes, there would be an empty chair across from her when she opened them, an upright chair, and her morning would be normal, and peaceful. 

“Mark! Are you leaving already, mate?”
Paul to the rescue. Thank God.
“You haven’t had your second cup of coffee yet, or your third.” Paul spoke as one might to a hostage taker—
everyone stay calm and we’ll all get out of this alive
.

Mark’s hands relaxed and he leaned over to pick up the chair. “I’m sorry. I ... I ... didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“More coffee, Sandra?” Paul asked.

“You know, I should get going.” Sandra pulled the napkin from her lap and laid it on the table. Breakfast had gone from awkward to excruciating and she had no wish to stay any longer. “I’d like to get started on another piece today, since I’m going to La Paz tomorrow.”

“No. Stay for another cup. Please.” Mark’s tone had softened.

She didn’t want to—but his eyes—like the pain of the world rested in them at that moment. Her mouth wouldn’t form the word no. “All right.” Sandra turned from Mark to Paul. “Another macchiatto then, this time the hazelnut, please.” If she was staying she was going to need something pleasurable to distract her.

“Great.” Mark said with an audible out breath. “I’ll have one of those as well.”

***

“W
ell, that was quite delightful.” Mark said, looking down at the bit of foam resting in the bottom of his empty cup.

“I can’t believe you’ve not tried one before. Paul makes some incredible specialty coffees. He’s got about six different lattes on his menu, three macchiatos, a cappuccino, and all of them addictive.” The conversation had remained superficial and pleasant for the twenty minutes it took to drink their second cups.

“I’m rather a ‘give it to me black and strong’ guy in the mornings. It’s more of a drug than a beverage.”

“I see. Well, I’d best get to that empty canvas.” Sandra slid her chair back and stood up. “Thank you for breakfast, and enjoy the painting.”

“Perhaps you’d like to come by at some point to see it in its new home? I do owe you a dinner.”

“Sure, maybe.” Sandra nodded and turned to go.

“Can I give you a ride to La Paz tomorrow?” he blurted.

Forty-five minutes in a car each way—she wasn’t sure she was up for that. She turned back to face him. “Thank you, but I’m just going to hop on the bus. I wouldn’t want to mess with your day. I’m only running a couple of errands, shopping things.”

“Me as well. And my day is generally unplanned so, you see, you can’t mess it up.”

She met his eyes, unsure of what to say, how to politely say no. She couldn’t believe she was being invited on a road trip with Mark Jeffery and did not want to go. Trisha would kill her. But she had a stiff neck and sore head after an hour-long breakfast with a rich and famous companion. A full day? She couldn’t imagine.

“I should be glad to have your company.” He was standing now, looking into her face.

Damn those sad, over-sized eyes. It was a trick of nature, the same one used by puppies and babies. So much for her puppy dog weakness only applying to actual dogs. And how did he cover the distance between ogre and charmer so quickly? Again she found the word “no” eluding her. “Okay. If you’re sure it would be no trouble, a ride would be ... nice.”

“Great.” Mark’s smile lifted the corners of his mouth, pushing his cheeks into two round pouches just below those girl-swallowing eyes. “Then I’ll swing by around ten to pick you up? Does that give you enough time in the morning?”

“Ten-thirty would be better. You see, I’m already messing with your plans.”

“If delaying me by half an hour is the worst you can do ...”

“See you tomorrow then.”

Sandra turned and made her way from the patio to the guest room hallway. She knew that thousands of women would give their right arm, possibly the left too, for a day in La Paz with Mark Jeffery, but she would honestly prefer a day to herself. La Paz—peace. It wouldn’t live up to its name tomorrow.

T
he wave travelled halfway up Sandra’s calves as it made its way to shore. She stopped for a moment and closed her eyes, breathing in the moist, salt air. February. Her fifth time in Mexico for part of the winter and still it seemed unreal that this could be a February evening. Four years ago Baja had melted the ice she felt in her veins, like the winter had moved into them and could only be evicted by such a place as this. A tear ran down her cheek without any advance notice—no tightening in the throat, no burning eyes. The pain was less and yet the tears still came easily, like the trail had been blazed by so many before them that they could come without warning, without hindrance. She opened her eyes and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her capris, drying her face. The lights of Mar Azul were starting to come on in the distance as the sky darkened. Its warmth beckoned and yet she didn’t feel ready to be with people.

The breakfast with Mark Jeffery had rattled her and the feeling had stayed with her through the day. Was it his celebrity, his outburst or simply the fact that he was an attractive man? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she didn’t want to travel to La Paz with him tomorrow. Trisha would say she was just nervous, but this didn’t feel like a case of nerves, this stone in the pit of her stomach. She walked further out into the surf, the warm water now reaching her knees, soaking the bottoms of her pants. Turning her face to the sky she raised her arms in the air, placed her right foot to the inside of her left thigh in tree pose and waited for the calm to wash over her.

***

“S
o, what do you think of my famous friend?” Paul asked from behind the bar.

Sandra licked some salt from the rim of her glass and let the tart, icy beverage follow it onto her tongue. “You’re getting almost as good as Arturo at mixing a marg. Where is Arturo anyway?”

“He’s in the kitchen, and you didn’t answer my question.”

“Well ... he’s a bit on the moody side I’d have to say. It’s like dancing with a porcupine, all charm until you bump into him. Is he always like that?”

“He’s always been impetuous, but the short fuse to anger is new. He’s going through something of a rough patch right now. Career and ex-wife both giving him grief.”

“He didn’t mention his ex-wife but I gathered he’s less than thrilled with his career at the moment. Wasn’t he married to Serena Rhodes?” Sandra held her hand at chest height. “Legs up to here?” Paul reached over and slid her hand up closer to her neck. “Oh, thanks.” She laughed. “I think I saw something about her in some magazine or other recently. I never buy them but I do indulge my curiosity when I’m in line at the grocery store.”

“Serena, that’s her, the ice queen. And what you probably saw is that she recently remarried.”

“Why would that upset him? Aren’t they many years divorced?” She leaned forward as if in confidence. “You know, it’s strange to know so much about someone I’ve just met.”

“Definitely a downside of fame, everyone knowing your business.” Paul was slicing lemons, placing them in a blue and yellow flowered bowl on the top of the bar. “They have been divorced for quite a few years now but when every move you make is followed by the press, you appreciate a little heads-up when something’s going to happen. He found out about her marriage from an entertainment news show on the telly, and right after that the reporters were ringing for his reaction.” He took another lemon from the bag and sliced into it. “I always thought she was a bit of a bint, like every other woman he gets involved with. I’m one of his closest friends but I don’t recall her ever making a point to talk to me.” Paul leaned forward and opened his eyes wide. “Self-centered cow.”

“Paul Hutchings! I’ve never heard you trash talk someone before. There’s another side to our
friendly
hotelero.”

“Only when it comes to Mark’s girlfriends.”

“I see. He’s invited me along to La Paz tomorrow. I’m afraid I said yes.”

“Just keep the conversation away from ex-wives and work and I’m sure he’ll be as charming as I am.”

“Maybe half ...
if
he works at it.” Sandra took another drink from her over-sized margarita glass.

Paul’s gaze jumped to the bar entrance. “Ian, welcome!” Sandra turned in her stool and waved as Ian approached. He was dressed in floral board shorts and flip flops. “I’m guessing by your attire you won’t be taking the stage tonight.”

“Not tonight, no. Just dropping by for a beer and some enchanting conversation.” He ordered a Dos Equis and hopped onto the stool beside Sandra, turning toward her. “And you’re looking very nice this evening.”

Sandra glanced down at her wet-bottomed capri pants and pink v-necked shirt. “I thought you had a better sense of fashion than that, being a Montrealer. I just came back from a beach walk.”

“Exactly my point—colour in your cheeks, windblown hair, sand between your toes—what could be more attractive?”

“You’d compliment me if I were wearing a burlap sack and hadn’t washed my hair for two weeks.”

“Ooh, fetching. You might be right.” He really could be quite enchanting, which is why he often had a lovely woman on his arm. “So how’s the painting coming along?”

“Very good, actually. I’m well into a second piece and, get this, sold the first one.”

“Sold one? I thought you didn’t do that.”

“Okay, well technically I gave it away, but to someone who was willing to pay me for it, and pay well I might add.”

“And who, may I ask, was this person with impeccable taste in art?”

“A friend of Paul’s, Mark Jeffery. Have you met him?” asked Sandra.

“Briefly, here at the hotel a few weeks ago. Is he still here?”

“Not here at the hotel but in the village. I think he bought a house.”

“In San Leandro? Now why would he do that? Doesn’t a big shot like him want a fortress closer to civilization?”

“Apparently not,” said Sandra. Paul set down a brown bottle with two red Xs on its label. “Paul, did Mark
buy
the house in San Leandro?”

“I think he’s leasing, not sure for how long.”

“There you have it. I didn’t think there were any movie-star-worthy properties in the area.” Ian poured the amber beer into his glass.