The California Club (36 page)

'Did you have an accident?'

Sasha shakes her head. Gone is the swishing sound. All that remain are soft wisps of silk curling around her ears. 'What do you think?'

Helen reaches forward and rumples her flattened hair to life. 'Very Charlize Theron.'

'You didn't do it for Ty, did you?' I wonder out loud. 'To try and make yourself less attractive?'

Zoë looks confused.

'No, honestly,' Sasha assures me. 'I actually did it for Oliver. And for me.'

'Who's Oliver?' Zoë perks up. 'Is he a hottie?'

'Oliver is a mountain lion.'

'Is this going to start making sense some time soon?' Zoë frowns.

'I know it's only been a few days but I think I'm in love!' Sasha swoons.

'With the lion?' Zoë checks.

Sasha nods.

'What about Ty?' I ask.

'Don't tell me – Ty's a tiger!' Zoë tries to join in.

'No, he's the guy who's been horrible to Sasha,' Helen reminds her.

'That bastard, just wait till I get my hands on him!' Zoë growls.

'I may just beat you to it!' Sasha shares a knowing look with me.

'Have you kissed him yet?' I so want the answer to be yes.

'Has she kissed the guy she hates? What is going on?' Zoë is indignant.

Sasha goes back to the beginning, first explaining how Oliver would get freaked out at the slightest glimpse of her long hair (hence the haircut) and how the once-hostile Ty is now her suitor. And she, in turn, his suitoress. Then she answers my question: no, she hasn't kissed him yet. They're still just learning to trust each other – she needs to know that he won't get aggressive and snipey again and he needs to get over his fears that she's a diva in disguise.

'But I'd say it bodes well,' she smiles shyly.

'Well, don't leave it too long,' Zoë cautions. 'When you get back you've only got one more night with him.'

Sasha's face falls. It would seem she's found her groove at Tiger Tiger and, judging from her expression, the thought of going back to how she was before terrifies her.

Helen takes her hand. 'Trust The California Club,' she soothes. 'By the end of the week your wish will come true.'

Sasha looks confused. 'But I've already got my wish, I mean, I found somewhere where looks don't matter.'

'Your real wish,' Helen whispers.

Sasha looks at her, wide-eyed. At the same time my heart dips. Can The California Club read the invisible ink behind what we wrote down on our slips of paper?

'You mean the wish they grant isn't necessarily what we wrote down?' I have to be clear on this. Is there still a chance for me and Elliot?

Helen smiles enigmatically. 'What you wrote is just the starting point.'

'Come on, Gypsy Rose Lee – spill!' Zoë heckles.

Helen takes a seat beside Zoë, lays a hand on her cheek, closes her eyes and says, 'I see a man with a large penis in your recent past …'

'Who told you?' Zoë leaps back.

'Guilty!' I raise my hand. I was dying to tell someone and the others were all busy when I tried calling them en route to Union Station.

'Something I should know?' Sasha raises an eyebrow.

When Zoë's done telling the Eddie Powers story, Sasha asks me for a Joel update. After my near-miss with Elliot I want to run to Joel's consoling arms all the more but explain that I've let him slip away with no means of contacting him. I'm just about to get paranoid that he deliberately vanished without trace, never having any intention of seeing me again, when Zoë turns our attention to Helen's sex life.

‘So where's Reuben tonight?'

'Oh he's um, home or out, I'm not sure. Surfing, probably. Who knows where!' She gives a strange unnatural laugh.

'So which is better, surfing or sex?' Zoë probes.

'Reuben says that if you reckon surfing's better than sex then you're not doing it right!'

'But what do you say?'

'Sex with a surfer is the best!' she laughs.

'Really?' It's the one species Zoë hasn't tried and she's obviously concerned she's missing out.

'Well, not just any surfer. With Reuben.' Her eyes shine bright. 'He's The One, for sure.'

We all give a 'dreams-really-can-come-true' sigh then Helen gets to her feet and asks, 'Ready to see your room now?'

'You betcha! Where is it?' I ask, peeling myself off the shiny bedspread.

'Over the other side, three floors up.' Helen motions ahead. 'You're sharing with me, hope that's okay.'

'Of course!' Darn, I won't be able to have a good cry and purge myself of the Elliot disappointment. 'Is there a mini-bar?' I try and sound casual.

We follow Helen up a spiral staircase lined with bright green carpet for that essential astro-turf look without the hazardous grazing possibilities.

'Up again!' she calls as Zoë and I pause for breath on the second floor.

Another spiral twirl and she steps back to let me insert the key.

'Carin,' I read the hand-painted driftwood plaque.

'Apparently it's a Swiss word of endearment,' Helen tells me.

I open the door.

Just as the Tack Room was an assault in red, this is like dreaming in bubblegum – I've never seen so much pink! I look up at the vaulted ceiling where painted wooden beams fan out from a central peak and find a hefty burnished gold Cupid bearing a seven-stick candelabra.

'Imagine if the hook gave way – you'd be crushed in your bed!' Zoë shudders.

'But what a way to go!' I run my hand over the bedspread – layer upon layer of beautiful roses. Crossing the berry carpet I slot into one of the two high-backed leather chairs the color of pink sugared almonds to get a different perspective. Everywhere I look there's mirrors surrounded by swirling serifs of dark gold and more and more pink – pink velvet curtains (blush fading where the sun has seared them) and even a pink leather ice-bucket. Hello …

'The champagne!' Sasha remembers. There's a sloshing sound as she pulls out the bottle. 'All the ice has melted …'

'I don't care!' I'm right by her side holding glasses at the ready.

'I'll go and get some more.'

'Open it first!' I beg.

Helen takes over to pop the cork and fills four glasses to the brim.

'To Lara, on her birthday! May this be the start of a year filled with many wonderful surprises!'

'To Lara!' they chorus.

We take a slug, wincing at the lukewarm taste.

'I'm getting ice.' Sasha heads for the door.

'I'll come with you, I need to get a Coke from the vending machine,' Helen joins her.

'So do you like the room?' Zoë twirls around like a little girl in her best party dress.

'I love it!' I really do. My only complaint is that it doesn't come with a Romeo type in velvet and brocade, spouting poetry.

'We all took a vote and decided this was the most you – it's that quirky thing you like but by far the most romantic.'

I raise an eyebrow. I'd hardly call my current situation romantic. I feel like I've lost Elliot all over again. As self-pity tickles my tear ducts my survivor instinct urges me to 'Step away from the Cupid!'

'Is that another balcony?' I ask, making a dash for it, staring intently at the sloping yellow mountains beyond the grazing fields.

'That's the one they were hiding on,' Zoë tells me. 'When I came in they all jumped out at me thinking it was you! And all the while you were …' she trails off.

'Did you think, for a moment, that he was in bed waiting for you?'

She searches my face for the truth.

'Just for a moment,' I confess, unable to look her in the eye.

'I've wished so hard for him to fall in love with you!' Zoë agonizes.

'I know,' I smile, touched by her campaigning but determined not to feel sorry for myself again tonight. How can I complain when I've got my own calamine castle to play in?

But then Zoë slips a comforting arm around me and leans her cheek on my shoulder and I crumble.

'Why can't I let go?' I sigh into her. 'Even after getting it on with Joel who is entirely divine?'

'Because you love him. Next question.'

I smile for a second then sigh. 'Should I let go? Is it time?'

'Not yet. At least give it to the end of the week. You heard what Helen said to Sasha – secret wishes can come true too.'

‘But really, honestly, realistically?'

'There's definitely something wrong between him and Elise and maybe when he figures out what it is, he'll finally see the light.'

'You think they're on shaky ground?'

'There were cracks showing at La Jolla beach, you said he seemed a bit iffy in Yosemite and after tonight, trust me, those cracks will develop into fissures.'

'What?' I choke at Zoë's metaphor follow-through.

'Is that the wrong word?' she frowns. 'Fissures?'

'No, it's the right one, that's what's so shocking.'

Zoë looks proud of herself, despite my dig, then continues with her take on the situation: 'I think being with us all again is making Elliot realize how far off the mark he is with Elise.'

'Maybe …' I concede.

'Look, even if you don't have one hundred per cent faith in The California Club, you've got to believe in the power of the Madonna Inn! This place
is
you, you're on home turf here. Progress will be made tonight, I promise.'

'How can you be so sure?'

Zoë reaches back into the room and lugs over a book the size and weight of a paving stone.

'What's this?' I groan.

'Your birthday present! It's a coffee table book about the Madonna Inn.'

'Where's the concrete coffee table that goes with it?'

Zoë ignores me. 'It's from all of us. I haven't had a chance to sign it yet but Elliot has. Read!’

Hey Beautiful Birthday Girl! HAPPY 30th!

I'd tell you to make a wish but I guess we've already done that!!

Actually, La, make as many wishes as you like – one for every cupid in this crazy place! You deserve to have all your dreams come true this year – that's what I'm wishing for you! (And with two of us at it, how can the universe resist?)

Love you, Elliot.

I look up at Zoë. It's lovely – very encouraging and supportive – but I need her to translate the sure-thing aspect to me.

'Love you.' She jabs the page.

'That's just casual, matey…'

'Look at it another way – all that's missing is the I!'

I raise an eyebrow.

'One lousy letter,' Zoë insists.

Would that every one had a friend as optimistic as Zoë.

I take another sip of champagne and decide that regardless of what happens tonight, I’m going to have FUN!

The Madonna Inn really comes into its own at night. A million fairy lights wink at you through the stained glass windows, the rockpool fountains are transformed into liquid fireworks by colored underwater lights and the band lulls you into a retro reverie with dreamy leisure lounge tunes like
Fly Me to the Moon
. My heart aches with 'coming home' satisfaction.

'Wait for us!' Zoë clatters up behind me and Helen with Sasha in tow. Both look amazing – Zoë in her shiny pink dress, Sasha in a backless white halter-neck with one of Zoë's diamanté clips prettying up her newly tufty hair.

'Are the others already inside?'

'Shall we find out?' asks Helen, ceremoniously pushing open the carved wooden doors.

We step into a world of pink and gold even more vibrant and intense than my room. One side of the restaurant follows the curve of a sweeping staircase, the other has booths that look to me like a fleet of Cinderella carriages and, in the middle, a twisting tree stretches its vines of gold across the ceiling.

We breathe an awed, 'Wow!'

'Welcome to Barbara Cartland Land!' Elliot comes to greet us, giving me a kiss on the cheek and whispering, 'You look lovely!'

I smooth down my devoré dress with renewed pride as he leads us over to a booth of ruched pink leather sporting a perky Happy Birthday balloon. It's one of twelve such balloons strung around the room. I wonder if you have to have at least one birthday or anniversary per party to get a reservation –
Restaurant Policy: we aim to maintain a high level of special occasion-ness!

'Isn't this beautiful?' I sigh, ducking under a Tiffany lightshade as I slide in next to Elliot.

Elise pulls a face and titters. 'Am I the only one who finds this grotesque?'

Zoe saves me the trouble of trying to find a polite response by clipping, ‘Don't worry, Elise – when it's your birthday we'll go to a Holiday Inn.'

Before Elise can retort, the waiter comes to the table. His sales pitch on the hand-cut, oak-pit-barbecued steaks tempts even veggie Sasha. And when Zoë learns that Mr Madonna struck up his cattle ranching business with none other than John Wayne she gets giddy and orders a 14-ounce filet mignon.

'Anyone for an olive?' I offer around the platter.

'Don't mind if I do.' Elliot reaches for a fat green one.

'You told me you didn't like olives!' Elise looks aghast.

'I don't, but then again I haven't eaten one in years. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't missing out.'

'Are you trying to make a point?' Elise's eyes narrow.

'With an olive?' Elliot sounds exasperated.

The rest of us reach for the carrot sticks and crunch noisily. Those self-help classes are obviously paying off. Elise is the epitome of peace and harmony tonight.

Drrrrrrinnnnnnng!

What? I can't believe someone has brought their cellphone to dinner! It continues to ring. I look around for the culprit, eager to give them a dirty look.

'Lara, I think that's you!' Helen nudges me.

'It can't be – you're all here.'

I scramble in my bag. The number is not identified on the screen. It couldn’t be Joel, could it? I flip open the phone and husk a tentative 'Hello?'

'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARLING!'

'Mum!' I gasp. 'What are you doing? It's got to be 4.30 in the morning there!'

'I had to speak to you on your special day!'

'Hold on.' I squeeze out of the booth and hurry to the lobby. 'Are you okay?'

'Of course! Never better!' she cheers. 'But I want to know how you are!'