The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (17 page)

I drove out of the hospital parking lot feeling elated and jittery. I’d taken my first baby steps
toward independence.

On a roll and feeling unusually daring, I headed out to the country club. I knew Sebastian had taken a double shift. He hadn’t been happy at not seeing me in the morning, but when I said I was having a doctor’s check-up, he’d acquiesced at once and said he’d work to take his mind off ‘things’. He promised to text me on his break but now I was hoping to see him before that: a surprise.

The country club was located at the end of a long, private driveway, fringed by an avenue of mature palm trees. The single story was old Spanish-style—white with tall arches, a wide, cool veranda running around three sides, and frothing with bougainvillea in rich magenta. Broad steps led up to an impressive frontage, and green lawns flowed down toward an 18 hole golf course. Behind the building, I could see the ocean stretching to the horizon, breakers rumbling in the background. Whoever had picked the location had done half the job of selling memberships.

My old Ford looked so out of place I dumped it in the rear parking lot, deftly avoiding the valet service as I walked to the entrance.

It was clear that the dress code was more than advisory: men wore polo shirts with collars, and women’s skirts were of a decent length. I couldn’t spot an un-tucked shirt anywhere. A handsome young man in uniform smiled at me as I walked up the steps. Sebastian had hinted at the way staff were selected: those I could see were young and attractive, wearing Navy blue shorts and plain, white t-shirts with the club’s logo discreetly positioned.

I was glad I’d dressed up for my abortive hospital appointment, otherwise I’d have felt even more intimidated by the grand surroundings.

“May I help you, ma’am?” said the well-dressed young woman at the reception desk.

“Yes, I’d like a membership form, please.”

“Certainly, ma’am. Would that be an individual membership, associate member, executive or junior executive member, non-resident membership or social membership?”

“I … I…”

“The individual membership starts at $1,000 per month, with an initial fee of $4,000 or for a social membership, if you don’t wish to play golf…”

“I believe Mrs. Wilson is entitled to the Active Duty Military Membership.”

The voice made me jump.

“Of course, Mrs. Vordstadt,” said the receptionist, rummaging through her files, then passing over a thick sheaf of paper.

I turned to find Donna standing behind me, smiling at my surprise.

“I didn’t figure you for a country club type, Caroline. Or perhaps this is more David’s thing?”

I tried to wipe the shock from my face but I don’t think I was entirely successful.

“Donna, how … how nice to see you. Yes, I, um, just came to pick up a membership form—I had no idea there were so many different types.”
Or that it would be so expensive.

“One of the few benefits of military service—and it puts the fee down to a more manageable $500 a month,” she whispered conspiratorially.

She took my elbow and led me out to a seating area at the rear. Several women were sipping cocktails, even at this early hour. The view of the ocean was stunning and the club had a large pool area, peppered with sun loungers and fringed umbrellas. I was far from enjoying it though—foolishly, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d bump into anyone I knew here. And now Donna was ordering coffee for the two of us.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Caroline. We haven’t had a chance to chat and I did so want to thank you for inviting us to your home on Saturday. I really should have called before now.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine…”

There was an awkward pause—perhaps we were both remembering how the evening had
ended—or our different versions of that.

“Is David a golfer?” she said at last.

“A bit, in Florida,” I said, flustered. He’d played a couple of times that I could recall.

“And you?”

“I prefer the beach,” I said, truthfully. “Swimming, sailing—anything like that.”

“Have you tried surfing?”

I’m sure I blushed beet red: I was thankful that my tan covered it up a little.

“No, I’ve never tried.”

“You should get the boys to teach you,” she suggested.

I nearly choked on my coffee.

“I’m sure Mitch Peters wouldn’t mind helping out.”

I smiled weakly. Clearly the ‘boys’ she was thinking of were quite different to the ones—the one—I had in mind.

“I thought you might have been tempted,” she continued.

I was ready to crawl through the floor—her words laced with unintentional double entendres.

And then I saw Sebastian.

He looked so handsome in his crisp, snug uniform; no one would have guessed he was still only 17. Certainly not me—he looked more like early twenties. It was easy to see how the club could get away with allowing him to serve alcohol. It seemed I suffered from the same hypocrisy.

Donna turned to see what, or rather who, I was staring at.

“Oh, there’s the Hunters’ boy. I remember Shirley Peters mentioning that her son was going to get him a job here.”

She waved to attract his attention, as I sank lower into my chair.

He hesitated for a moment, then strode over.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said smoothly.

His audacity brought a small smile to my lips.

“Hello, Sebastian,” said Donna.

“Hi,” I said, shyly.

“How long have you been working here?” asked Donna.

“Just a few days. Ches Peters got me a job.”

“And how are you liking it?”

“It’s getting better,” he said, glancing at me.

Donna raised her eyebrows and I could tell she was trying not to smile.

I frowned: Sebastian’s recklessness was hardly helpful.

“Can I get you ladies anything?” he said, sounding a little flustered as he correctly interpreted my cool expression.

“No, we’re good, thank you. We’re just having coffee.”

“Well, okay, then … I’d better get back to work…”

Donna waved him on his way and with a last flicker of his eyes toward me, he headed off.

“He’s such a nice boy,” said Donna thoughtfully. “Amazing he’s turned out so well when you consider…” She paused. “I was very impressed with how he handled his parents last Saturday.”

“Yes,” I agreed quickly, wanting to get her off the subject but not sure how.

“Of course,” continued Donna, “you knew him as a child. What was he like then?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, he was so sweet. He used to come to our house after school. My father was particularly fond of him.”

Dear Papa. My smile faded. How he would have loved Sebastian the man, as well as the boy he’d known.

Donna touched my arm. “Sorry, Caroline.”

I shrugged.

“So, do you think you and David will join?”

Now that I realized how popular the club was with Base families, I was a lot less keen, but I didn’t know how I’d get out of it.

“Maybe. It’s quite pricey. I’ll have to see what David says.”

Secretly, I had no intention of telling him I’d been there.

“I know what we’ll do,” said Donna, enthusiastically, “I’ll ask Johan to suggest it to him.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” I said, feeling a little panicky.

“It’s no trouble,” said Donna, decisively. “Besides, it’ll be much more fun coming here with you. Do you play tennis?”

My trip to the country club hadn’t gone exactly as planned. In fact, it was hard to imagine how it could have been worse. Despite my feeble objections, I had Donna’s cast iron promise that her husband would speak to my husband about a membership.

I sat in my hot car in the club’s parking lot, surrounded by expensive foreign cars, and rubbed my forehead, trying to ward off an incipient headache.

The whole situation was ridiculous—even hilarious—although not to me.

I sent Sebastian a quick message.

* Sorry. Not the surprise I’d planned. Cx *

I waited a few minutes but there was no reply—he was probably still working. I drove home, determined to sketch out some more ideas for
City Beat
. There was no point in letting the day be a complete wash-out.

As the hands on the kitchen clock crept toward 6
pm
, I put away my laptop and notebook, and turned my thoughts to making dinner. Risotto wasn’t David’s favorite but it was quick and easy.

The moment the hands on the clock were aligned vertically, I heard David’s Camaro pull up outside. I hurried to lay the table and waited anxiously. Would he fight with me about the missed colposcopy before or after we’d eaten?

His face was impassive although I’m sure mine was a little paler than usual.

“Something you want to tell me, Caroline?” he said, his voice unnervingly even.

I felt my courage shrivel under his chilly gaze.

“Such as?”

“Don’t be obtuse. I was talking to Captain Vorstadt today,” he said, emphasizing the title ‘Captain’.

I frowned. Where was he going with this?

“Apparently you were out at the country club this afternoon.”

“It was just a silly thought, David,” I said, hurriedly.

“You have many silly thoughts, Caroline, but if people like the Vorstadts are members at the country club, we should certainly join. I’m glad to see you’re making a bit more of an effort for a change.”

I gaped at him.

“In fact, Captain Vorstadt suggested we dine there together tomorrow night,” he continued smugly, “so I can see the facilities.”

David looked sickeningly pleased with himself, presumably because a senior officer had invited him—or rather us—to dinner.

He tossed his cap onto the couch and didn’t even ask about the exam I’d skipped. I knew the reprieve was temporary but I was happy to take what I could get.

I spent the evening with anxiety twisting my stomach but nothing more was mentioned. When David finally headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed, I switched my phone back on. Sebastian’s response made me smile:

* You always make my heart beat faster. Tomorrow? *

Yes, tomorrow.

CHAPTER 8

David was almost cheerful as he left for work. The prospect of dinner with a superior officer had put him in a good mood and kept him there.

“Wear something nice tonight: a cocktail dress. And heels, of course. In fact, buy a new dress.”

“David, that’s really not necessary. I’ve dry-cleaned the green one.”

I’d thought he’d be pleased with my frugality, but, as usual, I was in the wrong.

“For God’s sake, Caroline! I can’t have the Vorstadts thinking I can only afford to buy my wife one decent dress. Get a new one.”

“I had plans for this morning…”

“Such as?”

“Well, writing…”

“You can do that anytime. Buy a new dress. But no more than $150. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”

Like
you’re
trying too hard, you mean.

I sighed. There went my plans to spend the morning at the beach with Sebastian. Well, maybe if I went to the mall, I could be done in an hour.

I watched David drive off then picked up my phone to text Sebastian.

* I have to go clothes shopping.

Pick you up later? Sorry. Cx *

Immediately my phone started ringing.

“Why are you going shopping? Don’t you want to see me?”

“Don’t be…”
Rephrase.
“It’s not that—the Vorstadts have invited us to dinner tonight. David is insisting I buy a new dress.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“When you talk about you and … him. You say ‘us’.”

There was a long silence as I tried to frame a response but Sebastian spoke first.

“Can I come with you?”

“Where?”

“Can I come clothes shopping with you?”

I was nonplussed. “Well, I guess … if you like.”

“Great! See you at the park at our usual time. Love ya!”

I shook my head as he ended the call. I couldn’t help thinking of all the times I’d seen pitiable men, waiting outside women’s changing rooms, looking for all the world as if they’d been there since the dawn of time. But I was also intrigued, and if Sebastian wanted to come with me, well, I wasn’t going to argue.

He was sitting on the curb with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, as if he was some punk looking for trouble. The thought made me smile—it was the polar opposite of Sebastian’s personality which was so warm and thoughtful and caring, although I was beginning to
recognize a reckless streak in him, too.

“Hi!”

“Hi yourself!” he answered happily as he scrambled in and fastened his seatbelt.

I longed to lean over and kiss him but we couldn’t risk it here.

“So where are we going?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know: a mall somewhere.”

“Mom goes to Mission Valley. They’ve got all those brand name stores out there.”

I screwed up my face at the suggestion.

“That’s not really me. Besides, I want to avoid going somewhere I might run into your mom!” What a horrifying thought. Sebastian clearly agreed because I saw him wince.

“I thought maybe we could head up toward Miramar—there’s that mall at Westfield UTC.”

“Whatever.”

“So, do you make a habit of this?”

He looked puzzled.

“Going shopping for women’s clothes?”

He grinned widely.

“It’s my new hobby, especially if you’re buying underwear?”

I laughed, blushing slightly.

“Well, I ought to—I seem to keep losing mine.”

He sniggered. “Yeah! That’s fun.”

His happiness spilled over and I felt my spirits soaring—six uninterrupted hours with the man I loved. Six stolen hours.

“Did I tell you I was a member of the surf life saving club at school?” he said, changing the subject.

I could tell he had something on his mind.

“No, but I guess I’m not surprised.”

“Well, my manager at work, Miss Perez, she said that they’d get me certified for CPR and First Aid so I could be a trainee lifeguard at the pool. And I can start studying for the Open Water course, too, although I won’t be able to take the test until I’m eigh ... until later. It’ll make it easier to get work in NYC.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And I was thinking,” he continued quickly, “if I take a course to be a personal trainer, I could earn maybe a hundred bucks an hour once I’m qualified. You know, while you’re getting your journalism career going. I was looking at some apartments on the internet: they’re pretty expensive. I couldn’t find anything less than $2,000 a month unless we live in one of the outer boroughs, and we’d take a train or a ferry to get to work and school. It’s a little slower, I guess, but a lot cheaper. But by the end of the summer, I’ll have enough for the first month’s rent wherever we live.”

He looked at me anxiously.

A powerful swell of emotion swept through me. Here he was, 17 years old, planning for our future, determined to make it happen—and what had I contributed? Nothing. David had steered my life over the last 11 years: now I was letting—expecting even—that Sebastian would do the same. I felt ashamed.

“What do you think, Caro?”

“I think you’re extraordinary,” I said honestly.

He blinked, surprised by my unexpected answer. Then he grinned.

“Extraordinary, huh? I can live with that. And you called me ‘God’ the other night—that was okay, too.”

“I like your plan,” I said, deliberately ignoring the second half of his reply. “But we need to make sure you can fit your college courses in, too. I don’t want you giving up a university education. Besides, I could look for some translation work or maybe even teaching Italian—conversation classes—nothing too formal as I’m not a qualified teacher.”

“Well, you know, I looked at that, too. You could be a translator for the courts in NY—you can get $125 a day. Federal Courts pay even more.” He reached out and took my hand, then kissed it. “I can’t wait for us to be together.”

Neither could I.

“Well, that’s definitely a plan. If I could earn that sort of money … although they probably wouldn’t want Italian interpreters that much, but even so … are you still planning on a joint major in English Lit and Italian?”

“Sure!”

“Do you know what you want to do after?”

He nodded slowly. “I’d like to go to Europe. I have this image of you and me on a motorcycle traveling through Italy. I don’t know, teaching English, picking grapes—I don’t care. I’ve never been outside the US.”

“That sounds wonderful! We could go to Capezzano Inferiore—it’s a small village in the hills above Salerno—where Papa was born. I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Then we’ll go,” he said, simply.

I was grinning from ear to ear, smiling from the inside out.

“Do you have family there?” said Sebastian thoughtfully.

“I’m not really sure—some second cousins, I think. Why?”

“We should try to find them,” he said. “If they’re as crazy as your dad, it could be pretty wild.”

I laughed out loud, delighted with the picture he was painting. And I decided that as soon as I went home I would start planning our escape in earnest—no more taking a back seat in my own life.

“There’s the sign for Westfield,” said Sebastian, bringing my attention back to the road.

I took the exit ramp and followed the signs.

The mall was a vast sprawl of boutique shops and places to eat with a Sears at one end and Macy’s at the other.

“Where do you want to start?”

“I have no idea: let’s just make it quick.”

“I thought all girls liked shopping?”

“Not this one.”

“You look beautiful whatever you wear.”

I stared at him. “You always say the sweetest things! How do you do that?”

He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “What about this shop?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

He smiled and towed me inside.

“May I help you, ma’am, sir?”

Seeing as it was a women’s clothing store, I wasn’t entirely sure how the sales assistant was going to help Sebastian, although going by the look on her face, I could make a damned good guess. And, of course, she was younger than me.

An unaccustomed desire for sudden violence flooded through me.

“I’m looking for a black cocktail dress,” I said coolly. “Size four.”

It occurred to me that I’d never once been jealous of another woman looking at David—maybe that should have told me something. I couldn’t work out how much of what I was feeling now was to do with my own insecurities. I didn’t want to spoil today, so I pushed the wretched thought aside.

The assistant picked out a couple of dresses and I took them into the changing room.

I could hear her chatting to Sebastian through the curtain. Well, I could hear her trying to hit on him.

“Are you from the Base?” she said.

“Yeah, but…”

“Are you, like, a pilot?”

“No, I…”

“But you’re a Marine, right?”

I pulled back the curtain sharply, and the assistant jumped.

“What about this one, honey?” I said, throwing a few poses, for her benefit as much as Sebastian’s.

“Wow! You look great, Caro!”

I had his full attention. From my peripheral vision I saw the sales assistant pout. Hmm, shopping was proving a lot more fun than I’d expected.

“You want to see the other dress, honey?” I said, doing another slow turn.

“Yeah!”

I smirked and ducked back into the changing room, throwing a look at the assistant that dared her to resume her conversation with Sebastian. Sensibly, she declined the challenge.

The second dress was even more fitted and skimmed the top of my knees.

“Can you zip me up, honey?” I whispered through the curtain, still enjoying my performance.

I gazed over my shoulder at Sebastian, trying to play seductive. His presence alone made me feel sexy. His expression immediately heated and suddenly the confines of the changing room seemed unbearably hot. He pulled up the zipper with aching slowness, brushing a soft kiss over my bare shoulder.

“You look beautiful, baby,” he said quietly.

Suddenly we weren’t playing anymore. The assistant coughed, embarrassed.

“How’s the size, ma’am?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“It’s perfect,” said Sebastian in a low tone.

I wandered out of the shop in a daze. Sebastian insisted on carrying the bag and wrapped his free hand around my limp fingers.

“You want to get some lunch?”

“Sebastian, it’s only 11.15
am
!”

“Yeah, well I’m hungry.”

“You never stop eating. You’re going to be enormous when you get older.”

“Nah. I’ll have you to keep me fit.”

Dear God: I hoped I was up to the challenge. A few hours with Sebastian was yoga, Pilates and aerobics all rolled into one, delicious workout.

“Donna said I should get Mitch to teach me to surf,” I commented slyly.

Sebastian wasn’t pleased.

“I can teach you! You don’t need him.”

“Are you pouting at me?” I laughed. “You are! You’re pouting.”

I brought our twined hands up to my mouth and kissed his fingers.

“I’m just teasing you.”

He still looked hurt and I rather regretted trying to make him jealous. I suppose it was a childish tit-for-tat—that sales assistant had upset me more than I was willing to admit. But it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sebastian. It wasn’t his fault girls were throwing themselves at him.

“Come on: I’ll buy you coffee and a Danish.”

He settled on pastrami, lettuce and tomato on ciabatta bread
; a regular black coffee with two sugars; and a Danish pastry, as promised. I had a large espresso and watched him wolf down the food. Our grocery bill in New York was going to be huge.

“Where else in Europe would you like to go?”

He swallowed his mouthful and drank some coffee while he thought.

“Well, everywhere, but I’d really like to go to Southern Spain—see all the Moorish stuff. I saw a picture of the Alhambra palace once—it looked, I don’t know, like ‘One Thousand and One Nights’.”

I was surprised and I realized how little I knew of him, his hopes and dreams. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became.

“You’ve read ‘Arabian Nights’?”

He cocked his head to look at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”

I was confused. “Remember what?”

“You gave me the book to read—when I was a kid. I must have read it a hundred times. I used to think you were Scheherazade.”

Scheherazade: the princess who told a different story every night to keep the king from beheading her. I wasn’t very keen on the comparison. Except then he fell in love with her and married her.