Chapter Ten

She woke later without the slightest idea where she was.   She'd been dreaming of crooked houses with water pouring in, floors so slanted you had to crawl your way to the door, whole rooms falling off into the sea. She'd been standing on the rim of a jagged hole over a thousand-foot drop. What did it mean to dream of houses that wouldn't stay put?   She waited for the images to fade.

But when she opened her eyes her first thought was, how nice that Ralph had added a stained glass skylight and stone fireplace.

Then she smiled, remembering, bit by bit, her day.   No wonder she'd slept like the dead.   After her "treatment," she'd sunned awhile on the "clothing optional" tanning deck, swam in the saltwater pool, cavorting like an otter, soaked again in the grotto.

A squeal rose now in her chest; so this is how it would feel, reading off numbers on a million dollar lottery ticket as you come to the final match.   Yes!   She was still here, still Julia, it wasn't over.

Over... my God, it was just beginning.   William!

The clock on the mantel said 5:46.   Fourteen minutes to get ready!  

Heart racing, she scrambled off the bed, gathered her make-up case, blow dryer and curling iron from her bag.   In the bathroom, she poured a glob of foundation into her palm, was about to dab it on, when she noticed the difference in the mirror, her skin rosy from Egyptian clay and California sun, healthy.   Pity to start clogging pores again.   But go without make up?

Then she realized with a sudden, delicious calm, this was not a date. She had paid.   And if William thought her... less than beautiful, it didn't matter, not one whit.   An amazing concept, like someone slapping sense into you.

She stared at her reflection, trying to absorb what it meant.   Such freedom, power.   Simply facing the world with your own face, like a man.   Not having to paint or primp or cater.   She could hardly put words to the feeling.   Like being rescued, a giant crane lifting off huge slabs of history for survivors to wriggle out into the light.

She washed the foundation from her palm.   Mascara, just a touch.   No time to start over with her hair.   She brushed it out, shaped it around her face.   Even her hair felt healthier; the perfect cut to leave straight.   Who would've thought she could wear it like this?   She'd been perming her hair since the late '70's.

In the other room, she slipped on a cotton sun dress, light yellow to accent her new tan, or wannabe tan.   The dress had a bodice top with eyelet trim, ribbon straps tied at her shoulders.   It fit even better than when she'd bought it.

No underwear.

No last look in the mirror either.   It did not matter.   This was her fantasy.   She had paid.   She hurried out to the little walled patio and sat at the wrought iron table so she could see him walking along the path toward her.

__________________

Chapter Eleven

"William," he said at the gatehouse.

The lady smiled, then pulled her eyes away to check her clipboard.   He was used to that look, the slight intake of air.   Crazy, but he was starting to think this effect he had on women might be more a curse than a gift.

"Pretty cool for June, isn't it?" he said casually.   Talking weather helped put them at ease.

"Oh, yes, lovely," she said.   Fluttering, she opened a map, showed him the parking area and the path to the stone cabin.

"Well, William," she said, "you enjoy your... evening."

"Thanks."   He drove through.   On another day he would've added, You have beautiful eyes, you know.   He could rarely resist the way a woman blossomed with just a small compliment, that little burst of surprise, then delight, sudden shyness to cover it.   They were all beautiful in that moment.

 

He gave a last look, then followed the map past the office and down the stone path.   On the turn before the little bridge, he stopped abruptly.   Could that be her?   He checked the map.   Yes, that was the cabin.

She was nothing like he'd expected. Younger, at least from here.   Hardly looked much older than he, five years, eight at the most.   No way could she be over forty, and with the sun shining behind her... she could be walking out of a wheat field.   Minnesota.

She saw him and seemed to register his looks without so much as a flicker.   He crossed the bridge.   She stood, smoothed her dress.   Pretty dress.   Pretty face, completely natural.   What a change that was.   Not the usual stretched and tucked look from multiple lifts, no Botox or permanent make-up.   Like trying to beat the mortician to his job.

And the rest of the package...   Not bad.   Not bad at all.   He'd been with a lot of women in the last three years, more than he cared to count, but one thing he'd decided early on was that Madison Avenue didn't know shit about real beauty.

"Lucille?" he said, stepping onto the patio, and she laughed, happy, as if this were the perfect way to start.

"No," she said, "Julia.   Lucille's my sister.   I used her credit card."   She offered her hand, as if they'd just been introduced at a reception.

"You're taller in person," she said, and then thought, shit, how stupid is that?   As if you could tell height from a photo.   She started again.   "I... I hope you didn't mind the William thing.   I didn't know your name, but... you don't look at all like a William."

God, he was gorgeous, like Johnny Depp in that Don Juan movie, only more Hispanic, skin like Antonio Banderas.   Jeans and a white collarless shirt, those dark, dark eyes...   She felt sick.   Something horrible was going to happen, nuclear attack, earthquake; she'd come to California just in time for the Big One.   A person just did not have this much luck, not in a lifetime, much less a weekend.   Stop.   Stay calm, don't let it show.   Her nickel.

"William's fine," he said, smiling, "not a problem."   No need for his real name, unless she asked.   He doubted she would.   So she was married, why else borrow a credit card?   Too bad.   Married women were more often sad and bitter, or just pathetic like Mrs. Carlton.

"Shall we sit here for a few minutes?"   He held the chair for her, took the one across.   This part was always awkward, better to get right to it.   Nothing like a good fuck to break the ice, but he could tell she wasn't ready.   Besides, he was curious.   Why would a woman who seemed about as worldly as a patchwork quilt, who could walk into any bar and get laid in twenty minutes... why fly all the way across the country and pay for it?   But he knew better than to ask.   Asking broke the spell.   The first rule, never talk about your real lives.   Still, they couldn't just sit here.

"So, what did you have in mind, Julia?"

She looked away.   "Oh, I don't know."   The words came with a snap.   All her silly fantasies, all her 'she had paid' toughness, and now that he was right here...   She wanted to go inside, fix herself better.   Maybe the whole thing was a mistake.   Maybe she couldn't do this.

She turned back, softened her tone.   "Or, I... I thought we might go for a drive."

"A drive?"   He pictured the cab of his Tacoma, cluttered with Taco Bell wrappers, ashtray overflowing.   Not to mention his "goodie case" disguised as a laptop.   Smart to leave it in the truck.   This woman hardly seemed the type for black leather and purple dildos.   Never mind vibrating butt plugs.

Then she said, "Well, it's just, I rented a Lamborghini.   Incredible car.   Seems a shame not to drive it."   A lease purchase, but no need to go into that.   When she returned it on Monday the deal would cancel, except the weekend charged to Lucille's credit card.

His eyes widened a little, but he said nothing.   He had years of practice not overreacting to a lady's wealth.   She didn't seem that rich.   Rented, she'd said, but still.

"Oh, we wouldn't go far," she went on, "just a little drive, and then... Then we could come back and have dinner.   The restaurant here is wonderful.   There's a balcony that looks out at the mountains.   We could watch the sunset."

There, he thought, there was beauty.   A look to slay dragons for, if there were any dragons left to slay.

"I checked the menu," she went on, "they have this special Hidden Springs gaspacho to start, and rack of lamb and a braised salmon and a whole tray of desserts, raspberry swirl cheesecake and baked Alaska, and..."

He knew then precisely what she needed.

He stood, lifted her to her feet, kissed her, his hand behind her neck, softly at first, holding her as she gasped, tears starting, which he kissed away, until gradually, gradually she began to let go of whatever had held her, and she kissed him back, hard, greedy, starved kisses, there in the sunlight, and what amazed him most was that he was willing to trade, okay, postpone, a drive in a Lamborghini Murcielago to give her what she needed.