03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales (6 page)

His voice was thick with emotion, and I could
see the conflict on his face, “Please be careful.”

I went to him with my arms open wide,
snuggling into his warm chest. I didn’t think it was possible to
love him any more than I already did, but I was wrong. He brushed
the damp hair away from my face and kissed the words right off of
my lips, making me forget everything but the two of us.

“I can’t wait until we’re married,” he
whispered in my ear.

“What if it’s all my fault?” I asked. He just
kissed me again.

“Let’s go,” he said, “Abby’s worried about
you.”

It was fully dark when we walked in the
house, and we were greeted by the delicious smell of Dutch’s
cooking, along with a frantic Abby.

“Marina!” she cried with relief as she threw
her arms around me, “Nobody knew where you were! We were all so
worried!”

“I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly, “I lost track
of time.”

“Did you hear the news? I mean, it’s terrible
about the congressman, but it stops everything until they hold a
special election. We can really get the word out now!”

I swallowed hard, and looked at Ethan. Abby
pulled back to study me, taking note of my wet hair
suspiciously.

“I went surfing,” I explained, turning to go,
“I’m going to jump in the shower now.”

“Make it quick,” she said, “Dinner’s almost
ready.”

When we sat down to eat Abby looked around at
all of us, her beautiful face rounded by pregnancy, eyes soft with
sentiment, “I can’t believe the three of you will be graduating
high school tomorrow! And Cruz… Moving to the city the very next
morning…” Her voice caught in her throat as her eyes started
welling up.

“San Francisco’s not that far, Mom,” Cruz’s
voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he patted her hand
reassuringly, “I’ll come visit a lot, and I’ll be down here for the
rally next weekend.”

“I know,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes, “It’s
just that everything’s changing so fast.”

I picked at my food, unable to eat. A
terrible feeling of remorse welled up within me when the
conversation turned to Congressman Hill’s untimely death. Dutch and
Cruz started speculating about whether or not alcohol was
involved.

“I drive that stretch of highway all the
time,” Dutch said, “You’d almost have to be trying to run off the
road there.”

“They say that the body was burnt to a
crisp,” observed Cruz as my stomach turned, “So we’ll never know
how wasted he was,” he helped himself to more shrimp risotto, “But
it was three in the morning, so he was probably pretty drunk.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say!” scolded
Abby. “No-one can know what goes on in someone else’s life.”

“Yeah,
right
mom,” Cruz was back to
his sarcastic self. Ethan’s eyes met mine, and he squeezed my hand
under the table.

“You’re awfully quiet Marina,” asked Abby
perceptively, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m just really tired,” I said, “It’s been a
long day.”

I got up to clear the table after everyone
finished and Abby shooed me out.

“Cruz and I can take care of it,” she said,
“You should go lie down. We can’t have you all worn out on
graduation day.”

“Walk me out first,” Ethan took my arm and
led me to the front door, closing it behind us and stopping to wrap
me in a tight embrace on the porch. “It wasn’t your fault,” he
spoke softly into my ear, “Stop blaming yourself.”

My voice was small, “I was really angry with
him… Just like I was angry with Peter.”

He took my face in his hands and looked at me
sternly, “Listen, bad things just happen sometimes! To good people
and to bad people. You’ve got to stop tearing yourself up about it,
okay?”

I nodded, “OK.”

“I love you Dollface,” he said, right before
he kissed me goodnight and sent me off to sleep. Once more, he was
making me love him more than I ever thought possible.

I curled up in bed, tucking Charlie under my
arm and listening to his motorboat purr. Maybe Ethan was right–
accidents happened every day, and my newfound awareness
had
been making me paranoid. I scratched the cat under his chin and
listened as his purr shifted into higher gear. I thought about
Ethan and relaxed, snuggling deeper under my quilt, finally falling
into a deep, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

OMEN

We’d been handed a diploma, capped, gowned
and photographed to prove it; it was official– we were now high
school graduates. Ethan and I drove out to take a walk on his land
after the ceremony, promising to come home early for cake with
Dutch and Abby. Being out there once again, and seeing the way
Ethan looked at it, refocused my energy. I was more determined than
ever to prevent it from being turned into a golf course, and I put
the congressman’s death firmly out of my mind.

Shayla joined us at the house, and Cruz
decided she should sleep over so we could get an early start on our
trip to Evie’s the next day. She was wired, nervous about the
impending modeling interview, and needed some distraction to keep
from sabotaging herself with doubt and insecurity.

Ethan looked less than happy to hear our
plans, and I realized that he was probably thinking about sleeping
over himself to make sure that I didn’t go night surfing. With
everything that was happening, I think he could tell I was getting
antsy. My cravings for the sea had been reawakened since I’d been
out to see Lorelei; he knew the signs.

“Do you need to get anything from home?” I
asked Shayla.

“I’m good,” she said, nodding towards her
tote as she tossed it onto my bed. She seemed to live out of her
bag lately, seeking refuge more and more at our house in the past
few weeks. Abby was always happy to oblige her, intuitively sensing
that Shayla had good reason to avoid her mother’s trailer as much
as possible. Cruz liked having her around as his own personal
mannequin, and she liked to hang out in his room, flipping through
his vast collection of Vogue magazines and practicing poses while
he banged away on his sewing machine.

School was a challenge for Shayla, but she’d
managed to squeak by with enough classes to graduate. Some last
minute tutoring, courtesy of Cruz and Megan, had made it possible
for her to pass the exit exam. The way they had both taken her
under their collective wings was really moving, and as Ethan had
noticed at the prom, the change in her was absolutely
phenomenal.

The next morning she sat nervously beside me
as I drove to San Francisco, the back of my Rover stuffed full of
Cruz’s things in bags and boxes. He followed behind us in Evie’s
silver Jag, eager to start his new life in San Francisco.

“I’m gonna miss hanging out with Cruz,”
Shayla sighed wistfully.

“You’ll just have to hang out with him in the
city,” I replied playfully.

“What if this modeling thing doesn’t work
out?” she said, “I could be stuck in Aptos my whole life.” She
shuddered at the thought, as if it would be a fate worse than
death. Funny, I realized, spending a quiet life there with Ethan
was exactly what I was hoping for.

“You can do it,” I told her, “You just need
to be confident.”

“That’s easier said than done!” she
wailed.

“Then
act
confident.”

“I know, I know, but I’m so totally nervous!
I get all sweaty everytime I even think about walking in front of
some agent dude.”

“Shayla, just fake it ’till you make it,” I
said, “Everyone gets nervous.”

We pulled into Evie’s parking garage and were
immediately greeted by Boris. His smile widened when he saw Shayla,
and he rushed to open her door. He helped us unload the boxes as
Cruz pulled up alongside us.

“Evie expects you,” he said, turning to nod
at Cruz, who was lugging a couple of overstuffed garment bags
around the corner, “Velcome to the building.”

“Thanks,” Cruz sounded relieved at the
acknowledgement, for Boris could be extremely intimidating. We
piled Cruz’s things into the elevator and squeezed in behind the
load. When the door finally opened on the top floor, Evie was
standing in the hallway waiting, platinum hair smoothed into the
perfect French twist, looking chic in a knit Chanel suit.

“Darlings!” she cried, opening her arms wide
for hugs. It occurred to me that she was similar to Lorelei in the
consistent enthusiasm of her greetings, but that was about the only
thing she had in common with the unsophisticated mermaid. She led
the way to my apartment and opened the door for us, winking at me
as we passed.

“Cruz, let’s put your sewing stuff in the
studio,” I said, knowing that Evie had already worked her magic,
transforming it from a painter’s studio to an exclusive designer’s
atelier.

“OH MY GOD!” Cruz screeched when he rounded
the corner.

It was an impressive sight. There were a
couple of long work tables holding shiny new industrial sewing
machines, a knitting machine and serger. A colorful wall display
held hundreds of bobbins of thread, and there were shelves stocked
with enough bolts of fabric, exotic yarns and trims to fill a good
sized store. Several dress forms stood guard next to a small
privacy screen and an elegant chaise lounge, all of it backstopped
by a spectacular view of the golden gate bridge. It was everything
Cruz could have possibly wanted, and I could already envision him
hard at work here. I watched him inspect everything with
pleasure.

“You gave up your art studio,” he gasped,
overcome with emotion, “And… and, just look at all this…stuff…” He
wiped his eyes, turning towards Evie, “I don’t know what to
say…”

Evie was beaming with joy as she embraced
him, “Just keep up the good work… We’re looking forward to seeing
all the fabulous things you’ll dream up in here!”

We put the rest of Cruz’s things into the
guest room and peeled him out of his new workshop to head across
the hall to Evie’s. She’d arranged for a photographer, hairstylist
and makeup artist to get some more tests shots of Shayla, and was
expecting her agent friend within a few hours.

Evie took Shayla’s arm, “Let’s get your hair
and makeup done before Jacques shows up.”

“Marina too!” added Cruz, handing me a
garment bag with a pleading look, “I need some pictures of you in
your prom gown and the mermaid dress for my portfolio, okay?”

“I guess so,” I said, following them out.

The rest of the afternoon flew by with a
flurry of primping, preening and picture taking. Evie’s lavishly
decorated apartment was full of ideal backdrops for Cruz’s
beautiful designs, and he turned out to be a stern taskmaster,
determined to light and pose each article of clothing for the
optimum effect. I could easily see him as the head of a major
design house.

When the agent showed up he fawned over Evie,
air kissing each of her cheeks with a loud smack and flattering her
in French. He looked up to see the three of us watching
expectantly.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with
an artistic flourish, “Jacques Reynard, at your service.”

He was a funny looking little man, who seemed
to have stepped right out of another era. He sported a perfectly
tailored light grey suit worn with an ascot tie in a brilliant
blue. A ridiculous little waxed mustache sat on his upper lip like
a piece of twisted black licorice: it was hard not to stare at it.
I suppressed a giggle as I watched Evie nudge Shayla forward to
meet him.

He appraised her like she was an object, and
although I knew it was all part of the business, it triggered a
twinge of annoyance that worried me. I took a deep breath and
slipped out of the room to get a drink of water.

In light of what had happened to the
congressman, I realized that I couldn’t be too careful. After some
reflection, I decided not to allow myself to feel any form of rage.
If there was even a remote possibility that anger was some kind of
weapon in my muse arsenal, I desperately needed to master it. I’d
searched the internet, reading up on meditation and prayer, and was
working to develop the serenity of a Zen master. I planned on
becoming a completely calm reflection of inner peace and
control.

Fat chance, a little voice in the back of my
mind mocked me.

I gathered myself together, returning to see
Shayla walking back and forth across Evie’s vast great room while
Jacques scrutinized her like a man looking to buy a horse. Cruz
nodded his encouragement on the sidelines. Shayla’s athletic gait
gave her a straightforward, aggressive kind of grace that other
runway models lacked, and I could tell Mr. Reynard was intrigued.
He sat down and leafed through her book of photos, studying them
carefully, clearly impressed.

“She photographs well, nest-ce pas?” he asked
Evie, nodding his approval. He looked up to see me watching, “Well,
well, who do we have here?”

“Jacques, this is Marina,” Evie said, with a
gesture towards me. I held out my hand.

He stood up and came closer to inspect me
with the same judgmental eyes, addressing Evie, “Exquisite…
simplemont exquisite…”

“I’ve always thought so,” said Evie,
beaming.

“Like a miniature Evelyn Pond! But too petite
for runway, non?”

“Nice to meet you too, Jacques,” I said,
trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, taking
my hand in his with a knowing twinkle in his eye, “Are you
searching for ze agent as well?” he asked me.

I looked at Evie with narrowed eyes. She must
be up to something.

“No thank you,” I said politely, “Have you
decided to represent Shayla?”

He smiled, “Oh yes, most certainly! I’m going
to make certain zat she’s booked for fashion week… But ave you any
photos I can see?”

“She will,” Cruz jumped in, “We took some
awesome pictures today, and Marina and Evie are going to be in
Paris for the shows!” He turned to take Shayla by the upper arms,
excitedly squealing, “Now you get to go too!”