03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales (7 page)

Shayla looked stunned, “I’m gonna go to
France?”

Evie and Jacques took Shayla into her study
to discuss the terms of her contract and finalize her travel plans,
while Cruz and I finished up with the photographer and got his
clothing all packed away. When they returned Jacques bid us all
farewell and followed the photographer out the door.

“I’m the only one here who’s not going to
Paris,” Cruz pouted.

“There, there,” Evie said as she gave him a
pat on the back, “It won’t be too long before you’ll be showing
your designs all around the world.”

Shayla stood silently, a dazed look on her
face.

“Are you okay?” I asked her with a smile. I
knew once everything sank in she’d be bouncing off the walls.

She swallowed hard, “Do all French men have
mustaches like that?” Cruz’s eyes met mine and we couldn’t contain
our laughter.

Evie looked at us reproachfully, patting
Shayla’s arm, “No my dear, Jacques is simply a bit of an
eccentric.”

“A what?” she asked.

Shayla thanked Evie profusely for getting her
the interview, solemnly promising not to let her down in Paris. We
walked Cruz back across the hall and I helped him move his things
into the guest room, schlepping boxes and bags as Cruz gave Shayla
more runway walking advice.

“I’m like, sposed to fly out to Paris next
Sunday!” she jumped up and down, unable to contain her enthusiasm.
Cruz started feeling sorry for himself again, but snapped out of it
when he went back into his design studio, looking in awe at all his
new equipment.

“I can’t believe I’m really here… living in
the city, starting design school… It’s like a dream come true!”

Shayla and I hugged Cruz goodbye, and I was
surprised to see my normally cynical cousin actually get a little
choked up.

“Tell Mom I’ll be home Friday night,” he
said, clearing his throat, “I promised to help her get set up for
the rally on Saturday.”

“See you soon,” I said, kissing his
cheek.

By the time we made it down to the garage
Boris had already packed several boxes bursting with art supplies
into the back of the Rover. Some large stretched canvases were
wedged in on their sides, and my biggest easel nosed between the
two front seats. I drove Shayla back to Aptos, listening as she
excitedly filled me in on the details of her meeting with
Jacques.

“He has an apartment in Paris set up just for
beginning models like me! There’s chicks from Russia and Germany
crashing there that have, like,
mad
runway skills. Jacques
says they’ll help me with my walk if I help them learn English for
when we go to New York– but none of us can talk French…”

I was amused, imagining Shayla taking on the
role of teacher. Wonders never ceased.

She rubbed her hands together and threw her
head back with a grin, “I’m psyched! It’s gonna be so totally
rad!”

“You can fly out with me and Evie,” I said,
strangely comforted by the thought of having her accompany me on my
unpleasant task.

“That’s what Evie said… she has it all
planned out. It’s like she already knew I was gonna get the
job!”

“Yeah, she’s good that way,” I said
wryly.

“Oh my God– what is Mom gonna say? She’s like
totally never gonna believe it!”

I found myself beaming, feeding off the power
of Shayla’s joy. Knowing I’d be there to see her walking in the
shows took the edge off the dread I was feeling about my trip to
Paris.

“What are you gonna do with all this stuff?”
asked Shayla, looking behind her.

“I rented a place right over Bill’s
coffeeshop,” I told her, “Once I get it cleaned up it’ll make a
great art studio. Do you want to see it?”

“Hells yeah!” she cried, “I’m way too amped
go home right now!”

I pulled onto the narrow lane that ran
between the row of shops and restaurants and parked. In the fading
light of dusk it had an eerie feeling, as if something was lurking
in the shadows, coiled and ready to spring out from behind the
giant metal dumpsters that lined the alley. We climbed out of the
Rover, and Shayla looked up at the rusty stairs suspiciously while
I fished the keys from my bag.

“This looks like a good place to get jumped,”
she pointed out.

“Keep an open mind,” I said, climbing up the
quaking staircase, “It just needs a little cleaning up. I opened
the door and groped for the light switch, finally managing to turn
on a tiny flickering light mounted on the far wall.

“Man!” exclaimed Shayla, “This shack is
trashed!”

I had to agree. The dusty mess looked even
more sinister in the low light, and we skirted our way around the
junk, inspecting the vast room.

I picked up a flyer for a band called “Death
Stick”, and smiled at the drawing of a skeleton surfing on a
mushroom cloud, “Ever heard of these guys?” I asked Shayla.

She shook her head, “Naw, it looks kinda
lame,” she bent over to pick up something, “Check this,” she said,
holding up the neck of a guitar someone had done a fine job of
smashing to smithereens against the wall.

Without warning, a flurry of feathers
exploded from a corner and a frantic seagull began flying around
the room, banging into the window panes, flapping on the floor and
finally landing on the top of the low wall in the corner.

“
It’s okay
,” I said gently,
approaching it slowly, “
I’ll take you out of here
.” I held
out my arm and the bird climbed on, eyes bright with fear. I slowly
walked it out the front door and set it free.

Shayla was frozen in place, standing with a
shocked look on her face.

“It must have gotten in through the broken
windows,” I explained, pointing to the missing panes.

“Th– that’s bad luck,” she stammered, “It
means someone’s gonna die.”

“What?” I asked.

“A bird flying inside…”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, “That’s just an old
wives tale.”

I couldn’t help thinking that someone already
had ended up dead… I’d have to be extra cautious from now on.

“This place gives me the creeps,” said
Shayla, rubbing her bare arms.

“It’s not so bad in the daylight,” I said
defensively, “And I get free rent for a month for cleaning it up,”
I explained.

“I guess Ethan can haul all this stuff outa’
here,” she said, looking around at the piles of junk lining the
floor.

“Uhm, I haven’t really told him about it… he
works too hard anyway, and I’ve decided to do it on my own. I want
to fix it up and surprise him.”

“I’ll help you,” she said, looking around
ominously, “I’ve got a week to kill…
before I go to
PARIS!
” she squealed, jumping up and down, still overcome
with excitement every time it crossed her mind.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I laughed,
feeding off the power of her joy, “But only if we can go surfing a
few times too.”

“You got it,” she grinned, her eyes widening,
“I wonder if they have beaches with crankin’ surf in France?”

“They probably do,” I said.

Shayla and I unloaded the art supplies,
making multiple trips up and down the treacherous stairs. We
decided to grab a coffee after we finished, and I pulled the Rover
around to park by the brightly lit storefront of Bill’s
coffeeshop.

Megan waved at us from the stage we walked
in. She was just finishing up a song and we all sat down
together.

“Hey! How did it go at Evie’s? What are you
guys doing here?”

Shayla excitedly told her about her interview
and upcoming trip to France.

“Congratulations!” she smiled, “So you guys
both get to go to Paris! Poor Cruz must be dying!”

“Pretty much,” I said sympathetically. I told
her about the sewing room Evie set up for Cruz, and Megan said she
was planning a trip up to see him in the next few days. Shayla
launched into a wide eyed description of my new art studio, looking
up when she realized it was directly over our heads. She was still
freaked out about our encounter with the bird.

“And Marina, like, totally started gargling
at it to calm it down, and the seagull just climbed right onto her
arm!”

Megan’s eyes flashed to mine and we both
realized at that instant that I’d just spoken mermaid in front of
Shayla. I was surprised, for I truly hadn’t known it. It all
sounded the same to me coming out, and once again, I couldn’t
imagine how that could be.

No wonder the bird went with me.

“That’s a bad omen,” said Megan
seriously.

“Oh puh-lease! Not
you
too,” I scoffed
with a roll of my eyes, “Honestly!”

Megan smiled and shrugged, “A lot of
superstitions
are
based on facts…”

I shifted in my seat, “So what’s going on
with your music?” I asked her, changing the subject.

Megan’s eyes lit up, for she had news, and
once she launched into her story everything else was forgotten. She
had taped her breakup-inspired songs and posted them on the
internet.

“They’re going viral, getting tons of hits,”
she said incredulously, “And I met with a record producer! He’s
going to record me… in a real professional studio and everything!
Can you believe it?”

“Yes I can,” I smiled, once again flooded
with contentment. It occurred to me that it was addicting, this
feeling I got when someone I liked succeeded. I had a tremendous
sense of relief, like everything was right in the world. It was
very similar to the feeling I got while surfing. I leaned back in
my chair. Maybe this muse thing would be okay after all, if I could
just keep the dark side of it contained. No anger allowed.

And that’s when it happened again.

I struggled to open my eyes, unable to move
or cry out, and could feel my body being lifted as though it were
weightless. The sharp smell of smoke filled my nostrils, underlined
by the pungent stench of dirt and sweat. I could feel myself being
carried, bouncing along at a rapid clip. I coughed, fighting to
catch my breath, overcome with nausea.

“Marina! Marina!” Megan’s voice was shrill,
and I raised my throbbing head to see her panicked face. From the
look of the mess I’d made, I’d just keeled over onto the table, and
as I sat up I could feel all the eyes in the room on me.

Bill rushed over with a bar towel, “Are you
okay?” he cried, “Did you burn yourself?”

I looked down to see the coffee I’d knocked
over spattered onto the front of my dress.

“No… no, no,” I said numbly. My tongue felt
thick.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Shayla cried,
“She just face planted!”

I took a deep breath, and the familiar pain
in my head began to subside, “I’m fine… I’ll be fine… I just need
to go home and get some rest.”

Great. Another weird vision– why did this
always have to happen around other people? I stood on shaky legs
and apologized to Bill for the spill. My mind was racing, trying to
figure out what this one meant. I couldn’t even really call it a
vision, for it was mostly just sounds and smells. Strange.

Megan offered to drive us home, but once I
got out into the cool night air I was nearly back to normal. I
managed to convince everyone that I was fully recovered, but the
look in Megan’s eyes told me she knew what had happened, and I had
some explaining to do.

“Call me,” she said as I pulled away.

Shayla and I drove along in silence, and I
could feel her speculative eyes on me.

“What?” I snapped, “Spit it out!”

“Marina?” she asked solemnly, “Are you
knocked up?”

I laughed for a while, stopping when I
realized that she didn’t believe me.

“Shayla, it’s not possible… I mean we
haven’t… we don’t…” I could feel my face burning.

“Really?” she said incredulously.

I bit my lip, embarrassed, “Well, I never
have, so we’ve been kinda taking it slow… and with everything
that’s happened, the timings never been quite right… and now we’re
thinking about–” I stopped myself, wondering if I should tell her
about our engagement.

“Whoa,” she said quietly, “Ethan’s a really
good guy.”

“I know.”

“Man,” she said, looking out the window, “All
the dudes I’ve ever dated would dump you if you didn’t put
out.”

“You just haven’t met the right one yet.”

She sighed, “That’s for sure.”

I wanted to tell her not to worry, that soon
she’d have more suitors to choose from than she could handle, but
instead I dropped her off at her mothers, arranging to pick her up
Monday to get started on the studio clean-up. When I pulled up at
Abby’s, Ethan was waiting for me on the porch, and I could swear my
heart skipped a beat when he stood and smiled at me.

“Hey,” he said softly, as I climbed the
stairs, “How did it go at Evie’s?”

“Great,” I said, slipping into his open arms,
“Shayla got an agent, and she’s coming to Paris for fashion week
with us.”

“What happened to you?” he asked, looking
down at my stained dress.

“We stopped for coffee,” I said sheepishly,
“I had a little accident.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing the hair
from my eyes.

I kissed him, and I think he got the answer
he wanted.

CHAPTER FIVE

RIVAL

I woke up late that beautiful Sunday
morning, my strange vision from the night before slipping away as
if it were simply a bad dream. Pulling the curtains aside, I let
the bright sunlight stream cheerfully into the room. School was
finally out, and summer stretched out before me like a long, lazy
cat.

I thought about my plans for a summer spent
on the waves, just me and Ethan, and frowned. It didn’t look like
it was going to work out that way. I wished I could go surfing with
him every day, but as usual, he was already hard at work, so I
decided I’d visit him at the farmer’s market. If I wanted to spend
time with him, it was going to have to be while he was working.