Beach Blondes: June Dreams, July's Promise, August Magic (Summer) (8 page)

Marquez cast off her rope, and Summer did likewise.

“Real slow, now,” Marquez cautioned. She eased her Jet Ski away, carefully guiding it through the pilings.

Summer pressed her own throttle button. The Jet Ski reared and plunged like an out-of-control horse, and then, in a blur, it was roaring through the narrow pilings.

Summer took her finger off the throttle. She was several dozen yards out in the water, well clear of the house. She realized she was shaking and trying very hard not to admit to herself that her head had missed a low beam by two inches at most.

“That’s what you call slow?” Marquez said, coming alongside.

“I think I pressed too hard. Now what?”

Marquez pointed across the bay. “Straight across to the other side. It’s only maybe half or a third of a mile.”

Summer grinned. Now that she had survived the first part, the rest felt like it would be easy. She pressed the throttle again, a bit more carefully, and aimed for the far shore. The Jet Ski roared off with Marquez close alongside.

It was the most exhilarating thing Summer had ever done. The Jet Ski seemed to fly, skimming over the surface of the water, hopping from ripple to ripple, sending up a shower of spray in all directions that soon had Summer drenched, hair flying in the hot breeze.

She glanced back and saw the stilt house silhouetted against a sky turned red by the setting sun.

This
was why she had come to Crab Claw Key. This very moment. This sense of being in a new place, doing new things with new people. This overpowering, exhilarating feeling of perfect freedom in the middle of a perfect world.

Soon they were far out in the bay, and the tiny waves let the Jet Skis go airborne, taking off from the slopes of a swell, coming clear out of the water before slapping down again and surging forward.

Then the engine coughed. Speed fell away. The Jet Ski wallowed heavily, power gone. Marquez pulled alongside, idling her engine. She looked as exhilarated as Summer felt, her dark curly hair wild, her eyes lit up.

“What are you doing?”

Summer pushed the starter button. A rasping sound. “I don’t know. It just stopped.” She tried the starter again. More rasping, a sputter, a rasp.

“Try it again,” Marquez suggested.

“Oh no. Is this the gas gauge?” Summer tapped the glass on a small gauge. It read empty. It read less than empty.

Then Marquez’s engine sputtered and died. Sudden silence, except for the lapping of water against the Jet Skis. A very ominous silence, the silence of vast, open seas.

“Yep. That’s the gas gauge,” Marquez said. “Mine says empty.”

“Mine agrees,” Summer said.

“Amazing sunset,” Summer said. And it was. High streaky clouds appeared in colors that looked too bright and intense to be real. The sun was a ball of brilliant orange-yellow, just peeking above the horizon, threatening to dive into the Gulf of Mexico at any moment. To the east the sky was already darkening. “Incredible,” Summer said. “I’m glad I got to experience it before I get washed out to sea and end up being eaten by sharks.”

“Someone is bound to see us,” Marquez said. “I mean, boats pass in and out of the bay all the time.”

“They do?
All
the time?”

“Well, not right now, this minute, but soon. Probably.”

They had tied the two Jet Skis together by looping the armholes of Summer’s dress over the two sets of handlebars. The dress was getting badly stretched in the process. Now, even if they did make it somehow, she would be arriving at a cool party at a billionaire’s estate dressed as clown girl.

The water was still warm, unnaturally warm, like bathwater after it sat for ten minutes. The current was definitely drawing them slowly out of the bay, out toward the open Gulf.

“Maybe we’d better just swim for it,” Marquez suggested.

“Great. And how do I explain to Diana and my aunt that on my second day here I brilliantly lost two Jet Skis?”

“Good point,” Marquez allowed. “Your aunt might not be happy about that.”

“Too bad I have to die this way,” Summer said philosophically. “I was just starting to think I might like it here.”

“You have a better way to die?’’ Marquez wondered, making conversation.

“Better would be about eighty years from now.”

“Yes. Okay.”

“My parents will be upset,” Summer said. “It took a lot for them to decide to let me come down here.”

“Oh. So they’re the very protective type, huh? Mine too.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re
over
protective or anything,” Summer said, not sure of how much she should tell Marquez. After all, they’d known each other barely half a day, and so far what Marquez had done was help her get a job, only to turn around and lure her to a watery grave. “They lost my little brother already,” Summer said at last. “I mean, I guess he’d be my big brother, but I never think of him that way.”

“Oh, man, Summer. I’m sorry to hear that,” Marquez said.

“It was a long time ago. I was still a fetus at the time, so naturally I don’t remember anything about him. He was two years old and disappeared. I’ve seen pictures of him. That’s all.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?”

Summer shrugged. She shouldn’t have brought it up. The situation they were in was depressing enough. “He was at day care, playing outside in the yard, and then, suddenly he wasn’t. They never found, you know, a body or anything, but after a long, long time my parents fmally gave up and accepted it. I don’t mean
accepted.
You know what I mean.”

“That’s very major, Summer. That’s horrible.” Marquez whistled softly in the dark. “I wouldn’t have thought you were someone with any kind of sadness in your life, you know? You seem so sweet and normal and all.”

For a while they were both silent, listening to the plop of fish jumping out of the water. It had been a long time since Summer had thought much about the brother she’d never known. When she was younger, the sadness of that one event had hung over every day. It was a sadness that had been there, waiting for her as she was born into the world.

“Summer, you’re not crying, are you? It’s so dark I can’t really see your face. I hate tears.”

“No,” Summer lied. “It was something that happened before I was even born. You can’t be sad over things that happened before you were born.”

The sun had finally plunged below the horizon, taking the last of the optimism with it. Darkness moved swiftly toward them across the water. Over on the shore a few hundred yards away they could see the lights of the party, an impression of people moving back and forth under the trees, the headlights of cars pulling up.

“Hey, there’s a light,” Summer said, wiping away the tears that blurred her vision. It was a green pinpoint of light moving fast.

“It’s a boat,” Marquez said excitedly, confirming Summer’s faint hope.

“Hey!” Summer yelled. “Hey, boat! Help! Do you think he sees us?”

“Jeez, I hope so. I don’t want to die out here,” Marquez said.

“I thought you weren’t worried,” Summer accused.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“HELP!”

“HELP US! HELP, you blind—”

“He’s coming. I think.” Summer could hear the sound of the boat’s engines, deep and powerful and reassuring. The boat was definitely coming closer. In fact, it had just begun to occur to Summer that the boat might hit them. But then it slowed, inscribing a slow circle around them. A spotlight played across the dark water and illuminated them, two insanely waving figures.

“That you, Marquez?” a mocking voice called out.

“Adam?” Marquez yelled back. “What took you so long?”

“We saw you out here, but we didn’t believe it was possible for two Jet Skis to break down at the same exact time.”

“We ran out of gas,” Marquez said.

The boat, very long and very fast-looking with two big outboard engines, drifted alongside. There were two guys in the boat. Even in the darkness Summer could see the resemblance between them. They looked like brothers.

One dived over the side of the boat and surfaced between the two Jet Skis, spouting water and laughing. He was carrying a white nylon rope. “We’ll tow you in, ladies. Let me just tie this…” He fell silent, looking up at Summer, who was sitting on her Jet Ski in a damp pink bikini, feeling like the biggest dork in recorded history.

“Hi,” he said. He stuck a hand up to her. She shook it briefly, but he held on for an extra second, making contact. “I’m Adam Merrick. In the boat there is my brother, Ross.”

“Pleased, et cetera,” said a voice from the boat. A voice that sounded as if it had been affected by a few beers.

“Thanks for rescuing us,” Summer said, her voice a little squeaky.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing with Marquez? I’ll bet you ten bucks this was all
her
idea, right?” Adam said.

“Hey,” Marquez said, pushing Adam underwater with her foot. “What makes you think it was my idea?”

“I
know
you, Marquez,” Adam said.

“This is Summer. She’s from Idaho or Michigan or one of those places,” Marquez said.

“Minnesota. Bloomington. You know, the Mall of America?” Excellent, Summer chided herself. Absolutely mention the Mall of America. That’s sure to impress a billionaire who has probably been all over the world ten times.

“Guess whose cousin she is?” Marquez asked.

“Cindy Crawford’s?” Adam suggested. He released Summer’s hand and began looping the rope to the towing rings in the front of each Jet Ski.

“Summer is Diana’s cousin,” Marquez said. “Diana Olan.”

Adam said nothing. From the boat came Ross’s unpleasant laugh. “Let’s leave her out here.”

“Shut up, Ross,” Adam snapped. He forced a smile for Summer. An apologetic and extraordinarily attractive smile. A movie star smile. “Come on, get in the boat.”

“Okay,” Summer said. Marquez made the jump easily from her Jet Ski to the boat, swinging over the side and brushing her hands together as if she’d just done a neat trick.

Summer stood up and reached for the side of the boat. But the Jet Ski slid away. She plunged into the water. It closed over her head, surprising her and frightening her a little. She wasn’t a great swimmer, though she could stay afloat. But this was open sea, and it was dark, and the music from
Jaws
had already been running through the back of her mind.

With a kick she headed for a surface dappled and rippling with reflected light.

Then there were powerful arms around her, holding her firmly. They broke the surface. Her face was inches from Adam’s, and the first thought that popped into her mind was that she probably didn’t look great right then, water streaming off her head, spitting out seawater. Whereas Adam definitely did look great, wet or not. Her hands felt hard muscle in his neck. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, close enough that she could feel his every breath.

“You okay?” Adam asked. She could feel the rumble of his voice.

“I’m fine. I
can
swim, you know.”

“That’s good. Swimming is important around here.”

“Yeah. You can, um, let me go now.”

“Do I have to?” Adam asked.

Marquez leaned over the side, offering Summer a hand. Summer took it and pulled hard but was unable to clear the drag of the water entirely. Then there were hands firmly planted on her behind, pushing her up.

She slid over the side of the boat and gasped out her embarrassed thanks. Adam pulled himself up and over, an almost effortless move. He sat beside her and leaned across her to reach a cabinet. He found two towels and handed one to her.

“Thanks,” Summer mumbled.

“My extreme pleasure,” Adam said. “It’s hot,” he added quickly, as if he realized he’d sounded slightly sleazy. “Too hot, and a dive in the water was just what I needed.”

He even seems sincere,
Summer thought. But then again, he was from a political family. They probably had special genes that gave them the ability to sound sincere.

“All right, enough of playing Coast Guard, back to the party,” Ross said.

The boat moved along slowly, careful not to swamp the two Jet Skis bobbing along behind. If Ross was drunk, he still seemed able to pilot the boat, berthing it neatly alongside the dock.

“I’m not exactly dressed for a party anymore,” Summer pointed out, indicating her bathing suit. The dress she had planned to wear was a total loss.

“There’ll be plenty of girls wearing smaller bathing suits than that,” Adam assured her.

Marquez nodded, and Summer began to wonder whether this was the kind of party she wanted to attend. But Marquez gave her a reassuring wink and a little shake of the head that said, hey, don’t worry about it.

“Stay,” Adam said. “Please.”

Again he sounded as if he really wanted her to stay. As if she was supposed to believe that someone like Adam Merrick really cared one way or the other if some tourist from the home of the Mall of America went to his party.

“Okay, I guess. Thanks.” There was no polite way to get out of it. Not now. She didn’t even know the way home.

A neat, crushed-shell path led from the dock across a vast lawn toward the house. It was painful under Summer’s tender feet, so she walked onto the grass, as thick and spongy as a mattress.

The house was just two stories high, but it extended in every direction, looking as large as the main building of Summer’s high school. Some, if not most, of the windows were bright, revealing strangely positioned cupolas and parapets and sudden, capricious balconies.

But the party wasn’t in the house. The party was in front of the house, past the looping driveway crammed with cars, past the naked, spotlit flagpole. Summer could see a mass of bodies writhing under the reddish light of Japanese lamps hung from the trees, long hair flying in time with the music, arms randomly thrust into the air, smooth, tan female legs everywhere, protruding from shorts and minis and bathing suit bottoms. Hairy guy legs as well, looking stubby in big shorts or extremely long in little European bathing suits.

Ross disappeared into the throng, but Adam stayed close, following Summer onto the grass. As they reached the driveway he strode ahead, walking with an easy grace and absolute confidence. Nothing exaggerated or forced, no swagger, no attempt to impress anyone, just a walk that announced him as the guy in charge, at home and utterly sure of himself.

Summer was just behind him, feeling simultaneously invisible and horribly conspicuous, like a stagehand who had wandered into the star’s spotlight.

The sound system was playing 50 Cent, and when Summer glanced over her shoulder, she saw that Marquez was already dancing. The beat seemed to reach across the distance and grab control of Marquez’s body. She was dancing over the crushed shells, turning the gravel into her own muted rhythm section.

Around the fringes of the dancing little knots of people could be seen, here and there, faces appearing in the dim glow of a cigarette. Other groups were smaller, usually just two bodies pressed close, making out as they leaned against tree trunks or against the hoods of the nearest cars.

Summer had begun to feel increasingly nervous as she got closer to the party. The music was familiar; the dancing, too. Even the wafting smells of beer and smoke weren’t much different from parties back home. But usually when she went to parties, she knew at least half the people there. Knew whom she could hang out with, which guys she could dance with, how to say no to the various offers of one kind or another. Here she was a stranger. The only person she knew at all was Marquez, and Marquez seemed to have been possessed by the music.

Ross Merrick took Marquez by the arm and led her away into the melee. “Have fun,” Marquez called back to Summer.