Tall Cool One (10 page)
“Very good,” Trevor told her as he continued them on their way. “It’s all we pour at Las Casitas. Have as many as you like.”
Five minutes’ walk took them through a lush garden—Trevor pointed out hedgehog cactus, poppies, and Indian paintbrush flowers, all native to Baja. A few moments later, they were in front of Anna’s casita.
“
Casita
means ‘small house’ in Spanish,” Trevor told her as he handed her a key to her home for the next several days. “As you can see, we’ve taken some liberties with the language.”
As Trevor used another key to open the door to her casita, Anna took in the immaculate exterior: front porch with a slate floor and two white rocking chairs, big picture window, and a gently sloping roof to shield the rockers from afternoon showers. She pictured herself curled up on one of those chairs, reading a book, listening to the birds and the distant ocean. Nice.
Then she stepped inside. Nicer.
The interior was as breathtaking as the exterior was inviting. There was a large living room with pale wood furnishings accented in sunny yellow. A ceiling fan turned slowly in the center of the room. The sliding glass doors at the rear opened to a magnificent view of the sapphire ocean, seemingly close enough to touch. There was a sitting room with a stocked library, a bedroom with a massive white iron bed fluffy with white and yellow pillows, and a huge bathroom with a two-showerhead shower, a jetted Jacuzzi tub, and a bidet. The thermostat read sixty-seven degrees, the humidity less than twenty-five percent. Yet Anna couldn’t hear an air-conditioner or a dehumidifier at work. She did hear beautiful classical music coming from hidden speakers.
Trevor led her into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “As you can see, it’s been fully stocked with the foods you requested.”
“It’s lovely,” Anna said. “But I didn’t request food.”
“Perhaps your escort did, then.”
“Let me guess. Turkey.”
The valet looked confused.
“Sorry, never mind.”
Trevor nodded. “Internet access is available between ten
A.M.
and ten
P.M.
That’s when we have access to the satellite. In the living room cabinet is a TV, VCR/DVD, and CD player. We’ve brought in a selection of movies and music. If there is something you like that isn’t there, let us know. Outside, you’ll find a hot tub and a small cooling pool.”
Anna smiled. “It’s lovely, thank you.”
Trevor gave a slight nod of thanks. “Your private maid and butler are available twenty-four hours a day. Simply press the yellow button on your phone and explain your needs. Shall I have your maid unpack your suitcase?”
“No thanks. I’ll do it myself.”
“Very good. Is there anything else I can do for you at this time, Miss Percy?”
“Not a thing. This is fantastic. Can I ask you how many square feet it is in here?”
“Two thousand seven hundred twenty-four. Like all our one-bedrooms,” he said confidently. “Well, if there’s nothing else . . .”
Trevor departed; Anna toured the amazing casita one more time. She’d stayed at high-end guest bungalows at Sans Souci in Jamaica, Caneel Bay in the Virgin Islands, and Deer Valley in Utah. But this put them all to shame. No wonder her father was interested in helping some clients acquire the place.
The first thing Anna wanted to do was swim in the ocean. But before she could find her bathing suit, a bell chimed discreetly. Anna had no idea what it was. The front door? No one was there. Ah, the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, there, it’s Lloyd. Nice place, huh?”
“Fantastic,” Anna agreed.
“How about we hit the beach?”
“I have other plans, but thanks.”
“What other plans? I’m flexible.”
Couldn’t he take a hint?
“I’d like to just relax on my own for a while.”
“You’d have more fun with me, guaranteed,” Lloyd assured her. “But we’ll just hook up later. Tell you what, I’ll be at the poolside bar.” He hung up.
Yuh. The only place they were doing any kind of hooking up was in his dreams.
Forty-five minutes later, after a refreshing solo swim in the crystalline ocean, Anna was in the lobby. She’d asked for a tour of the resort; a guy in his early twenties was waiting for her. He looked Hawaiian and very handsome, with dark hair and broad cheekbones. His muscular physique was clad in blue tennis shorts and a white Las Casitas shirt like the one the valets wore, except with short sleeves. He wore a name tag introducing himself as “Kai.”
“Anna Percy?” he asked, striding over to her.
“Yes, hello. Are you my butler?”
“No, actually. Name’s Kai. I’ll be showing you round.” Whoever Kai was, he was gorgeous and had an Australian accent.
“I was told to look for Regis,” Anna explained.
“Ah, yes, your butler. Apologies. I’m the surfing instructor. Filling in for your Regis.”
Anna was confused. Not in a bad way, considering how adorable this guy was. “I’m sure I can look around myself if you’ve got something else to do,” she offered.
“No, no, it’s my pleasure,” Kai insisted. “Plus I feel responsible for Regis’s absence.” He leaned close. “Confidentially?”
Anna nodded.
“I took the bloke out surfing yesterday, his day off. He’d just pounded some margaritas, and he insisted on wearing a wet suit. Once he got out there—”
Anna laughed. “I know the rest of this story. A friend warned me about the hazards of nature and wet suits.”
“A rash so fierce it’ll make a man wish for scabies,” Kai declared, grimacing. “So you surf, do you?”
“Not really.” Anna was not about to share the details of her failed efforts.
“We’ve got some of the best waves between Zuma and Peru. If you’d like to give it a whirl, come on down to the Surf Shack. It’s not really a shack—you can order a full meal and eat it right on the beach, at a table with a linen tablecloth. Let’s shove off, shall we? Walk or golf cart?”
“Let’s walk,” Anna decided.
“Your wish is my command.”
For the next half hour, Kai showed Anna around the magnificence that was Las Casitas resort. The beach and water sports area, complete with fishing boat, kayaks, water skiing, parasailing, a scuba center, and wakeboarding. The five different restaurants—seaside buffet, sushi bar, Mexican with a roaming mariachi band, French haute cuisine, and Atkins-friendly. Two of them—the seaside buffet and the Mexican one—stayed open twenty-four hours a day. One could also order room service round the clock or hang out at the Surf Shack.
Kai took Anna through the luxury open-air spa. It rivaled anything in New York or Los Angeles. There were four different types of outdoor massage, including a two-hundred-pulsating-jet hydrotherapy variety, eucalyptus body wraps, Diamond Perfection exfoliation, wherein the entire body was rubbed with skin-smoothing ground gems, and the very popular seaside manicure-pedicure, complete with fourteen-karat gold polish.
Next came a walk through the two boutiques: one for goods made exclusively in Mexico, the other for very upscale designer clothes and accessories—Prada, Chanel, Marc Jacobs, and the like. It was obvious to Anna that the boutique’s buyer had excellent taste.
Then they toured the sports facilities: The possibilities were endless. There was a running and biking track that made a two-mile circuit around the property, with Segway machines as a low-impact option. An Olympic swimming pool featured high and low diving boards plus two swim-up bars that Kai reported poured only premium beers and liquors. A smaller, more out-of-the-way pool ( Kai termed it “the relaxing pool”) featured a man-made, perfumed waterfall. It was surrounded by a riot of Mexican flora.
The pièce de résistance of Las Casitas, though, was the re-created crossroads of an actual Mexican village, complete with craftspeople and stores. Kai told Anna that the famous Las Casitas street party happened right there every Wednesday night.
“Margarita fountain, lobster barbecue, dance contests, and general bacchanal. The rich and famous and splurging accountants from the world over throw off their inhibitions here in paradise. Always a good time.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Anna told Kai. “Not the accountants, but the rest of it,”
Kai grinned. “I’m sure your escort will swat them off.”
Escort? He had to mean Lloyd, Anna realized. That’s right; this resort kept perfect tabs on all their guests.
“Um . . . for the record? The guy I arrived with isn’t my escort.”
Kai’s eyebrows rose. “Companion?”
“Only in the sense that we arrived in the same vehicle.”
Kai seemed to be waiting for further explanation, but Anna didn’t really want to go into it. Then she’d have to explain why she was traveling with someone she disliked. And then it would come out that her father was trying to buy the resort. Not that it was a secret, but it could still make things awkward.
“So, have I completed the tour?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Hardly. Ready to visit the au naturel side?”
“Pardon me?”
Kai grinned. “There’s a whole wing of this place that’s clothing optional. You’d be surprised how much of our clientele ends up there. Accountants and all.”
“You mean a nude beach?”
“Much more than a beach. It can be quite wild. It’s the no-cameras policy, I think, that does it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This resort has a strict no-cameras policy. If we see a guest with a camera, we take it away and expose the film. If it’s a digital, we take away the internal media. And we don’t return it. It’s in our contract. We want our guests to feel safe . . . no matter what they choose to do. We’ve got excellent security.” He pointed to the sky. “The last time some tabloid from the States sent a flyover helicopter, the Mexican government launched two fighter jets. I’m sure they scared the bejesus out of the poor fellow.”
“That seems a bit extreme,” Anna commented.
“Hardly. The gossip rags will pay millions for a nude photo of either of the Jennifers. We have to protect their privacy.”
“Has anyone ever snuck in a camera?”
“We had one guy try to scuba in with one.”
“What happened?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Kai joked.
The tour ended at the Surf Shack. Kai gestured to the Pacific; the waves were rhythmic and well spaced. “The water temp is seventy-six. Sure I can’t get you out there?”
“Not now. Maybe later. Thanks for the tour, though. It was great.”
“Definitely my pleasure.”
Kai gave her another one of those sexy, crinkly smiles. Her conversation with Danny about one-night stands suddenly flew into her head. Someone hot she’d never see again.
Then she stopped herself. She was only seventeen years old. She’d only been with one guy, Ben. Who did she think she was kidding?
Anna,
a voice inside her said.
If you aren’t at least going to try it, you should go back to Beverly Hills. Now.
“Kai?”
“Yes?”
Anna cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Would you like to meet for a drink later?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, which made Anna feel like an idiot. What if he wasn’t allowed to fraternize with the guests? What if he wasn’t attracted to her? He probably had a girlfriend. Probably ten women a day came on to him, like he was just another perk of paradise. He might even be married. How could she be so—?
“I’d love to,” Kai answered.
“W
ho’s in charge here?” Sam asked pointedly. She’d just left her house for about an hour or two to shop for her diet at Whole Foods, and when she returned, unexpected mayhem greeted her inside the front door. Skinny men flitted around the cavernous interior hall, guiding a small nation of workers in the fine art of hanging strands of tiny lightbulbs entwined with ropes of red and pink wildflowers. Other workers were gluing twenty-foot panels of red washed silk fabric to the stone walls in some manner that would allow them to remove said fabric without a trace. Another work crew fastened a scarlet velvet carpet runner to the slate floor. And amongst this mini-cast of thousands, not one person responded to her question.
Suddenly Dee trotted into the hallway, trailed by a man in red monk’s robes. “Can you bless this area, too, please? Thanks.” Then she skittered over to Sam and enveloped her in a hug. “I was wondering when you’d get here. Isn’t this going to be the best baby shower?”
Poppy’s baby shower. The next day. Sam had done her best to erase it from her mind. She hadn’t even bought a gift yet.
“Wait,” Sam recalled. “Isn’t it supposed to be at House of Blues?”
“Yeah. But Poppy had a dream in which Ruby Hummingbird told her that she needed to be in a more nurturing atmosphere. So we decided at the last minute to have it here. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Ruby Hummingbird makes a habit of showing up in dreams,” Sam uttered, absolutely deadpan.
“She’s preparing us for her arrival,” Dee said, missing Sam’s sarcasm. “Besides, Baba Yaga has blessed the entire house, room by room. We tried to get a rabbi from the Kabbalah Center, but no one would volunteer. We even called Chabad. No luck.”
“Well, you got . . . Baba,” Sam intoned, as the spectacled bald guy in the diaphanous robes went from corner to corner of the hallway, shaking a silver beacon filled with smoking incense. “He looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
“Excuse me,” said an older man in workman’s coveralls. “Coming through!”
Sam and Dee had to edge against the wall to make way for him and his helper, who were carrying a ten-foot-high framed photo of naked Poppy, in profile. Sam saw the photo as it went by: Poppy’s head was turned toward the camera, her arms wrapped around her very pregnant belly. A single ruby-throated hummingbird flew overhead.
“Um . . . whose idea was that?”
“Mine,” Dee said proudly. “What, you don’t like it?”
Sam gritted her teeth and ignored Dee’s question. “Look. I’m going to have the cook make me a soy shake and a salad. You hungry?”
Dee patted her nonexistent stomach. “Nah. I just had half a sweet potato and I’m superstuffed. I’m only eating orange food today.”
Whatever. Sam wandered into the kitchen and gave her instructions to the cook but then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored refrigerator. The mirror was a dieting ploy of her father’s—in an interview with
People
he’d explained how every time he went to the refrigerator to get something to eat, his reflection would guilt-jerk him into leading man shape.