Authors: Linda Cajio
Judith strolled down to the beach in the late afternoon. She had lovingly put away each item she’d purchased, proud that she’d done so well. She’d never had to outfit a home before, even a small, partially furnished one like this. Usually her shopping trips were all-day excursions for clothes. Her mother or her sister-in-law often accompanied her, to “help” her buy the latest fashions at the Orange Avenue boutiques in Coronado, the neighborhood where her family lived, or at Horton Plaza. She found it easier to allow them to come along than to deal with their hurt feelings at being excluded. The concession was a small thing and didn’t bother her, truly.
Today she’d been alone, choosing whatever she wanted without another opinion being given on the spot. Even more, she’d had to think about what
wasn’t
the Judith Collier everyone knew and make purchases with that in mind.
The afternoon heat had driven most people in for a siesta. She couldn’t sleep in her oversize oven, however. She couldn’t even concentrate enough to go through the paperwork on the upcoming merger, paperwork she’d received along with her shares at the will reading. She shuddered, wondering how she would last in these conditions. If she couldn’t even muster enough energy to do her work …
She glanced up at the house on the hill. The
conditions were nothing compared to what
he
set off inside her. Maybe her lack of focus had nothing to do with the heat.
The beach wasn’t empty, for the kids who lived on the
ejido
had a different idea of relaxation. Most of them were splashing around in the wide, shallow cove. Good thing it was sand based, she thought, watching them. She’d seen lava rock spewed along the coast, and it could be nasty as a sea bottom.
She took off her sneakers and left them on the beach, then walked into the water, letting the easy waves lap over her ankles, cooling her skin. She sighed. Paul had no idea what nerve she’d had to call up to ask him for a lift to town. No idea. She’d found herself wishing she hadn’t been sitting beside him on the long ride to Ensenada. She’d been all too aware of the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, gently yet firmly, in control.
“Steering wheels,” she muttered in disbelief. She must be getting kinky in her old age. She had also admired the muscles bunching in his thighs whenever he moved his leg to brake or accelerate. She’d never known before what a pair of tight denim shorts could do for a man. Nor could she remember ever having this strong a physical response to someone. A lady didn’t feel these sorts of things … did she?
She stepped farther in the water, almost knee-deep. The outgoing tide ate away at the
sand under her feet, undermining her balance to swallow her up in its wet belly. Yet the water was so cool, like a hypnotic seduction.
The kids swam over to her, chattering away in Spanish.
“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “I don’t speak much Spanish.”
“I learned English at school,” an older boy said. He was brown as a nut from the sun. All the children were. “Come in swimming with us.”
“I don’t have a suit,” Judith said.
“A suit?” The boy said something to the others. They all looked puzzled, then collapsed laughing into the water.
“No, a
bathing
suit,” she corrected him, chuckling as she realized the kids thought she meant a dress suit. All of them were swimming in shorts and T-shirts, T-shirts that were in kind with her own. Even the women in the Baja wore cartoon-character shirts. She was grateful that she looked like them. Besides, she was finding out they were fun.
“You don’t need no suit,” the boy said right out of
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
, “you can swim in your clothes. We do.”
The kids grabbed her hands before she could protest and urged her deeper into the water. She wondered again what certain people would say if they could see her, then laughed and threw herself into the lapping surf with abandon.
The water swallowed her up in its cool salty
depths. Her bottom hit the bottom before she bounced gently upward. She broke the surface, giggling and pushing her wet hair off her face. Her T-shirt was clinging to her and she pulled it away from her skin. The kids all laughed. They took her hands and played ring-around-a-rosy until the water’s ebb and flow knocked everyone down.
Judith envied these children who didn’t worry about cleanliness and safety and manners. Not that they were ill mannered or threw themselves off hundred-foot cliffs or had never seen soap in their lives. They just knew how to have fun without all the adult rules getting in the way. She had never had that.
She played with the children for hours, it seemed, then sat with them on the beach to dry off. Towels obviously lacked machismo. Although the kids showed no signs of noticing, she was conscious of her bra showing under the wet T-shirt, although the top was oversize and ballooned wonderfully.
She learned all the kids’ names and that Miguel, her translator, was the enterprising Pedro’s son and the children’s ringleader. That didn’t surprise her. She learned everyone’s life history. She wondered how much was fact and how much fiction, and decided it didn’t matter because all of it was thoroughly entertaining. She never had much imagination—or perhaps had never been encouraged to explore her imagination—when
she was a child. The children taught her some Spanish and promised to teach her more every day. By the time an invisible signal called them in for supper, she felt as if she’d made new friends.
She sat back on her elbows and turned her face up to the waning sun, allowing the heat to penetrate her cooled skin. She could stay there forever, she thought. No pressure, no skullduggery, no worries. She could almost forget the black cloud hanging over her.…
Something penetrated her haze of contentment, and she sat up, opening her eyes. Again the sea god was emerging at sunset, walking slowly toward her through the surf. She was not trapped in a car, though, surrounded by people. This time she was on his beach, in his little cove. The mask obscured his face again, but she now knew the features underneath and wasn’t disappointed in them at all. His body was nearly naked like the last time. Water sluiced off the sinewy muscles and bone while dampening the low-riding denims to nearly scandalous proportions. She rose to her feet and watched him, fascinated with every inch of his body, with every step he took.
He stopped just inches away from her, his browned body so close, she could reach out and trace her fingers along the lean line of chest to waist. She could find the hardness of the hipbone that jutted out, feel the silkiness of the hairs dusting his chest and arms. They would be deliciously rough against her skin.…
He lifted the mask and shed his air tank. “Is there a problem?”
“Ah … no.” She forced herself to smile, but it felt more like her upper lip stuck to her teeth. She was conscious of her uncombed hair and sandy, still-wet clothes. “No problem. I was just enjoying the sunset.”
He didn’t turn around as he said, “Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“You’re not even looking.”
“I see it every day—”
“But how can you be so blasé about it?” The notion astonished her. She took him by the wet shoulders to turn him around. Her fingers, however, burned at the touch of his cool flesh against her warm palms. She felt the shock of it down to her toes. She forced herself to leave her hands there, rather than snatch them away and reveal her physical reaction to him. With some effort, she twisted his upper body back toward the sea. “Look at that! It’s gorgeous. Don’t take it for granted, Paul. Don’t ever take it for granted.”
He turned back and faced her. “I don’t. I learned that a few years ago.”
She felt as if he were telling her something, but she wasn’t quite getting the message. She took her hands from his shoulders, but it was too late. The touch burned into her memories.
“Were you in the water?” he asked.
She plucked consciously at her shirtfront.
“The kids persuaded me to go swimming with them.”
“Be careful,” he said. “Jellyfish wash up sometimes with the tide.”
She glanced around the water in dismay, seeing nothing in the deep blue liquid. Already the adult rules were kicking in again. “Oh, my. Those kids were in the water.”
“There aren’t any jellyfish today,” he said. “The kids know what to look for, but just keep it in mind.”
“I’ll keep my shoes on too,” she said, and hated herself for saying it. She agreed too much and that was the whole problem with her life. Disturbed by her about-face, she changed the subject. “What do you catch when you’re out there?”
“It depends. Grouper or sea bass or yellow-tail. Sometimes lobsters.” He held up his mesh bag. “Abalone today.”
“I thought that was a shell.”
“A shell is what it lives in. The meat is great when fried fast. It’s what I mostly catch, so it’s what I eat. Fortunately, I could eat it all day. I sell the shells in Ensenada for their mother-of-pearl.”
“It seems like you live off the sea for food.”
“Pretty much.”
She wouldn’t have pegged him for the commune, back-to-nature type, but that’s what it
sounded like. “Isn’t the refrigerator repair business good?”
“Sometimes.”
It truly sounded like he lived hand-to-mouth. She thought of the heat and decided refrigerators ought to be a booming business down here.
“Come up to the house,” he said. “I’ll slice you off a piece and you can try it.”
She glanced at the mesh bag, curious about what she’d be agreeing to eat. Unfortunately, the abalone was still in its shell. Also unfortunately, he held the bag at waist level, and where it dangled drew her gaze farther than it ought to go.
Judith immediately looked away. Heat flushed her cheeks as she croaked out, “Thanks, I’d like that.”
“Good.”
She followed him up to his house, trying to keep from looking at his back … and lower. He had great shoulders that tapered down to a narrow tush, and she couldn’t help eyeing it. The term “buns of steel” came into her head. She’d seen that on a video at the Calimax.
Stop it
, she told herself, horrified at her sudden voyeuristic tendencies.
Once inside, Paul excused himself and went into a back room. Judith stayed where she was, trying not to imagine what Paul was probably doing, stripping off his wet shorts, maybe taking a quick shower.… She shook her head in disgust at herself. She may not have had much
imagination as a child, but it seemed to be working overtime now. Hoping to distract herself, she looked around the living room. It was furnished in almost spartan proportions, but what was there was spectacular. The motif was Aztec, with pre-Columbian artwork, low couches and chairs, and white, white walls. A huge feathered fan with a carved wooden handle in a lovely free-form shape took up one wall. The feathers were the colors of the rainbow.
Wouldn’t her friend Andrea love to have fans like that for her decorating business? Judith thought, then she grimaced. Andrea and her business were not happy memories. Andrea had invited Judith to join her business, saying that she had always admired Judith’s artistic flair in the bit of decorating she did around the Collier house. Judith, Andrea asserted, would be a great asset for her business. Asset was right, Judith soon discovered. She enjoyed the work, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize Andrea really didn’t intend that she design interiors for any of her clients. What she actually wanted was for Judith to invest money in the business.
Judith had quit—politely—then had decided that she might find a niche for herself in an art gallery. She’d been hired by one prestigious gallery with alacrity, but that had been a mistake too. Like Andrea, the owner hoped she would invest in the gallery. He also, she quickly discovered, was using her name to attract customers.
She quit that job too, and decided to put any artistic aspirations on hold—permanently. Still, she could admire beauty when she saw it, and the fan was beautiful.
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until she heard Paul’s voice behind her.
“A lady in La Misión hand-makes them,” he said. He had on dry shorts and a plain white T-shirt. He walked by the fan without a glance. “Come into the kitchen.”
Judith walked gingerly across the throw rugs, not wanting to get them sandy. She had brushed off what she could from her legs and feet before coming into the house, but the job had been makeshift at best. Paul seemed unconcerned about sand being trooped through his house.
The kitchen, like the living room, was sparsely furnished, but the colors were magnificent. Ceramic tiles, individually painted in geometric designs of blue, orange, green, and yellow, and fitted together, were the floor, countertops, and splashbacks. The white stucco walls and dark timber joists were a perfect backdrop to the blazing colors. The kaleidoscope nearly made her dizzy.
Sitting on one of the stools at the cooking island, Judith was duly impressed when Paul took a sharp knife to the abalone shell and deftly opened it.
“This one’s a good size,” he said, rinsing off the meat under a running faucet. “If they’re
smaller than five inches you leave them. Be sure to rinse the meat well to get any sand or grit out.”
She nodded, carefully absorbing the information while wondering when she’d ever go diving for abalone. Maybe in another lifetime. She wondered if such instructions carried over with the soul.
“Do you know how to cook it?” he asked while getting out a cutting board.
“No.” She smiled brightly. “Do you boil it?”
“Only if you want to chew rubber.” He took out some more things, a fry pan, a wooden mallet, olive oil, and herbs. “Here, I’ll cook some because I can’t stand waiting for it and then you’ll know. You have to pound it thin first. If you don’t, it’ll still be rubbery.”
He cut a couple of pieces off the meat, then began to bang the heck out of them until each piece was as thin as a china plate.
Within seconds he had the oil sizzling and was dumping the thinned chunks of abalone meat into the pan. They were no sooner in, when he was taking them out again. “Just let it kiss the pan.”
She found herself focusing on his lips. “Really?”