The California Club (6 page)

We gawp and peer closer, hands reaching out to touch her, as if that might prompt some sensory recognition.

‘Is it really you?' I locate her beauty spot amid the freckles.

'Lara!' she cheers, throwing herself at me.

Though semi-obscured by the hood of her top, I see Sasha and Zoë approach, exchange an incredulous look, then merge squealing and bouncing into the hug.

Elise just looks confused, as if peeved that she wasn't in on the 'before' shots of the transformation.

‘And you must be the future Mrs Harvey!'

Elise takes my smile and smears it over her own face. Helen knows? She knows they're engaged! She must have given her seal of approval, not that she's ever met Elise … I don't understand. Why would Elliot tell her before the rest of us? And how could Helen have kept such a bombshell to herself? Surely she could have warned me? I watch her take Elise's arm and think, Who is this woman?

'Don't worry, they haven't been playing a trick on you!' Helen comforts Elise. 'I'm not quite the same person I was a year ago.’

‘Is that a real tattoo?' I notice the wave motif on her ankle.

'How does that jewel stay on your toe?' Zoë magpies in on the twinkles.

'You look amazing!' Elliot speaks for all of us.

'Nearly as blonde as you now, Sash,' Helen smooths Sasha's silky veil.

'And nearly as tanned as me!' Zoë giggles, comparing an arm.

Helen takes a deep breath, assessing us one by one, looking fit to burst. 'So!' she grins, keen eyes sparkling. 'How was the flight?'

'Forget the flight! What's going on with you? What's happened?'

She goes to speak, then checks herself. 'I'll tell you later.'

'Tell us now!' Zoë insists.

'I'll tell you over tea,’ she negotiates. ‘The top of the Jensens' wedding cake got dive-bombed by a seagull so we've got loads of free cake.'

And, just like that, things take a turn for the better.

‘Got your camera?' Helen queries Elliot as he heaves the last piece of luggage into the back of Helen's silver SUV.

'Right here,' Elliot taps his hip pouch.

'If you want sit up front, you'll get some great shots going over the bridge to Coronado.'

In one move Elliot leaps to the front seat, eagerly training his lens on the windscreen in preparation.

'Room for one more.' Helen holds open the passenger door.

'You go, Lara – you got the raw deal on the plane,' Sasha prompts.

'Well,' I hesitate, noticing Elise's pointy-toe hovering over the step.

'Come on, up you go!' Zoë blunders in front of her, boosting me up alongside Elliot.

In the rearview mirror I watch Elise scoot along into the seat behind the steering wheel. Then I see her eyes flash with panic – she's just realized she is not connected to Elliot on either a vertical or horizontal plane, and there's a whole gearbox obstructing her diagonal reach! She goes to switch places with Sasha who's just settling into the middle seat, but it's too late. Zoë is bumping them closer as she takes the other window spot, then Helen clunks the sliding door into place and seals her fate.

‘Oh Helen this place is amazing!’ I gasp as we’re confronted with a marina of gleaming yachts, just one minute outside of the airport. Even downtown’s skyscrapers have tiptoed right to the water’s edge.

‘Look at that whopping cruiseship!’ I laugh. ‘Right at the center of the action!’

‘And the
Pirates of the Caribbean
number next to it!’

‘That’s the Star of India!’ Helen notes.

‘This feels like a dream!’ Zoe reels. ‘I can’t believe we’re all here!’

'I know,' Elliot grins. 'It's ages since we were all together. When was the last time – Helen's leaving do?'

'No, Sasha was in Cape Town on a job,' Helen reminds him. 'Before that.'

Elliot asks the panel on the back seat.

'What?' Elise snaps. 'I can't hear you from back here!'

Elliot repeats the question, oblivious to her huffiness.

As Sasha recalls the exact date, I can't help narrowing my eyes at Elise: you just sat on an eleven-hour flight with Elliot and now you're begrudging me a fifteen minute car ride? Look at her acting all left out. If she can't hear, all she has to do is lean forward, everyone else is managing. Surely she can't resent us reminiscing? We haven't seen Helen in over a year.

‘What about the time we went to that Bucking Bronco bar!' Zoë chuckles. 'Maybe we could do it for real out here - is California part of the Wild West?'

'You're kidding – my groin still hasn't recovered.' Elliot shifts in his seat.

'You were a natural!' Helen laughs. 'Randy the Cowboy!’

‘Oh no!’ I cringe. We called him that for weeks. He certainly had a knack – we reckoned it was because his legs are so long he got to tuck them under the bull whereas the rest of us just flailed around, cheerfully impaling ourselves on the horns.

Elliot inspects his left index finger – slightly misshapen since that day from gripping so hard – and sighs. 'That was a great summer.'

The best, I think to myself. All those beautiful hungover sunrises we saw in.

'I'll never forget—' Elliot begins, but before he can finish his thought, Elise has strained forward into front-seat territory. Instead of pawing at him she jabs Helen.

'The air conditioning isn't working back here,' she complains. 'I think you've got it all switched to the front.'

'It should be coming out here,' Helen reaches her hand back and runs her fingers over the vent.

'I'm okay,' Sasha shrugs, ever neutral.

'Well, I can't breathe,' Elise wheezes, slightly overplaying her bid to get attention.

'Here – I'll open the window,' Zoë offers.

Suddenly a flurrying blast of air whips up a wind tunnel effect and amid the bluster I hear a piercing scream. I wrench round to find the whole side of the SUV missing – nothing but a seatbelt between Zoë and speeding tarmac.

'Hold on!' Helen urges.

The vehicle lurches as we veer over to the hard shoulder and screech to a stop.

'What happened?' Elliot scrambles around in his seat.

'I was just trying to open the window!' Zoë wails.

‘You pulled the door handle!' Sasha gasps.

While we take a moment to let our battering hearts settle, Helen runs around to slide the door closed again, this time tapping on the window to indicate the lock to Zoë. She depresses the button with a trembling finger.

'Are you okay?' Elliot reaching back to give Zoë's knee a comforting squeeze.

Zoë nods, still in shock.

'You'd better straighten up, we're off again!' Elise snaps as Helen starts up the ignition.

'I wondered what it was, that rushing sound,’ I shudder. 'Imagine if you'd got sucked out!'

'It would have been awful – I'd have died before I got famous!' Zoë frets.

'You could've been famous for the way you died,' Sasha suggests.

'I think they already made a movie about that,' Elliot notes.

'Did they?’ I frown. 'What?'

'Gone With The Wind
!' Elliot hoots.

We all fall about laughing. All except Elise. It seems that nothing makes her more miserable than Elliot having fun. I'm telling you, if she gets through the week without me squashing her into a smoothie blender it'll be a miracle.

‘Woohoo! Check out that rollercoaster!' Elliot exclaims as we continue on our way.

‘Where?’

‘Over to the right!’

'Wow!' I gawp as I make out a loop of blue steel held up by vast concrete Roman numerals.

'You want to go on it?' Helen looks playful.

'Now?' I balk.

'It looks like it's on the way …' Elliot looks hopeful.

'Actually, it
is
the way!' Helen grins, sliding off the freeway and following the curve of the road until we're approaching the 'rollercoaster' head on.

'Oh my god!' I gasp as we mount it.

'Welcome to the Coronado Bay Bridge!' Helen introduces us.

Within seconds our altitude increases tenfold and we find ourselves suspended high above the sea, the skyscrapers of downtown San Diego behind us and a lushly-green island ahead.

This has got to be the automobile equivalent of tightrope walking – the edge barriers don't seem nearly high enough, and my stomach feels as if it's just gone head-first over a high jump.

'Over to the left is Mexico!' Helen directs our gaze to the hazy mountain range.

As Sasha's eyes widen, Zoë sings,
'Tequila! Du-duh-da-da-da-da-duh-duh!’

The rest of us would join her but our hearts have leapt into our mouths and there's no room for any vocal gymnastics. Gripping the dashboard, I dare myself to peer down at the elegant sailboats crossing the bay – little white triangles set against the blue like crisp handkerchiefs in a blazer pocket. There’s a fringe of sand below us and some kind of sprawling resort with hammocks and firepits.

‘What is this place?’ I ask as we come back down to the same level as the paddle-boarders and meandering cyclists.

‘How to sum up Coronado,’ Helen muses. ‘I think of it as part tropical island, part storybook village and part millionaire’s beach retreat.’

Everything we see as we cruise down Orange Avenue seems to reinforce this – the soaring palms, the stars and stripes flags, the gingerbread cottages and movie star mansions. Even the police station is brimming with peachy bougainvillea.

‘Is this where you live?' Elise asks, unable to keep the envy out of her voice.

'No, I'm about twenty minutes up the coast, at La Jolla,' Helen tells her, then locates Zoë in the rearview mirror, 'Your Spanish stretch to a translation?'

Zoë's longest relationship to date was with a Spanish barman but that was five years ago now.

Zoë frowns, 'Spelt j-o-l-l-a but pronounced hoya?'

Helen nods.

'Rings a bell but, no …' Zoë shakes her head. 'Tell us!'

'The Jewel,' Helen shimmers.

We sigh in unison. This is all so magical. Elise can do her worst but I know now that I won't regret coming on this trip. I'd forgotten how amazingly uplifting sunshine and a new view can be.

'Hotel Del Coronado!' I spot the sign for Helen's workplace. We all tug at our seatbelts trying to get the first glimpse of the infamous landmark – a whitewashed wooden palace with dark red turrets extending along acres of pale blond shoreline.

‘They say the Hotel Del is one third sand, one third sea and one third fairytale,' Helen smiles, winding up the driveway. 'But most people just call it the
Some Like It Hot
hotel!'

'Just think, Marilyn stayed here,' Zoë coos, utterly enraptured.

Every year since we met I've hunted down some quirky piece of Marilyn-abilia for Zoë's birthday so I know how much this means to her.

'Remember the bit in the film when they arrive at the hotel for the first time and there's all these ancient millionaires in rocking chairs on the porch?'

'I've never liked black and white films,' Elise sneers.

This is sacrilege to Zoë but she's too mesmerized by the guy in the stunted bowler hat who's stepped forward to greet us to care.

'Checking in?'

'Just visiting.' Helen leans across to him. 'Grant, these are the friends I was telling you about.'

'Heeyy! Welcome!' he cheers as we spill out of the SUV.

‘You must be Elliot – ' he shakes his hand. 'And your fiancée …' His finger wavers like a water diviner between me and Elise. Then settles on me! My heart leaps as I redirect him. They have to break it off now – the doorman thinks we're a match!

'I'm Lara,' I tell him.

'Sasha!' The Beautiful One shakes his gloved hand. 'And this is Zoë!'

The bowler hat's eyes bulge at Zoë's cleavage then, as a luggage trolley brushes past, he stammers. 'Mind your, er, backs!' Still transfixed. I'm sure Marilyn herself had a similar welcome.

'Shall we?' Helen beckons us up the tiered redbrick steps, pushing through the glazed glass doors and leading us from dazzling sunshine into a ye olde world of dark wood paneling, creaky balconies and antique brass lifts. The lobby is dominated by the Liz Taylor of all chandeliers – a great bejeweled blancmange with dangling baubles flashing rainbows across the room.

We take a moment to inhale the towering floral display and then peel off in different directions - Elise guiding Elliot over to the pretty gazebo in the grand garden courtyard, Zoe returning to get a snap with the bowler hat, Helen catching up with the receptionist just back from her vacation… Meanwhile I’m exploring the Est. 1888 gift shop. (I quickly learn that was the year the hotel was built.) This place is a treasure trove of trinkets, vintage jewelry and some of the prettiest sugar bowls I’ve ever seen. There’s even a Marilyn Monroe paper doll kit with cut-outs of her most iconic outfits. I’m torn between purchasing that and a plaque that says,
‘Life is about finding people who are your kind of crazy!’
when I hear Helen call:

‘Who’s ready for tea?’

We assemble quicker than the Von Trapp children at the toot of the Captain’s whistle.

Wait. There’s someone missing – where’s Sasha?

Turns out she never made it further than the ante-room, having been waylaid by a suitor. Nothing new there. I feel almost sorry for him – he doesn't stand a chance. Not because he's unattractive, which coincidentally he is (unless you like your men to have the purplish complexion of the semi-strangled). It's just that if he's paid her any kind of compliment she'll have instantly switched off. With Sasha you can forget 'You had me at hello!' It's more a case of 'You lost me at "You're gorgeous!"'

However. It would seem Mr Plum has gone for something original, because he's holding her attention longer than most – perhaps she can't take her eyes off that golfball-size boil on his neck – but still she's shaking her head. He's offering her his card. She's declining. He's insisting. She's pointing over at Zoë. Strange. Zoë can find something attractive about most men but I think this one may be a flabby earlobe too far. He pulls a face, she reluctantly accepts his card, then quickly tucks it into her purse before hurrying over to join the rest of us.

'What did he want, apart from the obvious?'