38. Stevens

THIRTY-EIGHT

Stevens

I'm not a smart man. But I know what love is.

~ Forrest Gump

A s soon as my tour pulls into the slip, the men and women with cameras and microphones swarm the dock. I ask them to make way for my guests to get through, and they oblige. They aren’t as willing to let me pass. I keep saying, “No comment. No comment.” It’s what I’ve seen in movies and in TV shows. It eventually works. I’m able to pass through the mass of reporters. But some are relentless and follow me, not even trying to hide their invasion of my privacy.

I walk over to the Alicante and find Ben’s friend Cam. He works in customer service on the main resort property. I spot him at the guest services desk in the center of the expansive lobby.

“Can you help me?” I ask Cam.

I look over my shoulder. A few stragglers from the press have entered the resort behind me. Persistent, I’ll give them that.

“Sure, Stevens. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a situation. Some members of the press are here trying to get me to talk about my relationship with Alana. I need to ditch them.”

“Okay. I’ve got you. Follow me.”

Cam says something to his co-worker who is with him behind the desk and then he walks out and heads toward the bank of elevators. I follow him, trying to discreetly check over my shoulder to see if we’re being trailed. The reporters are eyeing me. But none are being so bold as to follow us.

Cam pushes the elevator button for UP. Once we’re inside he pushes five, six, seven.

“We’ll throw them off that way. We’ll get off at six.”

“Huh. Good thinking.”

We exit at the sixth floor and I follow Cam along hallways to the stairwell.

“Stay behind me.”

“Have you done this before?” It seems like he has a method and plan.

“A few times for celebrities or dignitaries.”

We take the stairs down six flights, Cam in front, keeping a pretty good pace.

“It always adds a little adventure to my day. Okay. Here we are. Lobby. This door will let you out in a service hallway. You can follow the hall down to an exit door that leads out to the side of the building. Walk out that side walkway, look around and make a break for it.”

Cam peeks out the stairway door, gives me the all clear and we part ways. I ditch the reporters, and head to my home, where, thankfully no paparazzi are hanging out. Not yet, they aren’t. I won’t be surprised if they do end up coming here sometime in the near future. I smile. Not because I want reporters swarming my home, but because Alana’s worth it. She’s so worth it. I only hope she decides to give us a chance.

I change out of my tour clothes and hop onto my bicycle. On a bike, I can maneuver the back roads between my house and the North Shore more easily instead of taking the streets closer to the beach. I make my way to my childhood home, hoping my mother hasn’t heard the news about me and Alana before I have the chance to tell her.

I walk in the open front door. “Mom? Are you home?”

My mom walks around the corner through the living room toward the entryway of our home.

“Ren! What a sweet surprise. Come in. I’m having an exciting day purging my Tupperware.”

I follow my mom through the house to the kitchen where nearly every surface is covered in plastic storage containers of all sizes and shapes.

“Where were you hiding all this?”

“You’d be surprised. They stack. And apparently multiply like rabbits in those cupboards. I’m giving most of these away. Your dad and I don’t need to keep all this. It’s just the two of us now.”

“Mom?”

She looks up from sorting piles of containers. “What is it, Ren? Are you okay?”

“I am. I … uh … I have a girlfriend.”

She claps her hands together and squeals. “Well, isn’t that the shizzle!”

I chuckle.

“Ren. A girlfriend. This is wonderful. Who is she? Where did you meet? How long have you been dating? Here. Here. Come sit.”

She clears a space in front of a chair at the kitchen table. It’s a round table where I ate breakfasts and many lunches growing up. Chairs are tucked in on one side of the table and a bench against the bay window sits on the other side. The view looks out over rooftops toward the beaches on the North Shore, including the beach where I played with Alana on so many Saturdays.

“Do you want iced tea? Lemonade? Arnold Palmer? Tell me everything.”

Mom’s giddy and she doesn’t even know the biggest piece of my news .

“Tea’s fine. I can get it. You keep cleaning.”

“Oh, I couldn’t clean right now. Not when you come bearing news like this. Can you bring her to family supper? Or is it too soon? I promise to behave.”

“I want to bring her to supper. We met online.”

“Ooooh. Really. Have you met in person? Where in the world is she? I’m very open minded, you know. Lots of people say you still shouldn’t talk to strangers on the net. I agree if you’re under eighteen. But you’re thirty. I say cast that net far and wide. So, where is she?”

At this rate, I’ll never get to say.

“She and I played a word game for about six months or so. Then we discovered we’re both here on Marbella.”

“Well, would you look at that? What are the odds? Of course you could probably figure those odds out to the decimal. But I know they’re slim. She’s here? On the island?”

“Yes. She lives here part time. She actually was someone I knew years ago.” I pause and look at my mom, willing her to maintain her sanity. “Saturday girl.”

“Oh! Gwendolyn. I loved that girl. It was so sad when she left. I think she was taking a crack at show business. She always had some sort of lesson going on—singing, dancing, acrobatics, what have you. That girl was like a trick pony.”

“Do you remember the day you took me to paint in the cove?” Maybe if I ease her into this she won’t have an actual heart attack.

“Of course, but let’s talk about that later. I want to hear all about this girlfriend first. Is she Gwendolyn?”

“She is, actually.”

“Well, my word. That’s the bomb dot com. Who would imagine. All these years later.”

“Mom, you’d better sit down.”

“Why? Stevens? What is going on?”

“Just sit. Trust me. I think sitting is better for this next bit of news. ”

“Okaaayyy.” She clears another spot on the table.

“Gwendolyn. Well, you see … she did leave to take a crack at show business. And it went pretty well for her, I’d say.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful.”

“It is. Mostly. Anyway, she had to change her name for reasons in the business. And her name … well, she was sitting behind us in Harry’s paint class.”

“Oh, Stevens. After that weekend I thought about it, and I’m almost positive the woman behind us was …”

Mom’s eyes go wide as saucers. Her mouth pops open. Her face passes through a series of expressions as the reality of what I’m not saying settles deeper into her awareness.

“She’s Alana Graves? You are dating Alana Graves ? Are you sure? Alana Graves? Do you know what you’re saying here? This is Alana Graves. She’s Alana Graves. Was it my words at paint class? Did she seek you out after that? Oh! Stevens! Alana Graves! Wait. She’s coming here ? For dinner? I have to clean. And cook. And … oh, my. Alana Graves is coming for dinner!”

I sit back, crossing my arms, waiting for this wave of shock to wash over like a squall at sea.

“Alana Graves,” Mom mutters with a tone of awe in her voice.

I’m pretty sure she is trying to break the world record for saying Alana’s name the most times in one minute.

“Alana Graves. Of all the things. My son is dating Alana Graves.” Mom looks at me. “I’ll act so normal. Don’t worry. I’ll be like the poster child for normal moms. I’ll even hide her movies. Should I? Or would she like to see them out? What do you think?”

I smile at my mom. She’s coming down slowly. A few more minutes and she’ll be able to hold a conversation.

“Alana Graves. Stevens. What in the world? Here I thought you were going to be married to the sea like that old man in that famous poem. And you’re dating Alana Graves. The Alana Graves.”

She looks at me, smiling wide .

When she’s quiet for about fifteen seconds straight, I finally take my shot at telling her everything else.

“She’s not Alana Graves to me, Mom. She’s just Alana. And I think I’m falling for her—not the movie star, the woman. She’s bright and witty. She has a dry sense of humor and she’s very protective of me. It’s sweet.”

“Protective? Why would she need to be protective?”

I fill my mom in on all the mess with the media. Then I backtrack and explain how I substituted as Alana’s water taxi driver and how we set up our first date. I tell her Alana loves Mitzi’s tacos. When I finish, we’ve been sitting at the table for nearly an hour.

“Well, she doesn’t need to protect you, Stevens. You’re strong enough to face anything. She’ll see.”

“I hope she will. It may come your way too, you know. Sometimes the media spreads their claws far and wide. They may come snooping through my life to discover all they can about me.”

“You think you love her?” My mom skips over everything I just said about the press possibly prying into her life and hones in on the most intriguing fact to her—my feelings for this amazing woman.

“I think I might.”

“Oh, son. I’m so happy for you. And for her. Do you think she loves you too?”

“I don’t know. She definitely cares about me.”

“Alana Graves.”

One more time for the people in the back.

“Mom. You have to do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to think of her as this woman named Alana who has a job acting. She’s not Alana Graves to me. It’s just better if we can all treat her like a normal person.”

“Stevens. Have a little faith. And besides, she’s not a normal person. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“I do. But when she’s with me, she is. ”

I spend a few hours at Mom’s between the conversation and helping her load boxes with enough Tupperware to store leftovers for the whole neighborhood for weeks, maybe months.

As I’m leaving, Mom reminds me to ask Alana to dinner Sunday. I will do that. I want to.

I want everything with Alana.

The choice is up to her as to what she wants with me.