7. Stevens
SEVEN
Stevens
I just want to apologize in advance
for having chased you down the street.
~ FRIENDS
J ust as Kai predicted, the women are gathered in the Adirondack chairs around the fire pit while the guys huddle around the barbecue. Bodhi’s yard is the perfect spot for a barbecue.
“Does it bother you if we cook shrimp?” Ben asks me with a playful smirk on his face.
“Why would that bother me?”
“They live in the ocean. You know. They’re your little underwater buddies.”
“You’re joking, right?” Bodhi says with a chuckle.
Ben holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Just checking. Just checking.”
I laugh along with the rest of the guys. We exchange stories about memorable guest interactions we’ve had this week. Kai’s at the center, manning the grill, browning marinated chicken and shrimp, skewers of vegetables and some pineapple dipped in brown sugar.
When the platters are piled with everything we’ve cooked, we carry them over to a large farmhouse style table set under the trees. Twinkle lights are strung overhead and tiki torches line the edge of the yard. The couples find seats on the benches around the tables, paired up next to one another. I don’t really feel as out of place as I had expected to. Conversation flows among all of us as we dig into the meal.
“Summer, when does your next film start shooting?” Kalaine asks, rubbing her abdomen.
Kalaine and Bodhi are expecting a child any day now, but here they are, hosting a barbecue like they’ve got all the leisure time in the world.
Ben places his hand on Summer’s back. Summer looks up at him and they exchange a private conversation through a series of glances and facial expressions.
“Well,” Summer says. “I’ve got a contract to start an eight week project in New York in four weeks.” She looks at Ben again and they both smile. “Then I’m going to do a few local commercials and cameos … and then take some time off because …”
Ben shouts, “We’re pregnant!”
Kalaine squeals. “Our babies will be besties!”
The table breaks into mayhem, everyone shouting congratulations, the women standing to give Summer hugs. I study Ben and Summer. They have that thing I was describing to Mom—a tangible love so strong it radiates to anyone around them. That could be said for every couple at the table. You can feel the devotion and connection between each pair. I’m right not to settle for someone sweet and pretty if there’s not that innate attraction and a feeling that I can’t live without her. I’ve seen what’s possible every time one of my friends found their match. For me, it’s finding the love of my life, or nothing.
Once we’re all digging back into the food on our plates, Kalaine announces, “I heard there’s a new Alana Graves movie out. You know her. Right, Summer?”
“I do, though mostly only through our agent. And Alana helped me get a role a few years ago when I was breaking into the business. We don’t hang out or anything.”
I’m holding a piece of shrimp midair in front of my face when Alana Graves’ name is mentioned. I’m a massive fan. My mom puts me to shame with the way she fangirls over Alana. She’s watched Alana ever since her days in TV sitcoms. I saw the shows, of course. They were on in the family room. I only became truly interested in Alana once she started starring in action-adventure roles. Those are more my speed.
“Look at Stevens.” Ben nudges Bodhi. Then he announces to the whole table, “Stevens is a huge fan of Alana’s movies.”
“I’m not a huge fan. I enjoy her work. That’s all. Not really a huge fan at all. Average. I mean, we’re all fans, right?”
Everyone stares at me.
Then Summer breaks the silence. “Oh! We should introduce you to her.”
“No. No. That’s fine.”
I can only imagine meeting her. I’d make a complete idiot of myself, I’m sure.
“Why?” Ben teases. “Are you afraid you’ll freeze up with starstruckness?”
“Nah. No. She’s just another human, right?”
“Exactly,” Summer agrees. “She really is. She’s like the rest of us. You’d love her.”
“Oh, he loves her alright,” Ben continues to rib me in his usual way.
“I love her body of work …” I feel heat creeping up my face. “Her movies, that is. I admire her acting.”
“Artistically speaking,” Kai teases, obviously enjoying my moment on the hot seat.
“Yes,” I agree. “Artistically speaking. Of course.”
“She’s gorgeous. I’m pretty sure you noticed.” Ben teases. “ Not as gorgeous as you, sweet mother of my child,” he leans in and plants a kiss on Summer’s temple.
“Yeah. Yeah. I hear you,” Summer swats playfully at Ben. “It’s okay. She is beautiful. I was starstruck when I first met her too, and I don’t get intimidated easily.”
“She is pleasant looking,” I say. Then I add, “She has good bone structure and incredibly symmetrical features.”
Symmetry is a proven measure of beauty. The more symmetrical the features, the more likely other humans will assess the person as beautiful. Alana is nearly perfectly symmetrical, and since there’s no such thing as absolute perfection in nature, she’s as close as one can get. I’ve noticed her beauty when I watched her films, along with admiring her skills as an actress, of course. She’s not only beautiful, she’s very talented. And she does martial arts, if that is actually her in those scenes. It could be a body double. Whoever it is, she’s impressive.
Summer bursts into laughter. “Yeah. Maybe it’s not the best idea for you to meet her in person. I don’t know how she’d respond to being told she’s symmetrical.”
“It’s the highest form of beauty to the human eye,” I explain.
“Well, if you want to meet her, let us know,” Summer says. “She likes to keep to herself, but sometimes I can coax her out to an event with enough begging and cajoling. If you’re interested, I’ll make it happen.”
“I think I’m better off admiring her from afar.”
“If you say so. But she’s just a normal person—like me or you.”
“Babe,” Ben says, wrapping his arms around Summer’s waist playfully and possessively. “You are anything but normal.”
He kisses her temple and tugs her near.
“Anything but normal? That’s almost as bad as symmetrical,” Summer smiles playfully in my direction.
Ben nuzzles his face in Summer’s hair and murmurs, “You’re amazing, babe. Beyond amazing.”
I arrive at the boat a full hour ahead of schedule. Today’s the day I meet this elusive movie star. Her assistant, Brigitte, called two days ago to explain the need for a water taxi today and a few other times this week. I’ll have to remain on the mainland once we’re over there because her meeting is only a few hours long. It wouldn’t be worth coming home and heading back out. I’ll go to Costco for Mom since it’s one of the stores we don’t have on Marbella. I won’t mention why I’m in Ventura to my mother. It really wouldn’t matter what star it is, Mom has no chill when it comes to situations like this. She’d probably be down here on the docks trying to board the boat right now if she knew I was taxiing anyone famous.
A woman approaches the end of the pier. Her nearly white-blond curly hair spills over her shoulders. Considering this cove is private and only used by people who dock their boats in this harbor, I assume she’s my passenger. She’s a little too far away for me to tell who she is, but the closer she gets, the more sure I am. She’s wearing sunglasses, but not the gigantic ones she had on Saturday. These perch high enough on her face to fully reveal her cheekbones. She’s Layna … from paint class. And I know where I’ve seen her now.
Layna is Alana.
Alana Graves .
The sudden urge to jump ship rolls through me like a physical force, and I have to fight the desire to catapult myself off the back of the boat before she gets any closer.
Alana Graves. The Alana Graves.
Alana Graves is walking toward me, and I’m her driver, and she’s going to sit with me in this boat, alone, for an hour.
Get a grip, Ren .
Great. Now I’m talking to myself and using my childhood nickname. This is bad. So bad. And amazing. So amazing. But mostly, it’s bad .
She’s getting closer and my pulse is quickening, my mouth going dry, my palms, just the slightest bit clammy. Not good. Not at all.
She’s just a human.
Human. Just human.
“Just human!” I shout from out of nowhere when Alana is barely ten feet from the boat.
She jolts backward a step.
So, I do the next best thing and start singing Rag'n'Bone Man’s alternative rock song, Human , as if screaming “Just human!” was somehow the crescendo to an anthem about humanity I’ve decided I need to belt out in the early morning hours, here, alone, on this dock, in my very mediocre singing voice.
Alana will never board this water taxi. I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t. I’m supposed to be stable, reliable. The man she can trust with her life and her privacy. I don’t know if I can even recommend myself at this point.
I close out the line from the song, figuring my humiliation is already at a record low. I won’t be able to come back from this, and the singing is only making things worse, like bleach on a red stain that turns the whole garment pink.
“Oh, hi,” I say. “Hello. And welcome … and … Good morning. Right. Yes. Hi. I’m Stevens. And, well, so … you’re Ms. Vargas, I take it?”
She nods, eyeing me like I’m a rabid racoon or one of the island’s rogue monkeys perched on her garbage cans. Rightfully so. Unhinged isn’t even an apt enough word to describe how I’m acting.
“Can we just …?” I run my hand through my hair. “Forget I reacted like that? I’m a certified dive instructor, not actually certifiable. I spend more time on or under the ocean than on land whenever given the choice. I could drive this boat in my sleep. And I don’t spill secrets—ever. If someone tells me something, I’m as sealed and unreachable as a chest fallen from the Titanic an d lost to the depths. Well, unless someone finds that chest and digs it up. But let’s imagine the other chest—the one no one finds, ever. That’s me. I’m that chest. So. Yeah. Welcome aboard!”
I literally slap a hand over my face. When I dare to peek at Alana, or Ms. Vargas as she wants to be called, she’s smiling just a little.
“I need to get going, so …” She gestures to the spot where I’m blocking the point of entry to the boat.
“Right. Right. Of course. Hop on.”
I extend my hand. AND SHE TAKES IT . Alana Graves is holding my hand. My hand. Her hand. We’re touching and I’m instantly reduced to teen girl status at a Taylor Swift concert, trying not to faint or lose my ever-living mind because Alana Graves is touching me .
I tuck my lips in to keep from saying something ridiculous like, I’ve always wanted to hold your hand . I haven’t, officially. I mean, the idea never occurred to me, or I would have very much wanted to hold her dainty, soft, perfect hand. But I don’t, of course, say that. Thankfully.
She releases our connection and walks to the back of the boat like she’s done this a hundred times, and I guess she has. Joel is friends with her. They shuttle across the channel together regularly. He talks about the girl he has a crush on with her . I, on the other hand, can barely breathe or focus. And I need to, since, you know, I’m the captain at the moment.
“Okay. I’ll just …” I thumb toward the captain’s chair and walk toward the helm. With my back to Alana and my hands on the steering wheel, I close my eyes and imagine I’m forty feet under water, tankless and floating. Fish are swimming around me. The water muffles all the noise of what’s above. I’m still. Suspended. Weightless. I take one deep breath, let it out, check my surroundings, and turn the key.
We ride in total silence, me glancing at Alana occasionally. Okay, more than occasionally. She often closes her eyes, seeming to enjoy the way the wind whips her hair all over and the slight spray of mist coming up from the water as it spritzes her skin. Once in a while, our eyes catch, but Alana always glances away with this effortlessly elegant movement. She’s not abrupt or annoyed. It’s obvious from the simple turn of her head what our positions are here. She’s a world-famous actress. I’m a guy who’s driving a boat.
We’ve probably got about fifteen minutes left before we reach Ventura Harbor. I’m in the zone, observing the water all around us, enjoying the feel of the boat under my control. I haven’t even glanced at Alana in at least five minutes. She could have fallen overboard and I wouldn’t know.
I check. Just to be sure.
And she’s doing the most surprising thing.
She’s walking toward me and taking a seat in the passenger chair right next to me.
“So,” she says, nonchalantly. “You and Joel are friends?”
“We both grew up on Marbella. I’ve known him forever. I guess you could say we’re friends, even though I’m a bit older than him so we had different friends growing up.”
Maybe it’s the effect of the water on me. I just got a full, coherent sentence out—more than one, actually. I fix my eyes on the horizon to make sure I don’t break my streak and start acting like a crazed fan again. Maybe if I don’t look at her beautiful windblown hair, her bright gray-blue eyes, the perfect line of her jaw or those rosy lips, I’ll be safe.
“Joel’s a good guy,” she adds.
“He’s a lot of fun. And sincere. Yeah. He’s a good guy.”
I should hang out with him more, maybe. Maybe not. I’ve already got the guys at watersports when I need some human connection. And I have my family. I sort of thrive on time alone. People tend to drain me if I’m around them too often or in large doses. I prefer smaller, intimate gatherings over large crowds. I’m a classic introvert, but definitely not averse to being with people—in moderation.
“Joel said he’d trust you with his life.” Alana looks toward the horizon as she speaks.
I study her exquisite profile. She’s mussed from the wind and water, but that only amplifies her attractiveness. She’s like a red crowntail betta among all the other fish. Some creatures are simply more stunning by nature. Captivating. Rare. Elevated above the rest of creation.
“So, you’re a marine biologist?”
“Yeah. Yes. That’s my line of work.”
She smiles, obviously picking up on the nerves that haven’t fully settled in her presence.
“What exactly does a marine biologist do?”
“Well, we can do hundreds of things. It’s a pretty broad field—considering the ocean takes up nearly seventy-one percent of the earth.”
I don’t laugh at the subtle joke hidden in there, but, surprisingly she does. It’s a light giggle, but still, it’s musical and sweet, like a concert floutist playing Rampal.
I made Alana Graves laugh. I tuck that little nugget of truth away to take out later.
“So, what do you do within this broad field of yours?”
“Me? I … well, I work for corporations as a marine consultant. When they want to expand, they call me. I go in, assess the situation, report to them what species are in the area, ensure they go forward with minimal ecological impact. That sort of thing.”
“So, you dive for work. Do you dive recreationally? Around Marbella?”
“Yes. I dive with tanks and without.”
“Free-diving?”
“Yeah. But I’m not as good as a lot of the guys I know. I can only go down for three to four minutes tops.”
“Without any oxygen?!” Her eyes go wide and a swell of pride fills my chest accompanied by a pleasant buzz that travels through me. I impressed her.
“Yeah. That’s what free-diving is, essentially. I have friends who can go down for ten minutes. But they practice and devote themselves to it. I usually dive with tanks if I plan to stay down for any length of time.”
“I’ve never dived before. I’ve snorkeled all over the world. Asia, the Caribbean, Hawaii … but never diving.”
“Would you want to?”
Whaaaaaat? I’m not offering to take Alana Graves diving. I can barely breathe around the woman. I mean, I’m doing okay right now, but underwater, there’s a serious possibility I’d take in water and drown.
“I really would love to learn. Do you teach?”
She looks directly at me and I feel her gaze like a spear to my heart. It’s piercing and light. Her translucent, intelligent eyes study me.
“I do teach. Also, I think you know my friend, Ben. He’s Summer Monroe’s husband? He teaches at the Alicante.”
She stiffens a little, and I immediately discern why. “I haven’t told anyone I’m driving you this morning. They don’t even know I’m out here. I’m the chest, remember?” I wink at her.
I winked. At her.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world. But I don’t know what made me think I could actually wink at Alana Graves.
She smiles. “Yeah. You’re the chest. From the Titanic. I remember.”
We both chuckle—together. And I can see now why Joel treats Alana like a friend—why Summer said Alana’s just human like the rest of us. For a moment, as fleeting as it is, we’re just a man and a woman out on the water while I taxi her to work.
But that passes, don’t you worry.
I’m beyond aware that she’s Alana Graves. And I’m just … me.